His arm had slammed hard on the floor, but he didn't even feel it. Adrenaline pumped like wildfire. His chest heaved and his lungs clawed for air. Her face dug into his chest. His arms were still around her like she'd disappear if he let go.
His body ached from the impact but it didn't register. All he could think about was her.
She lifted her head, lips parting but no word came out. Her eyes darted around—trying to understand what just happened—until they landed on him. Just inches between them.
"Get a room, you two,"
He called out laughing. The voice came lazy and smooth that made it hard to tell if he was serious. Ezra hopped off his bike—leather jacket, helmet swung under his arm. His hand ran through his disheveled jet-black hair swept back from his face. His dark irises were totally oblivious of the near-death aura hanging in the air.
Jessica nervously got off Simon as he sat up. She was okay. No blood, no injury. But her eyes were lost and confused.
Just seconds ago, she was on the road trying to pick her daisies and next she was in Simon's arms. And Simon? His eyes held... gladness and relief.
Ezra's gaze flicked between them and the truck disappearing in the distance. He saw the truck on his way to the dandelion field. But it didn't exactly seem suspicious to him except the out-of-world speed, and the fact trucks rarely barrel through town.
Wait... His smirk faltered just a little. "You too good?" His gaze immediately snapped towards the way he came from, the truck...
Jessica nodded too fast, "Yeah. I just— Wh—what just happened?" She cleared her throat.
"Almost got hit by a truck." Ezra responded rather too casually. He stood right next to where they lay.
Just as she was about to continue, her eyes widened, realizing what had just happened. She saw the speeding truck disappear from the distance.
"Are you alright, Jess?" Simon's calm voice dragged her back. He was already standing now. His arms were stretched for her to grab on. Dumbstruck, she struggled not to look up at Simon. She nodded, grabbing his hands.
The silence between them was thick. His eyes begged for answers and hers were drowning.
"Jess," he tried again, his voice softer now. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head.
"Your arm—" her voice broke, her eyes finally locked on his.
"Dude—" Ezra exclaimed, shock laced his voice as he lifted Simon's right arm. But Simon dropped it just immediately.
"Probably just from the crash," he said quickly with a lopsided smile.
But Jessica didn't smile back. Her lips were quivering now and a tear fell down her cheeks before she could stop it.
"Come on, Jess. Your being dramatic. Take my hand," he said, letting out a soft laugh.
She wasn't. Not even a little bit. Ezra was visibly puzzled, taking a step back from Simon. The smell of blood filled his nostrils. But Simon made light of it, trying to be okay so she'd be okay.
And then, she threw her arms around him. He didn't flinch. She just stood sobbing against his chest, not caring about the blood or them standing in the road. She just sobbed, shaking with every breath.
"You're being too strong," she wailed against his chest. "You didn't even think, you just threw yourself at me." She quivered.
Simon just held her tighter. "I couldn't let anything happen to you," he mumbled.
"You idiot," she said between shaking breath. "You absolute, foolish, selfless idiot."
"You're welcome," he chuckled softly.
"Uhm, okay. You caught it out already, both of you." Ezra shrugged at the sight of their hugs and wailing Jessica.
When her crying eased he pulled her out and wiped her tears off with his thumb. His eyes were soft and almost proud.
Ezra's mouth opened for another word, but Simon quickly cut him short. "I am okay."
He turned to Ezra, "We are leaving now." His voice firm.
"You're weird, man," Ezra scoffed, rolling his bike to the car. Jessica nodded, but eyebrows furrowed.
Simon ripped off the torn sleeves that were already soaked in his blood. Tearing it off in one go. He immediately swept her feet off the ground and walked towards the car.
"I am glad you're alright, Jessica," he broke the silence. Jessica's eyes were just fixated on his silver eyes, looking for a crack in character, but there was none. He was being all strong. Her mind spun with numerous thoughts.
"Simon," her voice merely above a whisper escaped.
"Jessica," he started with a softer tone. "If that is what you are going to ask—then yeah, I'm fine. Trust me," he looked down to meet her puffed eyes. "And please fix your face. I don't like it when you cry," he persuaded.
