Princess is Fine @princessisfinethx - Tumblr Blog

Jul 5

Soulmate (n.) – a person ideally suited as a close friend or partner, with whom one has a unique, deep connection based on mutual understanding and acceptance.

~ Word count: 11,832 - Tw: self harm, suicide talk, death and murder, torture, angst with comfort I promise. ~

Fate was a sick bitch. A hopeless romantic, sure. But she was plenty cruel as well.

Everyone has a soulmate, as it is destined for everyone. It starts from age 5 with the initials. Your soulmate’s first and last name initials appear somewhere random on your body and your soulmate will have the matching placement but with your initials. But then, immediately, you begin to feel the things that your one true pairing can feel.

Fear from them is a spike of hairs on your neck. Sadness from them, a depression deep in your chest. But it goes beyond emotion as well. Soulmates can feel physical happenings as well. The most common thing that every soulmate can remember or feel often is pain. Unlike emotions, where you feel the soft tingle of what they might feel, pain is always fully fledged out for your soulmate.

You might be able to see where this would be a problem for children. A little girl cries because her stomach felt like it got kicked in. A young boy is angry because his arm felt like it was scratched by a cat. For those who have soulmates in abusive households, things can become very dark and upsetting. Parents are unable to do anything but help their child when they get a black eye or a sliced lip. The wounds never stayed, luckily for most. Instead of scars, what looked like faint birthmarks would appear instead. Reminders.

In your case, well, you really wished your soulmate died.

From the moment you turned 5 or 6, you were in constant hell. It was obvious to the officials that you would need to be watched over by hospital staff. There was a specific unit in the hospital that took care of cases like you. The constant gashes and wounds, the bullet holes that showed up as you grew older, they were constant. They did calm down eventually; you were 18 when it did. But the painful reminders were there. Therapy was every two weeks, and it helped a little bit.

But resentment persisted. You hated your soulmate, whoever it was. You’ve read endlessly that soulmate meet-ups were magical and heartwarming. You’ve seen the videos of people accidentally recording their first time meeting, and ones where people spoke online and met in real life to see if they found their person. And they were inspiring, really. But you couldn’t imagine your meeting this person to be as happily ever after as all these videos made them seem.

If you ever met him, this S.R., you’d punch him for all the things he’s put you through.

You can’t say you haven’t tried to hurt him back.

Stupid, you realized now. A moment of anger (or weakness) that you knew wasn’t rational. You stole a knife from the kitchen and stormed to the sink. Frustration bubbled up inside of you. You were just so tired-

And you gasped when the knife went through your palm, just like that. The knife fell from your hand and you remembered being bought to the hospital once again, put on suicide watch for two weeks. That was pretty miserable too.

You missed the sting of a blade across the back of your thumb. You never noticed it while you were recovering. The silent reply.

A few more years down the line, the occasional gut punch, right hook to the face. No more bullet wounds, lucky you. Sometimes you got a slice on your hand or finger. But nothing as brutal as when you and your soulmate were younger…

Sometimes, you could still feel the hook in your spine, pulling as if holding you up. The sharp tang of metal invaded your tongue and you felt nauseous every time. The feeling of having your fingernails torn off. The memory of crying and screaming at the doctors to kill you. A weight on your chest – you were sure that your soulmate nearly suffocated.

Breathe. Breathe.

Shake it out. It’s over with now.

Breathe.

“Are you listening?” Your therapist tilted her head as she watched you blink in surprise. “I said, I think you should take your summer vacation out of the city.” She looked at her computer. “You haven’t left the city since you were born. Besides the occasional family vacations-“

“That were cut short.” You interrupted and then cleared your throat. “They never really felt like vacations.”

She nodded. “I know. I know.” She looked down at her desk and then at the window. “But you’re an adult now. Without your parents’ restraint, and your soulmate not causing you so much trouble anymore. You should begin a new chapter.” She stood up and opened her drawer. She pulled out a brand-new notebook and a pen. It was a set that came with a sticky notepad. “I’m giving you an assignment. Brand new notebook, new pen. A new start.”

She handed them to you, and you looked over the items quizzically. You briefly looked over your hands, looking at the many little birthmark scars, many referred to them as soul scars. The only real scar was the one on your left hand. Your self-inflicted wound. “Am I supposed to start writing a diary?”

“You could think of it like that. But inside, I wrote some prompts. Questions for you to ask yourself and reflect on.” She sat back down across from you. “Some of these questions might be hard for you. Answer them on your own time. And at the end there are some blank pages. For notes, jotting down feelings or thoughts.”

You rolled your eyes as you looked away. “A diary.”

She sighed but put on a smile. “You’re making progress. I see it every time we meet up. And I want you to push through this barrier. Healing from trauma isn’t a goal. There’s never really an end to it because it’ll always be there. Like the soul scars on your body for example. You can’t wash them away, you can’t hide it with clothes.” You felt your hands grip the jeans on your thighs. “But, you can learn to accept that they are there to stay.”

You nodded along. It made sense, of course it did. Your brows raised a little in surprise at her words. “I just…” You shrugged. “I guess you’re right. But what if I ever meet him?”

“It may not seem like it, but soulmates click when they meet. Pain and misery subsides for a few minutes when your body feels that connection finally clicking. What you do next is up to you or your future soulmate.”

You knew you shouldn’t have asked. It made you kind of sick when she got all…soft about soulmates.

She had hers, after all.

“Alright. That concludes our session today.” She went to her computer and typed a few things. “Vacation. I want photos, I want you to at least answer five prompts or write five days of feelings.”

“Yes ma’am.” You stood up and tucked the notebook away in your satchel bag. “I’ll try to do just that.”

She walked you out of the office, wishing you a good summer break. College just let out so you have the free time.

Maybe a vacation didn’t sound so bad.

You packed, called ahead to a cabin rental deep in the woods and just waited for the weekend. Some days later, you were standing in the kitchen with your mom and dad, your mom smiling at the thought of you taking a ‘vacation for yourself. “Oh, that sounds so nice dearie. You could roast marshmallows and read books and swim in the lakes nearby.”

Your dad’s brow twitched. “But you really want to go alone? I mean, if you told us before, we could have planned a family trip together-“

You shake your head. “No no. I’ll be fine dad. Really.” You gave them both a soft smile. “My therapist said it might be good for me if I went by myself.” You rolled your eyes and your mom immediately caught on to what you actually thought. “Said it would be a good way to start a new chapter for myself.”

“Uh huh.” Your mom put her hands on her hips. “Well tell us what you think first.” She came up to you and gently took your hands in hers. “What do you think about the whole thing? Is it worth it, do you think? Do you think you’ll like it?”

