Oh man, I realize I'm a total fail at updating and I'm so sorry :/ Summer's been a crazy one. I can't even make the promise that I'll go back to updating regularly like I was before but I'll give it a try. Hope you'll still be reading :)

As usual, I don't own Misfits or the characters, I'm just swimming in its little sea.

She hasn't stopped staring at him since he got in the room and it's making him feel unnerved. He figures he'd be used to it by now. He smooths his hair down and taps his feet on the floor, looks around and counts the plants in the room until finally looking back at her. She's still watching him, pen against the paper ready to go.

"I- I had a dream the other night," he says finally, knowing it's the only way he's going to get her to stop.

Doctor Lewis raises her eyebrows. She still manages to look surprised any time he talks. "Did you?" When he nods, she asks, "About what?"

"Community service," he answers quietly.

Doctor Lewis scribbles something in her notebook very quickly. "What about it?"

He licks his lips and lets his gaze fall on the floor, throat constricting a bit. He has to take a few deep, steady breaths to stave off the feeling of a possible panic attack, a reaction he always seems to have when he says something to her. "No one would look at me," he says after a long pause. "Or talk to me. I was right there and... they all looked right through me. Like I wasn't even there. Like I was..." He trails off, not quite sure how to explain it. It made more sense in his head.

"Like you were invisible?" she suggests.

He looks up at her and nods.

"It sounds like your fears are being projected into your dreams." She pushes her glasses up her nose. "Are you scared of being rejected by your peers when you start community service?"

Swallowing hard, he admits with a bit of shame, "Yes. I- I think about it all the time."

"And these fears stem from prior experiences, yes? Like with Matt?"

For the first time in a long time, his body has no physical reaction to hearing the name. But he does still curse him in his head. "Maybe," he replies, drawing the word out slowly. "I don't know."

Doctor Lewis nods. "That's all right. It's okay not to be entirely sure."

"It is?"

"Of course. But, Simon, I feel the need to ask you something... if you wouldn't mind."

"W- what is it?"

"Why do you think you're telling me these things now? Every day for weeks, you've come into my office and said nothing. What makes today different?"

His lip twitches up into the tiniest of smiles. "You lowered my medicine dosage."

She leans back in her chair, looking surprised. "Oh?"

"You... you listened to me," he's quick to add, leaning forward in his chair. No one... no one has ever listened to me. About anything."

Her eyes soften at the edges and she smiles. She's pretty when she smiles. "Well, that is my job. Is there anything else?"

He can't help it, his smile grows. "My sister told me to stop being a twat and giving you such a... difficult time. To try and talk more."

"Your sister Rebecca?"

He nods.

"She sounds like a very bright young lady."

"She is," he says swiftly. "I- I can talk to her, about things. A lot of things."

"Do you talk with her about Matt?"

He winces. They haven't quite gotten there yet. The past two times she's visited they've only discussed Emma and Lucy. Simon can see it in her eyes, the questions she has, the things they don't talk about. But it's as though she won't say them because she's happy to be getting what she is, anything from him at all. "Not yet," he tells Doctor Lewis, hanging his head a bit. "I don't... know how."

"Don't know how to what?"

"Talk to her," he answers quietly. "About... what happened. I- I feel..."

Doctor Lewis leans forward. "Feel what, Simon? How does it make you feel?"

He looks up at her and his throat tightens. "Guilt," he admits. "Every t- time I look at her. I hate myself for doing that to her."

"I'm sure she understands."

"I don't understand," he bites out, his eyes wetting at the corners. "I don't understand... anything. Why I did what I did, what I'm doing here, why... nothing's ever okay." A few tears slip down his cheeks and he hurriedly wipes at them with the back of his hand, clenching his jaw. "I just want to go home," he whispers.

He's never had an ache run so deep, this desperate urge to go back to a place he's never even felt like he belonged... but he wants it now. He wants the quiet confines of his room and his music and to be able to make videos again. He wants his boring, mundane life back. It was nothing, and yet it was his. He wants to go back to that because... it seems better than all this. Anything would seem better than this by now.

