Simon's Struggles - 2. Foundations of Trust

Simon sat on the bed, staring blankly at the door to the room. He was really doing this.

Tristan promised he could leave the house at any time. He was not a prisoner. But he also told Simon there was a camera hidden somewhere in his room that Tristan could use to check in on him. The man advised him to do his changing in the bathroom.

He had no idea why Tristan had a camera in his guest bedroom, but to each their own, he supposed. If the guy wanted to get his rocks off by watching Simon, more power to him. As long as he didn’t touch Simon.

He fell back on the bed with a sigh. From dying to homeless to a guest in less than twenty four hours. It was a lot to take in.

The man had an amazing house, but it was just that. There didn’t seem to be any of the odds and ends people usually put in a house to make it feel like a home. Maybe Tristan was doing this just because he felt lonely. Simon had often felt lonely in his apartment, and that had been nowhere near as big as this house.

Speaking of his apartment…

He still had things in the apartment he wanted to keep, if he was going to let Tristan keep him alive anyway. Simon should have three days to get everything he wanted. They could have the rest of the crap in the apartment.

Then again, it was still his apartment. For the next three days at least. Maybe he could use his phone to figure out where he was and go collect his things.

Or he could just lay on his bed and sleep the rest of his life away.

A quiet knock came from the door and Simon sat up with a sigh. He stood and crossed the room, opening the door.

Tristan’s nose wrinkled slightly and Simon scoffed. He didn’t smell that bad.

“I was going to wait until tomorrow to spring this on you, but I figured it might help you now. I’m going to try to get you a job,” Tristan said.

“Are you serious? How are you going to get me a job?” Simon snorted.

“Through the mystical powers of the internet,” Tristan shrugged. “Do you want to get a job? It will probably help you feel better about yourself.”

“Oh yeah, have a shit tonne of interviews that I fal, maybe get a job I can keep for a week before getting fired for incompetence-”

“Hey, I’m just offering,” Tristan protested. “Do what you want. If you want to take this second chance and just fuck it away, that’s on you. But if you want to try to get your life back on track, a little kindness would be a good place to start.”

He walked away, leaving Simon to close the door. Gently, even in his anger.

He refused to move from the bed until the next morning. His clothes stunk of the ocean, he was sure. But he didn’t care.

Maybe he should though. Tristan obviously cared about him, for whatever reason. At the very least, he could humour the man. They had a deal after all. And if it ended up making Simon feel even worse, that would just help him come Halloween.

Simon stood up from his bed, opening the door. He could smell bacon cooking downstairs, the scent a magnificent beacon drawing him forward. His stomach roared, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in nearly three days. Oh the joys of being broke.

Making his way downstairs, Simon stepped into the kitchen, finding Tristan busy scraping bacon onto two plates.

“Morning,” Tristan said. “Pancakes are almost ready, syrup’s on the table.”

Simon stared in stunned silence. The kitchen was a mess, bowls everywhere, bits of grease on the stove.

“Don’t worry about the mess, I can clean it myself,” Tristan waved off.

He set the plates on the table, hurrying back to the stove to tip a couple pancakes onto another plate.

Turning back to Simon, he shrugged.

“Help yourself.”

Simon sat at the table, Tristan joining him so quickly the man wasn’t sure he hadn’t been at the table all along. Looking at the plates, Simon frowned, realizing Tristan had given him most of the food.

“Tristan, I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting,” Simon said.

Tristan mumbled around a mouthful of bacon.

“If you’re still offering help with a job, I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

“Mmm, it could hurt a lot, actually. But I’m going to try to help you so it doesn’t,” Tristan said. “Eat up. I know you’re starving.”

Simon picked up a piece of bacon, taking a bite. It was slightly chewy, salty, and tasted heavenly. He immediately began stuffing bacon into his mouth.

“The first thing I want to know is what do you want to do? What is your dream job?”

Ideas flooded Simon’s mind. Brain surgeon? Engineer? He almost said porn star, just for laughs.

But this was serious. And he had never really thought of the question, assuming he would just bumble his way through life working at a fast food place. He shrugged.

