Call of duty one shots

I sit here in the dim light of the living room, the faint sound of the clock ticking echoing in my ears. Each tick feels like a countdown, not to a celebration, but to another night of uncertainty and fear. I've experienced the ebb and flow of hope and despair more times than I can count, and yet, somehow, I still find myself gripping tightly to the fraying threads of our marriage.

Weeks have passed since Ghost first stumbled into our lives like a dark cloud, heavy with the storms of his own making. The man I once knew, full of laughter and charisma, is now a mere shadow of himself—a ghost, indeed. He comes home wasted, the stench of cheap whiskey trailing behind him like a bitter perfume. I can see it written all over his face: the regret, the anger, and the void he is desperately trying to fill.

At first, the nights had been filled with murmurs and the occasional soft argument, but now his behavior has deteriorated into something heart-wrenching. He lashes out, his voice rising in a way that sends shivers down my spine. I'm thankful, to some degree, that the kids are with my mother this month. They wouldn't understand why their dad is acting this way, why the man who once tossed them in the air with delight is now barely capable of recognizing them when he's sober.

I adjust my grip on the couch cushion, trying to feel the softness beneath my fingers instead of the hard truth of our situation. Ghost would come home after drinking eight bottles—easily eight, I've counted them. He'd shout about things that seemed as insignificant as a misplaced sock, and I would cower, feeling the knot in my stomach tighten. He'd yell until he could no longer muster the energy to stand up, collapsing into a heap on the floor, leaving me to face the aftermath.

The exhaustion of walking on eggshells has taken its toll on me—physically and mentally. Some days, I find it hard to eat, the thought of food turning into an insurmountable task. Other days, it pours out of me in waves of shaking and tears. I've become a paradox of strength and fragility, and I wonder if he can see it in my eyes during the fleeting moments between his drunken rants and the silence that follows.

"Why can't you just stop?" I demanded one night as he raged against the fridge, shouting about how I never appreciated him. "You're hurting yourself. You're hurting us!" It feels futile, like grabbing smoke with my bare hands—the question hangs in the air long after I've said it, dense with unanswered pleas.

I don't know if Ghost is simply lost in his own pain or if his ghosts are scarier than the ones chasing me. I know he is struggling, but does he understand how bad it's become? Does he know that every slurred word feels like a dagger? I wonder if he even remembers the last time we laughed together or if my name has turned into just another piece of vocabulary he no longer cares to attach meaning to.

As the days turn to weeks, I feel my strength fading like the fading light outside my window. I used to be the glue holding this family together, but the cracks are spreading, snaking through every corner of my heart and our home. The fantasy of him coming home sober, of us sitting together and smiling, seems less like a possibility and more like a dream I should have outgrown.

"Why won't you talk to me?" I plead in the silence, hoping my words will echo back with understanding. But tonight, there is only the sound of his heavy breathing as he sprawls on the floor, blinded by the haze of alcohol.

Somewhere in the depths of my heart, I know something has to change. I can't keep walking this tightrope alone. I refuse to let this become our only story—not for me and not for the kids. Ghost is in the throes of his demons, but I know that I need to find my voice amidst the chaos.

I finally rise from the couch, my body shaking from exhaustion but something feels ignited inside of me—something I can't snuff out any longer. I need to start taking care of myself, to find the strength to confront the situation, to find help, for us both. Silence has become our companion, but maybe it's time to drown it out with the sound of a voice that won't tremble in fear.

With every step toward action, I feel a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, we can navigate this storm together. But I know the journey forward won't be easy. It's going to be a battle, but I can't keep letting the darkness steal the light from our lives. I will fight for us, for our children, and for a future where we can embrace the best parts of who we used to be, even if it means confronting every shadow that threatens to pull us under.