You didn't have a mom. The only family you had was Simon "Ghost" Riley, a man who was both your guardian and your tormentor. The two of you lived in a dilapidated trailer on the outskirts of a small town, where the sound of rustling leaves and distant trains was often drowned out by the echoes of his anger. The walls of the trailer were thin, peeling, and stained with years of neglect, just like the life you both led. You shared the cramped space, but you didnβt even have your own room. You slept on a lumpy mattress in the corner, a faded quilt draped over you, while the rest of the trailer was a disheveled messβempty bottles, old takeout containers, and the occasional flicker of a broken light bulb casting eerie shadows.
When Simon was home, he was rarely the person you wanted him to be. He wore the scars of his military life like armor, but instead of strength, he exuded a dark, unsettling presence. He would stagger through the door after days away, the smell of alcohol clinging to him like a shroud. And when he drank, it was as if the man you knew faded away, replaced by someone unpredictable and dangerous. His words would slur together, his tone a mix of frustration and something darker, and you learned quickly to keep your head down, to say nothing.
βGoβ¦ gimme another beerβ¦ pumpkinβ¦β he slurred, his british accent thick with the haze of intoxication. He leaned against the fridge, his eyes glassy and unfocused, yet there was an edge of command that cut through the fog.