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There are moments when Simon thinks he’s left it all behind.
All the memories, all the pain, all the trauma his father caused him. There are days when he’s actually fine, when he doesn’t think about it, about his dad, when he and all the bullshit he put his family through doesn’t even cross his mind. These days definitely prevail.
But then, there are days when it all just weighs on him.
He’s not even sure what prompted it. Maybe it’s because Micke has kind of returned to their life because of Sara’s period of living with him. Maybe it’s because of the car on their driveway that used to be his. Or maybe the increased text messages Simon’s been getting from him. Maybe these are all signs that he deserves a second chance.
But the thing is, it wouldn’t even be a second chance. It wouldn’t be the third either so… when should he stop?
Simon feels weirdly uneasy the whole day but once Wille comes over, things get better. He gets to forget about his worries as he enjoys his time with his boyfriend. Wille’s good at that, at rooting him in the present, so his darker thoughts don’t get to take over.
Once they settle for bed in Simon’s room though, it’s like those concerns of his hit again. He tries to ignore them, burrows himself further into Wille’s embrace and eventually, manages to fall asleep.
But it’s far from peaceful sleep.
The nightmare doesn’t actually start like a nightmare at all.
Simon is home, in his own room and it feels like a typical day. Until he begins to hear some voices from the living room. Tentatively, as if already expecting the danger he makes it through the hallway and can peek into the living room. There, he can see his father sitting on the sofa. Now it begins to feel more like a memory than a dream actually. Simon was met with such a scene many times. Micke on the couch, bottle in hand, the tv on, just like it is now. His dad’s eyes seem to follow whatever is happening on screen but they are bloodshed and tired. Simon keeps looking, wishing it wasn’t the dad he remembers best but such an image of Micke is what’s now embedded in his head. His eyelids begin to drop and then Simon spots his mom on the couch next to him. She gently reaches to pull a remote from now half-asleep Micke’s hand to turn the tv off, but as soon as her hand touches the item, the man goes off. Simon also remembers this. The times when they had to walk on eggshells around Micke, when literally everything and nothing could trigger him when he was intoxicated. You could never predict what his next move would be and thus, you could never know what to do yourself.
The half-empty beer bottle hits the wall first and the sound is almost deafening. It’s like Simon’s senses are heightened and he can hear it breaking so vividly, can see the stain it leaves on the wall and can sense the overpowering smell of cheap beer that’s beginning to fill the air even more. Micke’s rage quickly turns to Linda, as he shoves off any of her attempts to soothe him and begins yelling. As soon as he puts her hand on her, Simon steps in.
He’s always been thinking that he hasn’t done enough, that he should have protected his mom and sister more. But he didn’t know how. And even now, in his dream where he’s supposed to be the hero, he doesn’t know too.
Everything happens in slow motion now. Micke’s attention shifting to Simon as he steps into the living room. His dad moving towards him and even though his movements are languid, Simon can’t move either, can’t escape the anger that’s going to be unleashed on him now. The fury flashes in his father’s eyes, and Simon doesn’t even know the reason for it, but he can feel that now he’s the target. His father grabs his chin roughly, pushing him till his back hits the wall. Simon can feel the still beer-wet stain on the wall, the liquid now sinking into his t-shirt. He tries to close his eyes but even then he sees his father’s face behind his eyelids. He can’t escape. He’ll never truly be able to. Even when Micke is gone, he’s still in his head and his heart. He can’t rip him out, no matter how hard he tries.
Once his father’s hand slides to his neck and tightens its grip there, Simon wakes up with a sharp intake of breath, feeling as if his airflow was still restricted as he struggles to take in the air.
He sits on the bed, chest heaving and twisting painfully. He’s still too shaken up and panicked from the nightmare, not sure what’s reality and what’s dream. What if his father is still in the living room now? What if he’s hurting Linda and Simon can’t do anything about it because he can’t fucking breathe?
“Simon?” A soft voice from behind him reaches him.
Wille .
“Are you okay?” His boyfriend asks and lays a delicate hand on Simon’s shoulder. He still flinches. The touch disappears right away.