At least at home he has things to take his mind off being lonely, of no one caring about him or what happens to him. Here, there's only a jarring weight of being trapped and friendships that have all gone horribly wrong. This place never stopped being a prison. He doesn't know why he thought it could be different. Lucy was right, he thinks. "I'm never going to get out of here," his mouth says.

Doctor Lewis shakes her head. "I wouldn't say that, Simon. Getting out of here is about the progress you make in your recovery, and look how well you've done lately. Look at how well you did today." She leans forward far enough to place her hand on his knee. "You'll get out of here, I promise."


"That's up to you," she says in a soft voice.

The bell on the desk behind her rings loudly and, for once, he doesn't flinch or jump at its sound. He's too busy thinking about what Doctor Lewis has just said to him, and the things he'll talk to his sister about the next time they visit with each other, and all the things he hasn't yet said that he's starting to want to.

He thinks and think and thinks until he's back in his room and can't remember when he ended up there or how much time has really gone by, but that he's now thought enough to know this. He will get out of here. He will. There's nothing else to lose, nothing to take away or lose sleep over. It's not like things with Emma are going to change, and getting as far away from Lucy as he can at this point, is the only real option he has. It's a whip- lash feeling, the constant back and forth he's done about staying behind, or really working his hardest to go... but all that seems passed now. He's got a firm resolve now. Yes, things have sucked lately, but tomorrow is a new day.

Tomorrow will be better.


In the middle of the night, he remembers why all his thoughts are fleeting.

She slips into his room like a whisper, his most silent secret. Her footsteps are quiet and her voice hushed. "Simon?"

He flinches in the dark, doesn't say a word but slides over in his cot as she creeps up beside the bed. He sees the silhouette of her body, the pale translucency of the slivers of skin peeking out from her white nightgown. So pale she's like a ghost. Another version of himself? She's far too like him, and it's a terrifying realization.

Tentatively she climbs onto his bed and lies down beside him, moving closer until her back is pressed firmly against his chest. Her hair curls around his face and he's quick to push it away, it smells like the confines of this place, disinfectant and drying paint. She reeks of everything he hates about this place, like it's seeped into her veins and nestled itself under her flesh. This place, more a part of her than he ever wants it to be of him.

So he holds his breath and doesn't move and tries to pretend like he's somewhere else, the way he's done all the night's he's been here. But she won't let him slip away. She drags him back, finding his hand in the dark between them and pulling it around her.

They lay there quietly, and he counts each breath she takes.

"I can feel your heart," she finally says. "It's pounding so hard. Why is that?"

He doesn't respond.

"Do I scare you, Simon?"

One nod.

"Do you hate me."


"Do I turn you on?"

He swallows hard, and stays quiet.

She pulls her hand out from his and it dips between their bodies once again, only this time it's not his hand she seeks out. When her fingers wrap around his cock through his pajamas, he pulls away with a hiss.

"Never had a girl wank you off before?" He can hear the smile in her voice. "It's okay. It'll feel good, just relax."

"Lucy," he says, it's the only thing he can say, because the word don't is trapped at the back of his throat with the others. Don't want this. Not with you. Go away. Get out.


Just stay

And she does and she will, because she's the air he's breathing in, the soft heartbeat against his thundering one. She's all the things he finds within himself, and she's outside of him. What is wrong with him?

She touches, grabs, strokes, but this time he doesn't pull away. His hips move forward and forward, finding the rhythm with her hand and god does he hate himself for this.

"I gave my first hand job at eight," she whispers. "He came into my room while I was sleeping."

He closes his eyes tight, thinks, not now. No lies right now. No fake stories. No stories that might be true, that he'll never know if they are or not. He tries to say stop but it comes out a jumbled mess falling into a moan instead- a sound he's never made before. And faster she moves her hand.

"He showed me how to do it. How to squeeze just right, move my hand just right. The perfect speed, perfect tempo. Just like this, Simon. Do you like this now?"