You smiled a little. Leave it to your mom to be your biggest supporter. She always had your back, always asked your opinion. She told you once that you were born with a different gaze, seeing more than what she or your father could. She loved you half to death and she made sure you knew that.

“I think, she might be trying to get rid of me for a while.” You shrugged. “But I also think this might be good for me too. Some me time, self discovery, you know as all the youngsters say.” You chuckled and pat your mom’s hands before letting them go. “Maybe I’ll find out that I love wrestling with bears and fishing with my teeth and I’ll live out the rest of my days as a wild woods creature.”

Your father laughed nervously. “Ah…I hope not.” He got a soft jab in the ribs and he laughed again. “I’m just saying that I want my Babygirl here with us! But, I won’t restrain you either.” He walked up to you and kissed the top of your head. “If you think you’ll be okay on your own. I won’t worry about you too much.”

Your mom joined in, squeezing you into her and your father in one big group hug. “Oh my little girl, growing up too fast.” She fake sniffled. “You’re like twenty-something and in college. But you’ll always be our sarcastic little ten-year-old.”

You may have had a painful soulmate experience, but you were damn lucky to have parents that loved you so much.

As you got into your car and punched in the coordinates for the cabin, you felt claw marks across your forearm and then your face. You hissed and covered your cheek, quickly pulling down the visor mirror to check yourself. Four claw marks across your face went down your cheek, not enough to bleed, luckily. On your forearm was the same. A sigh left your lips and you put your car in drive. “I swear, sometimes I think he’s a serial killer or something.” You laughed so softly and began to drive.

The cabin was actually really nice, small, but cozy. It was some corporation owned website that you booked on, so you didn’t have a host to welcome you inside. But the cabin was small enough that you couldn’t get lost.

There was a patio, two large windows that showed the inside. There was some outside furniture, a rocking chair and some sofa looking chairs that you were sure had to be soaked from the rain. Or at least moldy on the inside. The outside wasn’t decorated too much but the inside was. With a taxidermy deer, a few taxidermy ducks, pictures hanging that framed old black and white photos of people standing proudly by some deer or bear that they killed. Not all of it was hunter themed, as there were some photos of places you didn’t recognize. Miners in tunnels, tipping their hats toward the cameraman with weary smiles.

Besides the various framed photos, the furniture was comfortable looking as well. A deep burgundy couch with heavy looking blankets on the back of it. Decorative pillows with moose or bear on the fronts and a few plaid patterns as the backgrounds. There was a very old tv, you could tell because of the box that hung onto the back and the antenna that sat atop of it.

Various candles and incense items were hidden below the coffee table, and you took out the one you liked the most and let its fragrance lift about the room.

The kitchen was quaint, with a more up to date stove, a thin fridge, and a deep sink with a dish rack on the side. You checked the cabinets and fridge and found that there was food already inside. A note on the shelf of the fridge informed tenants that foods were restocked for customers at free of charge. “That’s sweet.” You mumbled while putting the note back.

You ventured down the hallway and found the bathroom, simple green and white tiles with some blues. A toilet, shower and bathtub, and a cabinet full of towels and wash rags. You moved on and finally found the bedroom. A queen-sized mattress, made up with dark grey sheets hidden beneath the deep green and brown quilt patterns of blankets. You ran your fingers along the zig-zag quilt square and sat on the edge of the bed. The pillows looked fluffy. Above the pillows, dozens of fake vines hung across the wall and onto the ceiling. Upon further inspection, you find that they were fairy lights.

The room was big enough; you were kind of upset that you only got four days to live here. In this room, there was another tv only this time it was a tiny flat screen.

You laid back across the bed and closed your eyes, letting your arms spread across the mattress.

Breathe.

It was finally time to relax.

Let your guard down, just a little bit.

Simon tilted his head, watching you slowly spread out across the bed. You stood up and began walking around the cabin once again. Cute little thing, he thought to himself. He was hunting along the trail when he heard a vehicle. No cars were allowed through this road unless they were renting out the retreaters' cabin. So, of course, he had become curious.

He watched you as you unloaded your bag from the pickup truck and got settled inside. Usually, he would go and greet himself to appear friendly. It got visitors to trust him. He’d offer to fix any broken sinks or light fixtures (that would be caused by him.) And give a sense of comfort.

It was a hoax, of course.

Simon had been using these woods as a hunting ground for years now. It was animals at first, but he needed something more. A challenge. He could kill deer and buck with his throwing knives, for sure. But then he found he could also hunt people. And they seemed to put up much more of a fight.

The indomitable human spirit, as the folks would say.

A couple of snobby hippie hikers go missing here and there, but mainly, he would find the homeless who scout the woods to leave filth and shoot up on crack. He was doing the forest a favor, if he was being honest. It was the thrill of the hunt that he was after. A new challenge with every person that stepped foot.

He didn’t hunt down ‘every’ person that came through the woods, he wasn’t trying to get caught by investigators. He had a system. And as impossible as it seemed, he had morals too. No killing families, no killing children, no taking of valuables; anything that keeps him in the green zone.

He licked his lips as he tracked you around the house. You walked back into the bedroom and he slowly walked around the cabin to follow. You were a sight, too. There’s never been a woman out in the cabin by herself.

He clicked his tongue as he thought of his plans to introduce himself. Maybe he could swoon you into sleeping with him. He’s had plenty of women swoon or flirt with him -in front of their own soulmates if you could believe it – and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the confidence boost every time. Plus, you didn’t look like the type to pollute the forest, you didn’t look like you were here to cause trouble.

Before he made his way to the front door, however, you began to strip off your clothes.

Well. Maybe he might just stay and enjoy the show instead. Just for a few minutes.

You walked over to the mirror in the bedroom and slowly stripped off your shirt, then your pants. Simon had carefully stalked closer to the window to get a better look at you.

But something suddenly itched. His skin tingled and he brushed it off around his wrist area. You did the same, looking down at your wrist and itching at it.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

S.R. Clear as day printed on your wrist, right where his own little mark was placed. His eyes widened momentarily, but he growled and shook his head. “Fuckin’ lunatic.” He whispered to himself. There’s an infinite number of people with the same letters as him. So what if she had them? Didn’t prove anything.

Although…

Those scars. Soul scars as people called them, looked familiar as well. He looked over your body, his arousal forgotten as trained eyes searched your body. You turned in the mirror, and his eyes landed on the large soul scar in the middle of your back, along with the many that lined the expanse of your skin.

No.

Simon pulled out his knife but his eyes kept trained on you through your window. He held up his forearm and suddenly sliced across it.

And you jumped with a hiss, holding your arm up. An exact cut along your forearm.

