A Ghost Encounter: My Time with Simon "Ghost" Riley

Part Ninety-One: Self-Destruction

"Why?" I scoff angrily. "I can't take it anymore! I'm going crazy!" I laugh hysterically. "This place only reminds me of what I've lost! How Soap and Simon are both dead!" My voice breaks as I choke back my rage. "I doomed them both!"

"You can't possibly believe that!" Price grabs my hand. "Their deaths are not your fault."

I snatch my hand from his. "I can't be here anymore. Call it a leave of absence, call it a discharge, I don't care. I. Can't. Do. This." I throw my hands up, devastatingly defeated. "I'm drowning!"

Price tenses as if I just slapped him across the face. After a beat, I find his eyes assess my own, looking for some type of answer and then sees all he needs to.

"Alright." He bites his lip and clenches his jaw. He repeats, dejected, "Alright."

- One Year Later -

I figure an update is due.

It's been one whole year since I left Task Force 141. It's been the hardest year of my life.

About thirty minutes from the Task Force's base, I found a one-bedroom apartment in a nearby town. It's pretty nice.

It would seem that being a former Task Force member has its financial benefits.

Cutting out Price and Gaz has left me utterly alone.

I stopped talking to them altogether two months ago. I can't stand their pity, the concerned look on their faces, or their constant attempts to "fix" me.

Last I heard, Laswell is still in Las Almas, trying to take out the Las Almas cartel. But I try not to think about the Task Force or their biddings too often.

I try not to think about him too often.

To combat the thoughts I've spent the last six months drowning myself in liquor and men—the only form of escape I can find.

Price and Gaz found out about how I've been spending my time and staged an intervention, which is why I distanced myself from them.

I don't want an intervention. I want to rot.

I picked up a part-time job at a small library in town to keep myself occupied.

Reading has always helped me, but I packed away the Kindle Simon got me. Looking at it makes me uncomfortable. So now, working at the library has given me the opportunity to read again

My shift ends in ten minutes.

There's a man I met at a bar a month ago, Zach, and unlike the others, he's been lingering.

I've absolutely no feelings for the man. I find him to be quite annoying, actually, but he's good in bed so I've allowed him to stick around.

He's not the only man I've been sharing a bed with, though.

Zach is coming over after my shift for drinks and the casual fuck. He always tries to stay the night, but I'd first rather die before I let that happen.

I made a promise to myself after Simon's funeral: I would never allow myself to get close to anyone again.

Perhaps I'm meant to be alone. Perhaps it's my destiny.

My shift comes to a close.

I get in my car and make the ten-minute drive back to my apartment.

Fifteen minutes later, Zach arrives.

"Missed me?" He smiles cheekily as he enters my apartment.

Ignoring him, I walk into the kitchen and take out two glasses from the cabinet.

"Whiskey or Vodka?" I ask him as he sits down on the couch.

"Whiskey," he replies. "Always whiskey."

I fix our drinks, take an extra swig from the bottle, and sit by him on the couch.

"Here," I say curtly and hand him his glass.

"Thanks." He smirks and takes a sip. "How was work? Did-"

I cut him off.

"I'm not in the mood for small talk," I deadpan.

He frowns but then catches on. He asks suggestively, "What are you in the mood for then?"

I can tell he's growing attached to me. It'd be best to send him on his way but...

"I just want to fuck," I say without a care in the world.

"Well..." he chuckles. "I can help you with that."

Yeah, no shit.

Zach grabs the drink from my hand and places both of our glasses on the coffee table. After this, he pulls me on top of him, and I'm straddling him on the couch.

He grips the hair on the back of my head and begins licking and nibbling my neck.

I begin grinding against him, his hands finding my waist as he moves his body with mine, his hardness providing me with the slightest bit of pleasure—but I need more.

We both start unbuckling our pants until our attention is drawn to the door.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Ugh, who the hell could that be?