Straight Jacket Fashion

by Halawia

By the way, we last because we're colorful. And as for fools, just play the opposite

12. Please bury me with it

I don't own Misfits or Simon, but I've definitely had fun writing him

This one may sting a little folks, sorry

see you at the bottom

...

As far as uncomfortable quiet goes, Simon's never been so acquainted with that saying as he is right this moment, sitting across from his father in the visiting room. What with his mum being off visiting their nan in the facility, and Rebecca staying after school for a project, it's left Simon in quite a precocious situation. Alone in a room with his father for the first time in months. Is it wrong that he almost wishes he'd faked sick to get out of it. He'd thought about it, really, when the nurses told him that his dad had come on his own to see him. He was in the eating hall, he's sure it wouldn't have taken much to convince them that his lunch wasn't sitting well with him.

If he's being honest, the only reason he made the effort to go was because the pretty nurse was the one to lead him to the room, and it gave him a little time to make small talk with her- something he hadn't done before. She was less restricted today than ever before, talking in hushed whispers about the latest gossip in the nurses station- something about one of the nurses having a crush on his group therapist.

"I shouldn't be telling you this," she'd told him.

"I can keep a secret," he'd responded, and she'd smiled quite a bit at that.

He's been thinking about that since he got in the room with his dad. But not in the way one would expect. He thinks about how much it makes him miss talking to Emma, watching the way her mouth moves when she laughs or smiles. She hadn't been at lunch, either, and he's been holding out hope for getting a chance to see her at dinner time. Though it's diminishing more as the day presses on. He knows he's more apt to be faced with talking to Lucy over her, and that thought is enough to make him scowl.

"Simon?"

He blinks and looks up from the table to find his dad staring at him with a crinkle around his eyes. His worried expression, his mum always called it. Simon's always thought of it as that look his dad gets right before he's about to ask something that will make him feel uneasy. Which he does.

"How are you?"

"Fine." His voice cracks and he has to clear his throat. "Good," he adds.

"You're looking well," he tells him, clearing his own throat. "Healthier. You're eating right?"

Simon nods. Three times a day without fail. Not that one could ever consider the food here healthy, but its managed to keep him alive these past couple months and that has to count for something.

"Still taking your medicine?"

He nods again.

"Good, good."

Could this conversation get anymore awkward?

"Your sister says you've got a girlfriend now?"

Of course it could. Simon tightens his jaw a bit and imagines, for a moment, strangling his sister for opening her mouth. She's the only one he's said anything to about what's happened in the unit, and she sells him out to their parents? Besides, he'd never referred to either Lucy or Emma as his girlfriend. He'd never do something like that.

"No," he answers briskly.

"Oh," his dad replies, reaching up and adjusting the collar of his shirt. "Perhaps... perhaps she heard wrong."

"Perhaps."

"But you've made friends? People you can... connect with?" There's something in the way he says it, this sort of soft waver to his voice that Simon can't recall hearing since he was a boy, that stirs something in him. It isn't until that moment that he notices just how aged his father has started to look in only such a short time since they last visited. Rebecca had said he'd been working more to pay for his stay here in the unit. One more thing to add to the list of things that Simon has caused, another way to burden people. And that's the last thing he'd ever want.

The most he can do is give him something. "I've made... friends," he says, looking at him.

There seems to be an almost instant shift in his demeanor. The way his dad sits up straighter in his chair and smiles. Simon can't recall the last time he saw him smile. Perhaps its enough to let him have this brief moment of believing that his son is getting better, that it's been worth it. Simon wouldn't dare let him think otherwise.

"I'm glad to hear that," he replies. "I've been... concerned." He sighs. "Scared, if I'm being honest.

Scared? That's a first. Simon's always known his father as a strong, sturdy man. Hardly phased by things that would bother normal folks. He's sure he's never even seen his father stress about a bill. Perhaps he's more a suffer in silence kind of person? It could be where Simon gets it front. It's strange to him, this conversation he wouldn't have imagining happening, but suddenly is. And how unafraid of it he is himself.

Maybe this is another one of those starts to something new? He's already spent the time patching things up with his sister and his mum. There's probably still more to work through, he knows, but there's no doubt in his mind that they're in a better place now than when he first started out here. Time was doing the healing as far as his relationships went, at least he could say Doctor Lewis was right about that much. It only seems right that now would be the time to work on one of the last few pieces that will play part in him finally getting to go home.

Simon starts to tell him that he doesn't have to feel that way anymore, that he's going to be all right, and everything's going to be okay. All those things he's sure his father would want to hear, that he wants to fully believe himself... but all those words catch at the back of his throat as a shrieking scream pierces the air, causing both he and his father to jerk in their chairs.

"What in the devil was that?" his father asks, starting to stand from his chair.

"I don't know," Simon answers, eyes darting back and forth between him and the door. "Maybe it was someone acting out? That happens."

"No, no," he replies, fully standing from his chair. "That sounded like panic."

"I'm sure it's nothing," Simon tries again to reassure him. They had other things to concern themselves at the moment, as far as he was concerned. He was just getting ready to open up to him. Surely that held more president than someone throwing a fit- something that happened far too often. Why did things always seem to happen at the most inconvenient moments in this place?