He nearly dropped his knife, looking down at the two letters that plagued his wrist then up at you. Oblivious, you walked to the bathroom with a calm expression, mumbling something he couldn’t hear.

Fuck.

Fuck!

He slinked back into the darkness of the woods and made a beeline for his home. This shouldn’t be happening to him. Not now of all fucking times. His soulmate was here on his hunting grounds.

Anger coursed through him, then frustration. Questions plagued his mind as he slammed the door of his house closed. What brought you here? Why now? What was he going to do?

What was he going to do with you…

The wound on your forearm finally stopped bleeding. By tomorrow, it would become a faint off colored mark on your skin. Added to the collection. You took this time to take a shower, change into your barely-there pajamas and go to sleep.

You realized that the curtains of your bedroom were open. A snort left your lips. “Wonder if any weirdos were watching me out there.” You walked to the large windows and closed the curtains. Briefly however, you did shiver at the thought of some creep perving on you. But you shoved it away and reasoned that there shouldn’t be anyone around for miles.

You sighed, climbing into bed finally and sliding into a comfortable spot. You took out the book you started reading, some dark romance with way too many crazy sex scenes, and continued reading from where you left off. But hours later, you had drifted off to sleep, the book in your hand landing on your chest as you fell limp.

Unbeknownst of the man watching you from the hallway.

Simon was glad he waited. He came back and easily broke into the cabin, and watched as you drifted off to sleep. Cute, he thought once again.

You had been asleep for about twenty minutes, so Simon came into the room. He was an imposter, a large, darkly dressed man with tactical gear and too many scars to count, standing in a room that looked like it was pulled out of a pinterest girl’s wet dream. Not that Simon knew what Pinterest even was. But he knew he didn’t belong in here.

The skull mask he was wearing pretty much sold that idea as well.

He calmly walked around your bed, combat boots quiet and measured. Your body was spread out in the bed, the fairy vine lights hanging above you cast a warm glow across your features. He knelt down and took it all in. Your messy hair, your lashes as they fluttered, your parted lips as you breathed softly.

His gaze moved down, glancing over the filthy novel and snorting quietly. But then his eyes landed on your wrist. Face down over the book. He reached out and turned it over, gazing at the initials printed over your skin in dark ink. And he looked at his own mark, as if comparing them.

You were younger than him, he could tell. It made him grimace when he started thinking about it. How old were you when he was captured and tortured? He could guess you were in your early 20’s, so doing the math… you were only a kid when you had to endure what he went through.

Simon briefly became furious, for you of course. How could fate do this to you? Pairing you to him, at such a young age? He carefully brought your wrist to his face and kept staring at the letters. You probably hated him.

But of course, he could argue that he didn’t purposely put you through that hell. He had to experience it first hand. Simon was captured, tortured, beaten, starved, assaulted, nearly killed plenty of times. He had no one. But you? You probably had medical personnel by your side, treating your wounds and helping you through your trauma.

He scoffed then, getting a little jealous. But he shook the whole idea out of his mind for now.

He had to ignore it. Otherwise, he would leave you and never come back from guilt. That’s what he should be doing, right? No matter what fate says, there’s no way in hell that you were meant for him.

More importantly, there’s no way he was meant for you.

The thrumming in his chest said otherwise. An invisible pull, a string that kept tugging him closer, that’s what it felt like. You shifted in your sleep, your arm pushing closer to him as you shifted your legs beneath the blankets. He stared at your unconscious form, then lifted the bottom of his mask. He took your wrist and brought it up to his lips.

The smell of your lotion hit first, and he closed his eyes. ‘Focus Riley, don’t get hard.’ But damnit did you smell so good. And then he pressed his lips against your skin. Soft, delicate skin. It made his cock twitch, and he laughed out of frustration. ‘Traitor.’ But he pressed another soft, slow kiss against your wrist, below the letters of his name. He didn’t want to touch the letters that cursed you.

He still hasn’t decided how he wants to play this. He’ll have to introduce himself at some point. Maybe he could pretend to be someone else…

“What to do, what to do, sweetheart…” He mumbled as he stood up. But before he left, he pushed some of your hair out of your face, turned off the fairy lights, and moved your book aside.

He was still half hard, but he ignored it for now. He’s heard somewhere it can be a natural reaction when you’ve found your soulmate. He didn’t read up on those articles too much, but he did like to eavesdrop when he was in town.

He quietly left your room and went into your kitchen, bending down and tightening a screw under the sink. This would make it so the water wouldn’t come out. His back up plan for when he finally introduced himself to you.

But you’d let him into the cabin for a cup of tea wouldn’t you?

You’d probably get a good feeling about him when you first meet him tomorrow.

The rays of sunlight fell perfectly between the curtains to blind you as you woke up. A sleepy laugh left your lips while you fought with yourself to get up. But you realized you didn’t have to struggle too long. You felt really good today for some reason, like you wanted to smile at the sunrise and dance around in the kitchen.

Which you did after putting on your music from a favorite playlist.

You giggled and made coffee but found that the sink wouldn’t turn on. Well, your dad taught you a lot about house work, so you opened the bottom and checked it out. Sure enough after some testing, you found that one of the screws was put on too tightly. Probably something they did to keep the water bill from running. You shrugged it off and continued your rainbows and sunshine morning-

Then you paused to rest and quietly questioned what was wrong with you. Because this wasn’t normal for you. You would usually wake up, think about sleeping in some more, sleep some more (by accident probably) wake up again with body aches, before you’re finally forced out of bed because of your bladder. Of course some days are different than others.

So what made today different? You didn’t eat anything new or different, you don’t think you inhaled any happy gas. Though, who would really know if they ‘did’ inhale happy gas? What even is happy gas?- Not important. But maybe you were overthinking. Today you were just happy and you didn’t want that to stop. So you brushed off any negative thoughts and made your coffee.

Some hours passed, now nearing 1 or 2 in the afternoon when you get a knock at the door. You’re confused and albeit a little scared. So with a knife clutched in your hand behind you, you peak through the blinds and see a man. He’s kind of tall, blonde buzzcut hair hidden behind a ballcap. There’s a little bit of stubble on his jaw as well. He was wearing a mask however, which was odd. A mask out in the woods?

His clothes seemed almost ‘too’ normal, blue jeans, hiking shoes, and a dark green long sleeve t-shirt. But he had a bulky looking utility belt around his hips with a pair of leather construction gloves hanging at his side. Something felt weird about this guy. But you cracked the door open with the chain lock still attached. “Hello?”

“Hello?” Your voice called his attention back to the front door. Simon looked at you and crinkled his eyes for a second to make it look like he gave you a smile.

