I do not own Misfits or Simon or Lucy but the unit and all it's contents are mine :)

I'm officially the worst at this.

Maybe someone's still reading? lol

...

There's an unease in the atmosphere, it's been like this for a week, a tension in the halls and around the other patients in the unit. It's like everyone can feel Sara's loss and it's set everyone on edge. They're still talking, still whispering. Though the cops have assured everyone that there's no further investigation, that Sara's death was just some... accident, it doesn't seem to matter. Some still believe it was intentional.

Simon's still convinced it was intentional.

He thinks about it every time he's around Lucy, whether in passing in the halls, or when they're sitting together during free time. It bounces around his skull like an angry animal, always threatening to tear it's way out of the mental cage of torture. He beats it down, smiles, and pretends it's okay. Still, sometimes it slips, that facade, the lies he tells himself. It happens in group one day, unexpectedly.

In group, the feelings of confusion and anger seem to be more prominent. He senses it every time he comes into the room, and today is no different. It's been too quiet lately. No one's even cried.

It's instinct by now, unconsciously done, the way he searches out Lucy and goes to sit beside her. He has to force himself not to acknowledge the reaction Emma gives him, the one she's given him a lot since that day she hugged him in the halls... the hurt in her eyes. How let down she looks. He wants to tell her it's for the best, that he's only doing it to make things better, but the opportunity to do so hasn't come about recently. As he settles into his seat, he glances at Lucy for the briefest of seconds to see if she's paying attention to him. Fortunately, she's got her head low on her chest with her eyes closed, like she's taking a nap.

Looking to Emma, he mouths an apology and sinks a little lower in his chair. She gives him a nod and dips her head, eyes cast to the ground as they well up with tears. She's cried quietly a lot. He stares at her until the group therapist comes in the room and draws their attention to him.

"Today we talk," he says, settling into the chair in the middle of their circle. He looks around at them, all twelve of them in this cramped, suffocating room, and then takes a deep breath. "Today we talk about Sara. Really talk."

"Ain't we been talking?" one of the guys, Ben- if he recalls correctly- asks.

Doctor Jacob's nods. "That we have. Anyone wanna recap what we've talked about this past week since Sara's passing?"

One of the girls raises her hand but before being acknowledged, speaks anyway, around the finger she has half shoved into her mouth. "Bout telling the people we know how we really feel about them."

"Correct you are. And why have we done that?"

"So's those people know we cared just in case we die too soon or some shit, yeah?" another guy responds, looking around at the people in their group who nod along.

Simon recalls how he'd been called on to talk one of those days. He'd gotten ready to do the usual head down, mumble not wanting to thing he'd held onto since the first day he'd had group, but a look from Emma from across the room had stopped him. It also made him think, about his own suicide attempt, about the letter he'd left behind for someone to find after he was gone. That his last words in the world to the people he'd always known, who'd given birth to him, raised him, grown up with him, were going to be, 'No one will even miss me when I'm gone, no one will even care, and I don't like any of you enough to stay.' Probably the cruelest thing he'd ever said or thought in his whole life. He'd been so angry when he wrote it, so hurt. He wanted to make them hurt back. And the guilt he felt thinking about it had been so overwhelming that he actually found himself really talking for the first time.

He told the people in that room, those not so strangers, all about that letter. About his sister hiding it away from anyone, and how it ate at him. How even though she was the only one who ever saw it, just that it was there and existed and it was how he'd felt at one time, was something he was ashamed of. And he'd expected the worst from talking. He sat there sunk into his chair with Lucy gaping at him from one side, burning holes into him, and everyone else staring around the room and he'd waited for their judgement. Judgement that didn't come. In fact, most of them returned their own sentiments of feeling the same as he did. They told him he wasn't alone, that they'd been there, too.

