"You alright?" Ghost asks with...concern? Wait—
Why does he keep asking me that?
"Yeah," I say quietly.
What do you say after someone you barely know, whom you barely like, finger fucks you?
Ugh, I'm bad at this...
I get up from the couch and put my pants back on.
He's staring again.
I start walking towards my kitchen.
"Coffee?" I ask over my shoulder.
"Tea."
Of course.
I start heating the pot.
A few moments of silence pass.
"You really think you'll be able to handle this mission?" Ghost asks me from across the room.
What did he just ask me?
"Insinuating what? That you don't think I can handle it?" I scoff, already on the defensive.
"I'm not sure if you can," he deadpans.
Excuse me?
"Oh really?" I laugh baffled. "And why not?"
I cross my arms tightly.
"You're sensitive," he puts quite bluntly.
You're sensitive. I feel the words hit me like a slap across the face.
My stepfather used to call me sensitive for crying after he was finished with me.
"Listen I don't need this," I growl. I feel my face getting warm and my body getting tense. "How are you going to finger fuck me and then insult me?" I raise my voice.
I'm losing it.
"This is why I don't think you'll be able to handle it. You can't even handle your own emotions." His voice remains steady, but his tone is harsh—angry.
Piece of shit. He has no idea what I can and cannot handle.
"You started this!" I throw my hands up.
"That doesn't matter. You're reactive, impulsive, and emotional," he growls.
"Fuck you, you fucking asshole!" I yell and storm toward the door but Ghost grabs my arm, halting me.
"Let. Go. Now." I seethe, trying to pull away from him. His grin is too right, and he's too strong.
Panic starts to arise in me.
"Calm down," he says firmly but also softly. He looks me right in the eyes.
Normally his eyes are cold, constantly assessing, but there's a hint of empathy in them now.
He releases my arm.
"Listen. I didn't say that to insult you. I was asking you genuinely. You can't be ignorant of the fact that you struggle to manage your emotions. As a colleague, I'm asking you if you genuinely think you can handle the pressure of this mission. Because if you can't things can go very badly, very quickly,"'Ghost says in earnest.
I-I don't know if I can...shit, he's in my head.
I don't like this.
"You should leave," I say coldly, distantly.
Ghost stands silently.
"I said you should leave," I say a bit louder. Impatience is growing in my tone.
"Breanna," he says my name softly, almost a whisper.
"Leave. Please." My voice breaks a little.
And so he does.
When the door shuts behind him I make my way back to the kitchen, shut off the stove, and lean over the sink.
Turning it on, I splash some cold water on my face.
What am I doing? I never should have practiced with the Lieutenant.
Ghost is a bad idea.
- TIME SKIP -
A few days pass and things between Ghost and I are tense. We've pretty much been avoiding each other; talking only when we need to.
Ghost essentially told me what to train on and sent me on my way.
I hate this. I already struggle socially and now my partner for this mission refuses to engage with me.
It's late at night, around 8:30 PM.
I can't take this anymore. The racing thoughts are consuming me.
I walk outside my quarters and walk directly across to knock on Ghost's door.
I wonder if he'll answer...
Just as I'm about to turn around I hear the sound of a door creaking.
Ghost is standing in his doorway with a tight black t-shirt, grey sweatpants, and only a black balaclava.
He looks good.
Stop it. Focus on the objective, not the objective's body.
"Yes?" He asks skeptically, crossing his large arms.
What am I doing here, actually? I didn't think of a course of action, or what to say. I impulsively rushed over here.
"We aren't finished," I tell him.
"We aren't finished with what?"
"With the other day. You spouted some bullshit and we're not finished," I turn my nose up at him, attempting to assert some semblance of dominance.
Not sure how well that works against the largest man I've ever met.
Ghost lets out a pained sigh and moves to the side, allowing me access to enter his room.
"You're the one who told me to leave..." Ghost rolls his eyes.
We walk inside his quarters. Ghost closes the door behind us.
He starts. "Wha-"
I cut him off.
