Chapter Text
Every day after class, I sit on the beach and watch the waves, writing down my thoughts. There’s still a lot that I don’t remember about my life, and this helps me get some of it back.
There’s a few things I’ve remembered since saving the stars with Rocky. One of them being my twin brother, Colt. How I ever forgot him, I’ll never know. He was charming, energetic, and sarcastic in a way that isn’t quite forgettable.
Despite remembering a lot of details about my life, there’s always something that’s bothered me. Always seemed like it’s right there, but just out of reach. An itch under my skin that I could never scratch.
I scrawl out a couple of thoughts, before snapping my notebook shut and standing up, dusting off my pants. I make my way back to the house, where I throw my bag down by the entryway. “Hey, Si! I’m back!” I shout, just to make sure that he can hear me. I’ve found that Simon not knowing where I am makes him anxious, so I do my best to prevent that.
“I’m in the greenhouse!” I hear him shout back.
Simon doesn’t talk a lot. He prefers to nod or shake his head, or shrug his shoulders. Which, I totally get. Sometimes I feel like talking is a sisyphean task.
I make my way back outside and down to the greenhouse, where I spot Simon watering his new seedlings. “Those are looking pretty good!” I tell him, approaching the rack they’re sitting on. He grunts in acknowledgement.
I look over at him, and he’s shifting from side to side in a way that almost looks nervous. I investigate closer to see that he’s also tapping the pad of his thumb against the rest of his fingers rhythmically. He clears his throat.
“You doing alright there, Si?” I ask, tilting my head. He bites his lip, nodding, then shrugging.
“I, uh. I just wanted to talk to you about something. Just, don’t freak out, please?” He tells me, his gaze locked on the trays of seedlings.
My stomach twists. Conversations that start out this way are never good. Never. “Yeah, of course! You can tell me anything.” I say. It comes out way calmer than I feel. He clears his throat again.
“You- uh. Your universe has, um, it has shifters, right?” He questions timidly, wiping his palms on the gardening apron that he was wearing.
I tilt my head. Why would he be asking about shifters? “Sure does. They’re just really rare.”
“Well, um. This is where the whole ‘don’t freak out’ portion comes into play.”
He pauses, taking a few deep breaths. I wait patiently.
“I’m a shifter. Which, like, isn’t that big of a deal on its own. But, I’m like, really, really, large when I shift.
I nod along. “What, are you like an elephant or a moose or something, cause”— I gesture to the beach —”I think we have plenty of room for that.”
Simon shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m kind of like… like if a wolf was the size of a doorframe.” He forces out, finally looking up at me.
My eyebrows shoot up before I can stop them. “Oh. Wow.” My mouth works faster than my brain.
“Yeah…” He replies solemnly, looking back down at his hands from my reaction. “Look, I was gonna ask if you’d be comfortable with me shifting while still being, y’know, around. But I understand not wanting to have a six foot tall wolf around. It scares most people, so I can just go shift somewhere else-”
I grab his wrist before he makes it past me. “No, Simon. You shift wherever you feel comfortable. I’m honored that you trust me enough to shift while I’m around.” I tell him, tears welling up in my eyes.
He looks up at me, a slight smile gracing his lips. “Thank you, Gra- Are you crying? Why are you crying?” He asks, his expression suddenly overtaken by panic.
“I’m just… I’m so happy that you feel comfortable here.” I choke out, quickly wiping at the tears that had fallen down my cheeks.
“Yeah, whatever.” Simon says quietly, that soft smile coming back to his lips as he looks away.
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Simon was staring down at his half-finished food. It was an odd sight to see, because usually he scarfed all of it down before I could even get my first few bites in. I narrow my eyes at the man.
“You feeling okay, Simon?” I inquire, setting down my glass of water on the table.
He only nods, still staring at the plate. Then he quickly looks away from it, his face scrunching up.
“That doesn’t look very much like you’re okay.” I chuckle nervously.
He shrugs. “Stomach just hurts.” He mumbles, still refusing to look down at his food. He’s also refusing to look at me.
Being a teacher for as long as I’ve been makes you pretty good at picking up on people’s nervous tics and telling when they’re lying. And Simon? Simon was definitely lying. He was chewing on the side of his cheek, like he usually did when he was hiding something from me.
“Si?”
A grunt.
“You can tell the truth. I won’t be mad. I promise.”
He hesitantly looks up at me. He looks like he’s angry and about to shout at me for a moment, but then his face softens. He clears his throat.
“It’s, uh… It’s nausea from… from not shifting.” He admits, looking down at his lap.
I mentally slap myself for not realizing. Of course, it would be that!
“Oh, well- uh! It’s okay! You don’t have to eat it!” I reach over the table to grab his plate of unfinished food. He suddenly grabs my wrist, and he snarls.
He actually snarls at me. Bares his teeth and everything.
I flinch, letting go of the plate.
He quickly releases my wrist, his lips falling to cover his teeth again. He stammers, blinking rapidly.
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”
“It’s okay. I get it. I wasn’t trying to steal your food. I would never do that.”
“I know, it’s just- I just… I’m sorry.”
I pause, standing up from my chair with my empty plate in hand. I tilt my head slightly.
“Nothing to be sorry for.” I tell him softly.
He shakes his head. “I scared you.” He mutters, looking down in shame.
“And now, I’m fine. It’s okay, Simon. I promise.”
I set my plate in the sink along with my glass, before turning around to face my housemate. “You should really shift soon. It’s not good for you.” I tell him, pulling a dishcloth out of the drawer to wipe down the counters.
He grunts in acknowledgement, standing up with his own plate. He approaches, hesitantly handing it out to me. “Can I… save it for later?”
A smile spreads across my face. “Of course! I’ll just put it in the fridge. I’ll show you how to use the microwave to heat it up!”
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I pace around my room anxiously.
God, how fucking stupid could I be? I just had to go and hurt my angel. Over something as stupid as food, too. I should have just let him take it. Was it not his right to take it? After all, he had given it to me in the first place. He had given me everything. The bed I sleep in, the clothes on my back, the food in my stomach. Even my life. He had pulled me out of hell and brought me to heaven. Was it not his right to take that away?
Even if it wasn’t him that gave it all to me in the first place, did I not owe him everything just based on the fact that he alone is the reason I live?
I can’t continue pacing anymore. My back feels like it’s trying to pull every goddamn muscle into one spot. I lay back on my bed — Grace’s bed, I remind myself — trying to get into a position that doesn’t leave me in agonizing pain.
Fuck. I need to just get this shit over with. A forced shift is a terrible idea. They are always way more painful, take longer, and leave me significantly more disoriented and tired.
I just can’t handle the thought of Grace’s face when he sees me. It’ll be fear. It’s always fear. Just like how I scared him earlier. That’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at, is scaring people. That is why they called me the butcher, after all.
A sharp stabbing pain in my chest jerks me out of my thoughts violently.
I need to at least warn Grace. It would be even more horrifying for him to open the door to see a terrifying beast.
I muster all of my strength and stand up on wobbly legs.
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