Still don't own it

nearly there, folks

see you at the bottom

...

The silence of this room is unnerving, on levels Simon didn't even know was possible. Nothing pierces these walls, not even the usual screaming he hears from the halls in his own room. There's no footsteps, no talking, nothing. He has no way of knowing whether it's still night or dawn has finally broken on a new day. It's just him and a room so quite it runs deep down to the farthest pits of his body. It's like a weight on his bones.

He lies on the floor on his back, hands beneath his head, and stares up at the ceiling. He's been like this for a while, stiff and unmoving. When they first put him in, he'd paced for a while, trying to ignore the rumbling in his gut and the realization that he wouldn't be eating dinner. It fueled his restlessness. He'd paced until his legs were screaming with pain... and paced more. It was the only way to keep him focused and from thinking about everything that he'd have hours to let plague him.

Finally, when the ache in his side and legs got too much to handle, he'd sat down against the wall and drew patterns in the soft, padded floor. The material was split in enough spots to make designs that he could find and trace for a while. Long enough to find every one and get bored of that, too.

The worst of it in the beginning was having no clock, no way to know how much time had gone by, which he supposes is the whole point of the room anyway. With no clock to look at, he had no way of knowing how much time had passed, so there wasn't something to focus his energy on... like when he'd be getting out. He wouldn't have to spend all his time thinking about that. It gave him the opportunity to relax, to settle down and breathe.

After all the pacing and tracing, what else was there to do other than lie down and get lost in his own thoughts? In essence, there were a lot of things he needed to reflect on, and having the time to himself definitely gave him that. Yes, the aloneness of it is somewhat maddening, but he supposes he's grown so accustomed to that feeling that there's no point in dwelling on it for long periods of time. It needs to be accepted at this point. Isolation for someone who's always felt that way could almost be seen as an amusing Irony.

Letting out a heavy breath, he closes his eyes and tries for the dozenth time in the past... who knows how long, to finally get some sleep, as pointless as he knows it is. Every time he's tried, he gets right to that point of drifting away and some nagging thought will stir him wide awake. At the moment, of course, its Emma that keeps him from getting there.

Simon thinks of her in her own room and wonders how she's doing, if she's okay. He's heard of other people who've gone into solitary and still found ways to hurt themselves, and he hopes she wouldn't be someone to do the same. But who knows, really? Past the small, personal conversations they've shared, Simon doesn't know much about Emma's mental health. He does know she tried to kill herself, though, and it's enough to make him worry. And it's strange to him how he never spent much time thinking about that detail until this point. After all the times they'd been around each other, after that first acknowledgement of what she'd done to herself, they never really talked about it again.

It's almost as if that was their unspoken agreement. The way he and Jack never really talked in great details about their experiences, the way Lucy never told him anything about why she was in the unit. There's a link there, he thinks. These people and their experiences and how they can talk about it without really talking about it, or not talking at all, and yet they still somehow ended up having things to bond over. It didn't have to always be about the sad things they'd gone through.

Yet they all carried themselves differently. Jack, in spite of the trials he'd faced, had found humor in everything and has used that until his last days to make it through. Emma... she uses care and kindness. No matter the pain in her heart, there's a smile on her lips and a warmth to her voice. She has how good of a person she is to make it through things. But Lucy? Whatever it may be that happened, she molded it into something much different than the others. Hers is anger and venom and poison. It's cutting down others to make herself feel better. He just doesn't understand it, and wonders if he ever will. Lucy is an enigma, an untouchable question of why and what and how. She reaches out to him like he's air, because she sucks it all from the room. She takes it all away from him, from anyone she's around, and then comes about begging for more. It's like she can't live as herself. It makes him question, what would see someone him for without knowing what he's been through? What would they see when they look at him? What did he turn his experiences into?