"How dare you? You don't know me. How can you say that I'm emotional? How can assume that I won't be able to handle the mission? Doubt me?" I cry out.
He looks down at me, his gaze soft.
"I was being honest with you.," he says as gently as he can but that doesn't lessen the blow to my ego.
Goddamit.
I know he's right. But I don't want to accept that.
"You still don't know me. You came to my quarters to "practice", and then when we were finished you all of a sudden were questioning my competency for the mission. Why then?" I ask, flailing my arms awkwardly.
I sound stupid. I feel panicky.
"Breanna," Ghost says my name firmly, almost as if in a warning.
What had I done that could have made him concerned in that moment? Perhaps it wasn't anything I had done. No, perhaps it was something someone told him. Or something he discovered.
Don't tell me...
"You read my file didn't you?" I accuse.
Please say no.
Ghost hesitates, searching for the right words.
"I did," he says through a loud sigh.
Something in me snaps.
"And what? You know everything?" I ask, my voice laced with alarm.
Please, please say no.
"I do."
No.
No.
Please no.
Everything is ruined. He knows me now.
Sensing my panic, he calls out to me, "Breanna."
No.
"So what?" I hiss.
"What?" The way his eyes narrow tells me he's scrunching his face in confusion.
"So what if I've had problems? So what?" I say defensively.
"Problems? Breanna come on-"
I cut him off again.
"Come on what? Come on what?" Once again, I'm yelling.
"You think because some man did bad things to me I won't be able to play the role of a prostitute? Save the hostages? Take down, Hassan?" I scoff.
I can't stop my hands from shaking. Ghost looks down at them for a brief moment, then back at me.
"Breanna your stepfather...assaulted you. He hit you. Your mother let him," says matter-of-factly.
"Stop," I warn.
"Breanna you found your sister's dead body after she committed suicide," his eyes are showing me empathy but his words are ruthless.
"Stop it." I now threaten.
"Your father died. You were in the foster care system."
"I said stop it!" I screech.
SMACK.
Without thinking I slap Ghost across the balaclava-covered face.
"You think you're better than me? That you're better at handling your shit than I am?" I laugh in disbelief. "Trust me I've done my homework on you too."
Ghost tenses, his eyes narrowing even further.
"Yeah, that's right. I know your dad was an abusive piece of shit."
I asked around the base about Ghost. The only person who knew anything of value, and who was willing to inform me, was Soap.
Soap didn't give me much detail—I'm assuming that's because he doesn't know much—but he gave me a rundown of the basics.
Apparently, Ghost had told Soap that his relationship with his father was complicated and that he hoped the man was resting in hell. Only a handful of reasons why someone would say that about their father.
"That you have no family!" I throw my hands up.
I'm making assumptions and guesses. Again, Soap told me that Ghost isn't in connection with any of his family members and that he never speaks about them. I don't know what that means but I can assume it's a sore spot.
Ghost starts stepping towards me.
"I'm not the only one who has problems. The only difference between us is that you still hide behind a mask because of yours!" I seethe
He starts reaching his arm out to me.
"Hate to break it to you but you and I are more alike than you think!" My voice breaks through the screech.
He pulls me into him and hugs me.
What? Why is he-
I give in but resistantly hug him back.
How does he do that?
No matter how annoying he is or how mad he makes me he finds ways to reel me back in.
I can't stand him. But I want more.
He pulls away from me.
"I'm not your enemy." He places his hand gently on my shoulder.
"Jury's still out on that one," snark.
He chuckles softly.
I make my way to the door but freeze when I get there.
"Simon," I dare say.
I can sense Ghost tensing but I don't turn around.
"I like Simon, by the way, as opposed to Ghost," I tell him earnestly.
He doesn't respond.
Outside of speaking with Soap, I may have also snuck into Laswell's office and read in his file that his real name is Simon Riley. He's 32 years old.
I read some bad stuff too...
I continue standing for a moment, soaking in the silence and take my leave from his quarters.
This is going to end poorly.