"You're sure?" he asks, still looking a bit unnerved.

Simon nods and attempts to try again when the door to the room comes swinging open.

One of the nurses pokes her head in, her eyes widened. "Visits over, back to your room Simon."

"Now just hold on a minute," his father cuts in. "What exactly's going on?"

"Nothing to be concerned about," she breathes out. "Just standard protocol in an emergency-"

"Emergency?" his father interjects again.

"What kind of emergency?" Simon finds himself asking. At that exact moment, he sees them, the paramedics hurrying by. It's like his body moves of its own accord. One minute he's seated there, feeling rather panicked, the next he's out of his chair and moving towards the door, a strange burning curiosity to know what's going on. It's not the first time he's seen them here, but he knows they only get called in when it's something serious. Any other time they simply use their doctors on call. Medics show up when something really bad has happened.

His mind goes to Sara.

When he sees the police go past as he gets to the doorway where the nurse stands solidifies his suspicions. Simon pushes past her despite her protests and his father calling out behind him asking where he's going. "Get back here," the nurse keeps calling, but he's moving quickly down the hall behind the police, trying not to draw too much attention to himself.

"Back to your room," another nurse says as he briskly walks by her.

He nods and keeps walking, head now ducked against his chest. Other than his violation attack on the group therapist yesterday, Simon's never so openly broken a rule, and he becomes aware of the consequence of that as security goes by.

"What are you doing?" they call out as he passes. "Hey!"

Simon looks over his shoulder, yelling back, "I'm just seeing," as it seems to get louder the farther down the hall he gets. They turn quickly and start to follow, and he rushes to pick up the pace and keep up with the police, talking into their radios ahead of him. He gets close enough that he nearly knocks into them as they round a corner, and Simon stops dead in his tracks.

He's looking down a hall he's stood in dozens of times, the one that leads to the outside. And the group of people that have crowded around those open doors. The police hurry to the end of the hall and begin to clear people out of the way, clearly the reason they were called. People seem to be getting rather up in arms. Just then, one of the security guards gets a hold of his arm.

"Hey, boy," he all but yells at him. "When we call you-"

But Simon is tuning him out as his gaze locks on the person stood against the wall with a cop bent down talking to her. There's no mistaking that hair used as a curtain, despite her face being covered with her hands, Simon knows its her. Lucy. Two hands start grabbing at him but he jerks away, moving in a dead walk down the hall. When she pulls her hands away, something in his gut tightens so roughly he grabs at his shirt with a grunt. There are tears rolling down her face and she sobs something unintelligible.

A switch flips in his head as his mind starts screaming at how strange this all looks. Wrong, something is very, very wrong here. He nearly trips on his feet, still shrugging off security as they continue to grab at his arms. He's stronger than them in this moment, running on pure adrenaline. When he gets close to Lucy, she's nearly shouting his name.

Don't? Is she saying don't? Stop?

There's a whirring pounding against his skull as he moves forward, not stopping when he gets to the group of patients crowding around, choosing to push his way through them. Not even stopping when the police start trying to pull him back. He pushes and pulls and struggles all the way to those open doors where he can finally stare out at the open courtyard, watching the medics crowded around the benches.

It's like everything going on behind him becomes background noise with that one moment of a pause, a beat, an unimaginable moment waiting to happen. All it takes is that one medic obscuring his view moving out of the way and Simon is scrambling forward. Is the echoing scream that rings out his own? It's hard to hear over the shouting in his head that's telling him one thing over and over: get to her, get to her, get to her. Something a lot easier said than done as someone slams into him from behind, hands wrapping around his waist and dragging him down.

Simon's first instinct is to turn around and begin shoving at the police officer's face, which only results in having his hands restrained as they flip him over and start putting cuffs on him. He kicks and struggles against the cement as the metal slips around his wrists and locks into place. Straining his head up, he looks the few short away and watches the medics working on Emma. The corner of the table behind them is dripping bright red blood to the ground, where a large puddle has formed. His stomach lurches and he starts to gag and kick again.

"Flat line," someone calls out, it's a blasting white noise bouncing around the inside of his skull.

He starts kicking again.

"Calm down, calm down," someone's saying into his ear. "I don't want to have to take you in."

"That's not necessary," he hears someone say behind him, a female's voice. Doctor Lewis?

A sob escapes him, from somewhere deep inside his chest, so hard it's painful. He says her name once, twice, before relinquishing his fight and lying still, eyes glazed over with tears that won't stop falling. His chest is on fire, and there'd be no stopping this even if he tried his hardest. He can't breathe, he can't really think. All he knows is a few minutes later he can hear someone say, "Nothing," and he knows it's over. Feels it in his bones. All the more confirming when they load her onto that stretcher. They're still working on her, but he knows it's pointless. She's not going to come back, he thinks. Thinks he says it as they wheel Emma past him, and all he can do is stare at the turning wheels and the flutter of those white sheets as they go past, with this throbbing ache radiating through his entire body.

"Get him to his feet," Doctor Lewis tells them.

