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Pain overtook him, just as it had during the activation process months before. He didn’t remember screaming, but he remembered hearing it come from everyone else.
“Jeremy, please!” it begged, as if he could save it now.
For once, since the beginning of this entire endeavor, Jeremy wasn’t remorseful.
The room began to turn black, and his body hit the floor.
The steady beep of the vital signs monitor filled his ears, and it all came into blurry view.
White light. Ceiling tiles.
Shockingly, he was still alive.
And holy fuck, did it hurt like hell.
Pain shot through his body the moment he tried to sit up. An echo of “ow, ow, ow…” filled the sterile air around him.
This was what it was like to be a human being. Three months trapped in the hivemind had made him forget what pain was like.
A harsh shock shot through his spine. “Posture.”
Temporarily, at least.
It had been too long since his own thoughts were his, no longer being used as a mere method of communication with nanotechnology, or replaced by the cheap, robotic vestige of Matrix-star voices.
“Feels like you’re missing a part of yourself, doesn’t it?”
Another voice. A real, familiar voice. The first one he’ll have recollection of hearing since his Middle Borough High School auditorium debut.
“Rich?” Jeremy heard himself exclaim. The strain it put on his vocal chords was reminiscent of elementary and middle school, when he would finally get a word out after going weeks without talking.
“Vocal chords block.”
Michael’s voice, always so far away those days, dripped with sarcasm. “Seriously, is it that hard to say sorry?”
“Yyyyes!”
(It wasn’t supposed to be that hard. Jeremy wanted to apologize.)
Jeremy’s head felt like it was splitting (in a literal sense), but he glanced over at Rich anyway. There he was in a bed across the room, privacy evaded by an open shared curtain. A full-body cast contained his friend, and a small portion of his face was burned; somehow Jeremy couldn’t tear his eyes away. Despite the circumstances of their reunion, and despite everything, a slight smile rested upon Rich’s face. Gentle. Alleviating.
How long had he been out? A few hours? A couple of days? Several weeks?
Rich didn’t answer this question. “Hurts like a motherfucker too.”
In the newfound comfort Rich’s voice brought, solely trying to focus on just that rather than the circumstances that surrounded the two boys, Jeremy noticed something. Something was different. Th... th. A lisp. That was new, wasn’t it?
And Jeremy’s insides were hollow. The room was so cold. Everything that had built up before faded away while he slept; there was suddenly nothing. Numbness. That’s what this feeling—or lack thereof—was.
Jeremy was no stranger to numbness. But it sucked that it was reoccurring, even after all that happened.
He was better now, though, he thought, so why wasn’t he fully there? Why didn’t he feel… connected?
Connected.
Did this even count as a real friendship? After all, their squips had gone and done all the work for them. Every video game session had been calculated with the priority being an ideally high probability of success. Was every exchanged secret shared on Rich’s own accord, or was it all his squip’s idea just to gain sympathy points?
The bond hadn’t been naturally formed, so the doubts were still there. Nothing in their relationship felt more real than when they’d talked at that party in early October, when maybe they’d gotten too close than what was squip-approved—
No, breathe.
None of it should have mattered. But if it hadn’t been for the squip, he wouldn’t have this; Rich bantering with him in the hospital room, sharing his experiences, coming to realizations that would take Jeremy a while to understand how monumental they were. Without the squip, it would have continued to be unsolicited locker shoves, unpredictable swirlies, general harassment, never giving Jeremy a break. There would be nothing this real without it.
Without the squip, Brooke wouldn’t have been his first real girlfriend. (Shit, he still had to talk it out with her.) Sure, while it was all a front to gain the affection of someone he wasn’t even sure felt the same, it was still nice to have someone care, even if only temporarily. Years of his issues and needs being ignored or pushed aside hadn’t gone away, but being with Brooke—the sweetest, most gentle soul—almost made Jeremy forget about it all.
He wouldn’t have gained the confidence to confront his dad about his negligence if he hadn’t gotten the squip. His choice in wording then was regrettable, truly, but when it had been suppressed since he was sixteen, who really could’ve blamed him for being angry? He was a hurt kid. And why start caring now when he’d figured it out all on his own?
Without the squip, he wouldn’t have gotten popular. Maybe that was the most important thing of all, as selfish as it was. That glimpse into the world he’d never been invited into before was honestly hell, but being liked made it all so worth it—even if they’d all faked it, being important and up there and wanted by at least one person was all Jeremy needed for years. Even if it couldn’t last and ended in a hospital stay.
If it hadn’t been for the squip, Jeremy would’ve had nothing.
Without the squip, he was nothing.