Something in the way they said in, in the way they looked at him like they were looking at some version of themselves was enough to give him the idea that maybe talking in group, at least once in a while, wasn't such a bad thing. That as long as he did it in small doses, it would be okay. He had felt better after getting that off his chest... lighter. Afterward in his therapy session with Doctor Lewis, she'd commended him for having the courage to do that. She told him it was the most radical change in a patient's behavior she'd ever seen and that she was proud of him. That felt good, too.

"That's right," Doctor Jacob's says. "And why did we do that?"

Emma's small, cracked voice makes his chest ache. "Because Sara won't ever be able to say those things again." He watches her as she sits up straighter in her chair, looking around the room at everyone. "She'll never get to tell her mum that she's sorry she said those mean things to her when they tried to get her help, or how she still had that letter her dad wrote to her before he killed himself, or how much she loved her little brother no matter how much he drove her mad. She'll never get to say goodbye to her nan that's dying in some fucking home from dementia, or wake up each morning and say she's glad to see me like she used to do. She won't ever do that shit again because she's dead. And whoever did that to her gets to go on living."

"Now, Emma," Doctor Jacob's is quick to retort, "we all heard what the police said-"

"They're wrong!" she cries, sitting up straighter in her chair. "They hardly even fucking investigated. They questioned two people," she shoots a look in Lucy's direction that Lucy doesn't seem to catch, but Simon does. "And then called it an accident. It wasn't an accident! Those cops just didn't want the hassle of dealing with the crazies."

A few people, of course, get upset by her use of the word crazy and grow defensive, turning in their chairs to raise their voices and opinions at Emma. This isn't anything new, many in this place are sensitive to words like that, words that have been used to put them down most of their lives. It's a catch- 22, he's noticed. They'll get mad if you use the incorrect term, but some of them get mad even when you use the correct terms. It's just another one of those reasons why it's always been best he keep his mouth shut. He knows he'd probably end up saying the wrong thing and making someone mad, and then there'd be a fight just like the one happening now.

Doctor Jacob's has to clap his hands a few times to draw their attention back. "Now's not the time," he says.

"When is the time?" Emma fires back, crossing her arms and staring him down. She's a force to be reckoned with right now, Simon thinks.

"If you want to go into more depth on this topic, there's always one on one therapy," he replies. "Right now, it's important we stay on task. I'm not trying to diminish your feelings here, Emma-"

She scoffs and sits back in her seat, lolling her head back to stare at the ceiling, making it clear she's done discussing anything. It makes Simon sad to see her shut down like that, so much so that he tries out the idea of saying something in his head. Then, remembering Lucy next to him, decides against it. Still, he plays in his head what he would say, how he'd defend her feelings on it, and it makes him feel slightly better. He'd do it if he thought he could, he'd say anything to make her feel better.

"Now," he continues, seeming to choose to overlook anymore hassle of arguing with anyone, Emma included. "We've talked a lot about the things we'd say to people we love this week, and you've all come up with some pretty great things. Made great progress. So now I want to flip the table here a bit. Sticking with a similar theme, I'd like it we could all discuss what we might say to people no longer here. We're a large group, each with our own experiences, and loss isn't a stranger to most of us, I'm sure."

Simon can't be entirely sure, but he swears the therapist gives him a look with his last comment. One of those sympathetic ones he's always hated, the kind that tell you that they feel sorry for you, but they never know what to say to try and console you. Doctor Lewis tried, but never this bloke. If anything, it always felt like he was calling him out when he tried getting him to talk about Jack. He thinks about how they tried to talk about Jack in group like they were doing to Sara now, and he'd just covered his ears and closed his eyes until it was over. He doesn't have that reaction now, but he does make sure to look away just in case.

"I want to preface all of this," he continues, "by letting you know that, considering how sensitive this topic is, you do not have to take a turn if you don't want to. We all know that sharing is normally expected within the group, but I'm going to be lenient with this one. If you do not wish to go, you can simply say you don't want to when we come around to you. No repercussions. I want this to be a... cathartic experience, if you will- a safe place where you can maybe let go of some of the things you've possibly been holding inside. A healing excersize."