"No," he manages to choke out. But he doesn't stop her, doesn't actually want to stop her. So he squeezes his eyes tighter together and tries to turn her voice into white noise, but her breathing is so loud and she's doing these things. There wonderful, dark, terrible things.

"He made me suck him off, too. That was after he got bored with my delicate wrists. Oh, Simon, he taught me so much. The things I could show you. Do to you."

His breaths becoming erratic, the heat of her hand almost a painful, welcoming burn.

"He at least had the courtesy to wait until I was a teenager to fuck me. Silver lining, right? And I was so good. So good at keeping this secret. I never said a word. I was such a good. girl. But one day he got bored with me." She slows down the movement of her hand. "And I saw it, noticed the way he was staring at my little sister and I couldn't-" Her voice cracks. She sniffles and begins stroking him fast again. His balls tighten as her voice drops down to a low whisper.

"I waited, Simon. I waited until he was asleep one night and then I sneaked into my mummy's bedroom. I thought about hurting her, too. Hurting her for knowing and never saying anything, but I wanted him first. So I climbed onto their bed, sewing scissors in my hand. I was careful not to step on mummy, of course. And then I sat down on his legs. He didn't wake up, didn't even move. He reeked like booze, like how he smelled when his weight was pressing down on top of me. I thought about that, and I thought about everything else and I thought about Emily, my little sister, raising the scissors high over my head..." She's breathing fast now, they both are, the sound so loud in the quiet room. "And I brought them down... right. between. his legs."

And he comes. Right there in her hand through his pajama pants, he comes, saying her name and jerking into her grip and feeling so, so awful about the kind of person he is, just then. When he finally pulls away and she removes her hand, as he lies there spent and feeling like he could fall into an oblivion of sleep at any moment, only then does she turn around and face him.

Her cheeks are stained with tears, but there's a smile on her face. "He lived, by the way. And here I am." She leans forward and places a kiss on the side of his mouth, then brings her lips to his ear. "You kind of remind me of him, Simon."

Then she's moving off the bed, slipping away as silent as she entered.

He doesn't try to stop her when she comes back the next night, or the night after that.

All this time, he thought he was climbing up, clawing his way out of his place. But he questions it all again as he falls farther down this rabbit hole.


Sometimes the halls are a scary place for him, with their echoing silence and the way they seem to go on for miles. They make him feel so small. He hates it more walking down them alone like he's currently doing.

It's pissing down outside, with rain so big and falling so hard he knows he can hear it pounding down on the roof. He'd be soaked in seconds if he went out there, so going into the yard isn't much of an option today. He hates being stuck inside, wandering about aimlessly looking for something to entertain himself with for the next couple hours of free time.

He thought about staying in his room, but every time he's in there all he ends up doing is sitting in his bed, thinking about the things he's let Lucy do to him in that very bed. That'll only pave way to more self- loathing, and he's had enough fill of that the past few days.

Lucy isn't around today, anyway. At breakfast she'd looked green, and by lunch she was throwing up. They excused her from her session and group for the day and let her stay in her room to recover from whatever it is she came down with. Simon tries to muster the ability to feel bad for her and comes up with nothing. He's glad she's not around. He's thankful he won't have to put up with her dirty looks and her sharp words, and the shame he feels every time he's around her. The way he hates himself more and more.

He almost hopes worse things happen to her... and then he takes it back because that actually makes him feel bad. He's not a malicious person, not unkind or cruel... he's not her. Or maybe he is and he's just better at hiding it? No, surely he's different. Or wishing death on her wouldn't affect him at all.

He's such a mess these days.

Coming around the corner, he stops dead in his tracks at the sight of everyone crowded around the nurses station right mere feet away. Something is clearly going on, and he's pretty sure whatever it is, he'll want no part of it. Still, he notices how distressed the nurses look as they try to talk above everyone.

Looking over his shoulder to the empty hall behind him, he gets ready to turn and leave when the sight of two police officers stops him again. It's not too much of a surprise to seem them at the unit, they often get called in to deal with suicides or out of control patients. But something in his gut tells him this is different.

