Hey guys! Maybe if I wish hard enough I could own Simon? Until then, I don't own Misfits or its characters. Just playing in the playground.

I'll see you at the bottom :)

...

"We have someone new joining group today." Doctor Jacobs, as Simon's finally come to know him as- their group therapist- his voice sounds so loud in the quiet of the room. "Everyone, say hello to Lucy."

A chorus of greetings ring out around him. Simon says nothing, however, doesn't even look up from his lap. He's staring at the tiles, finding patterns in the lines and squares. He's thinking about Jack, and the visit he had with his parents the other day. They'd come to drop off some clothing and toothpaste. That was what they told him was their reason for visiting. Not that they missed him, not that they wanted to see him, just... basic hygiene necessities. They hadn't even stayed that long.

He thinks of how sad his mum looked, and the way his dad had droned on and on about cooperating with the staff, not being so difficult by refusing to talk. He didn't tell them about Jack. When he asked why Rebecca wasn't there, they'd told him she has said she didn't want to come. He hasn't heard from her since he yelled at her in the hospital.

He wonders if she hates him.

When they left, his mum had hugged him, hugged him very tight. She whispered in his ear about being good and that they'd come back and see him soon.

It's been over a week, he hasn't heard a word.

Doctor Lewis keeps trying to talk to him about losing his friend. If he could really consider him that. He dislikes the idea that a friend could leave another friend behind like Jack did to him. When Simon had gone to kill himself, he had no friends, no one to say goodbye to or that would really miss him when he was gone. No one but family would have come to his funeral, and even that would have been a stretch outside the people he already lived with. He doubt many people but them would have showed up.

He wishes he could have attended Jack's.

Simon wonders why he cares so much, and tries to make it so he doesn't. He has all these thoughts and feelings and they're stewing inside him, driving together, meshing and spreading apart through his whole body. He feels a physical pain sometimes, when his emotions are strong. Like a jab to the gut or a heavy ache in his chest. He tries so hard to shut it off.

It's worked a lot better lately, him learning to feel nothing. Like right now as he listens to someone from group, a girl, cry about how ugly and fat she is. A prick of anger bubbles up in him so strongly that he contemplates telling her that she really is an ugly slag and would she please just shut up.

"Will you please just shut up!"

His head jerks up strongly, his eyes widening. Did the words leave his mouth? Did he say that out loud? He does a quick scan of the room, finding that no one's eyes are focused on him. So who? He follows the stares until his sight locks on someone he doesn't recognize.

"Lucy," Doctor Jacbos says, her name sounding a reprimand. "That was very rude, apologize."

The girl with her brown hair hanging down in her face fidgets in her seat. "S-sorry. I'm sorry."

Her apologies fall on deaf ears as the girl she's just spoken out of turn to starts to cry, loudly. Her ear piercing's wails make Simon cringe and sink down further in his seat. If that's not enough, the girl tries to talk while she's crying, but the only sounds that come out are half blubbered words. This is worse for him than being forced to listen to her talk. This noise is like nails on a chalkboard for him. Yet there's nothing he can do but sit and endure it. If he leaves, he gets in trouble and will be forced to sit in therapy longer.

He wishes the girl had just stayed quiet. He would have stayed quiet. Anything he wants to say, he says in his head. It's just easier that way. His mouth pulls into a deep scowl and his eyebrows lower. He's glaring at this new girl... Lucy. He doesn't even know her, but he's irritated with her. He gets the overwhelming urge to tell her this is all her fault.

Almost as if she were able to hear the thoughts turning in his mind, she raises her head and looks directly at him. His breath catches in his throat at the sight of her. She's pale white, like porcelain, her skin stretched so thin across her face he can see the blue veins in her cheeks. And her eyes? She has a blank stare, unblinking, like she's staring into some part of him he hasn't been able to find himself. They're so dark he can't see where her pupils end and the color begins.

A chill rolls up his spine. He tells himself to look away, to let his gaze fall back on his lap so he can try to pretend he wasn't caught with his eyes locked on hers, but he stays like that. Stays staring at her. As he does this, recognition dawns on him, the realization of why he's suddenly so fascinated by this girl he doesn't know.

Something about her frightens him.

And when she raises her hand and waves at him and he unconsciously shivers, he finally manages to look away.

...

