Simon's Struggles - 1. The Price of Surviving

Rough hands beat on his chest, one two three, each beat a pounding ache to his battered body. Lips pressed against his, firm, unyielding, stale breath forced into his lungs.

He tried to cough again, his body lurching. Suddenly he was on his side, vomiting water out of his body and sobbing with the pain of it all.

A hand rested on his back, and dimly the man realized he was alive still. Once again he had failed.

“A bit late for a swim, don’t you think?” a man’s voice said.

The sound of his saviour, and the reason for his failure. He immediately hated the owner of the voice.

“What’s your name?”

He flopped onto his back again, looking up at the star-filled sky. How he wished for the sweet embrace of oblivion…

“What is your name?”

Damn the man was insistent.

“Simon,” he croaked.

“Well Simon, I don’t suppose you have anyone you want to call.”

Great, rub it in. No one cared at all.

A groan slipped out of Simon’s mouth, water still squirting from him. He sat up heavily, his torso bare in the night air. He looked around, his eyes falling on the man who had ruined his death.

He was no more than a boy really, nineteen years old if that. Average build, a little tall, but overall unremarkable. His short blond hair seemed a little thick and he had no facial hair to speak of. His clothes clung wetly to his body, showing off soft muscles, the sign of someone who wasn’t obsessed with working out.

“So, you want to tell me why you tried killing yourself?”

“Not particularly.”

The man sat beside Simon, crossing his legs. He kept his back straight, not slumping in the slightest. Almost like he was sitting in judgement.

“Why don’t you tell me anyway? Maybe I can add a new perspective to your woes.”

Simon glared at the man. He didn’t need to be analyzed. Why couldn’t he just be left alone with his failure?

“There’s nothing to tell. My life sucks.”

“Well if it helps, there’s one person who cares enough about you to dive into an ocean after you.”

Simon laughed bitterly.

“You don’t know me. I don’t know you. I’m a failure at everything. I can’t even kill myself.”

“You were doing a pretty good job of it. I kind of fucked that up for you,” the man shrugged.

“Why?”

The man shrugged.

“I’d like to think I did some good. I gave you a second chance.”

“Maybe I don’t want a second chance.”

“Maybe.”

The man stood up, brushing sand off his pants.

“I don’t think you should be alone tonight. Why don’t you come to my place? I’m sure things will look better in the morning.”

“I suppose you being a crazed axe murderer is too much to hope for,” Simon grumbled as he was pulled to his feet.

The man sure had a strong grip.

“Sorry, I’m recovering. It’s been ten days since my last axe murder and counting,” he grinned.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll be fine.”

The man shrugged. He reached out and grabbed Simon’s hand, a pen appearing in his other hand.

“If you insist. But before you try to off yourself again, give me a call. There’s so much to live for if you just know where to look,” he said, writing on Simon’s hand.

Releasing Simon, the man capped his pen, backing away.

“Sure thing,” Simon muttered, turning away.

He began the long walk home, cold, wet, and constantly checking over his shoulder to make sure the man wasn’t following him.

His name was Tristan.

Simon wasn’t sure why he didn’t immediately wash the ink off his hand. He didn’t need some misguided fool trying to keep him alive.

He stripped out of his wet clothes, dumping them on the floor carelessly. His plan had failed, but he didn’t have the energy to try again.

Simon found himself sitting on his bed with his phone in his hand. What was he doing? Was he seriously about to dial Tristan’s number? He supposed he owed the man the knowledge that he had gotten home safely. But why? Tristan had messed everything up. He didn’t owe him anything.

But his hands still typed, seemingly of their own accord.

‘Got home safe.’

And with the push of a button, the message was sent. He sighed, tossing the phone on his bedside table. It slid across the surface, falling onto the ground, and Simon growled, plopping flat on the bed. He gave up. He didn’t even want to bother picking the phone up off the floor.

A buzz came from where his phone lay but he ignored the sound. His legs curled up against his chest and he hugged himself, rocking slowly. Any other person would be crying right now, but he didn’t have that privilege. Simon had lost the ability to cry when he ran away from home seven years before. No matter how much he hurt, how hard he tried, tears would not come. It left him with no release for his emotions.

He was so broken he doubted he could ever be fixed. Maybe Tristan cared for whatever reason, but he was the only one. Even Simon himself was beyond caring. Fuck emotions and fuck trying to survive. He survived tonight, but he would just try again.

And with that comforting thought, Simon fell into a dreamless slumber.

He woke early, too early for someone who didn’t have a job. A loud buzzing explained why.

Simon growled, rolling over to grab his phone. He didn’t want to get up, didn’t want to move at all. His hand landed on the bedside table, and he cursed, remembering the phone was on the floor.

