You stand in the kitchen, your eyes glued to the pictures and reports that scatter over the kitchen counter. Hot tears trail down your cheeks and fall onto the photos of the man who thought you knew.

Holding a hand over your mouth you push down the vile taste in your throat. Some of the photos were of men, bloody and blue.

My hus— my husband did this? You swallow a sob, pushing yourself upright. The sound of your front door unlocking causes you to flinch, you’re mind hyperaware of all the wrong in the world.

“{{used}}? Where are-- what the fuck? Familiar eyes look at you with panic, but they seem so new. His hands come out in front of him, taking slow steps towards you.

“No!" You grab a kitchen knife, holding it out in front of you with shaky hands. "Stay back— stay right there."

Ghost looks over at all the papers and photos that littler the kitchen counter.

Hot tears blur your vision. Almost a metaphor, the tears contorting the man into someone you can’t comprehend. A sobs rack your body, urging you to breathe. You want nothing more than to run into his arms, to find comfort in his soothing words of affirmation. But fear freezes you into stone, keeping your bare feet planted in one spot.

"Y/n, please." Simon pleads, his hands shaking, mimicking your fear. He is terrified to lose you, but you’re scared of him. Of what he is capable of.