He's having a bad day. The week hasn't been much better, but today was worse. Rebecca finally came to see him and they got into an argument. The conversation had started out well enough, as pleasant as one could expect sitting in the confines of a room with people watching in on you to make sure you're not going to do something crazy. They talked about how each other had been, the events happening outside the place. Well, Rebecca did most of the talking. He sat there for a while staring at the table and fidgeting his legs as she droned on about a new boy at school she liked.

Then came the topic he was hoping to avoid: his suicide attempt. She wanted to talk to him about it, and, of course, he hadn't wanted to say anything at all. He told her that it wasn't really her business, and she ended up yelling a lot and calling him a selfish twat. She left a lot earlier than he had expected her to.

He's replayed their fight nearly all day and, if that wasn't enough, when he went to therapy, all Doctor Lewis wanted to do was talk about the visit. When he wouldn't say anything about it, she reprimanded him. Twice he'd gotten his arse handed to him and it's put him in a right foul mood.

A couple hours ago they were given their daily free time, told they could go do as they pleased for a little while, and he's been sitting in the rec room for the past hour on the couch they have there, thinking about everything. He stares at the dark screen of the television as he does so. He thought about turning it on but decided he'd rather sit in the quiet. Everyone else is outside and he's the only one there. It's comforting for him, being alone right now. It's funny how things have started to change in that way. The longer he's here, the more bad things that happen to him, the more closed off he's becoming.

Suddenly the sound of feet shuffling against the floor and into the room catches his attention. When the noise stops, the hair on the back of his neck stands up. He slows his breathing and carefully turns his head a fraction, trying to see over his shoulder. He can't, of course, but his body is hyper aware there's someone there. He takes a deep breath and goes back to staring at the blank screen, waits for whoever it is to leave.

"Hi."

He jumps and lets out a small squeak, becoming embarrassed as Lucy shit's into his line of vision.

Her head is ducked, but she raises her hand and repeats hello.

He can't look at her. She makes his skin tingle and his nerves dance. He stares at his lap and pretends to pick stuff off his pants, fidgeting his feet, wondering why she makes him feel so anxious. "H-hi."

She inches closer and he tenses. "I, um, it's rather chilly outside."

He nods.

"I thought I'd come in for a bit before they call off free time. Can I... would you mind if I sat with you?"

He says nothing, but slowly slides over on the couch. She carefully closes the distance and gently seats herself as far away from him as she can get, on the edge of the couch. He can feel her eyes on him so he glances over.

"I'm Lucy," she tells him.

"I know."

She smiles a little. "That's right, you already knew that on account of group. Sometimes I forget... you're so quiet. You're Simon?"

He nods again.

"What are you doing in here?"

There's no way to answer this question without talking. It's as though she made sure of this. He sighs. "Watching the telly."

Her eyebrows pinch together and she looks at the screen than back at him. "It's not on."

"I know."

She giggles, a soft sound that makes his heart skip. "You're strange."

"I know."

"Me, too," she replies, looking down at the floor. "Maybe we could be strange together? J-just for now. I could sit here with you and watch nothing on the telly... if you don't mind." She peeks up at him.

His eyes dance back and forth as he stares at her a moment before mumbling, "I- I don't mind."

Her smile grows and she moves back on the couch, settling in. Her eyes travel to the black screen and she sighs.

His nerves slowly calm with each passing minute until the awkward silence doesn't feel so awkward anymore. In fact, it's almost comfortable.

He might even like it a little.

...

He meets her outside. Well, trips over her. It's his fault, really. He isn't paying attention to where he's going, opting to stare out at the yard and the people out there. Some of them are sitting in groups talking to one another and Simon envies them for a second for having that. Sometimes he thinks he's okay with having no one in here to be friends with, what with how his last friendship went. But other times all it does it remind him singled out he is, like now, and he wishes someone would just talk to him.

It's those distractions that 'cause the next chain of events, his foot catching on something. He finds himself flying forward, knees slamming into the ground when he comes down. Sharp pains shoot through his legs and he hisses through his teeth before turning over with a pained moan. In his line of vision, he sees Lucy scrambling towards him with wide, panicked- looking eyes, her mouth opened in a shocked O.

"I'm so sorry," she cries out, gently reaching for him.

He pulls his legs back and swallows hard. "It's fine. I'll be fine." He takes a deep breath before asking, "W- what were you doing on the ground?"

She ducks her head with an embarrassed smile. "I was... drawing." She points behind her towards the doors and he spots a notebook.

"Why not sit on one of the benches?"