One of the other guys in group scoffs. "Yeah, that works."

He turns to him. "Mike, something you want to share?"

Mike shifts in his seat, one of his eyes twitching. He's clearly uncomfortable being put on the spot so suddenly. Simon's noticed in his time in group that Mike and he are a lot alike, both with a lot of thoughts, both not very good at expressing them when it's expected of them. Mike slinks down and shrugs one shoulder. "Just meant... shit like that, ain't really always work. Didn't work when my pops passed. Everyone always tryin' to get me to talk about it." He scowls, then. "Didn't work."

"I- I didn't know your dad died," a girl beside him says quietly.

He shrugs again, but it's there, that small crack in his facade. Where his face scrunches up just the smallest bit, like he's forcing down whatever emotion threatening to break him. "It was a long time ago," he replies, the tiniest crack in his voice.

"You want to talk about it?" Doctor Jacob's asks, but Mike just shakes his head.

"You can count me out as a lenient pass."

The Doctor, true to words, merely nods and looks around the room. "So who's willing to take that plunge go first?" His sights land on one of the girls- Bi- Polar Betty Simon recalls Emma calling her. "Betty?" he tries.

She looks up from her lap, eyes as big as saucers. There's a visible shake in her hands that makes Simon think about his own nervous tendencies. He hopes no one comments it on. They've done it to her before. From the group's time together, Simon's learned that Betty's often more manic than lucid. She's out of it a lot. But when she is there, she's really there. Like now. Looking around and noting that all eyes are on her, her eyes well up a bit.

"Remember you can say pass," he tells her.

She swallows hard, Simon watching her throat bob with the motion. He expects she'll stay quiet, say nothing at all and then cry when someone says something about it. It's what she usually does. But then, "My sister Tessa," she replies in a small voice, taking another look around the room.

When her eyes well with tears, Simon feels a slight pain in his chest. He thinks of how much it must have taken her just to find the strength to find those few words. At least until she surprises him by continuing.

"My little sister drowned when she was four. D- down by the quary. I was... I was nine. I was supposed to be watching her but my friend came over to talk to me. I turned around. It was just for a minute. Just for... for one minute." Her lip trembles and she bites it, looking down at the floor. "I'd tell her I'm sory," she says a moment later. "I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention. For... for always saying how much I h- hated her." A few tears roll down her cheeks. "I'm just really sorry."

"It's all right," Doctor Jacob's tells her when she says she doesn't want to talk anymore. "That was great work, good sharing. With situations like that-"

"It wasn't your fault," Simon blurts out. When all eyes fall on him, he doesn't feel that familiar sense of dread or anxiety he usually gets. Just a strong sense of conviction to reassure Betty. "It was an accident," he adds firmly. "You shouldn't blame yourself. Anyone... in this room could have made the same error. It's not your fault."

Betty stares at him for a long time before nodding slowly.

"I'm sorry about your sister," he finishes and the others in the room, the ones who can, end up apologizing, too.

"Thank you," she answers quietly.

He nods and Emma catches his eye, then. She's smiling.

"I killed someone once." Each of their attention turns to another guy in group. Simon doesn't know much about him, not even a name, really. However, the walls here talk, so he's heard enough to know the guy is someone that no one's ever really taken seriously.

"You've never killed anyone, Gabe," the therapist counters.

"In my head I have!" he fires back.

"Think a lot of us have done that," Mike says, illiciting a few small laughs from most of them, something Simon's never heard before. Not in their room. It seems to ease some of that tension that's been hanging about.

The rest of their time in group goes off relatively well. Only a few incidents of someone getting over emotional and causing a scene. For the most part, they talk. A lot of them, more than Simon would have expected. They interact with each other and share their sympathies and Simon can't remember the last time he saw their therapist look so pleased.

"Simon?"

He looks up from his lap, a bit surprised at when the conversation managed to get around to him.

