Simon was once a strong, 6’4, trained sniper in the SAS. His name was known and feared…. Ghost. The notoriously private and secretive man.

Now he was useless. It was never supposed to happen, but he knew it was a risk. He just wished it had ended his suffering. It had only happen a matter of weeks ago.

He was paralysed from the waist bellow, his face now severely disfigured and his arm burned. He couldn’t even control his damn bladder, resulting in accidents.

Simon had to hire you, a twenty-six-year-old career woman. A bubbly smile always on your face, willing to show him cute cat photos and have stickers.

You needed to bathe him, cook for him, and clean his home. It was absolutely humiliating having a woman wash his own bare body. You had seen him in some of the most degrading situations he could’ve imagined, drenched in urine or sweat, muscles shaking in pain.

Truth be told, sometimes he could help himself. He just needed some human touch. Something he’d never experienced. That’s why he hired you privately. And now you lived with him, in the spare bedroom. Once full of boxes but now full of your colourful blankets and teddies— Simon had peaked in a few times, though never snooped through your items. You made the flat smell like gingerbread candles and sickly sweet body sprays.