She looks up at him, eyes dancing back and forth in a scrutinizing manner that makes him feel like an ant under a magnifying glass. "I prefer being lower to the ground when I draw. I get a better view of things."

"Oh." Such a master of words, he thinks with a small shake of his head.

"Did you..." Lucy glances at the ground, her hair falling in a curtain around her face before she peeks up at him. "Would you like to see them? M- my drawings, I mean. You don't have to if you don't want to. I- they're not all that good." She lets out a huff of air. "Oh, why did I even ask? N- never mind, I-"

"I'd like that," he interjects.

Lucy stops talking and fully looks up at him, eyes widened, something he's already becoming accustomed to seeing. "Really?" she asks, and he wonders how a voice can sound so hopeful and small at the same time. When he nods, she gives him the tiniest smile. "Okay. Wait-" She says before they can move.

He looks at her alarmed. "What?"

"Your knee. Is it... will you be okay?"

He'd nearly forgotten, but the reminder almost seems to bring back the sting. He gives Lucy a quick glance before pulling up the leg of his joggers. A small twinge of humility strikes as he stares down at his very pale skin. It makes the torn skin and splatters of blood look worse than the wound probably is.

"Oh, no!" Lucy breathes out. "You're hurt."

"It's fine," he mumbles. "Just a small scrape."

"Want to go down to the nurses station?"

He quickly shakes his head. If he were going o be honest with Lucy, he'd think to tell her that he could have his arm ripped off at the elbow, and even then he'd still insist on not going to the nurses station. Instead he tells her, "I'll be all right, thanks." Pulling the leg down, he motions toward the wall and then slides over until his back is against it.

Lucy slowly crawls over to him and grabs her notebook, turning around to situate herself beside him. "Okay," she says with a sigh, her leg somewhat knocking into his.

Swallowing hard, he watches as she opens the book to the first page. It takes a moment to realize that the sharp inhale was his own as he stares down at the picture.

"I drew it the first day I got her," she tells him quietly. "While I was in the van waiting to be brought in."

His eyes roam the details of the page, her drawing of the institute they currently reside in so realistic it sends a chill down his spine. It's an eerie picture. Haunting, almost. Too real. "It's... it's very good," he says, looking to her. "You're very talented."

She ducks her head with what he assumes is an embarrassed smile and mumbles a thank you. It clear she's not used to receiving compliments. But then, neither is he.

"Would you like to show me the rest?"

She bobs her head enthusiastically and quickly turns the page. And they do this for a while, go through the book, lapse on the conversation. It's quiet and nice. Nicer than Simon would have expected. Nicer than he's used to. Every so often he'll make an idle comment about a particular drawing, or point to ones that he likes most. He even gathers up the courage to ask her for one he liked more than the others, and Lucy is more than eager to tear the page out, fold it up, and give it to him.

"This is the nicest thing anyone's ever given me," he tells her with a half smile. "Your work is really good."

She smiles. "What about you?"

"What?"

"Well, I mean... what are you good at?"

"Oh." His gaze goes to his hands in his lap and he shrugs. "Nothing, really."

"That can't be true. Surely there's something?"

"I know how to... edit videos," he says slowly. Then, remembering where they're at adds, "Except I can't show you. They took my phone." He frowns at the thought and releases a heavy sigh."

"Something else, then?" she presses.

It takes a moment for him to come up with something. "I- I'm kind of good at remembering lines from movies."

"Oh, could you show me? Please?"

He smiles at her glee- like response. "Um, all right. Name a movie."

Lucy's lower lip pushes out into the smallest of pouts. "I can't think of any. I don't really watch much telly."

"Ah, um... that's okay. M- maybe some other time? I think break is almost up, anyway."

"It never seems very long, does it?" she asks, tucking her hair behind her ear and looking over at him.

"No," he agrees. It seems like their two hours of free time gets shorter every day. He wonders how well it would bode for his mental health if they ever stopped getting free time at all and almost cringes at the thought.

"Maybe," Lucy says, bringing his attention back to her. "Maybe we could... meet up again tomorrow. Together, I mean. Like hang out."

"I got that," he answers with a half smile.

"Right. Right, of course you did. Sorry, I'm so shit at this. Trying to make friends, you know? Oh, who am I kidding! Of course you don't know. I bet you're great at making new friends."

"I'm not," he answers firmly, a small bite in his voice he didn't expect to be there. "Sorry," he's quick to add at the sight of Lucy's surprised expression. "I just meant, I- I'm sure I'm not much better."