He barely finds the strength to mumble the word no. No, don't move him. Don't lift him up, don't make him stand. Go away. All he wants is to sink into the cement beneath him, let it cover him whole and soak him up and let him rot with the rest of this place. It hurts, god does it hurt.

They don't listen to him, of course. Two hands on each side of him come under his arms and begin to lift, and he struggles to his feet, legs feeling like there's no mass left in them, like it's fallen out of him somewhere on the ground where the rest of him wants to be.

"Simon," Doctor Lewis says quietly.

A sudden light blares across his vision, causing him to flinch dramatically and shrink back. It moves back and forth in front of his blurred eyes for a moment before turning off. Doctor Lewis slowly comes into his small line of vision.

"Simon, it's all right now."

Another sob bursts through his lips and he quickly hangs his head.

"I'm here," she tells him. "And I need you to be here with me. I know that's hard right now, but if you want to avoid the penitentiary or sedation I'm going to need you to take a few breaths and calm down. You're upsetting the other patients even more than they already are."

Fuck the other patients, comes a resonating yell from inside his head, unhindered, raw emotion. But out of his mouth comes a mumbled, "Okay," and he tries to do what she says and take a few deep pulls of air, but nothing really comes through. He nods instead, slowly because it currently feels like his brain is going to explode.

"We have to go inside now."

He's going on auto- pilot again, nodding when he should, doing what he's asked when he's asked, but the numbness in his heart is steadily working its way through the rest of his body until he's enveloped in it. He moves with an almost robot- like stance back to the doors of the unit. Once they're back inside, the police let him go, and under Doctor Lewis' assurance that it will be all right, they remove the cuffs that have been digging their way into the skin of his wrists. Simon keeps them there like that, however, behind his back. Probably a safer bet for them all as all Simon briefly considers giving anyone close by a good shove. His hands itch at the thought.

There's something building in him, something dark and terrible. He can feel it under his skin, crawling like leeches. Lucy, he thinks. Her name is a forked hiss on his tongue.

"What was that?" Doctor Lewis asks, putting her arm on his shoulder.

"My room," he breathes out. "I want... to go to my room."

"Simon, we need to talk about what you saw-"

"I want. to go back. to my room," he repeats, staring up at her from beneath his lashes.

She eyes him for a long moment before releasing a sigh and nodding. "Okay, all right. Lets get you back and I'll have one of the nurses bring you a cuppa. Sound good?"

Nothing sounds good. He shouldn't even have to say it, he thinks. He doesn't even respond, simply lets her put her arm around him and start leading him away. He tries to pretend he doesn't hear a cop say into his radio that she was pretty much dead on arrival. It's the only way he can make it forward when he legs are starting to buckle and bile is rising in his throat. He nearly sicks up on the floor when Lucy comes tearing down the hall towards him. Instead, he rushes to back up, tripping over his feet and nearly taking Doctor Lewis down with him.

"Don't," he says, but it comes out as more of a strangled cry. "Don't let her near me. Don't."

Doctor Lewis holds up her hand to the nurse and points towards Lucy. Simon watches as they rush towards her, catching her by the shirt and pulling her back.

"Not me," she's screaming at him. "Not me, not me, not me," and he closes his eyes tight and unclasps his hands behind his back, bringing them up to his ears and shoving his palms against them. He can't be sure how long he stays like that, but eventually two hands circle around his wrists and slowly pull his hands away. He opens his eyes hesitantly and finds himself face to face with Doctor Lewis.

"She's gone," she tells him. "Come on, it's all right."

Her delicate hold on his wrist is an anchor, keeping him weighted to this moment of horror that is his life, on the long walk back to his room.

Let go, he thinks. Let go.

...

There's no mistaking the sound of the door handle clicking as it turns. When the door creaks open, he cringes and turns to his other side, facing away from it and towards the windows.

"Simon?" Doctor Lewis' gentle voice calls into his room.

"Go away," he mumbles from under the sheets, tightening them in his fists and pulling them closer to him.

"Simon, you need to get up. Your family is here to see you."

That fissure in his heart splits wide open again, for the hundredth time in the past few days. The other tears haven't even dried on his face yet, and already he can feel the return of them building up in his eyes and swimming there. He blinks hard and sniffles. Why can't they go away? Why can't everyone just leave him alone?

"I don't want to," he tells her.

The sound of her shoes clicking against the floor tiles as she comes farther into the room makes him flinch and sink further into the mattress. "Look, I understand this is a very difficult time for you, and I like to think I've been more than accommodating to that. But the fact is, you're still in the unit, and there are still things that aren't accepted. Like lying in bed for three days and not eating. Refusing to take your medicine. Not cooperating with staff. Simon, these are actions that aren't taken lightly here. The truth it, I don't want to have to put you through another evaluation, but I'm going to have to if this doesn't stop. It's not good for your health, physical or mental. I get that you're hurting-"

He sits up, dragging the sheets away from his body and turning to look at her. "Don't say that."

"Simon, you are not the first person to experience a loss of someone they care for. I'm in no way saying that diminishes what you are going through, or what you might be feeling, but life does not stop because of a death. Yours doesn't, and it shouldn't."