What has Emma seen when she looks at him? He thinks back on the times they've spent together, trying to recall if there were ever any looks she might have given him that would give him an idea of what she thought, but nothing comes to mind. She smiled when she was around him, she laughed, she said kind things. Maybe there wasn't anything bad to find? Surely someone as good as her could see it?

He imagines her, like him, alone in a similar prison and his chest hurts. She was too good to be in a place like this. The entireity of this place. Sure, she'd made a mistake but, to him, it was acceptable at the time. Lucy had spent so much time terrorizing people, it was only a matter of time before it got back to her. He recalls with perfect clarity the sound of that slap across her face, and how it'd had made him fee to see it happen. He'd been almost... happy?

This confuses him. Simon's not a violent person, he's not hateful, he doesn't have it inside him to want people to hurt. Not when he'd been a victim of those things himself for so long. But he wonders, thinks real hard, about all those times someone had done something bad to him, and now he's seeing a different side of things. He's wondering what might have happened to those people that were mean to him to make them do those things. Emma had been pushed to snap over just words.

What might have happened with the kids who bullied him?

His mum had said that Matt's dad cheated on his mum. Simon had been good friends with Matt once. Matt never talked to him about his mum and dad, though. Something Simon never thought to question until this moment. When he would go to Matt's house, they'd hide away in his room and play video games. But there was one time...

He recalls one summer day after school, going over to Matt's to hang out, only to have the door answered by his mum who told him Matt wasn't there. But she'd invited him inside to wait for him, and he'd gone along with it.

Matt's mum was nice. She'd given him a plate of cookies and milk and they talked about his own home life, and Simon was happy with it all. His family were nice people, but never overly affectionate. He couldn't think of a time when he'd been doted on at home. But Matt's mum had done that for him.

The experience wasn't so bad that he'd have a lasting impression of it, he thinks. But now he remembers. Now he lets himself think about how Matt's dad had come stumbling through the front door, giving Matt's mum a frieight so she'd made a noise. Which alerted his dad to where they were. Simon had watched him trip over himself coming into the kitchen and head straight to the fridge. Simon didn't know much about what being drunk was, then, but he knew something was off by the way he slurred when he talked, asking where his drinks were. And Matt's mum, she'd stood there against the counter so still, looking between him and her husband with this sort of panicked expression in her eyes.

Matt's dad, not finding what he was looking for, had slammed the fridge shut loudly. He remembers how he'd jumped. How Matt's mum said something about going to the market and getting some more, and his dad suddenly yelling. He'd yelled very loudly. He had stalked across the kitchen towards Matt's mum very fast. And he remembers how fast he'd jumped up from the chair he was sitting in and ran. Ran all the way out of the house and down the street, finding Matt along the way. He'd invited him back to his house that day. They walked past Matt's house along the way, and he thinks... maybe he'd heard someone crying? They hung out in Simon's room and watched T.V with no cookies or milk, and Simon had never said a word to Matt.

Why had it taken him all these years later to think about that? Simon sits up and puts his hands over his face, pushing the hair back from it. He lets out a heavy breath as his mind processes all this. Maybe Matt had his own reasons for being how he was? Maybe his parents played a part in that? It didn't excuse his treatment towards him, he knows, but maybe it's enough to know there's an answer for why it ended up like it did? He could accept what happened to him more, if he knew that it wasn't just his fault. It'd make him feel better knowing its not.

The only problem is that he doesn't know. Matt having a horrible home- life, with a possibly abusive father and a depressed mother, would be a little easier to accept than going with the idea that maybe Matt was just a selfish jerk who wanted to see him suffer. And he'd really made him suffer, he thinks. Look at where he was, after all. Look at what he had done to himself because of those things.

Does Matt sit in his own room at his new home, with his new life, and ever think about him?

Why is it, all this time later, he's still dwelling on these things? Surely Matt doesn't think about him, and Jack went away so he'll never think of him again, and Emma's probably dealing with too much of her own afflictions to be thinking of him. So where does that leave him? With Lucy? He can just imagine how thrilled she must be with herself. She's always been rather self absorbed, so she's probably not concerned with him, either.