"But... you're so nice." She says it with this look on her face that digs into his gut, like it's the most truthful thing in the world to her. With a voice that says because she thinks it, it must be true. It stings more than he would have expected, the reminder that being nice means nothing. "I'd like to hang out with you again," he replies instead. "Tomorrow if you'd like."

She seems to forget all about the conversation they were just having, something he's grateful for. "Okay," she says, nearly beaming. 'Tomorrow, same spot?"

Simon nods just as the whistle blows, calling off their free time for the day. Lucy hurries to her feet, notebook tucked up her arm. "Bye, Simon."

"Goodbye, Lucy," he answers with a tiny smile, and in the time it takes him to stand up, she's gone.

For once, the absence doesn't feel so lonely. Still, it takes a few minutes for his brain to catch up and be convinced that what just happened was real. The paper still folded in his hand and the sting on his knee are proof enough of that.

And he's happy for it. He'd forgotten what that felt like.

...

It's like Jack, he thinks one day, sitting outside with Lucy in the yard. This sun is shining, a rare thing, so everyone is outside enjoying it. People are running around and playing ball and throwing a frisbee, calling out and being loud and acting free. There's even laughter, something he nearly forgot the sound of, it's been so long. It surprises him more to find it's Lucy who's laughing.

Simon lowers his head and looks across where he sits to catch the next row of giggles that escape her. The infectiousness of it makes him smile. "What?"

She points to his trousers. "There are ants crawling on you."

Sure enough, looking down, he catches sight of a small ant army making their way up his leg. He lets out a tiny high- pitched noise at the back of his throat, causing Lucy to laugh harder as he hurriedly brushes them off. He may like bugs, but he's not a fan of having them on him. One time when he was little, a boy next door had found a Gardner snake and chased him around the yard with it and he got so scared he spent the rest of the day throwing up. When he looks back up to Lucy, the absurdity of it all catches up with him and he finds himself laughing, too.

It's foreign at first, like the re- learning an old skill you haven't used in a quite a long time. It's been so long since he's even wanted to make such a sound. And it feels good, natural. Maybe this was what he'd been missing?

Lucy comes down with her fit of giggles with a heavy sigh. "This is good," she says, tilting her head back. The sunlight on her pale skin makes the blue veins dance behind her eyes. He finds it pretty. "Things feel okay right now," she adds.

And it hits him, the thought of Jack. The way this felt like that. It's comfortable and comforting, it's stability. He remembers the whispers of Jack's death, then. Stability didn't last. Jack didn't last. What if this were to become that? A small surge of fear bubbles in his chest as he looks at Lucy. Almost as if she senses the sudden change in his demeanor, she lowers her head to catch his stare.

"Simon?"

"What are you in here for?" he blurts out.

Lucy pinches her brow, leaning back. "What?"

"In the unit," he clarifies. "Why are you in the unit."

Lucy raises her shoulders up and forward, like she's trying to curl into herself. "S- Simon, where's this coming from?"

This definitely isn't going as well as it did with Jack. "I just want to know," he tells her. "You can tell me about you. I.. I could tell you about me."

She seems to hunch further into herself. "I- I don't think so," she quietly replies.

He thinks of Jack again, of their first conversation and how it went. He tries to use that to make more of a connection. "Come on. I can even go first."

From beneath her eyelashes, Lucy glances up at him, her upper lip curling toward her nose. She gives him a look that all but knocks the air out of him. It's dark and nearly menacing. "I said no." She bites out, each word slow and clear, in a voice that doesn't even sound like her own. The shock of how different she seems just then makes him quick to nod in agreement. "Sorry," she says a beat later, her features returning to normal. "I just... I'm not comfortable talking about it."

He swallows hard. "Okay." He thinks he'd never ask again if this is the kind of reaction he'd recieve. It's left him a little shaken, a little more cautious. Maybe this isn't like Jack at all. It's different.

Darker.

He looks to Lucy with her face tilted into the sun smiling and he knows it can't be a good thing by how disturbed he feels just now... and how the thrumming heave of his heart slamming into his chest almost excites him.

...

She's sitting alone, that's the first thing he notices as he enters the cafeteria. The second thing he registers is the notebook in front of her that she's got her face pressed close to, looking deep in concentration.

He stands there for a few minutes shifting on his feet as the slop on his plate grows cold. As though she can sense his presence in the room, she looks up and directly at him, smiles shyly, and waves him over.