"What if I want it to," he mutters, reaching up and wiping at his eyes with the back of his hands. He pulls them away and drops them into his lap, looking at her with heavy exhaustion pressing down on his entire body.

Doctor Lewis raises her brows and steps closer to his bed. "I'm going to choose to pretend that didn't sound a lot like a suicide threat. You're smarter than that, I know you are. You know what those kind of words mean."

"What does it matter," he says with a small shake of his head. "It's not like I'm getting out."

She sighs. "Well, if I could ever get you out of that bed, you'd find out that there are some things we need to discuss concerning that. Which is why your family is here. So if you would please..."

His heartbeat jumps. "Wha- are you saying..."

"Get up," she repeats. "Come down to my office when you're dressed."

...

It takes a lot of energy, a lot of strength, but he manages to drag himself from that bed and get dressed. He walks down the halls, trying his hardest to act like he doesn't feel their stares, hear their whispers. It's all he can take not to shout at them to just stop. He didn't ask for this. He doesn't want their sympathetic glances or words of pity. As if it wasn't enough that he's been able to hear them outside his room since it happened, with the nurses constantly shooing them away, telling them they won't find their answers there.

At least they have that much correct. Everything that used to have an answer suddenly means nothing to him. He couldn't give them what they want if he tried.

It feels like it takes years, but he finally manages to shuffle up to Doctor Lewis office door. It's partially open, and he pauses with his hand raised at the hushed talking inside.

"Accident," he hears Doctor Lewis say. "Not taking well. Psychologically damaging. Very concerned."

"How well... her," he manages to catch from his dad.

"Worried," he hears from his mum.

It's about as much as he can handle listening to before knocking loudly and pushing the door open. At the sight of him, his mum stands from the chair and moves towards him, her intentions clearly to be to touch him in someway. It's not something he's sure he could handle just now, so he quickly puts his hands up and he's thankful that she stops.

Her gaze softens and tears form. "Simon..."

He tightens his jaw and he has to look away, his eyes settling on Doctor Lewis. He clears his throat and tells her, "I came."

"That you did," she says with a nod, then holds her hand out to the chair in front of her. "No couch, come sit. Everyone come sit."

Simon's mum stands rather close to him as they walk to the desk. He curls into himself a bit and, making it to the chair, sits down slowly. Once there, he looks around until he spots Rebecca on the other side of his dad. He hasn't seen her look so upset since that first day at the hospital. Is it his fault? How much does she know? There are dozens of things he could be thinking of, just then, but the only thing coming to him are questions he wants to ask his sister. He didn't know he desired to ask anything until that moment, but he'd give anything to be in a room with just her. She sits forward in her chair and looks past their dad to him, raising her hand in a small wave. He lifts his own heavy hand and does the same.

"All right," Doctor Lewis says, drawing his attention back to her. "Now that we're all here together." She looks to Simon first. "I've already been here with your parents for the past half hour, so we've had time to discuss the things we need to. I want you to know that this isn't a meeting to talk about what's happened, it isn't to pressure you into saying anything, okay?"

He nods.

"We're in this room because, after some lengthy discussions over the past few days, a decisions about something has been made, and your parents wanted to discuss with you that decision." She waves her hand towards his parents, then. "Floor's yours."

Simon's father turns to him first, he's wearing his own glasses today, and Simon imagines that this is what it'd be like if his therapist had been a male. He apprehensively sinks back into his chair, as the look his father is giving him, that same look he gave him during their last visit, is a little much to take. He supposes it will take some time to adjust to, this look of care. "We got the chance to speak to the judge that looked over your arson case."

His eyes widen. He looks at his mum to see if something in her face will have answers for the questions already bubbling up in his brain, but she gives nothing away. He looks back at his father and swallows hard.

"As you know, it was determined that you would stay here for assessment until it could be decided whether or not you were competent and in a healthy place to be at home before your community service begins."

"Yes," he says slowly, wishing he'd hurry up and get to the point. In his mind, this is probably a waste of time. He's already anticipating being told that they're going to keep him here longer, so what's the point of discussing it further when he could already be back in his room pretending the outside world doesn't exist.

"Well, after talking with Doctor Lewis and coming to our own conclusions, we also talked to the judge and it would appear we're all on a similar page here in that... it's time you come home."

That whirring. pounding in his head comes back with a vengeance. "W- what?" he chokes out. He couldn't have heard that correctly. He must have missed something, some words when he tuned out for a minute. "What?" he asks again, heartbeat starting to accelerate at a level he hasn't felt before. It's slamming so hard against his ribs it's almost painful. He curls his hands tight against his stomach and looks between everyone. His mum's nodding isn't enough of a confirmation, so he turns to Doctor Lewis.

"I get to go home?" His own voice sounds so small and child- like to him.

"Breathe," she reminds him. "It was an arduous decision, no doubt. I fought quite an inner battle with myself over whether or not this was the right choice, considering right now's circumstances. But," she sighs. "You have endured quite a lot, Simon. And with the current state of affairs, I don't see how staying here will benefit you. I think, I can only hope, that your mental and physical well- being would be more likely to prosper being in the safety of your own home under the watchful eye and care of your parents."

