Simon James is your normal-looking boy with moments of clarity, which, I think, has kept him in a good position not to go to prison. And I think Jasper helped him stay on the right path—until now.
Every time we touch, I feel like he needs this as much as I do.
First, in the beginning, it was just our tongues that became entangled. It was simple and easy. And comforting. But, for some reason, we just needed more. Then, things progressed quite quickly.
And, now, we meet here four times a week to have sex.
I feel him harden against my stomach, and I look into his eyes. He’s been crying. Since Jasper died, I’ve never seen the evidence that Simon James, resident bad boy/not bad boy, cry, but I’ve seen the aftermath. I don’t ask if he’s all right because I know he isn’t.
I’d gladly give up my therapy appointment for Simon. I’d give up my therapy appointment with Dr. Elizabeth for him if I knew he would go. If I knew it would help. I’m not even sure his parents have come out of their drug-induced coma long enough to know that Jasper is dead.
His dull blue eyes, plagued with bad memories, prove the bright blue is sitting back, hidden behind the bruises that he carries underneath his clothes. The ones I see. And the dull blue tells a different story than what comes from his mouth. The darker story. The one he pretends Jasper and I don’t know, the one he doesn’t want us to know.
Simon would have an excuse.
I fell down the stairs.
I burned myself.
I ran into the wall.
About the Author
Lynn Bailey has loved to write since she learned to read, around the second grade. When she isn’t running after her children, watching COPS, or on the hunt for her next Laffy Taffy joke, you can probably find her holed up in her writing room feverishly working on her next book. She lives in Northern California with her family.