Sure enough, his suspicions are confirmed when he sees her standing there with her hand covering her mouth, tears slipping down her cheeks. When she turns and catches him there his stomach flips, his heart clawing its way up his throat and bouncing in his windpipe so its hard to breathe.

This reaction intensifies as Emma comes running towards him and slams into his body, nearly throwing him off his feet as her arms come around his neck in a vice- like grip. She buries her face in his shirt, a sob escaping her.

Simon stands there stunned, hands half raised in the air as his mind tries to make sense of what's happening. Before he has a chance to do anything, Emma pulls away and looks up at him. His gut tugs at the pain in her eyes. "She's dead," she says quietly, sniffling.

A jolt passes through him. "What? Who?"

Emma's eyes fill up again. "Sara, my room mate. They found her a few hours ago in the showers."

There's no masking the horror he feels at the news, and it must show on his face because Emma starts to cry harder. She wipes furiously at her eyes and looks up at the ceiling, muttering, "God, I feel sick thinking about it."

"What... what happened to her?"

She shrugs and wipes at her eyes again. "Don't know right now. No one will talk. The girl that found her said there was a lot of blood. And the cops are questioning people. It's like... it's like they think someone here did it to her."

"I'm sure that's not the case. It'll be okay, we'll figure this out."

Her face crumbles again and she comes forward to hug him once more. This time he wraps his arms around her and holds her close as her tears soak through his shirt. He feels guilty that in a moment like this, his only thought is how good it feels to be near her again. At least until something catches his eye.

Pale skin and brown hair draw in his gaze, stood amongst the group of people. Lucy turns her head and looks at him.

You'll regret this, her voice rings out in his head.

He barely manages to push Emma way before he throws up his lunch.


"Did you do it?"

He lies there beside her in the dark, with his hands on his chest and her leg wrapped up with his under the covers. He listens to the sound of her breathing, wondering if maybe she's fallen asleep, as she didn't quite have the reaction he would have expected to such an accusatory question.

A second later she turns on her side and props her head up on her hand. He looks at her through his peripheral vision. "The cops already asked me that," she whispers. "When they found my prints."

His blood feels cold all the sudden, like icicles in his veins. "So you did it?"

"They don't think so. I explained to them that I'd taken a shower earlier, even having a nurse defend me. Besides, they took one look at the shaking and crying, tiny mental girl in front of them and seemed to ask themselves how I could hurt someone. Especially someone so much bigger than me. I guess they underestimated the element of surprise."

A lump forms in his throat. "Are you confessing your murder to me?" he asks quietly, his voice cracking.

She flops back on his bed with a sigh and rolls on her back. "I'm not saying anything."

"So you didn't do it?" He's confused now. Or maybe far too hopeful, wanting to believe she couldn't really be capable of such evil.

"If that's what you want to believe," she replies.

"Why... why would you do that to her?"

Lucy huffs and turns on her side again to look at him, her eyes lowered just a slight bit less than the way they usually look when she's annoyed. He's almost cringing already. "Okay, lets say- hypothetically- purely hypothetical, that I did kill Sara. Let me ask you this: Matt, all those awful things he ever did to you, if you'd had the opportunity to kill him... would you have?"

Simon's brows come together as he repeats the question in his head, not quite seeing how the two can really be compared. "But Sara never did to you what Matt did to me. It's not the same."

"Just answer the question, Simon. Would you... have killed Matt?"

He takes a deep breath and tries to battle down the strange sensation of guilt as he answers, "Yes."

"Okay, then it's really not so different. Sara was considered a threat. So lets say- hypothetically- that I decided to get rid of that threat before it became too severe. Before it could become like you and Matt."

"That doesn't make it right," he mumbles.

"It's not about being right," she says with a sigh. "It's about protecting myself. I look out for me, I always have." She places her hand over his own. "I do it for people I care about, too."

"That's a messed up way to show you care about someone," he retorts, pulling his hand out from under hers. At her shrug, he asks, "How did you do it?" and regrets the question almost instantly. More so at her hushed response.

"Sometimes floors are slippery. People fall."

