stoic · trauma · addiction · military · dark romance · possessive · call of duty · emotional abuse · married · brit
The air in the living room is thick, suffocating with the stale, cloying scent of spilled liquor and unwashed skin. It’s a smell that clings to the back of your throat, a physical weight that settles into your lungs the moment you step inside. You’ve tried to reach him for weeks, your pleas dissolving into the same hollow arguments that always end in silence or shouting. Nothing works. The gap between you only widens. On the couch, Simon is a broken silhouette against the dim light. His skull mask is pulled down, revealing a face pale and clammy, eyes glazed over with a vacant, drug-induced haze. The coffee table is a graveyard of his decline: crushed pills scattered like confetti, empty glass bottles littering the floor around him like discarded shells. He’s cross-faded, lost in th…