Nearly one week after the funeral and it was still too soon for his second life to gain any true semblance of normalcy. Amy’s absence was haunting— hitting him more gradually than Rick’s but not by any means less heartbreaking. There were times during the day he’d sense that his state of mind would begin its downward spiral. On the verge of giving in to tears, he’d think about Amy’s disapproving tone of voice telling him how much it would sadden her to see him like this. So he’d go out and do anything else to keep his mind preoccupied. Most times he ended up by her grave anyway, telling her about his day. Today was much the same, the only difference being that he’d ran into the person he was trying not be alone with recently.
He wasn’t avoiding Simon. Well, not consciously anyway. They still talked at the bungalow but whenever Kieren visited, there was usually at least one other person there to pay their respects or to speak to the 12th disciple. Or should Kieren say former-disciple? He wasn’t certain about what Simon believed in anymore after he claimed the falsity of the Second Rising. They hadn’t even spoken about where he’d disappeared to when Kieren was almost dragged back to Norfolk.
Just when he thinks he’s got Simon figured out, the man goes and does something that proves him wrong. What gets Kieren the most is how compelling the need to know Simon was. He wanted in on what was being kept from him, but he didn’t want to push. Besides, simply having Simon close by and knowing he wasn’t bound to disappear again any time soon was comforting enough in itself.
"Depends on who yer hidin’ from, I suppose," He shrugged, squinting at the night breeze blowing against his face. Not wearing cover-up and contacts anymore made him feel the elements better, "Do you really need another— cover, though? Yer already plentymysterious without it.” Kieren realized a beat later that the comment might’ve been too transparent.
A puff of air expels from a slim nose more from actual
reflex of the situation than need. What cause did a
dead body need in to have air in their bloodstream? It
was pure muscle memory that gave through to the
subtle air of self-deprecation Simon formed with
Kieren's comment. Mysterious enough, indeed.
"Myself, mostly," is what Simon replies in soft tones,
Irish tilt creating it as more of a muttering than was
intended. All's well; he wanted it to be heard as much
as he wanted it to stay hidden. However, as promised
to himself on nights where even the lines of scripture
read aloud at night didn't help Simon ease the
phantom pain that gripped the frailly hanging heart in
a chest where pulling it out would be so easy if one
would only come near his chest and only knock for
permission, he'd say it once more with the assurance
that it reaches Kieren's ears. "Myself"
It was at the cover of night did Simon feel as close
actual self-awareness. It was at the cover of night did
he strip away the facade crafted so precisely from his
experiences and re-creations of self to just Simon; to
just the boy that trailed after his mother in hopes for
another sit down, another soft memory of her soothing
tones reciting the most simple to the most movies
poems; to the teenager so independent on a cocktail
of poison hate and pain, thunderstorms and
earthquakes, shattering hale and lightning bolts; to
the on the brink of death, syringe hanging off his arm,
needle still impaled within the soft marble of his arm;
to the thing that murdered his mother, that lost his
father's fragile love; to the Redeemed Disciple, the
boy looking for a home in new life and religion; to the
man who feels an imprint of a chest expending at the
seems with romance at every glance toward golden
artist's hands. Simon feels stripped to his very
vulnerabilities and it scares him more than anything
he's ever felt.
"Who I'm hidin' from though? 'S a good question. I
s'ppose I'm hidin' from Gary an' his, s'ppose I'm hidin'
from the Bungalow, them memories. Could be hidin'
from you -- from the truth ya make me wanna hand
over to ya. Maybe I'm hidin' from findin' out the
consequences of my decisions. Take yer pick in the
end; I'm guilty from it all."
sugurugetos
gummygunk
areudirty
yousharknotpass
tangentwithtanner
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
pixelskylines
germansingergirl
snowghoul
andulkaphoto