Jessica wiped her eyes one last time just as she slipped off his body as they approached the car.
She let out a deep sigh and walked into the car. Simon just flashed at Ezra who stood observing them as he walked over to the driver's door.
"Absolutely not. You're not doing this." Ezra barked, grabbing the door before Simon could.
"Ezra" Simon sighed, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice, "it was a scratch."
That? A scratch? Maybe his eyes has lost its vision. His right arm was such a grotesque sight to behold. And he stood there, acting like he just bumped into someone, whereas he collided with the road and tore a good chunk of his skin.That collision against the coal tar road was ghastly.
Ezra's eye darted into the car spotting the dazed Jessica. "I don't exactly get what happened... but, dude, I'm not letting you bleed out just to play a DC hero. We need to get that cleaned."
Simon sighed, and went over what happened—quick and snappy.
"I'm sorry for taking so much time. But what'd a truck be doing in Willow Creek?" Simon shrugged, eyes locked on Ezra, signalling him to let the door go. "You always do this, man—not again this time."
Ezra nudged him off the driver's side, got in and started the engine. Typical Ezra, the kind of guy that made steadied your breathe in chaos. Simon surrendered to the back seat as they got on their merry way to the church.
Just like he expected, everyone was being dramatic, so dramatic. He just sat stiffly on one of the benches at the corner of the church. His eyes half-lidded as worried faces hovered over his face like bees to honey.
The service had soon spun from normal Sunday worship to Simon and Jessica's near-death experience. And Simon was the unwilling star of the show.
Yes, he'd survived a crash. Yes, it was insane. Yes, Jessica had not even a scratch on her. But the way everyone carried it on, you'd think he'd taken a bullet for the Pope.
But it wasn't the praise that made him uncomfortable. It was the way Jessica kept looking at him—wringing her hands. People kept saying she was lucky. But Simon noticed how she'd flinch when anyone touched her. And beneath all of that it was the way she acted like she held back something.
Jeanette wasn't calm, not even close. She stood behind Simon with her hands she fought not let tremble. Her brown eyes were glued on her son's arm. Every passing second she opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out were just short shallow breaths. It so abnormal that he didn't flinch, not once. And that racked her more than the grated skin.
He just sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knees.
Steve, Simon's father, was a man in his early forties, tall and hunky. The resemblance between them was uncanny. Simon clearly got his frame and height from his dad. He had sandy blonde hair and eyes the color of the sky, pale blue and unreadable.
He took Simon down to the church cellar. The makeshift silence was an escape from the whirlwind upstairs. He stood behind a bench, and got the first aid kit.
He knelt beside Simon who was shirtless now. Steve had already cleaned the area, dabbing around the area with cotton soaked in antiseptic.
Yet, Simon didn't flinch. Not even a hiss or a wince.
Steve paused, staring at Simon's arm puzzled, not horrified, just deep inward thoughts. From his eyes you could tell his mind was running through a list of possibilities.
Congenital insensitivity to pain? No, he knew his son wasn't born with that. He cried when he slipped jumping out of the bathroom at six, over his stubbed toe. Simon was a cry baby growing up.
"Does it hurt?" Steve's deep voice echoed gently through the cellar, soft like it would shatter something if it was a tad bit firmer.
He paused, eyes on Simon waiting for a response before he starts any other thing.
Simon shook his head, "No, not really."
"You'll be fine, son," Steve responded and just as he was about to continue Simon tried to lift his arm turning halfway to face him.
"No, don't," Steve held his shoulder immediately. That reaction was pure reflex.
He'd just heard his boy say he wasn't in pain, but the the what-ifs couldn't stop drowning him.
Steve tried to keep it together, that calm collected dad he wore so well, but behind the masked exterior was him blaming himself. If he had them all come with him—this wouldn't have happened.
Simon started to notice his father, usually composed and grounded now unsettled.
"Thank you." A pat fell on Steve's shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. He turned and there he was, Willow Creek's Angel, Father Nicholas.