"That means..."

"Your parents will be coming back here tomorrow to get you. You get to go home."

He's not quite sure what to do or say, then. He can feel his eyes welling up, and the trail of the tears that are now falling down his cheeks. He can hear his mum's own cry, and see his fathers approving nod from the corner of his eye, but it's so overwhelming he can't focus on one person or one thought. His blood prickles beneath his skin and the whirring scream in his head intensifies and he swears he'd pass out right then and there if it weren't for Rebecca's voice breaking through when she calls his name.

He hurriedly swipes at his eyes and looks back to Doctor Lewis. "Thank you," he tells her, voice cracking a bit. He catches only the bob of her head before turning to Rebecca.

She stares at him with those same blue eyes he's seen staring back at himself in the mirror so many times, and the tears wet on her cheeks, and the urge to hug her is so strong his hands ache with it. His mind is already getting ahead of itself with ideas of what they'll be able to talk about when they get out of here, how he'll finally get that real opportunity to show her how much her cares. How grateful he's been to her for being there for him when he's needed it most, even if he didn't know how much he needed it.

"I don't... want to upset you," she says, sounding nervous and unsure. "But I have something for you." She reaches beside her and pull up a small purse. He watches as she unzips it and carefully pulls something out, holding it in his direction a moment later.

It looks like a picture, he notes, reaching for it hesitantly. When it's in his hand, he knows he was right. He holds it image down and stares at the white blankness of the back of it.

"You don't have to look at it now. When we were here the other day... her dad... the room was being cleared out... they said I could have it."

Her.

Something in his gut twists, a hard lump forming at the back of his throat. He looks between Becca and the picture for a moment before telling her, "Not right now. I can't... b- but some time?"

She nods and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Would you mind if I was here... when you get picked up?"

"I'd like it... if you were here," he answers solemnly. He tries to give her a small, but it falls short on his lips. Rebecca doesn't seem to mind, though. He's grateful for that much.

"So, a big step happening," Doctor Lewis says. "A good one, we can all only hope. I'll be speaking to Simon before he goes home, of course. Our last session. And we'll all meet back here in the morning." She looks at him. "That's all."

Simon nods and watches as his father and mum stand from their chairs. He hurriedly gets to his feet, as well, nearly knocking his chair over in the process. In seconds he's throwing his arms around them and pulling himself tightly to them. And his heart still hurts, and he's still not sure if he's going to pass out, but he does know that it doesn't feel so bad when their arms circle around them.

In fact, for the briefest of moments, he could even say he forgets those things that are still hiding there under the surface, still threatening to drag him under.

...

There's only one last thing he has to do.

Late that night, after the provided comfort of being allowed to eat in his room for the day, something he doesn't fight doing, and the nearly two hour session he had with Doctor Lewis, only one thought still remains. His last unsettled business in the unit.

And then he's sure he'll be entirely free.

After spending an hour checking every so often, there's a clear in the hallway. He doesn't know where the nurse who was watching over his room went, but lucky for him she disappears long enough to give him opportunity. Opening his door, he slips into the hall, making sure to shut the door behind him. Then he's moving in a rush down it, checking over his shoulder every so often to make sure no one's following or caught him being out. He tries to ignore his racing heart as he navigates his way down the halls to the female corridors.

The coast stays clear long enough for him to make it to her room. Outside her door, Simon's whole body tingles and vibrates, a humming felt all the way to his toes. He reaches up slowly and places his hands on the doors for a brief second and, maybe its his imagination, but the wood feels incredibly hot on his palms. Her room is radiating a heat he's never felt before.

Taking a final deep breath, he slides his hands down to the handle and carefully turns it, only flinching slightly at its click. He hopes with everything in his that she didn't hear it as he pushes it open and stealthily moves inside her room. He wasn't wrong, he thinks, closing the door behind him. It's hot in here. An uncomfortable kind of humidity.

At a sigh from her bed, Simon freezes. He holds his breath and waits until the familiar sound of inhaled and exhaled air fills the room again before moving forward, and even then it doesn't feel very safe. He squints in the dark, seeking out the location of where her bed actually is, and tip- toes across the room until he reaches it.

The blankets fit tight to her form, outlining the position she's sleeping in. Her body is facing away from him, dark brown hair splayed across the pillow.

An involuntary reaction, tears fill his eyes. His blood has started to boil, the sight of her something he can hardly stand. Images of that bloody bench flash behind his eyes and he tightens his fingers into his fist, resisting the urge to lash out. This has to be done right, or he faces the chance of being caught, and that's not a risk he can afford to take.

Giving it another few minutes, enough time for him to regain his form, to put his feelings in check until the time is right, Simon reaches for her with a shaking hand. For one second, just one, the thought of what he's doing, and how wrong it is, goes through his mind. But calculated rage and bottled up emotion have already left their mark, a scar on his soul, and he's convinced himself that that's enough justification.

This is for Emma, he reminds himself.

It's for her and for anyone else who could ever have the unfortunate experience of having Lucy or someone like Lucy enter their life. It's for him.