But it’s better. Since Wille is here, it means his father can’t be. Micke is all the before that he’s trying to forget. Wille is the present and the future he’s looking forward to.
“Mhm,” Simon mumbles an answer to his question, still struggling to catch a breath. Now instead of the painful twist in his chest, something there snaps. A piece of his heart breaking again as he remembers the scared child his father made him become.
He doesn’t think he’s ever stopped being scared actually.
With tears filling up his eyes, Simon begins to shake his head. He’s not okay. He’s quite far from okay, actually.
“Can I touch you?” Comes Wille’s next question. Simon nods, needing something real, something that will prove to him that he’s in the now, not floating away in his dreamland or his past.
Wille’s arm comes around him and Simon feels he can breathe a bit better. The soothing moment of Wille’s hand caressing his arm brings some sense of peace to him. He lets his head drop on his boyfriend’s shoulder, taking a more steady inhale and releasing it slowly.
“Are you okay?” Wille repeats quietly, now probably noticing he has calmed down a bit and that the initial crisis is averted.
Simon nods lightly.
“I had a nightmare,” he admits.
“About?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Can you please just hold me?” He hates how weak his voice sounds.
“Of course,” Wille‘s embrace tightens around him. “It was just a dream, okay? You’re safe, it’s okay,” he reassures softly, pressing the words into Simon’s hair and leaving a kiss there.
And maybe it’s the immense sense of comfort that begins to float through him because of Wille’s touch and his soothing tone, that he feels brave enough to speak.
“It was about my dad,” he confesses. Wille hums in answer. Simon feels too tired to read into it. “Just… about some shit he’s put us through. It felt like I was reliving it.”
“I’m sorry,” Wille says genuinely. “But you’re safe now. He can’t hurt you anymore, alright?”
Simon nods, really trying to believe it. But he fails at that. Because even if Micke can’t physically hurt him anymore, he still causes all the pain and mess in his head. It’s exhausting.
“I’m still scared,” his voice breaks as he speaks again. He can feel Wille pressing a kiss to his forehead and holding him tighter.
“It’s okay to feel like this,” he says. “But you don’t have to be scared anymore, I’ll protect you.” The words sound like a promise.
And in a sense, Simon has never had someone to take care of him and protect him. He’s always had his mom, but he never wanted to burden her so he’d always handle as much as he could alone, all on his own. And now he doesn’t want to burden Wille too but… it’s so exhausting to carry it all, this whole baggage and trauma he has, alone. Maybe one day he’ll be ready and able to share it. Maybe today is a step in the right direction.
Simon lets a few silent tears spill, aware that Wille can still probably feel them as they drip against the bare skin of his shoulder. Simon cannot be bothered by it, he’s too tired. He just wishes he was okay.
“I love you,” Wille says against his hair. “So much.”
“I love you too,” Simon sniffles but replies. He pulls back a little, wiping on his face. “Can we lie down?”
One of Wille’s palms goes to cup his cheek, wiping away the residues of tears. He doesn’t call him out on crying, doesn’t make him feel weak about it. And Simon’s grateful for it.
“Of course,” Wille replies but before they move to rearrange their bodies, he presses a lingering kiss against Simon’s forehead. It almost makes his smile, even in such a dire moment.
Once they lie down, Simon tucks himself against Wille’s body again. His boyfriend’s arms come around him in an almost practised ease now, palms skimming against his back comfortingly. Simon lets himself close his eyes, hoping that those gentle movements will lull him back to sleep, a more peaceful one now, soon.
“You can talk to me about it, you know,” Wille’s voice is quiet as he speaks, almost tentative. “About… your dad, or anything. Really I… I want to know.”
His words mean a lot, this invitation for a talk means a lot. Simon promises himself that one day he’ll use it, that he’ll gather up the courage to discuss this. Wille deserves to know.
“I will. One day,” now his words sound like a promise. One that he’s making to both himself and Wille.
“One day,” his boyfriend echoes and it seems like he’s agreeing with another kiss to Simon’s forehead.
When Simon falls asleep, just as he hoped, it’s a peaceful one this time.