Chapter Text
SUGURU GETO
I couldn’t get rid of the guilt. I was smoking a cigarette while they almost got killed. Then when I found out - I smoked another cigarette. Then I got to the hospital and asked where the smoking area was. I thought back to the time when I learned to smoke behind the restaurant I worked at. A fellow worker had left her pack out and I had just got dumped. I snuck one out and shuffled to the floor behind a dumpster at the back of the shop. I curled my breath up to the sky and felt that miasmatic stench lick the back of my throat. The sky didn’t console me - neither did the cigarette. But it felt good to have something to rely on, after all this time. I took my cigarette to the filter, and for the first time I felt something other than the blandness on my lips.
Then I remember the next best thing that happened in my life. Better than cigarettes. Better than my whole being. Something to live for and something that meant I was depended on - my two girls. Nanako and Mimiko. I felt a shaking tremble froth over my body - starting with a quiver on my lips, then my legs. I collapsed to the floor. The cigarette fell from between my lips to the floor. Half-smoked, its embers still glowing against the rain-glassed tarmac.
God - what a fucking joke of a parent I called myself. I was out buying cigarettes and my card didn’t work so I was taking longer than usual and the girls got worried - they ran out.
Our apartment is only under a minute away - I saw them. I saw them as they turned the corner. I saw the truck attempting to slow as they realised. I heard the screech of the tires against the road, the screams, a wail of a woman, two slams, one slightly after the other. My card accepted. A small ‘ping’ as the reading machine displayed a happy ‘approved!’.
I curled into myself, my hair had fallen across my shoulders, matted from the cigarettes I had chain-smoked in the past two days, i hadn’t showered since i got here, my hands were shaking, my fingernails were bitten, my under eyes were doubling in size from the bulges of the puce eyebags that had made themselves comfortable there.
I leaned my head back against the vending machine I had slid down. I pulled my knees up to my chest, my canvas shoes soaked in the puddle I had slunk into. I couldn’t care less about how disgusting I looked right now. I deserved to be stared at like that . What kind of parent was I? I had fought for my life to get the rights to adopt Nanako and Mimiko - yet without the consent of their parents it was impossible. I had to resort to using their overwhelming debts and loans against them in order to get their signatures.
After I had seen the poverty these two girls were in - had heard how their father would hit their mother in front of their faces, smelt the booze leaking from his lips, the glassed-over look in his eyes from an obvious mist of shooting up heroin. I had taken them in - they were my responsibility. How could I have let this happen? They were only nine. I rubbed a sorry hand across my face. Tears mixed with snot and rain. I should stop acting like they’re dead. They’d been unconscious, barely alive - but alive. Thank God for the ER team here.
I checked my watch. 7:54pm. It was winter so it already looked like midnight. The sky was fertile with clouds of rain. I hardened my posture, pulling myself up. 8:00 would be the time I received their official status report. Making my way back to the hospital, snuffing the half-full cigarette with the sole of my shoe as I did.
There were the same people as before. An old woman whose son had got a haemorrhage, a middle-aged man in a suit who had come in because of a bone marrow edema, and a girl around her early-twenties clutching a stack of what looked like medical reports - maybe a progress check for a treatment she was having.
I slunk back into my seat. About 6 emptied IVs tolled through the hallway in front of my eyes before a clash and clamour erupted through the entrance. A nurse nipped through the ER, pacer to her mouth, “Incoming - attempted suicide, hypothermic, condition is unknown, bleeding from the wrists - palmaris longus muscle almost fully slit - two minutes off.” A bundle of emergency responders slammed through with a portable bed.
Someone was covered in a flat blood-pooled white sheet, a non-rebreather mask strapped to their face. I stood up, instinctively. I couldn’t make them out - their face was blurred in the hassle, beeps and clicks from pacer rang, clamouring across the walls of the waiting room. Everyone had the same shocked, concerned face - crippled with disbelief. An attempted suicide .
The stretcher had been pushed into an operating theatre and the noise subsided immediately. After a few moments passed, I felt myself tremble, slinking back into my seat. The front door squealed open. A boy who looked about my age came in. I glanced up. He looked like a madman. Who was this guy? He had unbelievably white hair - not the old kind - platinum white, not a bit of frizz in sight. It was like someone had plucked off a cloud and knotted it into his scalp. Strands feathered out in various curled cowlicks, falling against his skin - just as pale, it looked almost sickly. His eyes were covered, rounded glasses tinted black so I couldn’t see what lay behind them. Maybe he was blind.
He turned to face in my direction - I couldn't tell if he was staring at me. I awkwardly shifted my gaze in case. The boy walked my way. I could hear the soft clack of his shoes as he did so. Maybe he’s coming to sit next to me. What if he asks me for directions? Is he lost?
