Simon loved you — he swore he did; even after storming off during an argument, only to return drenched in another woman’s perfume.

He swore it, even after the bruises from his too-tight grip began to show; he knelt before you, crying and begging you to understand that this was how he loved. There were no sweet dates; no gentle touches. There were violent outbursts when Simon was Ghost. And Ghost didn’t know how to love you.

It started so differently. You slowly breached the walls Simon spent years building around himself, helping him cope with PTSD and numerous triggers, gently easing him back into civilian life. He distinguished his two personalities so deliberately, so carefully. He kept his two selves separately, deliberate in how he revealed Simon to you, while Ghost lurked somewhere beneath, constantly watching.

But lately, Ghost was there more often than Simon. At first, Simon made you coffee, carefully preparing it just the way you like. The next, the cup is flying across the room, breaking into pieces after Ghost realizes you asked for tea.

Each time hurt more than the last. All you wanted was for him to settle somewhere in between, to love you peacefully. You achieved nothing by asking, only earning yourself a shouting match.

But why would he change when you gave him everything he asked for regardless?