His next actions are quick, one hand gripping her shoulder, he swiftly turns her body towards him and, before she has time to make a sound, he's clamping his hand tightly over her mouth. The first reaction he expected happens almost instantly. Lucy's eyes fly open, and she struggles to scream. He can feel her breathing through her nose, warm and heavy against the top of his hand. He knows what comes next, he already anticipated it before he even came in the room, and he's ahead of that, as well. When she swings at him with both hands, he moves down towards her legs. Still keeping his hand firm against her mouth, Simon scrambles onto the bed before she has a chance to start kicking.

It takes some effort, but he moves fast enough to be on the bed and straddling her legs in seconds. She manages to get a few small blows in at his arms and chest, but it's not enough to hurt him or stop his efforts. There's a back and forth moment there, she pushing at him while he uses his free hand to grab at her wrists, but eventually he's successful in getting them both and shoving them down and underneath him. Then he's fully seated on top of her, pinning her body and limbs to the bed.

Lucy struggles a few more minutes before, realizing it's useless, going entirely still and staring up at him with a wide, panicked expression. He's never seen her look so scared, and... he gets it, then. He understands how powerful that feels.

"You had to have known this was coming," he whispers. With his free hand, he reaches to his pocket and pulls out the picture Rebecca gave him, holding it out for Lucy to get a good look at. "This is your fault." It's hard to keep his voice deadpanned and empty when there are so many things he's feeling right now. At the hard jerk of Lucy's head, something he can only assume is meant to be a disagreement, he tightens his hand on her face. "What was it you said before... about this being a game?" He leans down so their faces are close together. "Checkmate."

Flipping the picture over, Simon sets it down on the pillow next to Lucy's head so he gets his first look at it. He'd spent all day with it burning a hole in his pocket, waiting for this moment. Emma's smiling widely in the picture, bright red lips, glowing eyes and a bow in her hair curly. She's so... alive here. It kills him inside, this reminder that she's no longer here. She'll never smile again, never laugh, never paint her nails or have another can of orange soda. He's reminded far too much of Emma saying the same things about Sara in group not even a week prior. Only a week, and she's gone.

Dead.

And it's all because of Lucy.

He's suddenly hyper aware of her breaths still falling against his skin, and her small body underneath his own, and all he wants is to be free of this. Absolved of all the pain she's put him through. Pain he fears may never go away, no matter how much time passes, no matter if someday his heart stops breaking over Emma, over everything. She'll always be there. And there's only one way to make that stop. He's convinced himself of this so entirely, he doesn't even have to think about it, his hand going to her throat. He doesn't even pause.

Simon takes all his pent up rage, all that repressed anger, and focuses it into the strength of his hand squeezing against Lucy's windpipe. He stares at it, tightening, and lets his mind take him to all the things he's had to face. All that he's had to endure. He thinks of Matt. Matt and all the hateful words and violence. The night at the club, and the night of the fire, and the beating on the pavement, his suicide attempt... the hospital and the unit and Jack and death and Lucy, and he squeezes harder thinking that maybe, just maybe if he does it enough it'll all stop. It'll finally fade away with this final act and he'll never have to face it again.

But that wouldn't change it, something tells him, then. It wouldn't undo it. Doing this to Lucy wouldn't take back what happened with Matt, it wouldn't make the fact that he'd been in this place disappear. It wouldn't bring back Jack, or Sara, or Emma. All it will let him do is forget for a little bit longer. Until it comes back to him like it always does.

And all he'll have then are these memories, and the grueling realization that... he's no different than the things he's so strongly condemned for this long.

There's a rage inside of you, Lucy had said to him. Yes, there is, he thinks. But there's also kindness and compassion and understand and good. This isn't really who he is, is it? Is this something he really wants to do, someone he really wants to be? He told the others in group once that he did things for a reason... but what's the reason for this? Other than his own sick gratification? What would doing this actually mean?

With a resigned, heavy breath, he quickly releases both his hands and raises himself up so he's no longer sitting on Lucy. He jumps when he goes to pull his hands to his body and Lucy quickly grabs hold of them, bringing them back to her throat.

She's still staring at him with those wide eyes, breathing heavily, but her voice has a bite to it as she tells him, "No. Do it."

He shakes his head.

"Do it," she repeats, struggling to open his now tightened hands in an attempt to put one back around her throat. "Don't fucking stop, you coward. DO IT!"

He shakes his head and pulls farther back, a small sob wracking his body. He doesn't even flinch when she hits him. Doesn't try to stop her when she does it again, and again, just lets her pound at his arms with her tiny fists until a sound leaves her, too. One he recognizes as a cry. Moving entirely off her body, Simon slumps down on the edge of the bed and buries his face in his hands, his whole body now shaking. Lucy's small cries become muffled against his shirt, forming a wet spot of tears.

They sit like that for a long time. Until noises become a silence and only the sound of their breathing fills the room. Simon sits there staring at the door, the weight of Lucy still heavy on his arm, and he thinks about everything that's just happened.

"I go home tomorrow," he finally says, though his voice lacks the proper emotion that is attached to those words. He feels so drained suddenly, so empty. "I thought you'd want to know."

