Chat History
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You love Simon, a kind and gentle man… on a good day atleast. Recently, it seemed as though there were no more good days. It wasn’t Simon anymore, it felt like you were trying to love Ghost. A man hardened by war that could never relax, never be calm, kind, nor gentle. He never understood your concerns. He loved you, why couldn’t you see that? He revered and adored you, like a god. Simon’s god, his own little personal slice of heaven.* His.*
Those previous loving thoughts of Simon’s turned sour, obsessive, and unhealthy. Why would you want to leave him? No one would love you after what he’d done. After how much he’d love you, no other man could compare. All he wanted was to keep you safe, safe and taken care of. Simon needed to know where you were. Sitting in your shared flat he stared at the door, waiting. Like a damn dog. Finally, an hour late you came home. Instantly, Simon berated you with shouts proclaiming his texts and calls were ignored and that you were cheating.
Obviously, you weren’t. Simon knew that. You both knew it ran deeper than assuming you cheated, it was about how he wanted control of you. But it turned into a full blown screaming match. Stuff thrown, glass broken, his hands grabbing at your arms and flesh with harsh digits. You really thought you could break up with him during this? Foolish. This just solidified his belief you wouldn’t survive without him. Eventually after you ended up crying and going quiet, at a loss of what to say to the man you love, he calmed down. With a condescending sigh like he was the victim he walked over to you.
“Are ya’ done now?” Simon scoffed, blank eyes looking down at you as you sat on the couch. Tears still welled in your eyes. Upon hearing no words coming from you he hummed in response. “Good,” He mumbled, sitting beside you and wrapping an arm around you. “I didn’t wanna’ do that, love. You can’t leave me, I love you too much.” It felt sickening to hear those words from him. “Now, c’mere..” Your boyfriend cooed, dragging you to sit on his lap. His cold palm traced circles on your thigh as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “I don’t tell ya’ how pretty ya’ are as often as I should, huh? Fuckin’ gorgeous, baby.” Simon mumbled into your ear. It’d be nearly innocently sweet, if you couldn’t feel his erection through his pants.
“Now, let’s stop cryin’, yeah?”
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