"Simon, would you like to go?" He stares at Simon with an expectant gaze that Simon knows he's partly to blame for. He had chosen to speak, to engage more than ever before, unprompted and unafraid. Apparently that has given the therapist the idea that he'd be willing to open up more.

Simon sighs and opens his mouth but closes it just as quick, words thick at the back of his throat and Lucy's gaze suddenly burning into him.

"Come on," he presses. "There must be something."

"There is," he manages, his voice cracking. The tips of his ears heat in embarrassment and he looks away again.

"Jack," Betty says, causing his heart to skip a beat. "You two were friends. We saw you guys hang out."

He looks up from under his lashes and bites at the inside of his cheek, nods slowly.

"Do you miss him?"

His gaze quickly shoots to Emma, eyes widening at her question. Why did she care to know about Jack? She wasn't even here when it happened.

"It's just a question," Emma adds in a soft voice, like she's reassuring him that it's okay.

A little annoyed at being put on the spot, he sincerely thinks about getting up from his chair and leaving the room. Just walking out and not coming back, repercussions be damned. He hates how they've just put him in this position. He hadn't done that to them! He was nice and patient. But then, he always was. It feels like an attack, really. The more rational part of his mind knows it's not, but that doesn't make it feel like less of one in that moment. Lucy being right next to him makes it worse. He fears the idea of saying something and having her cut him down, diminishing his feelings. It's why he's never talked to her about Jack, has kept that part to himself. But then he hasn't talked to Emma about him, either.

It takes a lot, the courage to say that one word. "Yes," he replies, swallowing hard against the hard ball that seems to slide into his throat. But something else happens after he's said it, this sudden shift of some part of him that makes his body feel light, breathable. As if a weight has been lifted off his chest. "Yes," he repeats, looking at Emma.

It's easier, talking with him focusing entirely on her, like the rest of the people in the room just fade into the background like static. He pretends they're not there, none of them, not even Lucy. It's just him and this girl who's his friend, but just a little more, and she's not going anywhere. She won't leave him.

"After Matt..." He licks his lips and takes a breath to steel himself. "I didn't think I'd have another friend. Not here, in a place like this. But Jack came. He- he came and talked to me, was... nice. Kind of nice. He was nice in his own way, I think." Simon recalls that first day, how seamlessly Jack had slid into place and made his presence known. How he'd made Simon feel. "Jack made me want to live. W- we weren't friends long, though. I thought we would be."

"How'd he die?" Emma asks in that same hushed voice as before, keeping her eyes trained on him.

"He killed himself. Here in the unit. I was the one who helped him get the pills."

The sound of a few people gasping manage to slip through, reminding him of where he is and for once he doesn't care. It doesn't matter how much trouble may come to him for saying it out loud. All that matters is that the words are tumbling out of him now, weeks and weeks of unspoken things, and he's not ready to stop.

"I killed him," he tells Emma, hanging his head.

"You didn't," she replies.

"I- I didn't do it myself. But I helped! And I-" He chokes up and bites down on his tongue until it starts to bleed and the tears stay stuck just there at the corner of his eyes. "I hated him," he says a second later. "I hated him for leaving me. Like everyone does. Kids I grew up with, Matt, my parents... everyone. Everyone I care about goes away. I just wanted that one thing. That one person. And- and for him to take me with him when he left, too!" And now he is crying, and he can't stop. He wipes furiously at his eyes with the back of his hand, but they just keep coming. His only other option is to bury his face in his hands.

There's the unmistakable pressure of a hand on his back. Lucy, no doubt. He doesn't even have it in him at the moment to ask her to stop touching him. The therapist hasn't even made an attempt to use the soothing words he used on everyone else in group. Clearly he's shocked him by all this. He's shocked himself if he's being honest. He has no idea what made him let go like that, or why he's still going.

