A Collection of Short Stories | Simon Riley "Ghost" x Reader

the ties that bind us

Your fingers trace the contours of the table, each swirl and scratch recounting tales of countless meetings that took place here.

The weight of the silence between you is palpable.

The dim lights throw elongated shadows, painting a story of estrangement and a longing to bridge the distance.

"I said I don't need your damn help."

The words, sharp as shards of glass, cut through the silence.

Simon's gaze pierces you, his eyes narrowing from behind the black balaclava, a barrier between his true feelings and the world.

It's clear he's in a defensive stance, an instinctual response honed from years of evading vulnerability.

He sits, a figure of isolation, at the farthest end of the meeting room.

Over the past few weeks, an immeasurable chasm had grown between the two of you.

He had built walls so high, barricading himself from the very person he once swore he'd never push away.

It's heartbreaking to witness the remnants of your bond, frayed and strained.

As the memories flood in, you're reminded of the torrents from his past that occasionally sweep him away.

He drowns in them, lost and gasping for air, refusing the lifeline you so desperately want to throw.

Every attempt you've made to reach out, to heal, has been met with resistance, leaving behind a trail of arguments and emotional upheaval.

Your hand moves to pinch the bridge of your nose, a gesture to rein in the overwhelming tide of frustration and concern.

Every fiber of your being aches with the need to alleviate his pain.

"It doesn't matter whether you say you need it or not, I just want you to know that I'm here. You can talk to me, I want you to."

A beat.

Time seems to stretch, drawing out the moment. Simon's eyes, momentarily softening, meet yours.

But just as quickly, he diverts them, choosing the indifferent view of the outside world instead.

A quiet swallow, a prelude to unspoken words, echoes in the room.

There's a lot I need to get off my chest. But I can't let her help me, not after the chaos it's caused before.

His impenetrable expression reveals nothing, yet you feel the weight of unsaid emotions beneath.

"I'm fine," he responds, his voice devoid of any warmth, any emotion.

Your gaze falls, seeking solace in the pattern of your hands crossed over your knees.

You tap your foot, a rhythmic reflection of your anxiety and hope.

"I want to understand, Simon," you whisper, every word dripping with desperation and sincerity.

"Then understand that you helping me is hurting me."

The room is filled with the biting sound of a bitter laugh from Simon's lips. The irony isn't lost on you.

"And I don't need any more pain."

Every syllable, laced with the pain he tried to hide, reaches out to you.

There is an undeniable storm brewing within him, a tempest of emotions and past scars that has made him recoil, lash out.

You're left yearning for the days when the storm would pass and the calm, once taken for granted, would return.

The room's air grew thick, your anger and pain mingling, creating an oppressive atmosphere.