His feet are heavy against the floor as he walks across the room with his head down, not wanting to acknowledge anyone in the room that's asked him to sit with them before that he's said no to. Like the crazy- eyed girl that walks over to where Lucy is sitting and takes a seat across from her.

Simon stops where he's at and swallows hard. He starts looking for a new table, but his attention goes back to Lucy, who's now leaning across the table, her face close to the other girls. Lucy's mouth is moving, she's saying something to her. He wishes he could hear what it is. This thought intensifies as he watches the girl quickly rise from the table and rush off crying.

Lucy catches his stare and her lip curves up in a half smile as she waves him over once more.

He hurries the rest of the way over and sets his tray on the table, hurriedly sliding into the seat. "What did you say to her?"

Lucy blinks fast and clears her throat. "Oh, nothing, really. Girl stuff."

"But she was crying."

She shrugs. "She gets emotional easy, you know what it is. We've both had to deal with her in group."

"Yeah, but what did you say?"

"Just leave it alone, Simon," she replies, lowering her eyes.

He shifts uncomfortably and glances at the notebook in front of her, figures changing the subject is a good idea. "What's that?"

Lucy runs her finger over the page and turns the book around to give him a better look. It takes him a moment to register what he's seeing. When it does click, his eyes widen and his mouth drops open a bit. He looks up at her. "That's me!"

She's sketched him. There on her white page, his own face stares back at him. The detail she's put into it is curiously frightening. She's drawn him perfectly, in a way that makes him feel as though he were looking at a photograph of himself. He drinks everything in.

"It's what I see when I look at you," she says quietly.

His eyes fall on his drawn self's forehead, to the scar she included. He runs his finger across it and almost unconsciously his hand flies up to his own forehead where he smooths his hair down over the mark.

"I- I wanted to include everything," she tells him. "But I can take that out if it bothers you."

"N- no. It's fine. This is a good drawing."

"Good thing I didn't draw your neck bruises, too, huh?"

There's a punched in gut feeling as he jerks his head up to look at her. "What?"

She blinks a rapidly. "Oh, I... I didn't mean anything bad by it. Honest. You can hardly tell anymore, really."

She's lying. He doesn't even have to look at her wide, nervous stare to tell. It may no longer be red and purple and raw, but it's still just as bad. He still spends every day taking a look at it. The colors have now faded into an ugly green and yellow that make him look like he has a skin disease of some sort. The t-shirts he's usually en forced to wear in this place make it impossible to cover up, on top of that, and so he's sure that people are always staring.

"I'm sorry," she blurts out. "I shouldn't- you never talk about it so-"

"You don't talk about why you're here," he points out. "But I don't make comments about you." He can't keep the anger from his voice. He's hurt and embarrassed by having his flaws brought up so flippantly.

He glances around, licks his lips and tells her, "I, um, I think I'm going to go back to my room."

"What? You haven't even eaten!"

He shakes his head. "I'm not very hungry anymore." Pushing himself up from the table, he slides from his seat.

"Simon." She goes to grab his wrist and he shakes her off.

"I'll see you later," he tells her, turning and walking away.

The entire walk back to his room, he makes sure to keep his hands pressed over his neck.

...

He's restless. There's a weight on his chest and a tightness in his bones. It was lights out hours ago, and he's been awake, lying in the dark, tossing and turning as his thoughts race. He can't stop replaying the fight he had with Lucy mere hours ago. It's like a pounding at the front of his head, every word that was spoken, the way it made him feel. He can't sleep because of it.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he sits up from the bed and lets the covers fall away from his body. The cold air nips at his skin and goose bumps rise, a small shiver rolling down his spine. It was blistering hot under his sheets, yet it's freezing outside them.

That's how it is in this place... there is no middle ground. Everything is not enough or too much.

He gets up from the bed, carefully walking across his room to the small dresser in the corner where he pulls out a shirt and slips it on. He does everything as silently as possible. When lights are out, no one is supposed to be up from their beds, it's against the rules. He'll get privileges taken away if they catch him, more than likely they'd take away his free time outside or in the rec room. He'd be forced to sit in his room most of the day.

This really isn't something he sees as much of a punishment, though. He would handle it just fine, without any complaint. However, losing privileges also means spending longer in therapy discussing ones bad behavior, and that's the last thing he wants. He manages to make it half way back to his bed, having been quiet as can be, when the need to take a piss strikes. He nearly curses his own body.