The boy turned, leaning down. He fiddled with the controls of the coffee machine beside me. “Cup size?” He mumbled to himself. “Large, small, medium…” he grabbed a plastic cup and stuffed it under the tap of the coffee dispenser. “Flavour…” the boy tapped randomly on the screen, “Espress- no- macchiato? Maybe an Americano.” The coffee dispenser let out an unsoundly hiss and groan, as if it hadn’t been used in a decade. The boy leaned back, hands in pockets, standing oddly as the machine worked. The waiting room was filled with a tense unease, as if no one wanted to move a muscle.
I snuck a glance to my side. The boy was unbelievably tall, his legs made up maybe 80% of his body, and his build was fairly lean, with slim arms and a thin looking chest. “What?” I felt my tongue go dry. “H-uh?” all I could manage with my voice. I didn’t realise how hoarse it sounded after all those cigarettes. The boy leaned down, turning to face me in my chair. “What is it?” he rubbed his head, awkwardly. He had a smooth silvery voice that matched his hair. It had a tiny tinkle in it, like bells in a doll's house. I thought that was silly as soon as I thought of it.
“Nothing.” I looked straight forward, avoiding his eyes. He was blind. “Did you see which room my kid went into?” My eyes widened, “Your kid?” “Yeah, he just came in, a big rush and mess and they kicked me out and didn’t let me in until now.” “Your kid-? The one who-?” “Attempted suicide? Yes, that one, I’m sure they announced it to the president too, with how loud they were.” The coffee machine hissed as it finished.
The boy picked up the small plastic cup. He moved to sit in the empty seat beside me. “He went through there.” I pointed at the entrance to the third operating theatre. He was so oddly calm it scared me. How could someone be so relaxed? I felt anger throb in my chest. Why was he so calm? “Are you his dad?” The boy held the coffee cup with both hands, like a baby, one leg propped up on the chair and pulled to his chest. There was a pause before he said - “Yes.” “Really?” “Is it that hard to believe? Hey, why do you even care? Who even are you? I only asked you one question.” The boy didn’t sound mad, just tired, as if I was pestering him like a fanatic paparazzi.
“I just think you’re way too calm seeing as how your kid tried killing themself.” This guy? A dad? I knew these types. Absent dads who came home from motels every few weeks, no income, the kid worked multiple part-times and didn’t go to school much, their cash gets taken by their dad who spends it on whores and marijuana. Of course he didn’t care. He’s just upset he has to pay hospital bills.
There was some silence. I turned. He was staring straight ahead at the wall in front of us. “You think I’m going to cry over that?” My eyes narrowed in anger, I moved to say something but he continued. “You don’t know anything. So shut your mouth.” My lips pursed. He was right, in a way. What was I even doing? Playing saviour like I was so much better myself. Me and him were practically on the same level of shit-eating.
I turned to face the wall. The boy was gnawing on the plastic of his cup, like a baby - a pout on his face and furrowed brows. “Geto Suguru?” a voice called out. I turned, a short, plump woman holding a clipboard close to her chest, clad in a nurse uniform. I shot up, pulling my bag to my shoulder and hurrying over as fast as humanly possible. “Yes? They’re okay? Can I see them?” the woman shuffled back, like my enthusiasm was too happy for the situation. “Not quite.” My face felt grey. Thin. “They’re alive - not conscious - but barely. I’d refrain from seeing them…” she looked pained, “I don’t think it would be suitable for you to…” her grip on the clipboard tightened slightly, “...see them in their condition.”
My gut was plummeting, doing twists like a pretzel around my spine, as if I was collapsing inwards - an internal cavity. “Condition? They’re alive, right? So can I see them?” The nurse looked frustrated, more at herself than me, ‘Yes but-” “I’m allowed to see them if they’re alive?” “That’s true but-” “So I need to see them-” “-Listen to me, mister, I really don’t think it would be good on you to see them like this, I understand you want to but for your own wellbeing-” “You listen to me, I don’t care I have to see them, I’m legally their guardian, do I need to talk to the head here? Let me see my children.”
The words had slipped from my mouth faster than I could control them. They were working of their own volition. I hadn’t realised how loud I was talking. The whole room was silent - deadly tense. The light tinkling of monitors and the clock on the wall were the only things making a commotion. The receptionist at the desk looked at her shoes, awkwardly, as she pretended to carry on with her paperwork. I could feel eyes poking holes through my skin from behind my back - all those people.
The nurse looked at her clipboard. She let out a mumble. “Follow me.”
