For justprompts
The eye is always caught by light, but shadows have more to say. -Mirror, Mirror by Gregory Maguire
"So, how was your famous big date? Did you sweep her off her feet?"
He smiles, shaking his head slightly. Not that his Mom could see him through the phone, but he's sure she's already expecting that answer.
"It was okay. More than okay. Reminded me a bit of the Janet Wood, Chrissy Snow and Jack Tripper's chemistry. Gus could be a terrific Terri Alden, but I have to stick with the classic trio."
"Gus?", his Mom asks amused. "I don't want to know, right Goose?"
"No, Mom. You don't wanna know. Just cherish the fact that it was okay, we had fun." Shawn can practically hear his mother's lips turning up in a smile at the other side of the line. He knows she's just enjoying the moment, the triviality of the conversation.
And even though he's tired; that it's been very possibly the longest day ever since Stephanie Walinski asked him to meet after class to let him touch her boobs that summer afternoon back in seventh grade, he now walks around his office, enjoying a conversation with his Mom, going again through the thoughts he'd like to be burying under his pillow.
Yesterday was such a long day.
He knows he won't forget those eyes. Not even if he did try, he knows he simply can't.
It's like the taste of those cheap bear chocolate cookies he loved so much and were taken off the market almost 20 years ago. Or the funny accent of a Thailand native when trying to sing 'Gangsta's Paradise' for the first time.
How sometimes, when entering a bar, he looks at the people in the room and as if following an instinct he counts the hats they're wearing.
It's like the beginning of a bad joke. "Shawn walks into a bar and counts the hats..."
The thing is he just never forgets. He never will.
He'll never forget the twisted joy in Mrs. Yang's eyes. The way she barely blinked, how she just pierced him with her gaze. Her greasy, curly hair. Her white, a little too big shirt. Her hand clutching the bomb's remote device. The way she caressed it with her thumb, her nails digging into it whenever she found something that seemed remotely amusing in that sick mind of hers. Her disgusting smile.
And then there was his Mom's eyes, how she tried to control the fear in them.
The confusion in Juliet's. The same sadness he saw 13 years ago in Abigail's eyes and that of course, he hasn't forgot yet.
He just couldn't let down Abigail again.
"You know that I'm not one of those crazy Moms that want to keep her son to herself. I find the idea of having grandchildren one day quite interesting," she teases.
"Yeah, I know you do." He replies while brushing off his desk the remains of the broken portrait with an old newspaper and throwing it into a trash bag. The pieces of glass and frame had been lying on his desk the entire day. And Gus always tries to be more than clear about his 'not touching stuff that belonged to a serial killer' policy.
He picks up the picture of that poor waitress and throws it away without even thinking twice.
He doubts he'll be getting her number after all.
"But you know I'm too handsome to be exclusive, Mom. It'd just be unfair to the rest of the girls."
"Don't waste your excuses on me, Goose. As handsome as you are, I know you too well to fall for that."
"It's still worth trying." He points out as he ties a knot on the plastic bag and throws it in the garbage bin. "But really, stop worrying about that. Just... Don't you have conferences to worry about? Patients? Don't you have stressed-cops-who-believe-Martin-Riggs-is-a-softie to deal with?"
"Oh...," she tuts disapprovingly, but he knows she doesn't really mind the reproach. "I'll stay out of your love life, okay. But you stop pretending it doesn't exist."
He snorts and continues playfully arguing. They always do. And she knows exactly were to hit every time, like any good mother does.
"Go get some rest, Shawnie."
"You too, Mom."
She hangs up, he stares at the phone in his hand, gently pushes the off button and puts it down.
He's so relieved to hear her voice. So relieved they can still enjoy trivial conversations.
Shawn walks to the couch to grab both his bike's helmet and the tv's remote. He can't help feeling a little bad for turning it off just before Number 5 decides to pay Stephanie a visit while she's taking a bath. But it's not as if he doesn't already know 'Short Circuit' by heart.
The office is dark now. The shadows are always on his back, following no matter how much he runs, how cheerful he tries to be when he doesn't really feel like it. His own shadow has probably attracted them since the beginning.
Sometimes he just knows he's fucked up.
He knows that -except Gus- his friends, Abigail, The Chief, Lassie, Jules... They just see the bright smile. They don't see what's behind it. They don't understand how difficult is to sneak a joke when he doesn't feel like laughing.
But that's okay too. He'll always be a fake in a way. He's always been a pretender.
He's just glad he always finds a way to hang there. To make a joke. To fix things. To stand up again. To start things and feel brand new.
He's glad he doesn't need to fix this. He's glad that yesterday is in the past. He doesn't even feel like running away anymore.
Shawn checks his watch, he's already late for dinner with his Dad.
He closes the door and the moon bathes him with it's pale glow.
There's no way he'll ever admit outloud that his Dad was right.
If they hadn't caught that son of a b-
Well, that bitch. If he hadn't caught that crazy bitch, he'd probably never manage to sleep again.
But his Dad doesn't seem to understand it; it's bad enough that he'll never be able to forget those eyes.
(ooc: Thank you very much lipstickcat for the beta! Love you, hon! :D)