“Afternoon. I’m the maintenance man for the cabin.” He cleared his throat. “I forgot to leave my number for the cabin the last time I fixed the pipes. Came to leave it with the renters this week.” And he held up a little rectangular card.

You stare at it, seeing the number scribbled as well as the word ‘MAINTENANCE’ above it. You look back up at him. “What’s your name?”

Simon blinked, then easily lied. “John.”

“John?” You nodded slowly. “You don’t look like a John.”

This made him smirk from behind his mask, though you couldn’t see it. “That so? I don’t think anyone has the gull to tell me somethin’ like that to my face.” He looked up at the door, then back down to you. “Guess they still don’t.”

You blushed suddenly. “That was rude, wasn’t it? I’m sorry, I um-“

“It’s fine sweetheart, wasn’t tryin’ guilt you.” He chuckled.

Simon was fighting inner demons. Seeing you get flustered because of him? Gods above, he didn’t realize this would be so hard.

“Before I leave, if you’re comfortable with it, would you mind me checkin’ the water heater and the kitchen sink inside? Just wanna make sure they didn’t kick off again.”

You looked away, looking around at something he couldn’t see past the door, then closed it. Simon raised his eyebrows until the door opened all the way without the lock keeping it closed. “Yeah, come on in.” You walked over into the kitchen as he followed inside and closed the door behind him. From the corner of his eye, he could see you putting a knife back into its block. And his member twitched at the idea of you hiding behind the door with it. He sharply bit his tongue, maybe too hard because you then gasped and covered your mouth. “You okay?” He asked.

“I’m fine. Soulmate just, bit his tongue I guess.” You sounded more like you weren’t sure, rubbing your bottom lip.

Simon walked down the hall, opening a closet door and looking over the large water heater. You shuffled over to watch, and he smiled at how much smaller you were when he was standing next to you. “Soulmate runnin’ round tryin to hurt you?” He asked while he pretended to mess with one of the meters.

“Oh, well, no I don’t think he does it on purpose. God I hope not. I’ve never met him anyways.” You sighed, not paying attention to what he was doing. Simon closed the closet and looked at you.

“Heater looks fine. Has the sink given you trouble yet?”

You lead him over to the kitchen sink while speaking. “The tap underneath was screwed on too tightly this morning, but I managed to loosen it.”

He raised his brows for the second time today. “Smart girl.” He got down to his knees and opened the cabinet, peering inside. Suddenly Simon felt a wave of arousal run through him and he shivered a little. Looking up at you, you were turning your head away while rubbing your cheek, your ears tinted a red hue. ‘Were you getting turned on from him kneeling in the kitchen?’ He suddenly chuckled, unable to help himself. When you looked at him, he shook his head. “Sorry sorry, wasn’t laughin at you sweetheart. Laughin at this old pipe system. Owners don’t wanna put in the money for a new one.” He touched where he had tightened a bolt last night, still impressed that you knew how to do that.

“Have you met your soulmate yet, Mr. John?”

Simon almost hit his head on the cabinet and looked up at you. “Please, just John is fine. And uh, no I haven’t.”

“How old are you?”

“41.”

Your lips pressed together. “You’ve been waiting a while then.”

He stares up at you still, watching your lips, then your hands where they crossed over your chest. “Yeah.” He stood up, fingers tapping the kitchen counter. “Don’t mind it though.”

Surprise crossed your features. “You don’t?” Simon shrugged. “You’re the first, I think.”

He smiled a little. “Don’t know if I ever wanted my soulmate to meet me. I’m too old now.”

You smiled, and Simon’s heart skipped. Why did you have to be so pretty? “Don’t say that. There’s been records of people older than you meeting their soulmate.”

He licked his lips from behind his mask. Then he tilted his head a little. “You wanna meet yours then? You’re young, I’m sure you do.”

You had shifted and shrugged. “That’s a tricky question. Because I do want to meet him, but not for the same reason others do.” A sigh blew from your lips. “My soulmate has been through a lot of pain, real life pain. And I had to suffer half of it. And I’m afraid-”

“Afraid of him?”

“I’m afraid that I’ll hate him.”

You weren’t sure why you were spilling this out to this poor maintenance man. It felt right, the words flowing easier than when you were with your therapist. You were sure he didn’t want to be here listening to you ranting. But he was staring at you, as if he was studying you. He wasn’t showing any signs of unease.

“It’s just- I shouldn’t be angry at him for the terrible things he’s endured, right? But at the same time, they messed me up too!” Your hand went to your wrist, rubbing the letters in your skin. You didn’t notice ‘John’ clenching his own fist. “I’m not worried that he’s going to be a maniac. Although, at this rate, with how many soul scars I get from him, you’d think he was either a masochist or a murderer!”

John coughed suddenly and you held your hands up, apologizing softly. “No no love, I’m fine don’t worry.” He then pointed to the stove. “Would you mind if I made myself some tea?”

“Oh god- no no I’ll make some for you. No manners, I’m sorry.” You apologized once again and began walking around the kitchen to put a kettle boiling on the stove. “I’m sorry, I’ve been rambling like a mad man.” You remembered also that this man was a stranger. You looked up at John and your brows furrowed. “You’re not a murderer, are you?”

He chuckled then. “Me? No.” He glanced away, then looked at you. “Unless you count hunting as murder.”

You felt another smile tug at your lips. “I’m not keen on hunting, but I’m not against it either.”

“You ever wanna try it?” He crossed his arms, making the muscles under his longsleeve bulge out just a little. You felt heat pooling in your stomach and your face felt hot again.

‘What the hell is WRONG with you? Pull it together girl!’ You swallowed. “Kind of but I don’t know if I would want to use a gun.”

John shifted and stepped a little closer to you, his head tilted down to look at you. “Don’t have to use a gun.” You could smell his cologne, or was it body wash? It was something musky, mixed with something generic like Mahogony or sandalwood and it was making your head spin. “Could use a knife.” He glanced at the kitchen block that had the various types of knives and you did as well. You remembered the one you were hiding behind your back when he first arrived and it made you swallow nervously. His voice was lower when he spoke again. “But then you’d have to get real close to what you’re hunting. That can be too personal.”

He tilted his head, studying you. Testing you. “Think you can handle that? Do you think you could sneak up on your prey, knife in hand, and take its life while it’s unaware?”

Why was he so close? You could almost feel the heat his body gave off, you almost felt his breath from where it escaped behind his mask. But you didn’t look away, you weren’t going to act shy. This man was dangerous, and you knew that now. “What, you don’t think I could?” You were mentally proud of yourself from how solid your voice had stayed.