“That’s okay. Just think about it, okay? Like, do you want to work outdoors? Help people? Work by yourself?” Tristan questioned.

“What’s the point? Setting me up for failure?”

“No. If you work a crappy job, you’re going to feel crappy. But if you work at a job you want, you at least have the knowledge that it’s something you want in life.”

Tristan frowned.

“That didn’t make a lot of sense,” he sighed.

“No, I get it. The whole ‘never work a day in your life’ thing,” Simon shrugged.

He did want to help people. Make people feel better about themselves.

“I don’t suppose I can be a therapist,” he shrugged.

“Not right away, but we could get you some schooling. It would take a while.”

“No. Me and school do not get along,” Simon frowned.

“Keep thinking about it, and when you get an idea, let me know.”

Tristan stood, carrying his plate to the sink. He set the plate of pancakes in front of Simon.

“I wasn’t as hungry as I thought,” he shrugged at Simon’s look. “I need to get ready for work. Are you going to be okay here by yourself?”

“Um, I need to get some things from my apartment,” Simon said, swallowing a bite of pancake.

“No problem.”

Tristan wrote an adress on a piece of paper and handed it to Simon.

“This is the house. I’ll give you my key,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yeah, what’s the worst that will happen? You’ll steal the family silver?” Tristan chuckled. “I trust you SImon. You don’t seem like the kind of person that would hurt someone trying to help you.”

He left the room, Simon staring after him with a stunned look. The man hurried to finish his food, rinsing off the plate when he was done.

Heading back to his room, Simon grabbed a relatively fresh set of clothes. He actually felt a little better with some food in him.

Stepping into the bathroom, Simon changed quickly, bumping into Tristan as he carried his dirty clothes back to the bedroom.

“I can drop you off before work if you’d like,” Tristan offered.

“Sure,” Simon agreed, passing him.

He dumped his clothes out of his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder before returning downstairs. His phone sat in his pocket, battery just full enough to last the day. He needed a charger. Just one more thing to pick up from his apartment.

Tristan stood by the door, looking rather sharp in a collared shirt and slacks. Simon wondered what it would take to look like him.

“You ready?” Tristan asked, holding out a key.

“Sure.”

Simon took the key, tucking it in his pocket. Tristan closed the door as they walked through, jiggling the knob to ensure it was locked.

They walked around the house to a brown four door car. Simon didn’t know a thing about cars, but the thing looked like it was on its last legs.

“Are you sure you should drive that?” he asked.

“Oh yeah. Betty and I go way back,” Tristan grinned. “I treat her real good.”

He opened the door, sliding into the driver’s seat, and a moment later, Simon got into the passenger seat, against his better judgement. The car started with a quiet roar, surprising Simon. They pulled out of the driveway, Tristan driving just over the speed limit, as though restraining himself.

“So, where is this apartment of yours?”

“I thought you were stalking me. Shouldn’t you already know?” Simon grunted as they turned sharply.

“I know the general location,” Tristan shrugged.

“1623 Meadow Lane.”

“Got it.”

Five minutes later they screeched to a halt in front of the apartments, Simon nearly tripping in his haste to escape the car.

“I’ll see you tonight. Think about that job,” Tristan called, before racing off.

Simon breathed a sigh of relief, his knees nearly buckling. Picking himself up, the man made his way back to his apartment.

Simon stared at the dumpster that was his apartment. Clothes lay all over the floor and the bed, the trash can was filled with rotting food. Just being back here was bringing back his dark thoughts.

The first thing he did was take out the trash. It would go a long way in making this much more bearable.

Digging through his clothes, Simon folded the cleanest ones as tight as he could, stuffing them in his bag. He was determined not to return.

A picture sat on his window, a young woman smiling at the camera.

“Damn it Sarah, was I really that bad?” Simon muttered, staring at the picture.

He stood for several minutes, holding the picture in his hands. Finally, with a heavy sigh, Simon dropped the picture in the garbage. He didn’t need it.

Stooping to gather more clothes, Simon stumbled across a pad of drawing paper. Picking it up, he flipped through it, finding drawings of faces inside. He had forgotten all about his days of drawing, abandoning the pad after his divorce.

