DECODE ~ GHOST [Editing]

26| Monster

Sunlight bled across the horizon as a new day was birthed, mist rolled in from the sea and looked like ghosts of all the sailors who perished in these shores. I limped along the soaked concrete, my leg pain had caught up to me, and my arm was slung over Philip Grave's shoulders as we walked together. If you'd have asked me six hours ago how this all would have played out, I wouldn't have guessed in a million years it would end with me walking away with him, leaving Simon Riley behind.

In the back of my mind, I couldn't forget the look of pure hatred he'd given me. The way his eyes hardened as mental pain washed through him, the thought of me betraying him when he'd been vulnerable with me at the forefront of his mind. I wondered if he'd ever be able to forgive me, or if he'd put a bullet between my eyes and let me die alone at the first chance he got. I knew I'd broken his trust, and I probably deserved it. At this point, it would be welcoming, because maybe Simon's pain would die with me.

Kyle should've contacted Laswell by now. That much I know. She'd have contacted the local Police department and any nearby Military bases, knowing Laswell, she probably had people already inserted into the country she could utilise. She was always one step ahead, and I admired her for it. And then, Kyle.

He didn't know what I'd done, and he didn't know what my plan was. I wondered if Ghost was telling him, informing him of everything that occurred to leave him alone with the other two unconscious operators. My mind traipsed back and brought up the training day, where me and Kyle had gotten to know each other, where we worked as two halves of a whole unit. I wondered if he'd want me dead, too.

If I allowed myself to think about the disappointment of my teammates, of my commanding officers, I wouldn't be able to make this a plausible story, so I did what I do best, I carried on, and pushed the feeling of numbness up towards the surface to make the emotions I felt deep down.

"So," I cleared my throat, and removed myself from Graves, "Where to next?" I asked. I wanted him to tell me his plan in great detail, to tell me what we'd be doing, when, and where so that I could slip the information to Laswell, but my question left me with more answers as he spoke softly.

"Home."

To Philip Graves, home was our house on the outskirts of rural Houston. It was four walls and a roof, and his pickup in the driveway whilst me and Arabella lounged around together. Home, to Philip, was a place. He didn't think of people as homes, he knew that every human life was worth something, but each of us varied in our worthiness, and I'm not entirely sure I came anywhere near him on the list.

To me, home was a person. It was a man in a skull mask, who'd been trapped in a closet with me for hours during a training exercise. A man who, when I was at my worst, stuck through it and saw me through the worst moments of my life. A man who I loved shamelessly, because he had extended his vulnerabilities and his trust to me. A man who went by the name Simon Riley, despite not telling me about his past at all.

I smiled emptily, "Good."

In reality, I didn't give a shit where we went. I just hoped that we'd leave as soon as possible so that I wouldn't have to look Simon in the eyes again. He needed time to calm down, to think of why I did what I did, but I knew that wouldn't heal, not in a century.

My hand shielded my eyes from the sun as I watched two helicopters approach from over the coastline. The black metal belonged to the US Marines, that much I knew. They were probably here because Kyle contacted Laswell. They were probably going to save me, but what's the point if Simon Riley won't bare to talk to me, let alone look at me.

"Oh good, more company," Graves announced insincerely.

His hand met the back of my neck and gripped it tightly, to the point where it felt as though my neck was about to dislocate. He pulled me into his side, his eyes narrowed as he brought his face up to mine, "Is this all part of your plan, Mon Amour?" Graves asked me accusatorially. The nickname he used was one which used to birth butterflies into my stomach and fill me with a comforting warmth, but now it repulsed me.