You could see his cheek twitch almost into a smile. His eyes danced between your eyes and your lips. “I think anyone could, given the right situation.”

The right situation?

His phone started to chime and he stood up straight, turning and taking his phone out of his side clip. He put the phone to his ear, grunted into the speaker, then turned to you while hanging up the call. “Maintenance call at another cabin.” He turned and started walking to the door, pausing and looking back at you. “Thank you for the tea.” And he left through the door quickly.

You brows furrowed, looking at the pot of water that only just started to boil.

After you put away the tea pot and made yourself lunch, you put on a tv show and rested on the couch, deciding that tomorrow you would go and check out the lake or maybe go and pick a few wild berries. There was a brochure left on the counter about the right and wrong berries to pick, as well as a little map that lead from the cabin, around the area, and back. You had briefly flipped through it and thought it wouldn’t hurt. Plus, you had John’s number. So maybe if you got lost you could give him a call?

You shook the idea out of your head. You shouldn’t think like that. When people are waiting to meet their soulmates, some never date until then. Some stay celibate too. A lot of the older generations see it like marriage, to wait for your soulmate. But in recent years, younger generations have accepted that it’s okay to date before meeting your soulmate, because they know that it possibly won’t be temporary. The only circumstances that would lead to someone not ending up with their soulmate is if one of them dies before they meet them.

You shiver at the idea. Apparently, you can feel when your soulmate dies. People say it’s the worst thing on earth. Many people don’t date after their soulmate dies. But in cases where a person never met their one true love before they died, they found it easier to move on. Still, there’s a sting. An empty pit in their chest. People say that it can feel like you’re one breath away from never breathing again. Or, like you have to manually push yourself to move otherwise you might just linger. Waiting.

Lost.

Depression doesn’t begin to describe it, and you have to try and force your brain out of the train of thoughts. So turn the tv up louder and focus on the plot there. But soon, you fall asleep.

When you woke up, it was dark outside. And you thought the increasing pounding noise was coming from the tv, but it continued. Then the screaming from outside sounded and you jumped off the couch.

Walking quickly towards the front of the cabin, you see an older woman banging her fists against the front door. She was dirty, bloodied, crying and screaming. It made the hairs on your body stand on end. You debated letting her in but you hesitated. Ultimately, you let her inside. She ran in and closed and locked the door. “Thank you!” She turned to you and sobbed, holding your arm. “He’s after me! He killed my boyfriend a-and he’s trying to kill me next!”

Your blood felt like it ran cold. You helped her to the living room and calmed her down as best as you could. “Okay, I’m gonna call the police. Can you tell me what happened? What’s your name?” You knew you were asking her too many questions. You had to swallow the lump in your throat to calm down a little. You noticed an odd strong scent coming off of her, as well as sores around her arms that didn’t look new. The same sores were around her face too.

The woman nodded, whimpering. “Meg. I-I- we, my boyfriend and I were hiking. We hike plenty of woods and w-we found this location. So we just found a trail and began to walk it. But we got lost.” She sniffs as she tried to get her words out without stuttering. “And we found this old cabin not far from here. We went to ask for help but the man that lives there, he’s a murderer!”

You stare at her, but she doesn’t continue. “Okay, okay calm down, let me find my phone and then-“

“Wait.” She was staring at your arms. Her hands were still shaking as she gripped your wrists. She was looking down at your wrists, at the letters. “Oh my god.” You tried to pull your hands away but her eyes snapped up to look at you. “You! You liar!” She shoved you away suddenly, causing you to stumble and fall to the floor. You watched her as she ran to the kitchen and you sat up.

“Lady- Meg! What the hell?!” She stood at the kitchen entrance, gripping the same knife you were holding earlier today. “Whoa! Stop! Please I just want to help! Let me get my phone and I’ll call the police, please!”

“The fuck you are!” She was breathing heavily, clutching the knife with both hands. “What’s your name? Tell me your fucking name right now!” You swallowed but said your name. Her eyes looked like they glazed over. “You’re with him…he killed my soulmate, you sick fuck!” She started to stomp after you and you grabbed one of the candles from the coffee table.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” You yelled, dread filling your chest as she got closer.

There was a hard kick at the door, then another. Both of you stare at the door until it was kicked in and a large body stepped through the shattered door. Your fear of being butchered was replaced by the terror that this man flooded the room with. You felt Meg grab your shoulder and you leaned back into her touch, not realizing she was now holding the knife up to your throat. “I-is that him?” You whispered.

Meg gripped your shirt and then pressed the knife closer to your throat. “Don’t! Don’t come any closer!”

[Urban Operations outfit, more or less.] The man in question was dressed to be hidden. Dark clothes, camo gear that looked military. Combat boots, dark jean pants and a vest that seemed to be riddled with extra weapons. However, what really made you stare was the mask. Under the hood of his jacket, he was wearing a full-face mask of what seemed to be a skull. It was a human skull, and it looked real.

You couldn’t see his eyes, it was too dark. But you could feel him staring and assessing. Meg whimpered. “Let me go! I know she’s yours and I’ll let her go if you don’t kill me!”

“What are you saying!?” You shifted in her grip. “I’m not his! I don’t know this lunatic!” You were so confused and horrified. You realized you were still holding the candle in your hand, the glass jar weighed heavy in your grasp. “Meg please, let’s-“

“Shut up!” She hissed. “No…no- you know what? I’m not going to let him win. He killed ‘my’ soulmate, he took him away, and I can take away ‘yours’.” She was glaring at the masked man who had said nothing, nor did he move from his spot. The knife went up to your throat again, pressing harder. “I can still feel the pain in my head!” She nearly sobbed. “So now you can live the rest of your life with the burning at your neck-“

You slammed the candle straight into her face, up against her nose. She made a grunting choked sound and you pushed the hand away that was holding the knife while crawling away from her hold. She roared, taking a step towards you until there was a knife suddenly lodged in her head. Another one followed, and she fell to the floor on her knees before falling back against the wall behind her. You slowly looked at the man, seeing his arm slowly falling back into place at his side.

You were breathing heavily, eyes going back to the unmoving woman while blood trickled down her face. The knife she was holding was on the ground in front of you, but you knew the man had fucking throwing knives and could lodge one into you right now. Just as you thought of reaching for it, the man walked calmly across the living room towards the dead woman. He kicked the knife away from you, then knelt down in front of her. You couldn’t see it, but you heard him dislodging the knives out of her head and you gagged at the sound.

