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His brain was pounding in his skull, and he felt nausea eating away at his bones. Every hair on his body stood straight, pricking against his clothes and leaving his skin agitated. His face didn’t feel right, as though the smile on his lips was more of a scar ingrained in his skin than a willful action. He could feel every vibration in the earth, the blood pumping through his veins, and every beat of his heart. The room’s air felt stale and suffocating, leaving him to choke as he desperately struggled to breathe.
“MacTavish?” His eyes snapped to the voice, eyes hazy and unseen, before focusing on the confused look of his captain. “You with us, son?” He stared for a moment too long, realizing more eyes were drawing to his figure the longer he waited. Their eyes dug into his skin and ripped apart the flesh, attempting to burrow into his insides. “Aye, sir. Just tired.” He mumbled, looking away for a moment to rid his vision of Price’s intense gaze. He could hear every breath, every slight shift in the chairs. He knew he was growing more overwhelmed by the second, but he couldn’t leave the meeting. It was important, even though he knew he hadn’t been paying attention.
He wasn’t sure what brought this wave of anxiety and overload, but he could do nothing to stop it. Even as his hands shook and the world kept sliding in and out of view, he remained seated and tried to appear normal. There was a familiar itch under his skin, something he hadn’t felt in months. It came with guilt and shame that threatened to latch onto his organs and erupt them, but he couldn’t help the familiar craving it promised. “You’re all dismissed.” Soap was the first to stand, rushing from the room as though death chased him. He didn’t listen if anyone was calling for him, nor the sound of feet quickly hurrying to catch up with him. His mind was laser-focused, not content, until he was standing in front of his barrack room and shoving open the door forcefully.
He barreled into the ensuite, locking the door tightly and throwing open drawers as he searched desperately. He needed to have something, anything to quiet the screaming in his mind and the burning under his skin. His fingers finally wrapped around the cold feeling of a blade, the grip on his throat loosening ever so slightly. Soap stumbled back, clutching the tiny razor blade like a lifeline as he slid down the door. He needed it, more than he needed the air in his lungs.
He forced up his shirt sleeve, hearing a sharp tear of the fabric but not caring now. All he could feel was the frigid pressure of the blade against his skin, his mind coming to a numbing halt. The air went still, and his heart pumped in his ears, muffling the sounds of the outside world. The pain was muted as the blade dug under his skin, drawing out crimson blood that bubbled up to the surface. He knew he unintentionally let out a soft hiss through his teeth, though everything sounded so quiet. Finally, everything was still and silent as he forced the blade to dig deeper, begging to see muscle and bone exposed under his skin. The dark liquid spilled down onto the floor, soft drips hitting his broken eardrums. He felt relief overwhelm his senses, a sense of calm wash over him as more incisions covered his arms.
They were beautiful in his eyes; his skin was painted crimson and maroon. He felt his lungs pull in their first glimpse of fresh air, though twinged with copper. He felt beautiful.
He was forcefully removed from his hazy dreamscape at the feeling of pounding against his back, his mind snapping back to reality. He heard shouts and harsh bangs from the door behind him, the wood rattling from its hinges. Terrified, Soap scooted away from the door, staring wide-eyed as it shook and creaked under the assault. He whimpered softly, now feeling the full extent of pain from his open wounds, blood still falling steadily. “Johnny, open the fucking door!”
Now he recognized the distressed voice of his lieutenant, more fear flooding his system. He needed to hide everything, the feeling of guilt and shame he knew would come fighting to the surface. He rushed to the sink on shaky legs, turning it on full blast and submerging his arms under the flow of water. It stung to no end, but he needed to get rid of the blood. Only once some of the blood was being washed away did he realize how deeply he had truly gone, enough to expose the soft white fat beneath his skin. Tears flooded his vision and spilled down to mix with the pink-tinted water in the sink; all the while, the banging continued, more desperate now.
Soap feared the lieutenant would break the door completely. He grabbed towels and wrapped his arms as best he could before tackling the mess of the bathroom tiles. The blood had seeped into the grout, staining it a rosy hue. He knew he was sobbing by now, but everything felt so much that his brain could no longer register it. He hadn’t realized what had happened until a hand suddenly grabbed his arm gently, but forcefully, and stopped his frantic scrubbing. He looked up with watery eyes, meeting the concerned browns of Ghost. “Johnny, what did you do…”
He could no longer contain himself, dropping the soaked towels onto the floor and shoving himself into the Brit’s chest. Horrified sobs left his throat, the shame and guilt overwhelming him even further. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry.” He pleaded, begging Ghost to understand. Strong arms encapsulated him, pulling him further into the comforting embrace. “I got you; you’re safe. It’s okay, I know.” Ghost mumbled softly, burying his masked face into the sergeant’s hair, inhaling the familiar scent of Johnny. He allowed them to remain in the hold for a few more moments before the fear of blood loss forced him to pull away. Johnny looked so young, staring terrified up at him.
“We need to check your arms and ensure you don’t need to go to medical, Soap.” The sergeant already knew the answer, knew the cuts were too deep and he would need stitching. Though, the last thing he wanted was to leave the familiar space of his room, being forced to face the curious onlookers of others around base. It was impossible for the sound of Ghost practically breaking down his door not to have been heard across the facility. “Please, I can’t. It’s all… I can’t…”
Ghost gently shushed him, tenderly taking the man’s arm and unwrapping the shitty wrapping job. He forcibly held in a grimace as he took in the state of the sergeant’s arm, sadness, and empathy flooding through him. “Oh, Johnny…”
“Please, don’t take me to the medics.” Ghost looked up into the fearful eyes of his sergeant and felt his heart constrict painfully. “Johnny, you need stitches for a lot of these.”
“Please, Simon.” With just two words, the man managed to break the lieutenant’s resolve. He sighed heavily, giving the sergeant’s hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away. He pulled open cabinets and drawers, searching for a med kit and thanking whatever entity above that the sergeant had one. He returned to the trembling figure on the floor, affectionately allowing the man to sink into him again. Soap shifted timidly to press his back against Ghost, settling comfortably in his lap with his arms out for easy access. The lieutenant immediately set to work, as carefully as he could, stitching up the wounds and allowing Soap to clutch onto him. The quiet cries of pain the man let out every so often sent him more shock waves of sadness, but he continued ensuring the man was properly stitched up.
Once finished, he sprayed the wounds with an anti-bacterial and gently bandaged them. Only now did Johnny pull away slightly to look up at the man with soft, doe eyes. “I’m sorry, Ghost. I dinnae mean to…”
Once more, Ghost shushed him gently, placing a delicate kiss on the man’s forehead. “I know, Johnny. You’re okay.” He carefully scooped the sergeant into his arms, taking them out of the bathroom and gently laying the wounded man into the bed. Brushing some hair from his face, Ghost pulled away to inform Price that Soap would be out of commission for the rest of the day. Only then, did he return and curl back up into bed with the still-trembling man.
“I’m so sorry, Simon.”
“Shh, it’s okay. We can talk about it tomorrow. Get some rest, Johnny.” He lovingly kissed the man’s bandaged arm and pulled him to his chest. Soap fell asleep to the sound of Ghost’s steady heartbeat.