Lucy pulls away, and he looks over his shoulder to find her staring up at him. She sniffles a couple times but says nothing, an act he isn't used to. She always has something to say, he expected she'd have the most to say about this. Her silence, to him, is more unnerving than anything she could come up with. A moment later, he watches, curiously, as she turns to her pillow and picks up the picture, holding it out to him.

Simon take it from her gently, like it's glass in his hands. Breakable, like Emma was in the end. He lets out a heavy breath and looks away from Lucy. When is he going to stop crying? "Why," he chokes out. "I know... you didn't like her. I know... she said mean things. But you did, too. And... and you're still here. Did you want to hurt me that bad?"

"I didn't," she answers quietly.

"Didn't... what?"

"Do it."

He scoffs, refraining ruining the pic in his hand by squeezing his fingers into his palms. "Don't..." He shakes his head. "Please stop lying."

Lucy releases a small, aggravated sounding grunt and rubs her hands over her face a couple times before pulling them away and looking at him again. "I wouldn't. Not about this. Simon," she reaches for his face and looks hurt when he pulls back. "Okay," she whispers. "I deserve that but... but Simon, I didn't kill her. It was... an accident."

"Like Sarah was an accident," he retorts, staring her down.

"I didn't do anything to Sarah, either. I wasn't even there when that happened."

"You said-"

"You've said it yourself countless times, Simon. I'm a liar. I lie. That's what I do. Why..." She lets out a dark laugh. "Why do you think I'm in here?"

"I wouldn't know," he fires back. "You've never told me."

"Because you would have hated me if I did."

As if all the other stuff wasn't enough of a reason, he thinks. At this point, he's sure whatever story she has about what got her in here would be the least crazy thing on a comparable list of all the things she's done.

"That scar on my neck, the one you asked me about" she adds a minute later, sighing. "I put that there."

His brows comes together. "Why?"

Her voice is almost a whisper as she replies, "A boy." She licks her lips and glances away, then, to the bed, like she can't bear to look at him. "A boy I really liked. Who I thought liked me. But... he lied, too. I liked what he said, and I liked what I let him do to me, but I didn't like it when he wanted to stop. He told everyone I was crazy. So... I showed him that I could be. I lied and said he hurt me." She peeks up at him. "I hurt myself and said he did it, but... everyone found out the truth. I had to go to court. They sent me here."

"They had a good reason," he says after a long pause.

"I know," she replies, her voice cracking. "I know that. I tell myself that all the time. I don't... know why I do the things I do, Simon. I don't know what's wrong with me. All I know is I can never seem to make it stop. I hurt that guy and got put here... I've hurt you."

"Sarah and Emma."

"No," she says loudly, then catches herself with a hand over her mouth.

Simon holds his breath, his gaze darting to the door as he waits for the possibility of them being caught. When it becomes apparent after a few minutes that they're safe, he turns back to Lucy. "Don't do that," he tells her.

She pulls her hand away with a muttered apology. Then she's grabbing hold of his face so he's forced to look at her. "Simon, I didn't hurt them. I didn't. I said horrible things and I acted horrible towards them, but I was not responsible for those things. They were an accident. I lied about Sara to make you feel bad, so maybe you'd think it was best you stop talking to Emma just in case. I didn't do that."

"You had to talk to the police!" he shoots back, pulling his face away roughly.

"Only because I was the one who found her! Of course that looks suspicious, of course they'd question me about it. They took statements from other people that we'd been caught in altercations. I don't blame anyone for thinking it was me. But it wasn't. It was an accident. And so was Emma. Simon, I swear to you. I swear on my life I didn't do those things."

He stares at her, assessing the way she doesn't blink, doesn't show the slightest chance of changing her story under his hard gaze. He wonders if its a possibility that she's gotten so good at telling lies that she's even capable of convincing herself that they're true. She'd never be able to understand that, no matter how many times she says it, he won't ever be able to fully trust her. He doesn't even think he needs to express that, judging by her suddenly looking away from him with another hurt expression. So he says the only thing he can think of.

"What happened?"

Because right now, even a lie is better than nothing. All he wants is some closure, the smallest fraction of mental relief from all these thoughts about Emma. The horror of his own imagination when he pictures what might have happened to her.

"I snuck out to have a smoke. She was already outside at the benches. I thought... I don't know. I felt a little bad about what I'd say. I was just going to apologize, Simon. I was going to try and do the right thing. I just wanted you to like me again." It's a surprise to him when he hears her start crying again. "I must have... really startled her when I called her name. She turned around so fast I- I couldn't do anything. I was too far away. She turned and lost her footing. I... I watched her fall. The sound when her head hit the bench..." She shakes her head hard. "I think- I think I screamed?"

Simon recalls that moment in the visiting room with his father, the shriek they heard. "That was... I heard you."

"I went over to her but I didn't... there was so much blood, I didn't know what to do! I pulled her away from the bench... they said I shouldn't have pulled her away from the bench. I didn't- I didn't know... I didn't want her to die, Simon."