The man chuckled darkly, making your skin prickle with fear. He was standing and turning towards you, wiping his knives off on his pants. You backed away until you were pressed against the other side of the living room wall. You were closer to the tv that you could possibly block yourself behind it, but what if he used it to kill you? The tv was large, he could probably drop it on you. Or use the wire to wrap around your neck…

Now that you think about it, the killer could probably just kill you with his bare hands. He had gloves on with skeleton fingers printed on the backs of them. How poetic, you thought bitterly. He could strangle you and death would be hoisting you up with the same type of hands. You were going to die here, realistically.

Tears flooded your eyes, not because you were scared – you were – but because you couldn’t see your parents again. You took this stupid trip because your stupid therapist said it would be good for you. And now you were going to get murdered. You hiccupped, shoulders jumping while you hugged your knees to your chest. “I-…” You wanted to beg for your life, but didn’t you want to die with dignity too?

The man bent down and picked up the candle, some blood on the edge of the cracked glass. He read the scent, then lifted it to his nose and sniffed it. You gagged again and turned your head away. “Still smells like cinnamon. Stop getting sick.” He placed the candle on the coffee table and slowly stepped closer. He finally kneels beside you and taps your knee. “C’mon. Look at me.”

“N-no…”

He sighed. “Please?”

“No.” You shook your head and turned your body away. “If you’re gonna kill me, do it as painless as possib-“

He was grabbing your face, turning your head to look at him. His fingers squished your cheeks and made your lips pucker together. You shook your head and he loosened his grip, but he didn’t let go. “Not gonna kill you.” That made you look at him finally. He pulled his hood off, but the mask covered his whole head. The only thing you could see were his eyes. His gloved hand touched your cheek and he looked down at your arm. “Give me your hand.”

“Why?”

He didn’t ask again this time, reaching down and yanking your hand up. He gazed down at your mark, the letters dark and bold. Then he held up his own wrist, pulling his glove off and pushing his sleeve up. There, your initials were printed in the same style as yours.

You felt like you would get sick again. “No…no that’s-“ But he touched the soul scar on your forearm, interrupting you with a huff.

“Had to make sure when I saw you.” He looked up again, rolling the sleeve up to show the cut on his forearm, now scabbing over. “Sorry. That one was on purpose.”

You were speechless. The words left your brain as the air left your throat. There were so many things you had planned to say to him when you met him. So many ugly, sorrowful, hateful things. Questions too. Questions like, ‘What kind of hell were you dragged through?’ and ‘How are you still alive after what I felt?’

But brand-new questions, new emotions bubble in your head like a stew. And the words were too thick to spit out. Your head was going a million miles a second, nothing could come to your head fast enough.

He seemed to realize this and spoke up for you. “Do you wanna talk about this now, or do you want me to get the dead body out of the house first?”

You threw up instead.

Luckily (for him) the killer jumped out the way with a sharp curse falling from his mouth. You hunched over and whimpered, feeling your stomach lurch again at the memory of the sounds.

“Right. I’ll get it out of here.” He sighed and stood up. “Stay here. I mean it. And go in the room so you don’t have to look at the mess.” His tone was commanding and you looked at him in disgust. He didn’t look back at you as he went over to the dead woman.

“Why did you kill them?” Your tone was not as panicked as before but there was still stress.

The killer bent down, pulling the womans arms above him and then hauling the rest of her body over his shoulder. Blood spilled out onto the floor in puddles and you turned away, shivering at the sounds. Why were you so sensitive to the sounds? Maybe because you never expected to hear something so gruesome in your life.

“Cause, her and her boyfriend were tryin’a break into my house.” He looked back down at you. “They were junkies. Meth heads. They steal what they can to trade it off for drugs.” He rolled his shoulder as he walked out the cabin. “Fuckin’ hate junkies – can still smell the stuff on ‘em.”

He exits. You sit there. Thinking.

This was the worst possible outcome, you think briefly. You had imagined more crying, hurtful words maybe. Possibly even screaming. But this? Vomiting, bloodshed, dead junkies, and masked serial killers…

You were getting the fuck out of here.

You stand and look out the window, seeing the dark figure of the man walking into the woods, just barely lit up by the porch light. You crept towards the front door and watched him disappear further into the woods. Where he was heading, you didn’t care. You didn’t know how long you had, so you picked up your phone and-

It was dead.

“Fuck I am the dumb bitch in horror movies!” You slammed the phone on the ground and went back to the front door. You weren’t completely helpless, you remembered your truck. You grabbed the keys hanging on a little board by the door and rushed out to the truck. You got inside, turning the ignition and nearly cried from relief when it rumbled to life. You looked around, throwing the vehicle in reverse and quickly turning around. You flicked the headlights on and jumped when you saw the killer standing a few feet in front of the truck.

Neither of you moved, and you shivered.

“Get out of the damn truck. Now!” He barked, starting to walk towards you.

You shook your head and quickly shifted the truck into drive. You’ve screamed at too many horror movie protagonists to run over the monster or killer with their car, to make the same mistake as them. You stepped on the gas and the tires threw the dirt up behind you. The vehicle barreled towards the man and you expected him to either jump out the way or just get ran over.

What you didn’t expect was for him to step to the side and grab the bed of the truck as you were driving. In the review mirror, you glimpsed him hauling himself into the bed and quickly crawling closer to the cab of the truck. “Fuck!” You suddenly slammed the breaks and watched his body slam into the window in the back. You felt it as well and groaned, grabbing your head. But you didn’t wait and started driving forward again. You just had to hope that he didn’t try to-

His foot breaks through the back glass and he reached inside. “Pull over right fuckin now!” His arm wasn’t long enough to reach you in the drivers seat since there was a whole back seat as well. He couldn’t reach the doors either.

“Get off my fucking truck!” You jerk the wheel so the truck would turn at hard angles. The man held onto the back, cursing under his breath.

“You’re gonna get us both killed if you keep this up!” He sat back in the bed of the truck and started to kick in more of the window. The glass started to break, and you tried to focus on following the path. You heard the rest of the glass give in and then a huff of aggravation. “Stop the truck right now.” You heard him climbing into the truck in the backseat and suddenly slammed the breaks. The man’s body flew into the radio and dash of the truck. You didn’t put it in park and quickly climbed out. “Damnit- Stop running!”

Your leg hurt, sore from him kicking in everything (the front door and now the back of the window). But you’ll be damned if you stopped running now. You limped/ran straight into the woods. You were now heading back the way of the cabin, but you weren’t positive. You didn’t have your phone so you didn’t have directions. You didn’t even know if you were going North or South, did it even matter? No.

A painful whimper left your throat as you kept running. Your lungs burned and your head was pounding, but adrenaline coursed through your veins. You were so utterly lost. What were you going to do when you got back to the cabin? You’d have to barricade yourself in your room. Make sure you had your phone so you could charge it. You probably won’t have long until that psycho starts to kick down the door like a human battering ram.

