Pressure

(Story by Ishafel, copyright 10/31/02.  I bear no responsibility for the characters, luckily)

Matters of the Heart

Pressure

Kevin, saying anxiously, "Simon wake up," while the room revolved slowly around him. 

He shut his eyes again quickly.  "I'm alright, really, I just must have tripped or something, I don't know."

"Was it your ankle?"  Kevin sounded younger than Simon had ever heard him, fear putting an edge on his voice.  "Did you twist an ankle or something?"

"Yeah, that must have been it," he said gratefully.  Surely honesty could be taken too far?  Was it worse to lie, or to worry his family?  Kevin pulled him to his feet, and once he was up, he felt much better.  "Could I have something to drink?" he asked, and Kevin brought him some water.  "Kev," he began, after he had taken a sip.  "I know I haven't been as friendly as I should have, but I wanted to tell you, I'm really glad that you're going to marry Lucy.  I'm glad to have you as a brother."

Kevin's face lit up, making Simon feel shittier than ever.  "Thanks, Simon!  I know you guys are all going through a really hard time, but it's been hard to keep from mentioning the engagement.  I kind of feel left out sometimes, you know?"

"Sure," Simon answered, even though he didn't.  Surely his dad would approve a white lie, meant to make Kevin feel more welcome?

"But as your older brother, Simon, I can't let this go.  You should see a doctor, just in case."

"I know," Simon sighed.  "I just hate to worry Mom."  Though his words were the absolute truth, he still felt guilty.  Too bad his conscience hadn't been this sensitive a few weeks ago.

"Oh," Kevin sounded surprised.  "No need to drag Mom into this.  I can take you tomorrow to get a checkup, no problem."

"Great."  Simon hated doctors, but he knew he was getting off easy.  Certainly easier than he deserved.

But in the end there was nothing wrong with him anyway, and Hank slapped him the back and handed him some vitamins.  "Healthy as a horse, son!" he said cheerfully.  "Heart's ticking like a clock."

"Great," Simon answered unhappily.  Absurd to be sorry that there was nothing physically wrong with him, of course, but he would gladly have given up his healthy heart to have his father back.  Being sick would have been divine justice, might have been a sign that his father had forgiven him.  Being so healthy seemed almost insulting.

Hank, misinterpreting his gloominess, said, "Look, Simon, you passed out because you hadn't eaten.  Take care of yourself, okay?  Do it for your mother's sake if not for your own."

In the car, Kevin tactfully mentioned that maybe grief counseling could be an option.  "I know it's not your family's thing, Simon, but I went after my dad died and it really helped me to have someone impartial to talk to."

"I'll think about it," Simon promised, but he knew that it would be useless.  There was nothing wrong with him he hadn't brought on himself, that wasn't the result of his own carelessness.  There was no one he could imagine wanting to talk to, except perhaps his dad.  Something he supposed he should have thought about before he'd opened his mouth, all those weeks ago.

Later he sat in the sun at the park, doing his homework while the twins played on the swings.  It was bright and warm out, but Simon was still cold.  He turned his face to the light, but a shadow blocked out the sun.  "I've been wanting to talk to you," she said.  "You're a hard man to find, Simon Camden."

Simon moved over to make room on the bench for her.  "I thought you didn't want to see me ever again?" he asked, startled.  She looked good, Claire, so good that it was hard to imagine a month ago she'd been close to breaking, that a month ago she'd given birth prematurely in a telephone booth and discarded her baby like so much trash.  Hard to imagine that choosing college over the child's life had not gotten her punished, when a few careless words had been enough to destroy Simon's family.

"Yeah," Claire said.  "But I realized I'd never thanked you, Simon, and I'd never told you how sorry I was about your dad.  He seemed like a decent guy, you know?  I bet he was hard to live with, though."

"Not at all," Simon answered, letting his displeasure show, and Claire flinched a little. 

"Well, I am.  Sorry, I mean." She sounded a little apprehensive now.  No doubt she was waiting for Simon to rip her head off, but he knew better than that now.  She was only trying to help, Claire, and she was a nice girl, and she deserved to be treated kindly.

"I know you are, Claire.  Sorry, I mean.  How're you doing?"

"Physically or mentally, you mean?"

Simon bit back the words the old Simon would have said, that he could see Claire was doing fine physically, that if anything she looked better than ever.  "Both, I guess."  Poor Claire.  No more cleavage.  But it was wrong of him to think of her that way.  Claire was a person, and she deserved his respect.  He was having an awfully hard time giving it to her.  But he had helped Claire, and he could always be proud of that.  His father could be proud of that.  Because of him, Claire would have her shot at an Ivy League college and an MBA.  And her baby would have to fight its way through the foster care system, swimming uphill the whole way.  Maybe someday it would realize that its mother had never wanted it.  Why was it that everything he touched turned to shit.

"I'm okay," Claire was saying.  "You know?  At first I wasn't, but I think that now I am.  And I'll never forget what you did for me, Simon.  Not a lot of guys would have done something like that.  I know I'm not pretty or popular, but I'm a person, too.  You were there for me at a really, really bad time in my life."  When she bent her head to kiss him, Simon flinched.  But her mouth was cool and dry and she tasted like strawberry lip gloss and pushed against him with so much passion that he remembered why she'd ended up where she was.

"I have to go, Claire," he managed.  "Please, my brothers…"

"Of course," Claire sounded okay.  He was glad she wasn't angry.  "Look, Simon—."

"Yeah?"

"Do you maybe wanna go out some time?  I can pay you—my dad's on the Parish Council, I know your family needs the money."  Said all in a rush, as if she knew how he would react.  There was really only one thing he could say, and he said it.  Made his excuses, shoved his books back into the bag, scooped up the twins and headed back to the car.  Just another wonderful day in the life of Simon Camden.  How had his father survived it as long as he had?

Behind the wheel of the car at last, Simon was horrified to feel tears start.  He had not been able to cry for his father, but he was crying for poor dumb, easy Claire, who had never wanted anything more than to be loved.  Ignoring the Sam and David's soft questions he folded his arms over the steering wheel and cried so hard that his eyes hurt.