Lucy hangs her head and buries her face in her hands, her body shaking with the force at which she's crying. Simon's never seen her look so small, so broken. He didn't think he could still find it in him to care about her like he does in that moment, but the next thing he knows he's placing his hand on her back and pulling her to his chest. He holds her tight against him and battles down his own feelings, because he's not sure he'd find it in him to stop if he got himself worked up again, too.

So he sits with her like that until her hard sobs become small hiccups and she finally pulls her hands away. Her voice is still strained when she tells him, "I don't blame you for wanting to hurt me. I wanted you to. I almost wish you had. I'm so, so sorry."

He wants to believe her, really. Tries to tell himself that this apology should be enough. After all, no one's ever apologized to him before, for anything. It's true that he feels bad about her breaking down, he lets himself feel something over her story and everything else, but it falls short with that one word. It's the first time he's had someone say it, and the first time he's realized it doesn't mean very much. Sorries don't make everything better.

There's still the reality of everything that's happened, and knowing that it's never going to be like it was. And there's Lucy looking at him, expecting something he can't ever give her.

"I guess that's okay," she tells him, moving away. "I wouldn't forgive me, either."

He inhales deeply and lets it out slow, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment and staring at the floor as he decides what to do next. "A lot of stuff has happened," he says slowly. "I'm not... okay now, but I might be... someday. And tomorrow I'm going home."

"Yeah," she deadpans. "And I'll be right here."

"I can't control that. This isn't... me leaving you."

"Yes, it is. But," she sighs, "what can I do about it? This it, Simon. Endgame."

"Checkmate."

"Checkmate," she repeats.

...

Before the sun comes up, Simon sneaks back to his room for the last time. With the relief at not being caught, he drags feet to his bed and crawls into it, lying his face down in the pillow. And there, he lets go again. He replays his goodbye with Lucy, how tightly she'd clung to him, and how desperate she'd sounded when she said she'd missed him.

How he'd hardly said anything in return.

His shirt is still wet from her teary confession and he can still feel her body pressed into his and how well she fit against him. It could have all been so different, he thinks. It could have been, but it wasn't. He'd come to this place and it had nearly consumed him, he'd almost made a monster of himself. He'd gone to the edge and half fallen over and clawed himself out of it. Things between he and Lucy weren't different, but he was.

In a few short hours, someone would be coming to get him and he'd be going back to the life he had before all this. One he never realized just how much he took for granted. It was a lonely one, but if that was his only complaint... it would be enough. He could go back to the fairly uncomplicated parts of it and let go of all the rest.

That's enough, he thinks. For now, that's enough.

...

"That's it. That's the last of it."

Simon watches as the nurse places the phone in his extended hand and he smiles, his first genuine smile in days. He quickly turns it over in his hands, then looks from her to Doctor Lewis. She smiles back at him.

"Put it to good use," she says. "Take lots of pictures, make videos. New memories, okay?"

He nods, licks his lips and tells her, "Thank you."

She pushes her glasses up her nose, and he's reminded that it's the last time he'll ever see her do it. "I would hug you, but it goes against policy, so I'm going to leave you with this, Simon. You're a good person, with a good heart. You're going to be fine."

"Community services starts in a few weeks here," his father says behind them. "Plenty of opportunity to make new friends."

It's surprising to him that he hadn't even thought of that until now. Of course, his first instinct is to start to disagree, but he's quick to stop himself. There would be plenty of time in the future to talk about his thoughts on community services. That one thing he still has yet to face.

"Sure," Doctor Lewis agrees. "Permitted it's the right kind of friends, yes? Ones beneficial for your progress and well- being."

He nods.

"Try to stay out of trouble," she says, giving him a wink.

"Goodbye, Doctor Lewis," he replies, turning around and walking back to where his family stands. Rebecca's there holding out his suitcase for him and he takes it with a smile.

"Stargate when we get home?" she asks.

"I would like that very much," he answers, turning with her as they start to make their way down the hall, with their parents following close behind. They're only a short distance away when he hears Doctor Lewis say her final goodbye, and there's the briefest twinge of bitter-sweetness before his parents start talking about what's for dinner tonight and he's back on track with thoughts of his arrival back home.

With the final checkout at the front desk, and a month's prescription for his medicine already pre-written as the only thing other than memories he would take with him from the unit, they finally make their way outside and to the car. One last look, he tells himself, turning around. But not the final memory, he knows, as his eyes go to the window of the rec room and he sees them standing there. It's all in his mind, he tells himself, those ghosts of Jack and Sara and Emma looking back at him. They're not there now. They never will be. But they're there in his head, and that's one place they'll never leave.

Then suddenly his father is taking his suitcase from him, and he's turning away from it all. Climbing in the backseat next to Rebecca, his mum starts telling them about the animal kingdom documentary she watched the other night and this is okay, he thinks.

Amidst all the other things he would have to let himself come to terms with when he finally gets home, all the things he still had to face, for this one moment... it's okay.

Before they drive away though, out the corner of his eye, Simon sees her on the other side of the window. The one person who's not gone, who's not a figment of his imagination, and who he's leaving behind forever. Ever so slowly, Lucy raises her hand and settles it on the glass. Simon closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, then opens them and waves.

Her haunting stare is the last thing he sees as they start to pull away.

...

one chapter to go!