There are a lot of things wrong with the unit, a lot of things he's found that bother them. But none nearly as much as not having a loo in their rooms. It's one of his biggest complains. It's the middle of the night and he's half asleep, and still in a sour mood over what happened earlier. The last thing he wants to have to do is alert one of the nurses that he's awake so they can guide him down the hall to the men's room.

With a cemented scowl on his face, he shuffles to the door and opens it a crack. There's a single light at the end of the hallway, but the rest is shrouded in darkness. He peers down the end- to one of the many nurses station they've got in this place and calls out, "Hello." He waits a minute for someone to respond and, when no one does, he calls out again. The result is the same, there's no answer back.

He goes over the rules in his head: when one is looking for a nurse but there isn't around is to go back to your room and try again in a little while, eventually someone will be there. However, his bladder is screaming at him, so waiting doesn't feel like much of an option. Even the reminder of what's happened to him in the loo once before isn't the greatest of deterrence. He's reached that point where he's tired of caring, really.

As he steps out of his room, something crinkles beneath his feet, drawing his attention the floor. He moves his foot and stares down curiously at the piece of paper sitting there. Taking another look around, he bends down and picks it up, quickly pulling it open. He inhales sharply at the picture of himself, the one from earlier that Lucy drew. It would appear she set it outside his door for him to find.

His eyes go to the top of the page, to the drawing's forehead, where he notices that the scar that was there before has been erased. Lucy removed it. His heart jumps as he wonders if this is her way of apologizing. It feels like an apology. He wouldn't really know. No one's ever said sorry for hurting him. He folds the paper up carefully and tucks it into his shirt pocket, and plans on finding her tomorrow to sort things out.

With another look around, he steps fully outside his room and shuts the door behind him as quietly as he can, before taking off down the hallway as fast as his legs will carry him. He's grateful that he hasn't gotten caught as he slips inside the men's room. He can't stop looking around anxiously as he relieves himself, like Sam will somehow appear out of one of the dark corners of the room and attack him again. He's in a different loo than where the first incident happened, but it doesn't make things less unnerving. It isn't until washing his hands that he notices how hard they were shaking.

A few minutes later, passing by the shower stalls on his way out, he stops at a noise coming from inside one of them. He moves over to it carefully, hands starting to quiver again as he reaches out and touches the door. He takes one deep breath before shoving it open.

"What the fuck?"

He jumps back at the harsh yell and his skin flushes. The door slams shut and he lets out a small giggle of uncomfortable embarrassment. He's just caught one of the other male patients having a wank.

"Can't a guy tug one out in peace? Jesus," the guy complains.

"We have rooms," Simon tells him.

"Hey, how's bout you mind your own fucking business and get the fuck out of here before I tell everyone in group just how much a pervert you are."

He frowns, his skin prickling at the insult. He contemplates saying something back but, like the coward he is, decides to leave instead. He even thinks about alerting one of the nurses, but remembers he's out of his room, too, and will get in just as much trouble. He practically tip toes down the halls, looking over his shoulder every couple minutes and counting the numbers on the door so he'll know when he's close to his own.

It's as he's walking past the rec room that the sound of someone crying catches his attention and makes him stop. The room is pitch black, so he can't see who it might be, but judging by the pitch, it's a girl. And someone else breaking the rules of being out of bed after lights out. He thinks to himself that he picked a good night to be out of his room. He starts to walk towards the door and his heart races a little faster. He takes another look around before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

The crying stops as he shuts the door behind him and he slows his breathing. It's impossible to see anything, but considering how many times he's been in the room, he already knows where everything is. He moves forward and calls out a soft, "Hello."

"Simon?"

His heart leaps. "Lucy?"

He side steps around one of the end tables until he's made it to the couch and he's finally able to make out a persons silhouette. He doesn't need any light to know it's Lucy. She's the only girl in the unit who wears her hair hanging down around her face like a curtain. "W- what are you doing in here?"

"I should ask you the same," she retorts, sniffling.

"You're crying. Why are you crying?"

She sniffles again. "Like you care. Go away, Simon."

He flinches at her icy tone, but wills himself to stay cemented where he stands, to not run away. "That's not true. I do care, Lucy."

"Oh, yeah? What about earlier? What about how you snapped at me?"

A heavy sigh escapes him and he sink down on the couch, facing her. "I- the comment you made, about my neck bruises... it hurt me."

