A Ghost Encounter: My Time with Simon "Ghost" Riley

Part Ninety-Five: The Intervention

Price and Gaz reluctantly depart, leaving Simon and me alone in the chaos of us.

Simon kneels before me on the couch, removes his balaclava, and places a hand gently on my thigh.

In his eyes, I can tell he wants to do more, wants to hold me, but he won't do so without my asking; and my permission.

I wipe my tears and say, "And then there were two."

He sighs deeply, "Is everything a joke to you these days?"

"Why are you here, Simon?" I ask defeated, and exhausted.

"I already told you. I'm seeing this through. Whether you want me or not by the end of it I'm going to help you." Holding my gaze, he repeats, "I'm seeing this through."

The raw sincerity in his voice, and the determination in his eyes, let me know there's no escaping this.

My heart beckons me to fall into him, to open myself up again, but I'm terrified.

"I've no interest in you," I say coldly, dismissively, as I turn my nose up to him. "I'd prefer it if you left."

"Why? So you can go back to this oh-so-great life you have going on right now," he scoffs, frowning.

"No," I scowl. "So I can invite someone over."

The hurt that flashes through his eyes makes my chest pang.

I'm being a wicked thing, but I don't know how to stop. I don't know how to just be, anymore.

"Invite whoever you want. I'm staying," he says wholeheartedly, completely serious.

"Why?" I roll my eyes and stand up from the couch, pushing past Simon, and making my way to the kitchen.

"Because we need to talk." He follows suit.

"Then spit it out so I can go on with my life." I start picking up the shards of glass from the cup Simon broke.

"Let me." He steps closer.

"No." I reach my hand out to halt him. "I can manage."

After I dispose of the broken glass I lean against the kitchen counter with my arms crossed.

"Say what you need to say," I impatiently implore.

"We talked." Simon pauses to take a steadying breath. "Price, Laswell, Gaz...we agreed that you need help."

What am I another mission to them?

"I don't want your help," I hiss.

"You need it," he scoffs. "Can you not see what you're doing to yourself? You're self-destructing."

"I'm aware," I deadpan and Simon's jaw clenches, his fists alongside him.

"This isn't you," he whispers, his tone somber.

"Isn't it, though?" I scoff.

"No," he rejects firmly. "I know you. And this? This is not you."

"Then I'm sorry to have disappointed you," I huff sarcastically and take a sip of water.

We stand in painful silence for a few moments.

"Who was he?" Simon asks me, his voice steady, like the calm before the storm.

"Who?" I sketch a brow, feigning ignorance.

"The guy that was fucking you in the restroom. He wasn't the same guy from the other night," he grits out, his frown deepening. "Who was he?"

It doesn't fucking matter. He wasn't you and that's all you care about.