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yeetmyboi · 20 days ago

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𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐭.

Chapter 4 : Choices & Consequences

cw : implied domestic abuse and alcoholism

— — —

The rest of the day goes by as per usual for how your first days typically go. You arrived, attended a brief (albeit tense) briefing, returned to your quarters to settle in, and now you found yourself heading to the canteen.

Just in time for dinner. Yippee… You can already feel yourself wanting to rush the entire affair. Get in, grab your food, eat, get out. You repeat in your head.

It was bustling, much to your dismay. A big cafeteria-like room with tables and booths for various groups to sit at. Light wood seemingly used to brighten up what else would be a dreary interior, given the numerous amount of camouflage uniforms that filled up said chairs and booths. Still it gave you flashbacks to high school. Times when you were more happy at school than at home. Truth be told, anywhere was better than being home with your mother and her new boy-toy of the month.

Shit seemed so much simpler then…

You get in line, grab an empty tray, silverware, and await your turn. Sliding down in tandem with the others before you. Ahead you spot Mohawk— er, Soap. His ocean blue eyes looking up to the person next to him, twinkling with a hint of mischief while he cracks a joke. You can hear the warmth in his laugh as it makes his shoulders shake. When was the last time you laughed like that?

Your eyes move from the man— who’s been nicknamed after a freakin’ cleaning product —up to land on who he’s chattering to. Oh? He’s actually making conversation with the Lieutenant? Well, as much as one can when talking to a brick wall. Yet, it looks like Ghost is engaging with him. Making comments back and entertaining the whole conversation.

For whatever reason, the sight of Soap and Ghost in that moment eats at you. That closeness, that solidarity. The way the shorter man speaks with such ease to the other. Comfortable, light, open. With he who also seemed to be attentively listening and conversing back. It makes you feel something you haven’t wanted to think about for the past year.

Something, somewhere nips at you. Deep inside, in the far back of your mind. The beast rattles its cage. It’s familiar fangs not having lost their edge. You thought you had muzzled this beast, locked it up and threw away the key. Yet, here it was. Back to remind you what you hate the most. It opens its jaws, drool dripping from its hungry maw. It growls, low and rumbling like distant thunder.

You’re lonely.

No, there’s a difference between being alone and being lonely, you try to silence that voice. Squash it before it has a chance to burrow any deeper. Besides, it’s not like you hadn’t seen others interact like that before. What made this any different? What had changed?

You feign ignorance, but the beast sees through it.

You both knew the truth.

Shit.

Your attention snaps back just as those deep brown eyes flick to you, effectively catching you staring. Your body tenses for a second before you force yourself to relax. Still you don’t shy away from his gaze. Yeah, he caught you. So what? Trying to justify it to yourself and brush off the fact that he caught you. You were pretty sure he’s been watching every move you make since the meeting and you just happen to do it more blatantly.

Your eyes only tear away from the silent stare-off when you turn your head to the man serving you a scoop of green beans. Muttering a small, polite ‘thank you’ before looking back. Only to see the pair of them gone, likely heading to their own table.

Thank fuck for that.

Finishing your way down the line, you look around the room. A private corner where you can eat in peace and hopefully retire for the evening. But that’s when you spot the group of men huddled in a corner, commandeering a large table. The whole Task Force minus Price. All buddy-buddy with each other.

You got two choices here, Stray.

That beast bares its fangs once more. Its pacing back and forth in the back of your mind. Like a rabid dog trapped in a cage you put it in. Reminding you of what you felt only seconds ago. Merely a drop in what was an ocean worth of repressed feelings inside you. The ones you’ve be struggling to fight back, especially this past year.

Gaz was the one who was the first to meet your gaze. His polite smile now curling the ends of his lips. A curt nod offered to you.

Great, now you really can’t pretend you didn’t see him.

With a sigh, you head over to the table. This time opting for the seat furthest away from Ghost. You take the edge seat, easily able to dip out if you’d want to, and feel as if Ghost takes note of this. Gaz sat to your right and Soap across from you. Ghost, being diagonal, merely offered a grunt to your presence.

