The Pretenders (ON HOLD)

Chapter 28

The room was quiet and dim, just how Simon liked it. He jumped slightly as he heard the door close downstairs. Wendy was finally home. There was a male voice too; probably Peter. Simon adjusted his sitting position so he was more comfortable. His rib was still in immense pain, but it wasn’t as bad as it used to be. He wasn’t sure how his ankle was doing because he hadn’t tried to walk on it. The only time he got out of bed was to go to the bathroom. And for that, he had crutches.

Simon had gotten over the urge to go outside. Now he just wanted to rest; to be still and let the silence take away his thoughts. Thinking was what caused pain anyway. So he figured if he didn’t think, he would be in as much pain.

He felt slightly disconnected at first, but he was getting used to it. This technique worked after what happened in England. But that wasn’t physical pain he was blocking out. Physical pain isn’t what hurts. He’d told Wendy that once. It made her cry, but at the time she was very fragile; anything would make her burst into tears. He couldn’t blame her. If he had let himself feel the loss, maybe he would have cried like she did. Probably more.

Wendy mourned, she was hurt, and she managed to put herself back together again. Simon couldn’t do that. He was scared that he wouldn’t be able to fix himself; that he would just break into a million irreparable pieces. So he didn’t mourn. He just disconnected himself when he was in pain. It seemed to work well enough. Maybe too well, sometimes.

“Simon?”

He looked up to see his mother standing in the doorway, searching him with careful eyes.

“How are you feeling, honey?” she asked, putting a gentle hand to his forehead, “Do you think you’re well enough to come downstairs?”

He shrugged. He might be well enough but that didn’t mean he wanted to.

“Well, Peter’s her if you want to come and say hello.” She was being -what did Wendy call it?- lovely. You couldn’t refuse Mrs. Darling when she used that sweet voice of hers. Simon suddenly remembered the story about his dad crying when Mrs. Darling rejected him at first. She must have really been something special, he thought, to have squeezed emotion out of such an unfeeling man. He didn’t cry after losing everything…everyone, back in England, so why should I believe that he cried over some woman.

Well, his mother, not some woman.

“Great. It’s not good to be stuck up here in this dark room all day anyway. You need a change of atmosphere.” Mrs. Darling smiled softly at him. He tried to smile back but his lip split open from being so dry. The salty taste of blood made him nauseous and he suddenly wanted to get out of the small, enclosed space of his room. He would have jumped out of the bed if he weren’t injured.

His mother frowned at the fresh cut on his lower lip. She mumbled something about getting him a tissue to stop it from bleeding. But it wasn’t bleeding anymore. She was just worried for him. Simon could see it starting to show on her face. She had aged gracefully, but lines under her eyes were starting to show. None of this had been easy on her either.

“You’re right, mum,” he agreed, trying to make her happy. She smiled sympathetically at him. Her son. He realized in that moment, that no matter what else he turned out to be in life, that lady would always be his mother, and he would always be her son. If he wanted to make her happy, he needed to be happy too. He forced a weak smile, making sure to wet his lips this time.

His mother’s lip quivered. Simon prayed she didn’t cry, it made him sad, like seeing a wilting rose.

“It’s going to be ok,” she assured him, patting his hand, “I know it all seems strange and scary but it won’t always be like that. Hiding up here in your room doesn’t help anything. You need to be around people. And stop hiding from what happened back home. It’s ok to cry, Simon.”