How did it get this far, and how does he move past it all? Doctor Lewis said once that, the only way to move forward is to let go. But what does that mean? Isn't letting go of all that, somehow letting go of himself in a way? Not that he even knows who he is anymore, anyway.

Lying back down on the floor, he closes his eyes with a huff. Hunger and over thinking has lead to its own kind of exhaustion. His lids and body suddenly feel heavier than they did before. In fact, he thinks he could finally fall asleep. Just let the weight take over and slip away. And he's just about on that track when there's a loud clicking sound, the first thing he's heard since he got into this room. Then the creak of a door, and a sliver of light is hitting his eyes.

Simon sits up in time to see one of the nurses poking their head in. "Time's up," she tells him. "You can come out now."

He can't recall a time he's ever gotten to his feet so quickly. One of his legs has fallen asleep, though, so he stumbles a bit at first before steadying himself as tingles erupt under his skin. He has to squint as he gets close to the light, eyes being so adjusted to the dark by then. The first thing the nurse does when he gets outside the room is check him over, undoubtedly to make sure he hasn't caused any harm to himself. "I'm fine," he tells her.

"Nice to see you're still feeling as vocal as you were yesterday," she replies. "How was it?"

"I'm hungry," he answers.

She smiles, one of the firsts she's ever given him in his time here that he can recall. "All right. Well, how about a nice shower before breakfast? Sound good?"

"I've never heard of anything better," he tells her, giving a small grin in return.

It's funny to him that after just one night in that room, the unit suddenly feels like its own kind of freedom.

...

He goes without a sweatshirt, nothing hiding the last remnants of his bruise or the now fading scars on his arms. He makes sure to keep his hair to the side and off his face. He brushes his teeth and practices smiling in the mirror for a good ten minutes before leaving the loo. He does these things and he tells himself that the only way to make a change is to try and change himself. Being in solitary seems to have put things into perspective for him, like how he never wants to go back. And doing his best ensures that's not likely to happen ever again. He'll give them anything they want, he's just glad to be out. He even makes sure to say hello to the nurses at the nurses station when going past them on his way to the eating hall and when they say it back, he doesn't even flinch. Progress, he tells himself.

Progress that seems to fall apart as soon as he arrives at the eating hall. Instead of doing the usual and looking inside to see where he'd sit, Simon heads straight to the line to get his food. Of course, he runs into someone from the previous day's group therapy session. At first he smiles and tries to play along, but the minute they bring up the incident, his mind shuts down. He feels that familiar since of prickling anxiety and ends up inching back towards the wall. It makes him nervous, all the questions, being so on the spot. And it doesn't help that a few others are staring at him. He ends up shuffling by quickly, missing out on half the decent food they have put out for once. He doesn't even get any bananas, and they're his favorite.

Inside the hall, his first instinct is to seek out Lucy, like he's done so many times before. It frustrates him, this habit he hasn't begun breaking himself of, just yet. He wonders how many more times he'll find himself searching for her, and how long it'll take before he stops doing it.

It doesn't take him long to spot her, back facing away from where he stands, alone at a table by the window. The table he usually sees Emma sitting at, he realizes. It's amazing to him how fast his appetite disappears and his stomach flips as he wildly scans the room for her.

"She's in therapy," someone says close to his ear, making him jump and nearly spill his tray. He scrambles to make sure nothing falls and turns to find Betty from group standing there. She gives him a shy smile. "I know you're looking for her. She got to take her meal to therapy." At his obvious frown, she tells him, "But she looked fine!"

Simon's gaze darts to where Lucy sits and his spirits sink. He glances back at Betty and nods before starting forward.

"You don't..." Betty starts to say and he pauses in his tracks, turning to look at her again. She gives him a small shrug. "You could sit with us... if you want."

"Us," he slowly replies.

