The Weight of a Lie
Copyright© 2026 by Heel
Chapter 3
The kiss had changed something between Nicole and Simon, but it had not changed Simon’s fascination with the problem she was supposedly facing. If anything, it had made him more attentive, because affection had given his concern a new depth and transformed the strange apparatus around her leg from something merely curious into something he felt personally responsible for understanding. He watched her whenever they walked together, not in an intrusive way but with the quiet concentration of someone who had begun memorizing another person’s habits without realizing it. He noticed how her left leg swung slightly when she advanced on the crutches, how the leather support moved a fraction of a second after the rest of her body, how her shoulders stiffened when she became tired, how she sometimes leaned more heavily on her right side, and how carefully she positioned both crutches before allowing herself to move forward. He noticed her posture most of all. When she was relaxed, her shoulders were soft and slightly rounded, but whenever she became conscious that he was watching, they straightened instinctively, as though she were trying to make herself look more stable than she really was. And then there were her toes. The five small toes protruding from beneath the lower edge of the leather support remained unnaturally still whenever she walked, while her heel remained stuck above it, creating the impression of a foot that had become disconnected from the rest of her body. Simon watched those tiny details because he believed they told him something important about her condition. Nicole watched him watching them because every detail he noticed was another piece of evidence that her lie was becoming impossible to control.
Sometimes Simon would say nothing at all. They might be crossing the university courtyard together while students hurried around them, and Nicole would suddenly become aware that he had fallen half a step behind her. When she looked back, she would find his eyes fixed on the movement of her left leg, following the gentle pendulum-like swing beneath the leather support. Once, she stopped and asked him why he was staring, and he smiled awkwardly before admitting that he was trying to understand how she managed to move so naturally with a leg she could not properly control. There was something strangely flattering about the question, and something terrifying too. He was not looking at her because she was attractive, or because he wanted to kiss her, or even because he had become fascinated by her personality. He was studying her because he believed there was something wrong with her body, and because he cared enough to notice the smallest changes in the way she moved. Nicole had spent so much time wanting him to notice her that she had never considered what it might feel like when someone noticed absolutely everything.
One morning, while they were waiting outside a lecture hall, Simon became particularly absorbed in watching her walk. The corridor was crowded with students, voices echoing beneath the high ceiling, doors opening and closing, footsteps moving in every direction, yet Simon seemed to have forgotten the entire crowd. Nicole advanced carefully on the crutches, planting them ahead of herself and then bringing her body forward, while her suspended left leg followed in a small, controlled swing. She had learned to keep her posture slightly rigid and to let the leg appear completely passive, because she knew that a person with a genuinely paralyzed limb would not instinctively correct its position in the way a healthy person did. She had practiced that detail in front of the mirror until it looked convincing. Now Simon was watching the result with such concentration that she suddenly felt as though she were being examined.
“You move differently now,” he said eventually.
Nicole looked at him. “Differently from what?”
“From when I first saw you with the crutches.” He spoke thoughtfully, as though he were trying to describe something he had noticed without making her uncomfortable. “You’re more stable. You’ve learned how to compensate. But your left leg still doesn’t seem to participate at all. It just follows you.”
Nicole forced a small smile. “That’s because it can’t do much.”
Simon nodded, but he continued watching her. His eyes dropped toward the leather support, and for a moment he seemed almost troubled by the sight of the five motionless toes visible beneath it. “That must be such a strange feeling,” he said softly. “Knowing that your body is moving, but not really feeling as though that part of it is moving with you.”
Nicole swallowed before answering. “It is.”
He looked at her again. “Do you ever forget about it?”
“Sometimes.”
“And then you remember?”
She nodded.
Simon was silent for several seconds before saying, “I think I would hate that.”
Nicole looked away.
The words should have comforted her. Instead, they made her feel guilty.
As the days passed, Simon began asking more specific questions. He wanted to know whether the leg felt heavier after walking, whether the numbness changed during the day, whether she could distinguish pressure from temperature, whether the muscles ever tightened involuntarily, and whether she could tell when the suspended foot changed position. Nicole had prepared answers for some of those questions, but not for all of them. Sometimes she had to pause and invent something plausible while trying not to let him see the hesitation. Simon never seemed suspicious. On the contrary, whenever she struggled to explain a sensation, he became even more patient, telling her that she did not have to find the perfect words and that he simply wanted to understand. That kindness made the deception more painful because he was giving her exactly the kind of trust she had never expected to receive.
One afternoon, while they were walking toward another building, Simon stopped beside a quiet stairwell. The corridor there was almost empty, and the muffled sound of students moving through the floors above them seemed strangely distant. Nicole sensed immediately that he wanted to ask something serious. He had been watching her left leg for several minutes, and now he looked at her with the same concentrated expression she had begun to recognize.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You’ve been asking me questions all day.”
He smiled faintly. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I just keep thinking about it.”
“About my leg?”
“About what it actually means for you.” His expression softened, and his voice became quieter. “I know what I see. I see the crutches, the support, the way you walk. But I don’t know what happens if you stop compensating for it. I don’t know what your leg actually does by itself.”
Nicole’s stomach tightened.
She knew exactly what he wanted.
She also knew that she could not refuse without making the situation more suspicious.
Simon seemed to read the hesitation in her face and immediately added, “You don’t have to show me anything.”
That made it worse.
Nicole looked down at the floor.
“I know.”
“I just want to understand.”
There was no accusation in his voice. There was only concern, and somehow concern was harder to resist than suspicion would have been.
Finally, Nicole agreed.
She positioned herself beside the railing and kept both crutches firmly beneath her arms, making sure they were secure before she looked at Simon. Her heart was beating so hard that she was afraid he might hear it, because what she was about to do felt strangely intimate despite the fact that it was supposed to be nothing more than a demonstration of her disability. Simon stood in front of her, uncertain whether he should come closer, and Nicole hesitated for another moment before quietly telling him that there was something he needed to see.
“I need you to pull my leg up.”
Simon frowned slightly. “Up?”
“Yes. Just lift it carefully. The support holds my foot in place, but if you pull the leg high enough, the foot will slip out of the holster.”
He looked at the apparatus, then back at her face. “Are you sure?”
Nicole nodded. “Just be gentle.”
Simon moved closer. He reached down cautiously, one hand supporting her lower leg above the leather apparatus while the other steadied the limb, and Nicole deliberately allowed her muscles to become completely relaxed. He lifted her left leg slowly, and as the angle changed, the delicate foot gradually slipped backward through the opening of the leather holster. For an instant the heel appeared completely free, then the entire foot slid out, leaving the leather support hanging empty beneath her leg.
Nicole held her breath.
Her bare foot was now completely unsupported.
Simon lowered his hands slightly but did not let go immediately. “What happens now?”
“Let it go.”
He hesitated.
“Nicole...”
“Let it go.”
Simon carefully released her leg.
It dropped.
There was no attempt to correct the movement, no instinctive tightening of the ankle, no effort to place the foot beneath her. The left leg simply hung from the hip, completely loose, while the foot remained slightly pointed downward and the toes stayed motionless. Because Nicole was supporting herself with her right leg and both crutches, the contrast was unmistakable. One side of her body was active and controlled; the other seemed almost disconnected from her.
Simon stared.
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