Well, at least it looks like you’re making an effort to be friendly.

“How are you settlin’ in?” Gaz asks, seemingly trying to be the first one to offer an olive branch.

“Good, Good.” You answer, giving a few nods to aid your inexperience with small talk.

Gaz’s attempt at initiating conversation with you skirts the edges of Ghost's attention, the barrier of his own indifference momentarily wavers. Your response was hesitant, almost mechanical, and he can't help but analyze the slight restraint in your voice. Ghost had studied similar responses in others— it's part of his skill set —and he knows it suggests either a lack of trust or discomfort.

Gaz, who seems pleased with the exchange, regardless of its brevity, continues, "Anything you need help with, let us know, yeah?" He means for it to sound casual, but the concern is evident.

Soap chimes in, his infectious grin not dimming in the slightest. "Aye! An’ don't mind mean ol’ Ghostie there," he says cheerfully, slicing a chunk off his steak and pointing his knife at the stoic lieutenant. "He's got a soft spot, jus' buried deeper than the bloody Mariana Trench, is all."

Ghost, unable to stay silent any longer, glances at Soap with a pointed stare that seems to carry an unspoken ‘watch it’, before turning his attention to you. His expression remains blank, everything but his eyes hidden behind that ever-present skull balaclava. "She doesn’t need to be mollycoddled," he speaks to Soap, but the message carries to the whole table, including you. "She's a mercenary, not a bloody recruit."

After that, the group slowly continues their conversations. Ghost’s input causing a brief lull before Soap started up about one of his favorite stories of having a close call during a mission. Gaz engaging only to make sure Soap’s ability to over-embellish didn’t take away from the actual tale.

You sat there, an outsider looking in. Their closeness evident in the way they talk and tease each other, almost like close siblings. Soap and Gaz riling each other up while Ghost quietly eats.

Your eyes couldn’t help but glance the rare sight of skin. Noticing how he’s only opted to roll up his balaclava instead of taking it off. So he does wear that thing 24/7… The strong jawline of his profile, slight stubble on his chin, the pink of his lips, and the various white scars that was chipped from his skin. Only there was one that immediately caught your attention.

It was a deeper one. Starting from the corner of his lips extending back, curling slightly upwards. It looked jagged, cut roughly and with little care. Small branches breaking off of the deeper stem.

Glasgow scars.

You try not to look for too long. Eyes immediately darting back to the tray in front of you. You hated when people stared at yours. After your little tiff in the meeting room and awkward staring contest, you’d rather avoid any more offensives at the moment. For lack of wanting Laswell or Price to pull you away and give you one last warning to ’play nice’.

But still, seeing his skin marred reminded you of your own. You could still clearly picture the stolen glance of his jaw in your mind’s eye. The brief, almost fleeting image causing a phantom burning sensation in your left cheek. That deep etch of your own reminding you of its presence.

Dinner was mediocre. Typical military food. Bland, but enough to keep your body fueled. With an empty tray in hand, you give a nod to excuse yourself. Normally you would’ve just left when you were finished. Hell, you wouldn’t have even sat with them. Yet you sat there, lingering after you finished your meal. Just listening. Why? Disposing any bits of leftovers in the bin, you stack your dirty tray with the others then leave the canteen entirely.

Your boots clacked in a rhythmic pace down the linoleum tiles that lined the halls. It was fairly empty as most were still unwinding from a day’s work in the mess hall or elsewhere. The emptiness causing your mind to drift, feet left on autopilot as you head to your room.

What the fuck is going on with you? One minute you’re ready to chew someone’s head off, the next you’re rolling over and exposing your belly. You’re out here acting like some type of kicked dog. It’s pathetic, really. You were once a Lieutenant. There’s no excuse for you to not be able to be in control of your emotions.

How far have you fallen?