I stared at the bleach tinctured wall of the ward. It seemed like years had passed. The doctors were huddled inside the room, shifting the sheets of the bed. Impatiently pacing back and forth, I drummed my fingertips against my thighs. The same plump nurse lady emerged from the room. “Please don’t make any sudden noises or movements near them - they’re borderline catatonic.” I felt my chest tighten into a knot. Entering slowly, the nurses quietly exited the room. The door shut behind me.
Eight beds, even patients, I shuffled toward what I thought were my girls. I pulled back the curtain from its chrome railing. Who is this? A black haired boy, he looked maybe fifteen? His arms were bandaged, laid to both his sides, eyes shut hard, sweat beading unevenly across his forehead. The monitor pulsed steadily, but his breaths were shallow and barely visible. He was more green than white. The skin around his neck was puce, swollen, still bearing congealed blood, as if someone had squeezed the life out of it. This was that boy. That kid, the one with the attempted suicide that was brought in around an hour earlier. It clicked. “Who are you?” a voice behind me snapped. I hadn’t even heard the door opening. I turned. That white-haired man. He stood, a laid-back gait, hands-in-pockets. “Oh, you.” he said, his head lightly cocking. “Sorry.” I mumbled, “I thought this was my bed.” I awkwardly shuffled around him. He stood, not acknowledging me. He stared down at the bed, I couldn’t make out any emotion that stood out in particular emanating from him.
I made my way to the bed opposite him. I pulled the curtain. My throat dried up. My hands fell to my sides. My eyes moved from bruise to bruise on their faces. Every muscle in my body seized up. I was shaking. My legs gave way.
Purple faces. Who were these people? Mangled . These are my girls? Inflated, fat lips. My girls? Eyes buglike. Staring. My girls?
A wail was building up in my throat. I scrawled around, helpless. My head hit against the table. I clawed at the leg, pulling myself up. It felt as if my lungs weren’t there as I tried to bring air in. I can feel my muscles straining and the thoughts in my head turn from fear to confusion. I reach for my cigarettes and find them. I squeezed them, fiddling in my pockets to pull one out.
Stumbling, I pushed open the emergency exit, a thin cigarette between my fingers. I fumbled for a lighter.
The percussion of a storm. The sky was completely black now. Starless. The back of the hospital was littered with small shrubs and malnourished trees. Even the air itself was grey, so ultimate and ubiquitous that colour was everywhere around me. I collapsed to the floor. The gravel stung through my clothes almost as harshly as the cold against my face. I flicked the lighter. Nothing. I glanced through it, out of liquid. I cursed under my breath, head against my arms. A mix of liquids; saltine and rain, running down my face. The door opened. I couldn’t look up. I was too horrendous looking. My body was convulsing at the sight, still reeling from that mess that was my children.
“Need a light?” a familiar voice. I said nothing. I stifled my sniffling. The rain was heavy enough to cover the sounds. The gravel beside me crunched. I turned. That white-haired boy had sunk down to my level, crouching next to me. He pulled out a lighter then leaned close, prying the cigarette from between my fingers.
Cupping his hands around it and shielding the butt from the rain, he lit it after a few flicks. I felt him nudge me, as if to take it. I peeked from my arm, looking at the faint orangeness of the cigarette, burning away in the rain. A few moments passed. I took it from between his fingers, pressing the mouth to my lips.
I inhaled a long, grateful drag. I didn’t know what to say. Did I need to say anything right now? The rain had slicked the ground. My clothes were soaked. "Thank you." I managed, glancing back at the boy. He shrugged, pocketing the lighter. We sat there, me with my legs close to my chest, while he sat - legs spread out, hands on the floor, head up - staring into the sky. The silence became less companionable to me. Then it became awkward. "Is your son okay?" I blurted out. He turned his head, looking at me, before nodding. "He’s okay.” “I’m sorry for what I said in the waiting room. It wasn’t my place. I shouldn't have misjudged the situation.” The boy smiled. “It’s okay.” He turned his head to the sky again. “I hope your girls get better.” I blinked. Rain clouded my vision. “Thank you.”
A few more moments passed. My cigarette was almost out. “Can I borrow your lighter again?” I asked, before shame filled me. I bet I looked like a pathetic mess right now. The boy turned, “No.” No? “What?” He stood up. “That’s enough wallowing,” the cigarette between my fingers was burning up to my fingertips. “Get inside, or you’re going to get sick. That’s the last thing your girls need.” My eyes widened. “ Up you get .” He held a hand out. I looked up. He had no discernible expression on that face. I crushed the cigarette with the sole of my shoe. “Satoru.” The boy said, as he pulled me up. “What?” “My name.” “Satoru.” I repeated. He moved to hold the door open for me. “Suguru.” I said, as I passed him. “Suguru.” Satoru repeated.