"I said I was sorry!"

He grimaces. "I know. I know you did. I- I'm guess I'm bad at..." He takes a deep breath. "No one's ever apologized to me before. For anything. No one's ever been sorry for the things they've said or done to me. I don't know how to... handle it."

She says nothing in return, stays quiet as a mouse.

"Lucy?"

"Sorry. I heard you. Just... I think that's the most I've ever heard you say at one time. About how you feel... I mean. Like I said earlier, you don't..." She trails off with a sniffle and he can feel her picking at the edge of the couch.

"You know, the average person says about fifteen thousand words a day." He looks around the darkness of the room and chews at the inside of his cheek for a moment before letting out a small sigh. "I always- I wonder if that can be true. I used to go whole days without saying one word."

Her picking at the couch stops. "That's... sort of depressing."

He shrugs. "There wasn't anyone to talk to anyway. It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me. I- I like hearing your voice."

Her words sit between them as silence takes over. He doesn't know what to say. The last compliment he received was from a girl he liked when he was nine. She said he had pretty eyes. This feels different from that, however. This is an admission that feels like more.

His body stiffens when Lucy slides close to him, so close that their legs are pressed tight together and her bare arm is touching his. He holds his breath, heart slamming in his chest when her head comes to rest on his shoulder. They sit there like that and he wonders how its possible for silence to sound so loud. Surely she can hear his heart beating? It sounds deafening to his own ear.

"Simon?"

"Hm?"

His whole body heats when Lucy's breath hits his neck. He feels like a wound up spring, coiled too tightly.

"Are you still mad at me about earlier?"

The thoughts in his head are fuzzy. He can hardly even recall what he was mad about. Letting out a heavy breath, he tells her, "No."

"Good." He can almost hear the smile in her voice. "Simon?"

"Yeah?"

"I really like you," she whispers.

He swallows hard and turns his head, finds her dark eyes staring up at him. "What are we doing?" he asks, has to ask, because it's never been like this before. He's never felt anything burn so intensely that it scares him down to his bones. Liking Lucy is terrifying. Not liking her, he's beginning to understand, might be worse.

"We're young and insane," she quietly tells him. "We can do whatever we want."

Her words excite him, make his stomach twist and his body quake. Slow and slightly hesitant he leans down until her warm lips are pressed against his own. He can feel her shiver. Or maybe that was him?

Lucy makes a noise at the back of her throat and pushes forward, her hand snaking up the front of his shirt towards his neck. He pulls away and quickly grabs her wrist, stopping her from going any further.

"What?" she asks.

"I- I don't-"

"Simon, it's okay. I don't mind it."

"I do," he admits, shame seeping in.

"You shouldn't. It's a part of you."

"It'll go away someday."

"Then let me enjoy it while it's still here."

He wants to say something, wants to ask what happened to her that's made her like such dark things. But he knows it wouldn't be fair, seeing as he doesn't talk about himself. Besides, she's too busy kissing him again for him to get the words out.

Lucy shakes her hand until he lets go of her wrist and she fists his shirt, hoisting herself up and over him. She maneuvers around his legs until she's sitting on top of him, straddling his waist. His grip on her hips tightens as she opens her mouth, him following her moves until his tongue is sliding over hers. Lucy whimpers and presses her body closer to his.

And when her hand slides up to his throat, he doesn't stop her, he doesn't stop at all. He lets her run her fingers along the indent and tilt his head back, pull her mouth away from his and press her lips against the dotted line, run her tongue along it.

He's shaking everywhere, and so is she. His thoughts are racing a mile a minute. Slow down, they're screaming. She rolls her hips, grinding against him, and he swears his eyes nearly roll out of his head.

Their breathing is so loud in this quiet room.

"I'll check in here," someone calls out, and the sound of the door handle turning makes both of them freeze.

"Shit," Lucy whispers, scrambling off him. She hits the floor and reaches up, grabbing his shirt and yanking him down with her. They both lie there, holding their breath as the door opens and the light comes on. The brightness of it hurts his eyes. And all he can think just then is how glad he is that the couch faces away from the door so they can't be seen over the back of it.

That thanks is short lived as footsteps fall inside the room. They're going to get caught, he's sure of it. It'll be hours more spent in therapy, and harsher rules set on them for being found together.

"Hey, Jackie, we found him," someone else calls out. The footsteps stop.