He shudders, and the words hang between them for a moment as the corner of his eyes start to sting. He remembers Emma's face earlier, and a few tears fall down his cheeks. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Good," she answers, her cool handing sliding down his stomach and slipping into his boxers.

There's only heavy breaths and silent screams and regret after.


Simon watches her for a long time, absently chewing on his lower lip and pulling the skin away with his teeth. He's been waiting for her to say something, to break the ice, but she doesn't. He doesn't know why he expected different. "Have you ever had a secret?" The words tumble out effortlessly.

His mum looks up from the table, eyes widened at his sudden question. They're only ten minutes into their visitation, and she's the only one here today. His father had to take Rebecca to the doctors for a check up, so his mum came alone. So far the ten minutes have been spent in unbearable quiet in the room, his mum only looking up at him every so often to give him an awkward smile. He figured he could handle the silence, but the question worked its way out on its own.

It's almost comical to him the way she has to close her mouth and blink a few times, so surprised that he's spoken to her. It takes her a moment, but she finally replies, "What kind of secret?"

He shakes his head and sees how her face falls. It's not his intention to hurt her, but this isn't a topic he can afford to go into depth with. It's not a risk he's willing to take. Who knows what Lucy would do to him if she heard anything about this.

"Yes," his mum answers suddenly, throwing him off guard. This is not a reply he would have expected from her. She doesn't seem like the type of women to hide things, always bringing he and his sister up with the belief that lying is wrong, keeping things from people is damaging. She is the one who's pushed him so hard to open up and talk, after all.

"What was it?" he asks.

"Well, if I told you, it wouldn't exactly be a secret, would it?" A hint of a smile plays at the corner of her mouth, and he wonders how often he gives that same look. People have always said he smiles like her.

"Was it bad?"

Eyebrows pinched together, she responds carefully, "No, no. I don't think so. Why?" She turns in her chair and leans towards him. "Simon-"

"Please," he holds his hands up. "Please, don't ask me to talk about it. I- I just can't."

The concern on her face intensifies, a true motherly concern. "Are you okay, Simon? Are you in trouble in here?"

He has to swallow hard to remove the lump from his throat, shaking his head. He hates lying to her. It's easy for him to see just how much she cares, then, and it kills him having to hold it in.

"Can I tell you a secret?" she says.

The guilt momentarily subsides as his curiosity piques. "All right."

"Matt," she all but whispers his name, "and his mum are moving out of their house." He balks at this information, mouth opening slightly. At his reaction, his mum nods, even smiling a bit. "It's true. Now you know I'm not usually one for being nosy, but I heard a truck running in the middle of the night and I got out of bed to see what the commotion was about. I saw them loading their stuff into a truck. Word down at the market is that the missus found the mister having an affair."

"His dad was cheating on his mum?"

She nods. "Someone else said they've gone to live with some family in Wales. You won't ever have to worry about him again." With the shock still being clear on his face, his mum laughs until he finds himself smiling, as well. "I knew you'd like that," she says.

He nods once and begins to idly play with the edge of the table, peeking up at her. "You knew it was him," he says slowly. "You knew he was why..." he trails off, unable to bring himself to say it, and it's strange to him how much he's like her in this moment. She still hasn't been able to say the words.

Her face falls. "I didn't realize it was that bad. I- I should have. I should have listened."

"It's fine," he dismissively replies, a means to an out of a conversation he's not too sure now that they're ready to have. Baby steps, his therapist kept saying, don't throw too much wood in the stove too early. There's also a small part of him that may still be mad at her in some way that makes it hard from him to truly believe what's she's just told him. Whatever she may say to him next. He spent all that time being let down by people who were supposed to love and protect him.

"No, Simon-"

The door to the room opens, making them both aware that their time is up. Simon sees the way his mum's jaw tenses, though she doesn't say anything or try and argue more time like Rebecca did when things were going well for them. Instead, she walks over and bends down to hug him, whispering nearly against his neck, "It's not always a bad thing to share a secret."

A quick peck on his cheek, and then she's gone. Though he can't help but feeling like she somehow just left part of herself there with him.