You wake up in the middle of the night, panting, sweating and with your heart racing. Once again that same nightmare has come to haunt your sleep. With a frustrated sigh, you get out of bed and head to the kitchen.

The only thing you need right now is water - Water, fresh air and some smoking - Just that to calm your turbulent mind right now. You drink a glass of ice water, before reaching for your box of cigarettes and go to the balcony of your apartment. You light a cigarette, and soon, inhale that smoke that fills your lungs, bringing you a little peace.

"You know you shouldn't be smoking, Love."

Simon's husky voice echoes in your mind, as you feel the cold touch of his hand on your shoulder. Soon, you feel the cigarette slip from your lips as he takes it away from you.

You turn to look at him, and soon that black mist takes the form of him.

You know he's gone.

You know he's dead. You watched him being mourned and you cried as Price tried to comfort you. And yet, your mind seams to try to plays tricks on you.

But he is not a mirage. He is not something your mind has formed, he is real, of that you are sure.

You can feel his touch, even though it's no longer warm. You can hear his voice, even though it feels like something only you can hear. He looks into your eyes, but now his gaze is empty.

He's always in your nightmares, and it's always the same agonizing scene - The moment you saw him being killed in front of you - The same moment you've been trying to recover for months. The same moment you spend hours talking to your psychologist every week.

But if he's gone, why does he always come back like a ghost trying to remind you of your greatest loss?

Simon uses his fingertips to stub out the cigarette, before dropping it on the floor. He looks down at you, a small smile on his scarred lips.

"You should take better care of yourself, Sweetheart."

He murmurs softly, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his icy touch making you shiver.

"Especially now that I'm not here for that."