Reaching down, he grabbed the buzzing device, his cursing escalating as he saw Tristan’s name on the screen.

He immediately hit the decline button. Maybe it was rude, but he didn’t give a fuck. Throwing the phone back on the floor, Simon rolled over, determined to sleep the day away.

As always, life had other plans.

A loud banging came from the front door of the apartment.

“Fuck!”

Simon stood up, pulling on his pants from the previous night. He stormed toward the door, throwing it open. His landlord stood on the other side, his mouth turning sour as he saw Simon.

“Mr. Jones, your rent is late.”

“I’m in between jobs right now-”

“This is the third month in a row Mr. Jones.”

The man held out a paper, which Simon took reluctantly.

“You have four days to pay rent or leave.”

Simon closed the door quietly as the man walked away.

“FUCK!”

In the end, it was just another nail on his coffin.

Simon walked down the road, a backpack full of clothes slung over his shoulder. Here he thought he couldn’t fall any lower. Apparently he was wrong. He had no money for food, no idea of where he could find shelter. His phone would be shut off in less than a week’s time.

As if reading his dark thoughts, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, seeing Tristan’s name again.

Scowling, he decline the call, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

“You know, I can tell when you decide not to talk.”

He spun around, heart pounding in his chest. Tristan stood in the shade of a tree, phone in hand and a grin on his face. Simon swore he hadn’t been there seconds ago.

“What do you want?” he scowled.

“Just to see how you’re doing.”

Simon laughed harshly.

“Is that a joke? I’m doing great! Not a penny to my name, homeless, starving, life is amazing right now!”

Tristan grimaced.

“Tough break man.”

He approached the man slowly.

“I may have an idea to help you. If nothing else, it won’t hurt.”

“Really? And what is this brilliant idea of yours?”

“Stay with me. I have an extra bedroom I never use.”

“Great. And how do I pay you? Sex every night?” Simon scowled.

“Hear me out, okay? Just give me a month. Stay with me for a month. If, by the end of the month, I haven’t shown you that life is worth living, I will help you end it. Quickly and painlessly.”

Simon stared at the man in shock.

“You’re serious…” he realised.

“Deadly,” Tristan nodded.

“And what’s in it for you?” Simon demanded warily.

“The pleasure of your company for a month.”

It was too good to be true. There had to be a catch.

“No sex?”

“No sex,” Tristan promised.

Simon thought about it. He really couldn’t lose, unless Tristan had a basement filled with restraints. His life was over already, the worst the man could do was physical torture before murdering him.

“Fine. I accept your offer.”

Tristan smiled, holding out his hand.

“Today is October first. On Halloween you will end me,” Simon said.

“Unless you decide life is worth living,” Tristan added.

They shook hands, Tristan looking confidant.

“Follow me,” he said.

He had to be insane, following a stranger through town. It was a testament to both his desperation and lack of fucks that Simon followed Tristan. The man had a rather painful looking sunburn on the back of his neck, but he pulled up his hood and sighed quietly. It puzzled Simon why Tristan was wearing a hood in the middle of summer, but he supposed if the man sunburned that easily, the extra heat would be preferable to the pain of a burn.

He stopped as they approached a long gravel driveway, a large house at the end. It was not a mansion by any means, but still, there was no way Tristan could afford a place like this.

“Okay, the joke’s up,” SImon said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know this isn’t your real house.”

“Stick with me. You’ll find I’m full of surprises,” Tristan laughed.

“Come on, you’re barely nineteen,” Simon protested.

“Twenty six, actually,” Tristan shrugged. “Not that I’m counting.”

He was only a year older than Simon? Damn he looked young.

“I hope you like cats,” Tristan said as they approached the front door.

He unlocked the door, opening it slightly. Stooping down, Tristan grabbed a calico cat that tried to escape the house.

“Come on girl, you know you aren’t allowed outside,” he said.

The cat let out a disgruntled meow as she was set back in the house. Tristan pulled Simon inside quickly, shutting the door before the cat could get out again.

“Meet Stella,” Tristan said, the cat winding around his feet. “She’s the resident senior citizen. Thirteen years and counting.”

“Actually, I’m more of a dog person,” Simon muttered as the cat turned her attention on him.

“Shame. Cats are the rulers of the world,” Tristan said.

Stella meowed loudly.

“Yes your Highness, I’ll get right on it.”

Tristan turned to Simon.

“You aren’t allergic to anything, are you?” he asked.

“As much as I want to say cats… No, nothing.”

Tristan chuckled.

“You really don’t like cats, do you?”

Simon shook his head.

“Well, allow me to go feed the queen and then I’ll take you on the grand tour.”