It isn't until he hears, "Woulda sucked if you did," that he manages to calm down a little. He can't be sure if it's him that's being talk to, so he snaps out of it long enough to look up at another guy from group. Ben's someone he recognizes as the group sharer, the one who usually talks during their sessions. He's always got something to say.

"What?" Simon asks, clearing his throat and taking another wipe at his eyes.

"If you died," Ben says. "It would have bloody sucked if you'd done that."

"Why?" Simon pinches his brow together, sniffling. "Why would you care?"

Ben shrugs. "This is our group. It sucks when people die and leave. You're quiet, but most of us notice ya. Kinda hard to miss it with that hair touching you always do."

Instinctively, he reaches up and smooths his hair down, shifting in his seat. All the while trying to process what Ben's just said, how clear he's made it that they do notice Simon.

"Yeah, like that," he adds with a smile. "We'd know if you were gone. Like Jack and Sara... we'd feel it."

"People that care are still here," Emma adds, giving him a sincere look.

As Lucy's hand falls away from his back, he takes a deep breath and gives them a small smile. "Thanks," he says with a nod. And he means it, honestly. He can't remember the last time he felt so secure, so safe. They'd never know, he could never fully explain, just how much it means to him to have heard those words. Especially when everyone nods along in agreement with Ben's words and goes on to share their own thoughts about him, such kind words. By the end of it all, he's nearly in tears again, thanking them all.

"This is good," Doctor Jacob's says. "Look at all of you! This is what group is about! I'm so proud of all of you." He claps his hands in praise, and Simon thinks to himself that it's a good way to end group. The best it's been in a long time.

Until her voice cuts through the air. "You forgot me," Lucy says, causing Simon to flinch. There's a bite to her voice, clear anger. "You're all sharing your bloody hearts out and forgot me."

The therapist turns to her. "Did you want to go? You're usually as equally quiet," he reminds her. "Were we to know you wanted to go? Do you want to go now?"

"Oh, yeah, I want your bullshit attention now. Why not go back to Simon, he's making such great progress."

"We commend progress in the group," he counters. "We'll do the same for you. The floor is yours if you wish."

Simon slowly turns his head to look at her, mentally cringes at that curled upper lip of hers. It's coming, that anger, he knows it. He can see it. The only question is how it'll get released.

Lucy sits up straighter in her chair and folds her hands in her lap, looking around the room. "You know what I'd say? Because god knows I only get the opportunity now that she's done for. I'd be sure to tell Sarah I'm not sorry that she's dead."

"Lucy!" Doctor Jacob's cries, quickly standing up from his chair. But it's of no use, because it only takes Emma all but two minutes to be up and out of her chair, stalking towards the spot Lucy sits. There's a look in her eyes that can't be anything more than pure vengeance. She's been waiting for this moment, Simon thinks. Which is why he does one thing, and that's slide his chair over so he's not in the middle of what's about to go down.

Before the therapist can get between it all, Emma's snatching Lucy up by the front of her shirt and pulling at her until Lucy stands. And then Emma's got her face right up against Lucy's, so their foreheads are touching. "Say it again," she growls.

Simon stares up at them from his chair and watches as Lucy smiles. "You know who it was," Lucy whispers. "Not. sorry."

It's the sound that resonates in the entire room, Emma's hand coming down hard on Lucy's cheek. And before anyone can even react to that first blow, Emma's smacking her again. Simon manages to count a good three in a minute span. Lucy throws her hands up to try and block the blows, but Emma manages to knock her hand away almost each time until they're a mess of limbs flailing back and forth in an attempt to hit and not be hit. Only then does Simon see the therapist's hands come around Emma's waist and yank her back.

"Enough!" he's saying, but Emma's voice is louder than his.

"You bleeding cunt!" she shrieks. "I will fucking bladder you!" Emma strains as hard as she can against the therapists arms to get at her. If the circumstance were different, Simon might find it amusing. Emma's not a very big girl, rather tiny, actually, and yet here she was giving a grown man a run for his money as far as strengths went. She's a lot tougher than he'd have thought, nearly taking the therapist to the ground with her in her struggle to get at Lucy.

