His arm had slammed hard on the floor, but he didn't even feel it. Adrenaline was pumping like wildfire. His chest was heaving 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.
When she lifted her face she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Her eyes darted around like she was trying to understand what just happened. Now, she came in full view of his face, her face a few inches above his.
"Get a room, you two," Ezra chuckled, getting off his bike yet to understand what had just happened.
Simon sat up as Jessica nervously got off him. She looked 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 on Simon. And Simon? His eyes held gladness and relief.
"What happened?" She cleared her throat. Just as she was about to continue, her eyes widened welling up with tears realizing what had just happened. She saw the speeding truck disappear from the distance.
"Are you alright, Jess?" His soft voice dragged her back. 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 in tears.
"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.
He lifted both arms to his view and quickly dropped it down 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. He was making 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.
Ezra's mouth was ajar on seeing Simon's blood streaked hands. The smell of blood filled his nostrils.
When her crying eased he pulled her out and wiped her tears off with his thumb. His eyes were soft and almost proud.
Ezra was about to say something when Simon quickly said, "I'm okay."
He turned to Ezra, "You, too. Get in the car, we are leaving now." His voice firm.
He ripped off the torn sleeves that were already soaked in his blood. His right arm was a grotesque sight to behold from his collision with the coal tar road. 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.
Jessica nodded, but eyebrows furrowed.
He shot his gaze at her. Tearing off the messy sleeve in one go. He lifted her off the ground and walked towards the car.
Ezra, dazed and lost of words, quietly pushed his bike to the trunk of the car and stood by car waiting.
"I'm 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's what you're going to inquire," he looked down to meet her puffed eyes. "Trust me, Jessica. I am okay. And please don't cry anymore. I don't like it when you cry," he persuaded.
Jessica wiped her eyes one last time just as she slipped off his body.
She let out a deep sigh and walked into the car. Simon still looking livid and happy smiled at Ezra as he walked to get into the car.
"B— but what happened to you?" Ezra stuttered as he grabbed Simon's hands.
"It was a lil crash. Nothing much." Simon said in a firm dismissive tone. "You wasted so much time, get in let's leave already," he concluded, pulling the door open.
Ezra's eye darted into the car spotting the dazed Jessica. "Is she—" before Ezra could finish. "I don't know," Simon responded. "Get in."
"Simon, I want to know what happened to you two. Don't dismiss my concern," Ezra spoke.
Simon sighed, and went over what happened.
"What'd a truck be doing in Willow Creek? And also, how do you go through that kind of an accident and say you are fine, stand so perfectly and also want to drive us? Shift, you won't be driving us."
Ezra nudged him off the driver's side, got in and started the engine. 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.
Whispers filled the church like incense, curling around words like, "divine protection," "miracle," and the likes of it.
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. Her eyes would flicker to the jaggered lines of rash across his shoulder and the streaks on blood on his shirt. 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 which trembled, not with cold but with fury and fear of something she didn't couldn't express. Every passing second she opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out were just short shallow breaths.
Her eyes were glued on her son's arm, that thing. It looked like skin was peeled off with a cheese grater. And he didn't flinch, not once.
Jessica sat not far from him, wringing her hands. People kept saying she was lucky. But Simon noticed how she'd flinch when anyone touched her.
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 made 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.