Touch

Part 16

Three days since Jeremy had taken the red pill their dorm room was basically livable again, though he and Michael spent much more time in the library without any laptops to their name. Jeremy didn't particularly mind since the Squip insisted libraries were the best place to study and do homework anyway, but without the Squip there to nag him to do it, it became much more of a chore. Three days without the Squip and anxiety was eating him alive. Was it okay? What had the red pill done besides make him dream? Would it be different when it returned? Would it return?

What would he even say to it when it did?

Michael was at just as much of a loss as he was. When he'd explained what he'd seen, described the story of Ryoshi Sato and Cho, the man the Squip had been based on, Michael didn't seem to be sure what to do with that information. He stopped insisting that he drink the Mountain Dew Red and get rid of it, the single silver light in this entire wreck of a semester. When Jeremy admitted he'd taken the red pill, Michael had only one thing to say.

"Jeremy, we need to work on your drug problem."

"I don't have a drug problem!"

"Dude, this is like the third time you've taken something without knowing what it'll do, or if it's legit. Do I need to find some DARE videos on the internet for you? Stage an intervention?"

Jeremy was glad Michael found the humor in all of this.

The third night without the Squip, Jeremy was left tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep, unable to relax. He wanted it to say something, anything. He couldn't escape the lingering fear that the red pill had harmed it. All the dreams had left behind was a constant, dull headache, just enough to annoy him. The Squip, technically, was not and never had been alive, but Jeremy couldn't stand the thought that he'd killed it. It wasn't alive in the traditional sense, but it still had thoughts, and feelings, and could make decisions, even if they weren't only good ones. He still wasn't even sure how he felt about it, yet. He was too afraid to bring up the "I think I'm into the supercomputer living in my brain" conversation again.

The fourth morning without the Squip, half delirious with sleep deprivation and forgetting he needed to put the socks on before the shoes, the Squip finally returned like some kind of miracle.

Good morning, Jeremy. Your shoes are on the wrong feet.

The relief that flooded him was instantaneous, and Jeremy abandoned his attempts to dress properly through the foggy haze of exhaustion. He only smiled at it, until he remembered: oh, right, I'm mad at it. His smile dropped, he crossed his arms, and he sat down on his bed, looking at the Squip expectantly, waiting for it to say something else. The Squip merely stared back.

-Well?-

We have nothing to talk about. Fix your shoes and go to class.

-We have a metric shitton of things to talk about right now.-

That isn't a real unit of measurement.

-Stop trying to change the subject.-

The Squip looked at him in equal parts frustration and contempt. Jeremy stood his ground, clenching his jaw, lips pressed together in a thin line. It could glare daggers at him all it wanted, but they were absolutely having this conversation. Eventually, the Squip relented, slumping against the wall and looking considerably more disheveled than Jeremy ever remembering it looking before.

You're upset with me.

-Yeah, no shit.-

You should have listened to me.