You chastise yourself. Beat yourself up over your lack of control. How that feeling of loneliness continued to nibble away at you. Like you craved something akin to what you had just witnessed in the canteen. Once again, you’re forced to remind yourself that this is just a job, not something entirely permanent. That you’ll be gone before you know it and anything you fostered here would too.

And yet…

A door swung shut behind you, snapping you back into the present moment. Your focus returns as your eyes survey the cramped quarters, finally able to have a proper look around now.

It was spartan, as usual for anything even remotely military. A desk with a lamp, wardrobe, and a bed. Your duffel bag was still on said bed, causing the thin pad that qualified as a mattress to dip slightly. Right where you left it.

A heavy sigh leaves your chest, yet the weight behind it stayed there. A sense of melancholy had followed you from the deeper recesses of your brain, draping over you in a less-than-comforting shroud. It felt like having a tense conversation that was left unfinished, dreading when you’d be forced to continue it later. The drab room seemingly echoing the numbing emptiness you were feeling.

In effort to push away your conflicting and confusing thoughts, you head over to your duffle bag. The zipper moving with a familiar ease. Something constant to fight against the unpredictability of your emotional state. Your clothes, personal belongings, and such were still carefully packed inside. In an act you’ve done dozens of times, you methodically unpack— having it down to a science by now. Laying a silent claim to this dorm as your temporary place of residence.

Filing the last of your thermal undershirts in the provided wardrobe, the time difference was finally hitting you. That call to sleep getting too strong to fully ignore. You look out the singular window in your room. It was nothing but a small rectangular piece of glass that sat imbedded near the top of the wall. Clearly put there to only provide some natural light, if any. Not like there was much of a view with the blinding snow that lays just outside. The sun was now gone, meaning the cold night was fully here.

A few extra hours of sleep wouldn’t hurt…

You strip off your clothes and swap them out for some warm flannel pants and a long sleeve shirt before crawling into bed. The heavy wool blanket was at least partially comfortable. Not too scratchy but still not a soft as you’d prefer. At least it would keep you warm, and with the evidence of the shitty insulation you were sure you were in for a chilly night. Releasing a quiet groan, you stretch your muscles before curling up on your side. Slowly closing your eyelids. Mind drifting off toward that siren call of momentary peace, narrowly avoiding the raging thoughts from earlier. Allowing you to briefly be free from the clashing thoughts that lurked in your mind.

Then just as the wool blanket, sleep wrapped you in its soothing embrace.

ּ࣪ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ּ࣪ ᯽ ּ࣪ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ּ࣪

You’re in a room. Once familiar, but now completely foreign. You glance around, taking quick notes of your surroundings. The only exit seemingly behind you as a closet door was haphazardly left open to your right, children’s clothes and toy flowing out of it. A thin mattress laid on the floor ahead of you, adorned with disheveled brightly colored blankets and stuffed animals. Lacking any sheets underneath. It was pushed to the farthest corner of the room. Across it to the left was a crib. An abandoned blanket and pacifier laid inside. A pain squeezes your heart inside your chest.

It’s your childhood bedroom.

The one you shared with your younger brother growing up. Stale scent of cigarettes hangs in the air adding to the heavy weight of quiet dread that threatens to press down on your shoulders. You could feel the palms of your hands getting clammy. Ears starting to fill with the dull roar of your blood pumping. Instinctual fear slowly creeping up your spine. It’s tendrils inching up and curling around each individual vertebrae, like icy fingers walking up the middle of your back.

Then a sniffle was heard right beside you. Quickly, you turn your head to look at the source. Your throat tightens at the sight.

It’s you.

Well, your younger self. One still left intact, untouched by the cursed events of your life that have yet to happen. She’s crying, wearing the pjs you faintly remember from childhood. Small hands consistently wiping at the salty tears and snot that couldn’t seem to stop flowing from her person. Her wide eyes are looking to the door in front of her, her shoulders shaking as she tries to stifle her sobs.

The sight draws out the protective side of you. A soldier ready to act and protect those who can’t protect themselves. The guard dog you’ve become. One bitter with anger at the negligence she was suffering. That you had suffered through.