You didn’t hear the thudding quick footsteps until it was suddenly right behind you. A scream left your throat as you were tackled to the ground. You wrestled with the masked killer, growling and kicking as he turned you over to face him. “What the hell were you plannin’ back there huh?” He grabbed your wrists and pressed them into the dirt above your head. “Look at me damn it!”

You glared up at him, biting your lip hard to keep the tears from flooding out. His chest was puffing in and out quickly as he regained control of his breathing. You were doing the same.

“Answer me.” His tone held authority. There wasn’t any patience left. “Were you plannin’ on killin’ me? Tell me, what were you gonna do when you ran me over, squished me flat under your tires? Just keep goin’ all rainbows and sunshine? Did you think about the consequences of yourself, and what you would have felt too?” Distress laced his words as if he had been scared.

“I’ve been through worse, and you know it.” You finally answered. Your words made him freeze. Something passed through his gaze while he turned his head to the side to look away from you. For a moment, you regretted your words. But then the memory of that woman came back and you struggled against his grip. “Let go of me! I want to go home!”

“You’re not goin’ anywhere princess.” He was still holding you down, pinning your hands to the soil above your head. “I asked you nicely. I even allowed you to do it yourself, walk to your room and wait for me so we could talk this out. But ‘no’. You had to try and escape as if I had you in fuckin chains and rope.” His voice was low, heated. He leaned down, the skull mask getting closer. “Now I’m gonna give you one last chance. You’re either gonna walk back with me to the cabin, or I’ll carry you like a sack of potatoes over my shoulder. Which is it sweetheart?”

You chose to walk. Though a few times during the trek, you had slowed down and considered running again. Which, your captor - your dreaded soulmate – could tell and steered you forward by grabbing your arm. For a moment, you thought he had growled at you. But then a flash of light cutting through the sky caught your attention, realizing it was just thunder that you heard. Of course it was about to start raining.

Just as the clouds let warm droplets rain down upon you two, you’d both made it to a cabin. It wasn’t the cabin you had rented.

It was a little bigger - wider than it was taller. There was a porch around the cabin but only one chair, a small table on the side with an ash tray sitting atop it. There was a black truck parked out front, a nicer newer model than yours. As you both got closer, you noticed what looked like a bag and some trash laying near the steps. But when you got closer, you gasped at seeing it was the bodies of the couple. Meg and her boyfriend.

The murderer came around you and covered your eyes. But you panicked, thinking he was going to hurt you and tried to push him away. He grunted, using his other arm to wrap around your body and your arms. “Just keep walking. Don’t look at them.” He lead you up the stairs and took back his arm to unlock and open the door. “Didn’t want you pukin’ on my deck.” He muttered.

You were led inside and you slapped his hand away. “Okay - just stop!” Your frenzied tone made him pause, only moving to close the door behind him. “Who are you?”

He stares at you; as if he didn’t have an answer for your question. “Your soulmate.” His low voice answered.

You wanted to pull your hair out in frustration, groaning and then finally shoving your wrist forward. “Your name!”

His eyes followed down to where you offered your wrist. His eyes softened but then darkened in one continuous sequence. Something was going through his mind, swirling behind his eyes.

Your only passage through this man was through his eyes.

He moves forward, slowly taking your hand and leading you to the couch in the living room. It was warm, more worn out than the one in your rented cabin. You followed, maybe shock was wearing you down or fatigue that made you more compliant. He sits across from you on a coffee table, too close that you could smell his sweat and the last cigarette he had.

He doesn’t let you say anything and instead he starts to remove his gear. The vest, jacket, the belt around his hips. He drops them behind him, far from your reach. Finally, his thumb hooks under his mask and he lifts it off his face and his head.

The first thing you think is that this isn’t fair.

This stranger is a murderer. He killed people while sporting a mask and stalked the woods. He jumped on your truck while you were trying to get away (never mind that you were trying to run him over.) And you wanted him to be devastatingly disturbing; anything to match the horrible morality he’s presented thus far. But no.

He was beautiful in a rugged way. He had a hard gaze before, but accompanied with the scars littering his face, it made his stare all the more intense. A broken nose with a large ridge. His lips were thin but they were soft looking when you expected them to be chapped or bitten. His jaw was strong looking, a stubble wrapping around it. Messy, short, dirty blonde hair on his head made you realize he looked oddly familiar.

“John?” Your brows furrowed in utter confusion as your eyes darted to the initials on your wrist.

He smiled. “Simon Riley.”

“Simon.” You repeated with narrowed eyes. "Then why John?" He sniffed and sat up a little, looking away instead of answering. And this made you upset. You had too many thoughts and questions, and you had so much to say! You had a plan for this very moment!

"I wanted to meet you before I fully revealed myself." He started to say, smiling slightly. "I know you probably-" And you punched him across the face, the pain blossoming across your own cheek. But it didn't hurt hard enough. It didn't feel like enough. So you went to punch him again but he caught your fist, then he caught your other hand. He didn't look like he was struggling to hold you back which pissed you off even more. "You'd do something like that." He sighed, watching your face as tears formed in your eyes. "C'mon then, let it out."

"Shut up!" You cried. "Fuck! I just- I didn't want to meet you! Because I knew what would happen! I'd be mad, and I'd be sad and then this fucking bond thing would make me forgive you, and then I would be okay with the shit you put me through!" Your throat was tight, your face was hot with tears. "I don't want to forgive you! Why would the universe do this to us?"

He looked surprised at your choice of word, 'us'.

"Why would they put a kid through the things you went through and then expect me to be okay with it? Why would it make me resent you!" You sobbed. You couldn't look at him. Your chest felt like it was tearing and your body was caving in on itself. "You're supposed to have someone who loves you no matter what but I want to hate you for what you put me through...God! It hurt so much! And I begged them to kill me so often..."

Simon let out a deep breath and squeezed your hands. He moved around you, and you felt him lift you before you were in his lap, sitting sideways while his arms wrapped around you. You couldn't-, wouldn't move for the moment. His chin rested on your head and you could hear his heart beating where your ear pressed to his chest. You thought you could feel something wet hit the top of your head. "Go on." He whispered. "Talk to me, tell me."

You hiccuped/sobbed. You expected him to yell back. Maybe scream about you being selfish. Not this. "I asked them to kill me for the first time when I was 12 or 13, I think. I don't remember the age, but I remember the...knives. When they were in my arms it was tolerable. But then they moved to..." You took a deep breath.

"To my stomach, nearly gutted me alive." He mumbled in your hair. "I was terrified. I thought I would die then, truly. And, I thought for a moment that, at least whoever you were, you'd get some peace of mind."