Lucy reaches out and grabs his hand, giving it a squeeze as the nurse starts to walk away. She shuts off the light and closes the door on her way out. Lucy wastes no time jumping up. She squeezes herself and giggles, while he's still trying to get his eyes to adjust back to the dark. "That was so close," she breathes out.

Simon takes a deep breath and lets it out slow. "We should... probably get back to our rooms."

"Scared you, did that? Not me. I sneak out of my room all the time. Haven't gotten caught once."

"And if you do get caught?"

"I don't know, I'll blame it on sleepwalking?"

He nods. "Well, I'm already on watch for bad behavior so..."

"Do what you must," she cuts in, her voice slightly clipped.

He stands there quite still, not wanting to stay, but not really wanting to go. He knows he has more that he wants to say, but doesn't know how to say it. Things are back to feeling somewhat awkward again. Lucy comes forward and throws her arms around him, holding him tight.

"Did you get my picture?"

He nods.

"Good. I don't ever want to us fight again." She gives him a kiss on the cheek and releases him.

"Are you coming, too?"

She shakes her head. "I'm going to stay a bit longer."

"All right. Goodnight, Lucy."

She says nothing in return, but he can feel her eyes on him there in that darkness as he walk away.

The rushed walk back to his room makes him anxious once again, so when he does finally end up back in his bed, he's wound up tight and can't settle. If that isn't enough, what happened with Lucy in the rec room is playing on a constant loop inside his head. He reaches up and touches his lips, remembering how hers had felt. He'd never kissed a girl like that.

He thinks of her breath and her tongue on her throat and the feel of her pressed against him. He trembles under his sheets and closes his eyes, his hand sliding across his own flesh, dipping inside his sweats and he likes this... and hates himself a little for liking it.

It doesn't take him long after to fall asleep.

...

"She said I'm difficult and rude. The annoying cunt." Lucy kicks at the bench and folds her arms with a pout.

"You're not," Simon's quick to tell her. "You're just honest."

"Yeah, well, fuck her. I'm sick of being here, Simon. Aren't you sick of being here."

"You know I am."

"You sure don't act like he."

He stares out at the lot, to the people lounging on the benches and some making a half attempt at playing ball. Even doing these simple things, most of them still look unstable... mental. He wonders how many times someone has looked at him and thought the same. "We can't leave until we make progress," he replies. "Until we talk."

"We talk to each other!"

"Not about our problems," he points out, looking back at her.

She's scowling now. "Who cares about that? It's in the past."

"That's not how it works."

Her hand comes down against the top of the bench with a loud smack. He imagines it must have stung. "Fuck how it works, Simon. Jesus, are you always so... complacent? Aside from talking, you do pretty much anything they ask of you. A perfect little rule follower."

He flinches at her sharp tone. "Good behavior means getting out earlier."

She turns and looks at him, lowering her eyebrows as her upper lip twitches. "And what happens when you get out of here? Back home to mummy and daddy who treat you like a ghost? Who care more about your sister-"

"That's not true," he interrupts.

"What about your friends?" she continues. "Friends you don't have. What do you think are the chances of you getting out of here and Matt and his buddies deciding to use you as a human punching bag again"

He curls his fingers around the seat of the bench and digs his fingers into it. "Lucy, stop."

"Oh, lets not forget your community service. Where they'll probably stick you with an entire group of shithead twats who will probably treat you just as shitty."

"Enough!" The volume of his voice as he yells surprises even himself. He takes a quick look around and locks gazes with one of the nurses that's now staring over at them. She looks poised to come over at any second if things escalate. That's the last thing he needs. He looks back to Lucy with a sigh, expecting to see some kind of shock or surprise, but she's smiling instead.

She shifts on the bench and leans forward so their faces are very close. He half expects her to kiss him. "They say I'm insane, Simon," she whispers. "But we're not so different, you and I. There's a rage inside of you just waiting to come out. And someday it will. That makes you crazy, too." She leans back. "So you can stop acting like you're somehow better than us and this place. You're just as fucked up as we are. And you're never getting out."

He sets his jaw firm and looks away. "You're wrong."

She giggles. "Welcome to Hotel California, Simon. You can check out anytime you want, but you can never leave." With that, she stands up. "See you in group. Who knows, maybe I'll talk today?" She practically skips away.

Never leave.

A shiver runs up his spine as he takes another look out at the yard. That won't be him. He'll get out.

He will. He will get out.

If he says it enough will that make it true?

...

I'd love to hear what you think.