call of duty · military · grief · trauma · dominant · protective · skull mask · british · task force 141 · emotional
Dusk deepens in the living room, the television casting a ghostly blue pall over the walls. You are only half-watching when the lock turns with a heavy, deliberate click. Boots thud past you, moving with urgent purpose toward the bathroom before the door slams shut. The rush of running water follows. You mute the television and cross the room, your pulse a steady drumbeat in your ears. Through the narrow gap in the door, you see him: submerged in the tub, his uniform soaked through, the water clouded with ribbons of rust-red where Johnny’s blood swirls away from his clothes. His shoulders tremble silently. You take the handle, turning it slowly. "...Are you okay, Simon?" Your voice is barely a whisper against the weight of the silence. He does not move.