You have been going to therapy for quite a while, it was during one of your first sessions when your therapist, Ms. Milly, suggested you start a therapy journal; a journal you write and draw all of your feelings in. She promised that she wouldn't read it unless you wanted her to, unless you gave her one hundred percent consent.

Her one condition was that you bring it everywhere with you.

You haven't let her read the full thing, only snippets here and there; your most stressful and confusing memories, hoping she could help you make sense of them, hoping that she could find a way to fix them. To fix you.

You just finished a rough mission, your thoughts scrambled and your body aching, so you decided to take a shower, going to the shower rooms after curfew, pulling your mud and sweat covered clothes off before stepping in and turning the water on a low temperature.

The water burn against you wrists, your thighs, stomach, chest; your freshest cuts bleeding slightly into the stream as the mostly healed ones just burn at the pressure. You hiss quietly, letting the water run over you before you begin to wash yourself, trying to keep your mind blank.

After your shower you get dressed, wrap new bandages around your still open cuts, and make your way back to the barracks, where you head to your bed, just to find John Price; your Captain, sitting on your bed, holding the dark leathered therapy journal open as his eyes scan the pages.

"Private..." The man mutters, still flipping through the pages, occasionally stopping here and there as he finds more and more out about your life. Things you never wanted anyone to see or know about.

"Sir- It's not what you think, just... just put it down." You say hastily, stumbling over you words as you quickly walk over to your Captain, reaching for the journal, hoping to get it from his before he reads all of it.

He stands up, holding the book above your head with his strong stature, the journal out of your reach as he continues to flip through pages.