“Hey, shhh…” You whisper gently, moving to crouch down in front of her.

Slowly, you lift your hands to place them on her shoulders. Giving her ample time to deny your touch, but when she didn’t you gently rub your calloused hands up and down her small arms.

“It’s okay. You’re safe in here.”

You gently pull your younger self in, wrapping your arms around her in a tight embrace— using your body acting as her shield. Something you knew you longed for. A hand cradled the back of her head, while the other soothingly rubbed up and down her back.

Before you could offer more get to words, that’s when you hear the muffled yelling. A slamming of a door. Multiple feet stomping against the thin floor of the trailer. Feeling each step shake the floor underneath your knees. Colorful profanities painting the air.

You can feel her trembling in your embrace.

“Shh, it’s okay. They won’t get you in here.” You whispered, pulling back to look at her. Her eyes are trained on the door, almost too scared to look away. As if the moment she did, that’s when the monstrous entities outside the door would strike. You look to the empty crib behind her, then back to her. A sharp sting hitting your chest once more.

“Hey, where’s Jason? Is he out there?” You asked, gently probing but not wanting to add to her distress.

She nods.

“Okay,” you give a weak smile, “I’ll go get him. You just stay here and curl up under the blankets, okay? I promise I’ll be right back.”

With a tender touch, you cup her cheek. Your thumb moving to wipe away a stray tear. A small nod and you’re up, turning to face the door.

The yelling is getting louder the closer you get to it. Just as your hand touches the cool metal of the doorknob, a slap could be heard. Promptly followed by the deep rumble of a strange male’s voice. You can pick out your mother’s own rebuttal. A shrill drunken shriek compared to low slurred timbre of the male’s voice. A baby cries.

Jason.

The bitter anger swells up inside your chest. Determination carves itself into your face. You glare at the door and what waits on the other side. Gritting your teeth, you fling the flimsy piece of wood open and charge.

Some force shoves you back, just as roughly as you had charged. Causing you to fall backwards. You land on your ass with a grunt. All you can see is white, briefly blinding you. Your eyes blink rapidly to try and adjust to the sudden change. The dim lighting of the trailer had been switched to that of midday. You hear traffic before you see it and feel the motion of movement without physically moving. Your vision slowly creeps into focus. Hands frantically reaching out and grasping for what’s underneath you. The touch of cracking leather greets your fingertips. It takes a minute for you to register where you are.

A car. You’re in a car now? Shoved into the backseat with someone in the driver’s seat. The environment outside the speeding car is just a blur. You were moving fast. Just as you were about to yell at the driver to slow the fuck down, you see him.

“Jason?” You call out his name, looking to meet his in the rear view mirror.

Only he’s not quite right. His face is slightly blurred and proportions just a bit off. Is the nose a bit too big? Or are the eyes just a touch too far apart? You couldn’t tell. He just looked… off. It’s almost like your brain can’t fully recollect what he looks like.

Have you already forgotten what your own brother looks like?

The man who resembles your deceased brother smiles back at you through the mirror. You watch his lips speak your name, but the voice is muffled. Unclear and distorted. Before you can say anything else to him, your eyes snap to the traffic in front of you. A stop light lies up ahead, and the car is approaching it quickly.

“Jason, slow down! You’re not gonna make it.” You try to warn him, already knowing what’s about to happen.

He doesn’t.

“Jason!” You yell, trying to snap his attention back to driving. His eyes just continue to stare at you through the mirror, not paying attention to the now red light.

“JASON!” You scream once more, this time at the top of your lungs. Only now it feels like you’re screaming under water. Distorted, suppressed. Muted.

The car enters the intersection.

You lunged forward to try and grab the wheel. Your hand can barely grasp the worn leather of the steering wheel when movement just outside the driver’s side window catches your attention.

“Jason—!” Is all your muted voice can yell before your whole body is rocked to the side. Forcing your side to slam against the passenger seat. The sound of glass breaking and tires screeching pierces your ears. It’s all you can hear as everything turns black.

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