She bobs her head. "Me and Ben and Mike... couple other ones who don't attend group that often. They can be twats, but they're non- bothersome so..." She trails off with another shrug, looking everywhere but his face. He can tell her reaching out to someone else is causing her stress. She'd done well in group, in a controlled environment. But then, so had he. Outside of that is different, its new. It means forming attachments and talking and sharing, and he's sure that's something that none of them are ready for. Still, he can't help but look at her and, much like with Lucy, find parts of himself in her. He's not sure whether or not that's a good thing. But even so, it means not having to subject himself to anymore time with Lucy than is necessary.

"All right," he tells her.

Betty ends up leading him to a table in the center of the room. He slides in next to her, only slightly anxious at how close in proximity they are to one another, a thought that quickly goes away as Ben takes notice of him sitting with them. He quirks a brow and smiles, which makes Simon smile in return.

"Don't mind Mike," he tells him, jabbing his thumb in Mike's direction. "He's started reading twenty thousand leagues under the sea the other day, haven't gotten him to take his nose out of it any time there's free time."

"It's a good book," Simon replies, which makes Mike peak up at him from the corner of his eye and crack a small grin.

"So you're into that sci- fi stuff?"

Simon nods and glances back at the table. "I have a Daelik figurine in my room... back home."

"Never could get into Doctor Who," Betty says, picking at her fruit cup. At Simon's wide- eyed expression, she giggles. "What? I suppose now you'll try and sell me on why I should give it another go?"

Simon nods, and suddenly his mouth is taking off ahead of his brain as he launches into all the details he knows about the show in his attempt to gain her interest. Both Ben and Betty listen intently to his every word, with Mike even jumping in every so often to comment on something he likes. By the time he gets done explaining, they're calling off Breakfast and Simon's almost disappointed it's over. He also takes note that not once did anyone bring up the drama that happened with Lucy, as if it wasn't in their minds at all. Something that surprises and relieves him all the same. Why had he ever thought to listen to Lucy about not interacting with anyone else? Look at what he'd been missing out on!

"Meet back for lunch?" Ben asks, getting up from the table.

Simon isn't even embarrassed by his enthusiastic yes.

...

He used to be so scared of this room when he'd first started coming in, he thinks. Now that the absolute fear has passed, only the slightest of anxiety remaining in its place, Simon doesn't feel so uncomfortable. Sure, he still hasn't quite gained the ability to entirely relax, that much noticeable from how straight he sits on the couch with his hands placed carefully on top of his lap, and the way his eyes will dart around to everything in the room. But it isn't nearly as bad as it was when even the thought of stepping inside would send him into a panic attack.

The only thing he isn't sure he'll ever grow accustomed to, is the way Doctor Lewis stares at him behind those thick glasses. He doesn't seem to get the urge to run away as fast as he can like he did before, but he'll still get that rolling chill up his spine when she starts talking.

"I'm letting you take the floor today," she tells him. "Since we both know you already know I heard about what happened. So far I've heard every point of view of the incident, but I'd like yours if you're okay with it."

Simon swallows and nods, looking everywhere but her face, and lets it all come pouring out. By the time he's finished, he's counted two times Doctor Lewis has flipped the pages in her notepad while writing. As always, it makes him curious.

"Interesting," she says a moment later, adjusting her glasses.

"What?" he asks, his voice sounding rather thick with emotion he dare not show.

"Well... so far, every story is the same, from all parties. Minus one."

"Lucy," he replies in a hushed voice, looking away from her and to the couch beside him.

"Yes," she answers. "Good guess, though I'm sure you didn't have to think too hard about it, am I right?"

"I thought you said we can't discuss other patients," he retorts, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

She pinches her brow. "Did you not want to talk about her once before? Why shut down now when given the opportunity?"

She has him, knows she has him. He can see it in the way she tilts her head, with that look of accomplishment in her eyes. The same look she gets when she manages to make him talk any other time. She knows he'll talk now. Which is why she doesn't pause long, adding, "All parts of her story added up. All but one."