They were good. They could definitely be better, but he had never realised how well he drew. Maybe he should get back into it, practice until he could draw even better than before.

And then it hit him. He had always helped Sarah with her makeup. Not all women were good with their blush. Maybe there was a job for him there.

Almost instantly he deflated. What was he thinking? No one in their right mind would let a guy do their makeup, Sarah excluded. Besides, would he even be happy doing it?

Still, he pushed the pad into his bag. If nothing else, he could pick up drawing again.

Simon paused. He was thinking as though he had a life. But he really didn’t. Even if Tristan let him stay the entire month, there was nothing to stay for. Why should he keep fighting?

Shaking his head, Simon continued packing. He had made a promise. He wouldn’t go back on that promise. One month. Thirty days and he was done.

Seven miles. He had to walk seven miles to get back to Tristan’s house. Weighed down with a backpack, in the heat of summer, Simon was about to pass out by the time he finally got back, almost six hours after he left.

The key shook as he tried to fit it in the lock, and he cursed under his breath. When he finally steadying his hand and pushed the key in, Simon breathed a sigh of relief.

The door opened and the man stumbled inside, immediately making his way to the kitchen. He found a cup on the counter and filled it with water, gulping it down.

Three glasses of water later, he was feeling rather sick. He went upstairs, dropping on the bed.

A loud meow startled him. Simon sat up groggily, Tristan standing beside him.

“You did good Stella,” the man muttered, resting a hand against Simon’s forehead.

“What… what are you doing?” Simon said, his mouth full of cotton.

“Shh, lay down. You’re burning up,” Tristan said.

He turned on the fan over their head, the air circulating around them.

“Stay with him Stella,” the man said, leaving the room.

The cat jumped up onto the bed, ignoring Simon’s weak swat. She started stepping on his legs, purring loudly.

“Off,” Tristan said sharply, standing next to Simon with a glass of ice cold water in his hand.

He pushed Stella off the bed, before helping Simon sit up.

“Drink this,” he said gently, setting the glass against Simon’s lips.

Simon gulped greedily, the water soothing his dry mouth.

“I feel better,” he whispered weakly.

“You didn’t try anything at your apartment, did you?” Tristan demanded.

Simon shook his head.

“I made a promise,” he said.

Tristan nodded slowly.

“Heat exhaustion,” he decided. “Just keep drinking, okay?”

Simon took another gulp of the water, draining the cup. He handed it back to Tristan, curling his knees into his chest.

Tristan was back in less than a minute, startling Simon with his speed.

“How do you do that?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Show up so fast. It’s like… like superspeed or something.”

Tristan shrugged, handing the cup to Simon.

“Did you think of a job?” he asked.

Simon shrugged.

“Any ideas? Anything will work.”

“Well if anything works, I had the crazy idea that I could be a makeup artist,” Simon snorted.

“Hey, it’s an idea,” Tristan smiled. “Would you enjoy that?”

Simon shrugged again.

“I used to do my wife’s makeup. She was hopeless.”

“You were married? What happened?” Tristan asked.

“Divorce. A year ago. Her idea. Figures, you leave home for a girl and later she decides she wants nothing to do with you. Thankfully we didn’t have kids.”

“That sucks. But if you want, we can see if there are any jobs nearby for a makeup artist.”

Simon stared sharply at Tristan. He couldn’t believe this guy, acting like he could do anything he wanted.

“You’re serious. What makes you think anyone would hire me? I have no experience and no training.”

“Sometimes you just need to take a leap of faith,” Tristan shrugged.

“Oh, um, here’s your key back,” Simon said, fishing the key back out of his pocket.

“Thanks,” Tristan smiled, taking the key. “I need to head back out real quick. I should be back within an hour. You can use my computer to start looking for a job if you want.”

Simon frowned.

“Okay, you trust me, I get it, but really? Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You keep asking me things like that. Should I be worried about you stealing from me?” Tristan laughed.

Simon shook his head.

“There’s no password. I have one file locked; please leave that alone.”

It felt weird, having someone trust him so completely. Sarah hadn’t even let him touch her phone.

As Simon puzzled through the situation, Tristan left the room, closing the door as he shooed Stella out.