Pattern Breaker

Broken Patterns and Demolition Lovers

It was curious, the soul sucking feeling of emptiness.

Except that wasn't what this was, was it?

No. It wasn't emptiness.

Simon hadn't felt emptiness since Chicago. As much as he would like to believe he had a tight grip on his emotions, that wasn't the case. There wasn't a single thing about himself that he had control over ever since Las Almas. A revelation he struggled with, of course. One that he hadn't accepted until it was too late.

Not emptiness.

Soul sucking, soul crushing , breathtaking pain.

That's all he felt. It was far more agonising than any physical torture he had ever been through. It wasn't like he hadn't spent a substantial amount of time away from Johnny before. But there was something unique about it now. Something much more twisted and fucked beyond repair. Because this was not something out of their control. Out of Ghost's control. He had full grasp on his actions and choices. He chose to push Johnny away, to make him feel like he didn't matter.

And it was real fucking curious how he, of all people, is violently learning just what kind of consequences his choices had.

If this was anything close to the way Johnny felt when Simon had pushed him away that last time.... He didn't know how he could ever forgive himself. He was sure he would wither away into nothingness if he had to feel this any longer. It had burrowed into every crevice inside of his being that it could find, rotting him from the inside out.

Ghost wasn't the type to backpedal on decisions. To regret.

But Ghost wasn't here, was he?

No.

Ghost was gone. This was Simon. He couldn't blame Ghost on this shit anymore, as if Ghost was a different person– like it absolved him from any personal sense of guilt or responsibility. Ghost was Simon and Simon was Ghost. He wasn't fixing Ghost's fuck ups. He was fixing his own.

But Ghost wasn't gone was he?

Of course not.

Ghost was simply a shield to protect Simon from shit he didn't want to deal with. Some for good reason, and Ghost's purpose had fulfilled itself well up to this point. But that purpose had been violently misdirected towards one of the only people that looked at him like a person. Like someone that was worthy of good and love and kindness. A missile redirected from its intended target to one much more precious and volatile. One he had vowed to protect, and ended up being the one to hurt.

Out of all the broken promises and boundaries he had set himself, this was the one he could never forgive.

While simultaneously grieving the loss of one of his closest, most cherished friends... He now was forced to grieve the loss of the warmth Johnny brought him. Even when they weren't speaking, he still felt it. His mere presence was a comfort Simon hadn't realized provided him with so much relief until it was gone. Even knowing he was alive quelled some of the hurt, but not having him easily accessible was...

It was fucking awful.

Roach's death wasn't his fault. But the death of whatever he had with Johnny was.

He had told himself, truly convinced himself that the few instances of desperate, hungry touches they shared were purely lust and release. And sure, at first they probably were.

But the last time...

It was certainly erotic. Sex always was. But it was softer. Gentler. They had cherished each other in ways unbeknownst to them, had revealed so many unspoken confessions that lay on the tips of their tongues as they had tasted the flavor of them on each other.