As Grim as the Reaper | PREQUEL Simon 'GHOST' Riley

TWENTY ONE

Shepherd said you'd be suspended; guess he was right.

Suspended on the grounds of medical aid. Mandated two months' daily two-hour sessions with the resident Special Ops therapist.

That's what the letter you'd received after the review of the cams footage stated. The one that Graves delivered to you personally, and wordlessly.

He could barely look at you since he saw the footage, and you couldn't really blame him. Who would want to look at such a monster?

Because, that's what you were, right?

Only a monster would do what you did.

"Is that what you truly think?"

"Huh?"

Your vacant eyes moved from the blank spot on the wall that you'd been focusing on to land on the woman in front of you.

Mid-40s, auburn hair, beautifully curled. A sleek, white pantsuit. Louboutin's.

A distinguished woman.

"You just said, you think yourself a monster. Why?" she spoke again.

You shivered slightly, concern running through you at the fact that you hadn't even registered that you'd been talking out loud.

"Because I am, aren't I? You saw the footage, you know what I did. It's there in your little file." you responded, gesturing to the brown folder sat on the glass coffee table in between the two of you.

And sat right next to it, was your mask.

Reaper's mask.

Staring at you, taunting you.

"Yes, I did. And what I saw was a woman struggling in grief, whilst doing her job. No monster there."

"I'm a monster!" you said, voice raised to a level that shocked both of you. "I can see it on everyone's face. Shepherd, Laswell, my own fucking fiancé won't even look at me...touch me. He hates me. They all hate me."

"'Monster' is a relative term, (Y/N). To a canary, a cat is a monster. Do you think cats are monsters?"

You shook your head, looking down at your hands in your lap as you sat cross-legged on the sofa. It felt soft under you, cosy, safe.

"Exactly. So, why should I be so inclined to believe that you are?"

"Dunno, Doc."

Drowning in the grief, you didn't do too well with remembering things lately, and so you had been referring to your therapist as 'Doc', not that she minded. She was being patient with you, this was only your first week, after all.

She let out a frustrated sigh, clearly realising this was as much as she was going to get out of you.

"Have you contacted your brother?"

"No."

"What about your friends?"

You scoffed, "Friends?"

"As I understand it, Sergeant Keller is your best friend. That's what you said in our second session, no?"

"He's busy. John too."

"Too busy to know you're hurting?" she questioned.

Yes.

What kind of person would you be if you called up, begging for them to drop everything to be with you? You're not selfish. What they were doing in Mexico was way more important than whatever you were going through.