You had opened your eyes and were staring at his arm where it was holding you close to him. You swallowed and spoke softly. "What happened when um...I could barely breath. The doctors were stuffing me with oxygen tubes and said this might be the one. Where you would die for sure."

You remembered the doctors looking horrified. You remembered the whispered words. Like how one doctor was silently cursing at your soulmate for torturing you like this. And you didn't like that. You thought: what if there was a little kid your age going through this without doctors to help?

Simon hummed, "They buried me alive. I had to use...someone's jawbone to dig myself out. I think I felt the tubes they were puttin' in your lungs."

You didn't feel yourself choking like you thought you would. Every time your mind went to that memory, you could feel yourself about to have a panic attack. But it didn't come this time. Instead, you took a deep filling breath. "And, what was the thing they did to your back?"

"Meat hook." He answered.

"I wanted them to kill me after that, too." You replied. He nodded against your head. "What happened after that?"

Simon's hand was at your arm, his thumb was rubbing against the side of our elbow. "I escaped. I got back to the military and...well I guess I nearly got my brains blown out my skull there. But, after I recovered I couldn't just leave it. The military was all I knew." You understood a little. "I was always jealous of you." He continued. "Never felt anything from you. Just, little emotions. Things I could handle, and I was mad. You must have had a good life, compared to what I had. Then one night I felt it." He moved so he could show you his hand where his soul scar was. He laughed. "Spooked me, but when that happened, I realized you were alive, you were real."

You slowly lifted your own hand, looking at the physical scar on your hand. "Well I was mad at you too. And I guess I wanted you to know that."

"I figured that." He gently took your hand and turned it over, showing you the small cuts he left on your thumb. "Thought you wanted to play a game of tic tac toe or something."

You saw the soul scar there and let out a sharp surprised laugh. You sat up and wiped your eyes before replying. "That's not funny... They put me on suicide watch for two weeks and they took my phone away."

Simon raised a brow at you. "Oh yeah, two weeks without a phone to play on is devastating." He smirked. Then he looked back down at your hand. "I decided to retire a few years later. Desk work was never my thing anyways. So I moved out here and-"

"And you became a serial killer?"

"I wasn't killing everyone I saw." He mumbled again. "But there were certain people who...lost their way, an weren't trying to find their way back. Especially those that came out here to do things that they wouldn't do in front of others." He looked down at you. "Wasn't just drug addicts out here."

You didn't like the thought of that, and you felt yourself cringe a little. You looked back up at him, then looked away again. Now the question remained. "What are we supposed to do?"

~~~

Simon knew the question would come, but he still didn't know how to answer. He watched you, your eyes puffy from crying, cheeks still red. It was like he had an angel in his lap, and he wasn't worthy of it. But he thought that tonight was a lot, for both of you. "Let's get some sleep. We can talk about the rest of this in the morning. I'll cook breakfast and make us some tea."

Your lips twitched and you asked, "No coffee?"

Simon narrowed his eyes, reaching down to lift up your wrist with his initials on it. "You sure this ain't some other bloke's letters?" And that seemed to get another laugh out of you, even if you looked away to try and hide it.

About 30 minutes later, you were both dressed for bed. You were borrowing his pajamas, at least three sizes too big on you. And he liked how it looked. He had to remind himself you could feel what he felt, so he tried to think of other things. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable because he was slightly horny. Though, when he remembered going to the cabin while you were there, and you were checking him out while he was fixing your sink, he decided he gets a pass.

The sleeping situation was settled quickly. He wouldn't let you sleep on the couch, and you didn't want to be alone in the room. So you both took the bed but with a barrier of pillows between you. He didn't mind, and truthfully he was glad that you hadn't kicked him to the couch or tried running again.

The night became quieter, but he knew you hadn't fallen asleep yet. And he had a question. "How do you feel, now?"

Silence. "About you?"

"About the soulmate thing. Does it feel like its making you like me?" He waited in the dark of the room, the crickets and frogs singing outside the window.

"I don't know," you whispered. "I want to believe its the soulmate thing that's making me feel like this. Calmer, not as angry."

Simon stared up at the ceiling. He didn't want you to be angry anymore, he didn't want you to be upset at all. He thought about the things you both shared earlier, then he nodded slightly. "You can still be angry at me. But, I need to teach you how to punch a man properly first." He heard your scoffing and what he hoped had been a snort of laughter. "I felt more pain in your fist than in my face, love."

"I've never had to punch anyone before, can you blame me?"

"No, but I believe you."

"And you're gonna teach me how to hunt too, John?"

Simon smiled, chuckling softly. "I could if you want to learn." He turned his head to look at the little barrier between you both. "John is close friend of mine. He's a good man, was a good leader." He sniffed and looked back up at the ceiling.

"Is that why you used his name instead of yours?"

"Yeah. And, I thought you'd like someone like John more than me." He paused then added, "And i was trying to get to know you in secret."

"Well," You yawned mid sentence. "I don't blame you. After how I reacted I guess."

"You had a right to react how you did. I put you through a lot. Today...and before." Simon spoke softer, his eyes still looking at the pillow wall. Which he was starting to hate.

"Doesn't make it okay." You mumbled. "You went through it too."

Simon shrugged. "Well I'm a veteran, love." He wanted to defend you a little, even though before, he had been somewhat jealous of the support you had growing up. But now? He didn't really care. So what if you had doctors and therapists at the ready? It was what you needed and in the end, you were alive. You stayed, and you were here with him. And he was indebted to the universe that you were still breathing.

He could feel how tired you were, and he sighed. "Get some sleep, I know you're tired." You had hummed in response and he realized you would get sleepier when he spoke. It made him want to laugh again, but he held it in, smiling at the ceiling. "I used to be in a task force. Price- er, John was our captain. There was also Gaz and Soap. Those two were a handful, like brothers. Gaz was a damn good soldier, didn't know how to stay inside a moving heli though." He laughed softly. "Johnny was a chatterbox, but a funny lad. He got a bullet against the head, same as me, took him to retirement earlier than I had. Still doesn't know how to shut up..." He looked over, then carefully lifted his head to look at you.

You were fast asleep, your head turned towards the window, lips parted as your breathing came in and out slowly. Simon watched you for a few moments. Then, he flattened the pillow and moved it lower. He didn't want to remove it completely, he just wanted to see you. With the pillow out the way, he turned on his side so he could watch you for a while. He didn't know for how long, but eventually he had fallen asleep.

A/N: This was 26 pages in Google Docs, lol. I can write some more of this I just don't know when. Apologies to any Megs reading this.

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