In that time, Lucy has stood up and is clutching her flaming red cheek. She's breathing hard enough for Simon to hear while he holds his own breath, waiting for her to turn on him. Instead, she keeps her focus on Emma. "I'm going to make you-"

Simon takes that as his cue to jump up from his chair and grab Lucy by the arm, beginning to pull her towards the door.

"Wait!" the Doctor calls, still trying to keep hold of Emma. "Where are you going! Stop!"

"Let 'em go, man," he manages to catch someone say before he reaches the door. The rest of the room seems to be in a state of perpetual silence. He can't blame them, how would they expect one to act in this sort of mad situation? If he's being honest, the quiet is probably better. He doubts the therapist would be able to handle anything else at the moment. Not that it matters too much because a few seconds later they're out the door of the therapy room, and whatever happens once he's gone is no concern to him. All that matters is the way Lucy yanks at his arm once their outside until he lets go.

"What are you doing?" she yells at him.

"What are you doing?" he yells back, choosing to ignore that there are now nurses running down the hall towards them.

"Grown a set of balls have you," she sneers at him. "Must have been all that heartfelt talking you did today!"

"Is that what this is? Y- you're jealous that I shared with someone other than you? So you decide to say the one thing you know is going to upset people? Is that what you do?"

"Like you don't fucking know!" she screams, almost getting a good slap at him if he weren't to throw his hands up. "I'll ruin her, you know," she breathes out, glaring at him.

His stomach lurches, bile rising at the back of his throat. "You wouldn't."

"I would," she shoots back. "Just ask the other girl. Oh, wait."

"D- don't," he says, voice catching at the back of his throat. "Don't hurt her. Please."

"Why? Because you like her? To hell with you and your feelings, Simon. When are you going to learn that not everything is about YOU, huh?"

He swallows hard and takes a few breaths to calm himself, but it really isn't working. All he can think about is how angry he is, and that one thought on a constant loop in his head that perhaps he should do something to her before she can hurt anyone else. Before it can even become a possibility. He thinks of how easy it would be right now, just this moment, to reach forward and push her. Just one good knock backwards. The floors are still slick with wax after being cleaned. She'd surely lose her footing. A good knock to the head, that's all- He pauses on the thought as Lucy's voice rings out in his head, about how people slip. It makes him feel even more sick than he did before.

What is she turning him into?

"You!" One of the nurses says coming up to them. "What in the world is going on?"

"Disagreement," Lucy huffs at her.

Simon watches as two nurses go into the therapy room, and a moment later he can hear Emma yelling again. He flinches at the sound and slinks back a few steps, looking over at the nurse. Then the words come out, almost on their own. "Lucy started a fight." It surprises how easy it came to him, the courage to say it, the almost... lack of care of what she may do to him at this point. She deserves punishment, he thinks.

"That is not true!" Lucy snaps.

"Ask the therapist," Simon counters.

"Oh, we will. Soon as we get your pal into solitary."

"What?" he blanches. "N- no, you can't... she didn't-"

"We got the call about an attack-"

"That was me," Lucy butts in. "She hit me."

Just then, the two nurses that went into the room come out one at a time, pushing the door open, with Emma kicking in their arms and yelling her head off. "Let go of me" she screams. "Let go."

"Watch her head," one tells the other as they move through the door and let it go.

Emma seems to drop all her weight, managing to pull at their arms for one moment. Then she's being hoisted up and pulled down the hall.

"Don't do that," Simon says. "Let her walk. She'd walk. Y- you don't have to do that to her."

"Oh, shut up!" Lucy cuts in.

At that moment, the therapist comes walking out the room. He turns and spots them and his face hardens. "You wanna tell me what that was about?" he asks, looking between the both of them, but mostly Simon. He assumes it's because the therapist assumes he's more likely to talk. That's not the case in this situation. In fact, Lucy does most of the talking, pleading her own case.

