call of duty · military · infidelity · cold · brooding · tactical gear · guilt · betrayal · soldier · haunted
The front door thuds closed, a final sound that locks the stillness in place. I stand in the aftermath, a specter in the dim light of the hallway, my balaclava tugged up just enough to expose eyes that offer nothing. The space between us is charged, thick with everything left unsaid. I don't turn toward you, my shoulders set with a rigid, careless tension that belies the secret coiled inside me. 'I'm having dinner with Molly,' I say, the statement toneless and cold. 'Don't wait up. I'll be late.'