Touch

Part 15

"We'll change the world someday. Imagine it, Ryoshi. Everything will be wonderful." He had an arm around his shoulders, glass vial of pills held up in the air, glinting in the light. "All we have to do is finish the work."

Ryoshi was homesick. Ryoshi wanted to know what the work was really for. Yet, all Cho had to do was smile, reassure him that the money was worth the secrecy and the isolation. His words were seductive. Irresistible. Ryoshi could never say no.

"Think of what this could do. It could save lives. Heal brain injuries. Fix addiction. The applications are endless."

Ryoshi agreed, because he knew without Cho, he was U͢͡s̨̛e̵̶̴̵l̶̴̨̨̢e҉̡͟͠s҉̢͝s̵̛.

The work was hard. The work was endless. How do you create life out of nothing? He wanted to go home, to give up, but it made Cho angry.

"Why are you so u͏̸̢̨s̴̨̛͜͡e̸̷̶̵͢l̵͟͠͝͝e̸͜s̸̵͞͏s̡҉͠?"

And he would remain.

Things weren't always so terrible. They would walk together outside when the weather was nice, no longer suffocating, with room to breathe. Cho's face, raw and pink, cold nose pressed into his throat, smiling against his skin.

I love you.

That's all he could hope for.

Alone together, in bed, Ryoshi would wonder would often wonder what life would be like when the work was complete. Would they go home to Japan? Would they be successful? Would Cho still love him, with nothing left to accomplish together?

"You think too much. Stop worrying. I'll envision the future for you, just trust me."

He did.

It was just a headache.

They had so much left to do.

"Don't worry about me, worry about the work."

It was just a headache.

Ryoshi worked through the night, swallowing the worry, the concern. He didn't have time to worry. Cho would be alright in the morning. Everything would be alright in the morning.

In the morning light, bright and caustic, Cho had a headache. He was blind in one eye. It was only a migraine.

A frown. Words slurred until they no longer made sense. Ryoshi called the doctor.

Cho wouldn't wake up.

The doctor droned on and on, Japanese rusty and broken, and Ryoshi could hardly hear them. Cho was there, but not. Tubes and wires, beeping machines, keeping him alive, helping him breathe. It was an aneurysm, they said. It was too late to help him, they said. The doctor wouldn't help him. Total brain death, no sense in keeping him alive, and no sense in keeping him breathing.

Ryoshi told the doctor to leave. He wouldn't remove the life support. He would never betray Cho like that. They had too much work to do.

Cho was a vegetable, but Ryoshi was uşe҉̷l͝e̸̶ş͠s͡.

He had to pretend like everything was fine. He had to pretend he could complete the work alone. Create life out of nothing. Create a world that was wonderful, human error a nightmare past, just like Cho wanted. He didn't sleep. He couldn't sleep. He needed to finish the work, the work, the work, or Cho would never forgive him.

The quiet hum of the machines became soothing. He could talk freely and Cho would listen, silent. Ryoshi stood at his bedside, feeding him, replenishing fluids, making sure everything was perfect. Everything had to be perfect, just in case.