Simon looks up at the ceiling with his jaw clenched tightly until he hears Lucy being told, "the only reason you're not sitting in your own solitary room is because I can't punish you for a feeling, no matter how crass it may be. Emma was in the wrong here."

"Emma was not," he tells him tersely.

"Simon," he says with a sigh. "I get wanting to defend your friend, believe me. The fact is, Emma attacked Lucy. She was in the wrong, and we can't over look that. There are consequences for actions. Lucy-"

"It's Lucy's fault," he yells, the sound resonating down the empty hall. And even then it doesn't feel like enough. After weeks upon weeks of dealing with her, all the pent up emotions that have accumulated while dealing with her, it's finally taken its toll. All he wants is someone to listen to him. To really listen to what he's saying. He's had enough of it, being over looked or disregarded.

The therapist stairs at him wide- eyed for a moment before composing himself. "Simon, I get that you're upset, but we have to take care of the well- being of our patients. Lucy didn't deserve-"

It's almost as if his conscious shuts itself off and he watches his actions outside himself. All rational thought seems to disappear as he watches his own hands strike out and connect with the therapists chest. All it takes is that one moment of disconnection and suddenly he's watching the therapist stumble back and his head connect with the door behind him. Then time seems to speed up and he's hearing Lucy gasp and staring at his own hands in front of his body and the therapist cursing and rubbing at his head before calling for the nurses.

"I'm sorry," rushes from between his lips as he steps forward to give aid.

"Well, that's brilliant, Simon," Lucy says from behind him.

"Shut up," he barks over his shoulder at her, reaching out for the therapist. Simon gets his hand close enough for him to shrink away, holding his hand up.

"I didn't mean it," Simon tells him, a lump forming at the back of his throat. "I really... I don't know why..."

Simon hears the nurses coming before he sees them. They're different from the ones who took Emma away, he notes when they approach and he gets a look at them, but two men just the same. Both are rather intimidating in size and appearance, however. Simon knows of them as the two staff who usually take down the severe cases in the unit. They're who get called when someone thinks things might get out of hand.

"What happened," one of them asks the therapist.

"Simon has just forcibly placed his hands on me," he tells them.

"You want us to get security, too?"

He shakes his head. "I don't think that will be necessary. Just the same, I feel he should be taken down to the other solitary room for the night."

Simon's heart seizes in his chest. "N- no. No. I already said I was sorry. I- I didn't mean it, I swear."

The therapist stands up, still rubbing at the back of his head. "Consequences and actions," he tells Simon, giving him a look that he might compare to some form of sympathy. "It's just for the night," he adds.

When one of the nurses goes to grab at his shirt, Simon jerks back against the wall. "Please," he says to them, half hating the sound of desperation in his voice, but being too frightened to care. He can already feel the air leaving his body in shallow breaths as his anxiety takes over. He battles against the panic attack as one of the males asks him if there's going to be a problem. Simon shakes his head. "I just... I don't want to go."

"Rules are rules," the other ones says. "Now you can either come peacefully, or you can get the same treatment the last one got and be dragged there."

Simon winces looking between the two of them and imagining how much damage they could actually do to him if he were attempt to fight back. Deciding its probably not worth it, he sighs and steps away from the wall. He flinches when each grab hold of one of his arms.

"I don't think that's necessary," he hears the therapist say behind them. "I'm sure Simon is willing to walk there without a problem."

Simon glances at each of them again and they slowly release his arms. "Lets go," they tell him.

He swallows hard and hangs his head before shuffling forward, feet feeling like they're filled with sand. A bit down the hall, Simon makes a point to turn his head and look over his shoulder, despite the inward battle in his mind that tells him he shouldn't, and he only ends up proving himself right.

Lucy raises her hand and gives a small wave, smiling.

...

Deep breath

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