Meet Me At The End Of The World

Chapter Eighteen

Simon is standing.

After two weeks of taking the mystical drugs, Simon was cured of the pain that plagued him previously and we all learnt the truth behind Val's sneaking around. They were collecting bits and bobs to create a mechanical leg. While obviously, it doesn't match the standards of a certified hospital created one, in the middle of the apocalypse with little to no hope, the leg is perfect.

The only issue is, Simon has little clue of how to walk with it.

After a surgery such as Simon's (if slicing off your mates leg in the middle of the apocalypse can be classed as surgery) the patient goes through therapy to relearn how to walk and function with the prophetic. Unfortunately, all Simon has is us and turns out, he's a very impatient learner.

"Fuck sake!" He exclaims through gritted teeth as he collapses into my arms for the thirty-first time in the past hour.

"It's okay." I assure him but he shakes his head, his red curls tumbling over his green eyes and freckly face as he does. He huffs with annoyance once more.

"No, it isn't!" He exclaims as he thumps his fist against my chest. His hit is light and weak yet portrays his frustration all the same. "What if a group of zombies break in? I'm a dead man all over again."

"You shouldn't be so harsh on yourself." Honey states as she assists me in helping Simon into sitting down. She passes him a coffee stained cup of previously boiled water which he accepts with a grunt in thanks.

Something about Simon is different now. Obviously, what he's experienced is bound to have changed him in some sort of way but it seems more then that. He's angrier then before and appears to be lost. When he's not hating himself for not regaining his strength at the speed he wants, he's quiet as though trapped within these all consuming thoughts. I'm unsure whether or not the thoughts are good yet I always attempt to snap him from them, fearing the worst.

"I'm useless." He complains as he smacks his palm into his forehead as though attampting to give himself a headache. He goes to do it again but I seize his wrist before he manages and hold him back.

"You need to relax. This takes time and you needn't worry since we'll defend you." Honey states in desperate attempt to calm her best friend.

"I shouldn't have to relay on you." Simon protests stubbornly.

"Fuck Simon! Fuck!" Honey exclaims before standing. She shakes her head as if troubled before strolling towards the door. "I can't listen to your self pity any longer." She turns to me, eyes sharp. "Danny, watch over him. If something happens, grap Val and I."

"Will do." I assure her and she nods once more before strolling from the room, clearly deeply troubled by something. I turn back to Simon to find him scratching his nails against his trouser leg that covers where his wounded leg meets the hastily made mechanical one. "Don't do that." I say as I take his hands in mine. He leans his head back and groans like a wounded animal.

"It's hurts." He gasps and I release his hand and begin rumaging through my pockets until I find the pot of pills Frederick August bestowed upon me two weeks ago. I pass the pot to Simon who by now knows to take two whenever the pain becomes unbearable. "Thanks." He mutters as he shakes two out and drops them on his tongue, not even needing water to swallow them any longer.

"I understand that this is infuriating for you but you need to be patient." I tell him as I take the pot from his hand and slide it back into my pocket. He watches me for a moment before exhaling with frustration.

"There are zombies out there Danny and if I'm not prepared to fight them they're going to steal a great big chunk out of me again." He states, his forehead creased as if deep in thought.

"I won't let that happen." I assure him but he shakes his head.

"You said that last time." He points out sending a pang of guilt washing through me.

"Do you resent me for that?" I can't help but ask despite knowing what the answer mostly likely already is.

"No." He admits much to my surprise. "I believe that a part of me wants to but I'm unable. You're just too nice."

"Simon..."

"It was my own fault with the knife." He continues as if I had never spoken. "I should have told you that I couldn't hold a weapon." His face falls and guilt strikes through me knowing that I'm partly responsible for his low mood.

"What was your dad like?" I ask. It may be the wrong question and for a second I instantly regret asking it yet seconds after the words leave my mouth, a faint smile begins to spread across his gorgeous face.

"He was incredible!" He instantly gushes as if he's been wanting to discuss this topic for an eternity. "He has this power to always make me smile despite everything. Near the end, he began to change slightly but he always told me that I was his beautiful boy. That I ment everything to him."

"That's lovely. He's sound like a brilliant dad." Seeing the effect this topic has had on Simon I wonder how Honey could possibly still believe that her dad is a nice man after the damage he's caused.

"He was brilliant." He confirms. "What was your dad like?" The question catches me off guard for a second. Much to my dismay, I have to ponder over the thought in order to locoate a memory.

"He was hard working and spent a lot of time at work. Most of my memories are of my mum since she was an artist and worked mainly from home." I explain as I recall days where my sister's and I would paint alongside my mother for her to judge. Being the usual parent, she told us that they were all so brilliant that she couldn't choose which I often found annoying. Looking back now, I would give anything to relive just one of those days.

"My mum worked at Tesco." Simon states with a slight smile. "I don't know where my dad got his money from. I try not to think about it."

"Did your dad delve too deep into a criminal lifestyle?" I question despite knowing that it may be too person to speak of.

"I need to practice walking again." He states instead of answering and I instantly know that I've ruined our peaceful chat.

"Simon..."

"Come on." He orders, clearly now in a mood. I stand and assist him to his wobbly feet, wishing that I knew when to keep my mouth shut.