Dirty, Dirty Liars [Mature]

[34] 三十四

Ryuzo died.

I sat on my knees in a pool of his blood, cradling his head in my arm, feeling the warmth soaking into my pants while the light left his eyes.

The nightmare sat me straight up in bed, mid-scream. Realizing I was in my apartment and no longer trapped in the memory, my scream turned into tears.

From her place next to me on my pillow, Jiji pawed my arm, as if to say, "You're okay."

I had the same dream at least once a week, trying to save him, failing, and woke up screaming the same way every time. She and Susu were used to it at this point. I laid down again, pulling her against my chest, petting her silky fur to ground myself in reality. Her purrs and a few deep breaths calmed my tears.

It had been almost six months since I had to leave Ryuzo, but it haunted me like it was yesterday. Months of being away from him had barely healed the wound. I didn't cry myself to sleep anymore — most nights, at least. But the nightmares . . . I feared I would have them forever.

In another new country with another new name, I couldn't talk about it with anyone but my handler and my government-assigned therapist. They had sent me to D.C., wanting to keep me stateside, but I barely made it to the hotel before having a breakdown that landed me in the hospital.

They learned that bringing me "home" wasn't a solution. I had no home. I was running in circles, chased by ghosts and regrets.

After a sign-off from my psychiatrist, they placed me with another medical staffing company with government ties. My first assignment was in Ireland, and it was a great reprieve. No language barriers, so much acceptance from the locals, and only a moderate cultural curve. But that didn't last long. I didn't want it to.

I was only in a place long enough to finish training work before I was off to a new location. After two months here, I knew I was nearing the end of my comfort window — the likely cause of my nightmare's return.

After a short stint in Manchester, I accepted a listing in Birmingham, secretly weaseling my way closer to London. Subconsciously, I thought it would bring me back to Ryuzo. Wherever they moved him, maybe he had a choice and picked a place where he had spent time with his mother, a place familiar to him that was full of positive memories. Wishful thinking.

I missed him. Painfully. But there was nothing I could do to change it. I either risked getting him killed for the chance to see him again, or I stayed away and kept him safe and free of the pain he had been in before. Truly loving him meant putting his happiness and safety above all else. That came at the cost of missing him. It wouldn't always feel that way.

I hoped.

Dr. Crawford leaned his elbows onto the desk, typing something on the station's tablet. The auburn-haired resident all the nurses hated. They thought he was a prick, but really, he was a recovering perfectionist whose version of communication was answering unasked questions to fill space.

Since Japan, I watched people closer than before, and trusted people even less. But I could never seem to stop caring.

"Need anything, Doctor?" I asked him.

He shook his head but said nothing. His wide eyes showed every emotion he tried to pin down. I could spot the need for a good cry from a mile away.

"Could you help me find something real quick?" I asked him, hoping the intent behind my eyes was enough for him to read.

I led him by the arm to the changing room, and the second we sat on the bench, he burst into tears. What did I say? A mile away.

Surgeons have a rough life. So much pressure to fix everything, meticulously, and flawlessly, all with death and malpractice lawsuits looming. Dr. Crawford was one of the best, but as a pediatric surgeon, his pressure was heavier than most.