"Which part," he hurriedly responds.

"What happened with the therapist, Simon?"

Recollection of his hands connecting with the therapist's chest and the sound his head made hitting the door comes back to him and he feels a little sick, hanging his head. "I pushed him," he replies.

"So why would Lucy try to take the blame for your actions?"

He jerks his head up to look at her, splutters a, "What?"

"Why would Lucy, knowing I already knew the truth, lie and say she pushed Mister Jacob's? Why would she try and take the blame for a crime she did not commit? Especially knowing where a lie like that would have gotten her placed. How was your night alone, may I ask?"

Simon licks his suddenly dry lips, the air feeling like it's slowly being sucked from the room. "Fine," he answers, swallowing hard.

"Breathe," she reminds him. "If talking about solitary upsets you, we can discuss something else. Keep that in mind."

He nods and inhales deeply, letting out a loud breath a moment later. He'd never tell her that it's not talk of solitary that's gotten him so worked up, but rather being hung up on what she said about Lucy. "I don't know why she'd lie," he manages to tell her. "I don't... know."

"You seemed very surprised when I told you this news. What with you and Lucy being friends-"

"We're not friends." He takes in a sharp pull of air between his teeth and mentally berates himself for letting that come out. Too far, he tells himself. He's giving her too much.

"Oh," she replies, raising a brow. "I was... under the assumption that you two were quite close, what with the way Lucy praises you when she and I talk. I contributed that to her wanting to lie for you, naturally. If you're not friends... where's the motivation?"

"She talks about me?"

"Quite a bit, yes."

Simon bites at the inside of his cheek and looks up at the ceiling. "We're... I didn't mean..." He lowers his head and shakes it, clenching his jaw. "We're sort of close... like friends, I guess."

"But you don't feel that way, as of late?"

He pinches his brow and rubs his sweaty palms against his pants. "What do you mean?"

"Your argument in the hall yesterday. The events leading up to you pushing Mister Jacob's," she reminds him, giving a pointed look.

"I was defending-"

"Emma, yes," she cuts in. "I know. An understandable action. But still not an explanation for such an argument. According to the nurses, there was a lot of yelling, heated yelling. I'd venture this isn't the first time you've had this sort of conflict."

He gets somewhat annoyed by how on point she is. How is he supposed to lie about how it's really been if Doctor Lewis keeps beating him to the punch with facts? It only makes it that much harder to hold everything back. It's extremely difficult, but he manages to bring a passive look to his features after a long pause, taking a few deep breaths. Simon looks back at her and shrugs. "We don't agree about... certain things. It happens."

"True," she says with a nod. "But then, that still doesn't give us an answer about her attempting to cover for you."

"I don't know," he tells her, shaking his head. "Maybe..." Maybe it's another game, another trap? Maybe she genuinely feels bad about what she said and this was her way of letting him know that? Doubtful, but a nice thought to entertain for about two seconds. "I don't know," he repeats. "Aren't we supposed to be talking about me?"

"You want to talk about you." She leans forward in her chair, pushing her glasses up her nose and eyeing him for a moment.

He lets out a heavy breath. "Yes."

Sitting back and opening her notebook, she smiles at him. "All right, then."

There's a look in her eyes, one he recognizes as a silent agreement that this isn't over, just yet. Maybe she won't bring it up again in this session, seeing as they're running out of time he notes after a brief glance at the clock, but he doesn't doubt it'll come again. When she's found a way to break down more of the wall he's surrounded himself in, like she's done with so many other topics they've discussed in the past few weeks. He knows it'll come back to this... and that fear he thought he'd let go of suddenly comes slithering right back in.

It's all about preparation, he tells himself. He'll just have to be ready for when it comes. Until then, he puts on his best face and proceeds to tell her about his morning meal with the members from group, hoping it's enough to appease her.

Still unsure if it's enough to appease himself.

...