Dirty, Dirty Liars [Mature/Editing]

[13] 十三

A/N: The following chapter contains brief discussions of mental health. If you are struggling, please do not be afraid to reach out to a professional. 

___

I always hated when Ryuzo was away, but my time in Japan couldn't be consumed by him alone. My work, my patients, my opportunity to experience Tokyo in all its glory. There was plenty else to focus on. But still . . .

After having him be so open and trusting of me, and seeing how much I could relate to him, things felt different. It felt like more. Whatever that meant.

It had been nearly a week since he left. He texted me every day and called at night when he could, but that wasn't often. When I checked my phone during a break, a text from him was my only notification.

Can you do me a favor?

His question gave me pause, but I didn't have time to figure out why before alarms started blaring.

Room to room, patient after patient. Ayumi refused to speak English with me anymore, adding more struggle to my already rigorous shift. As much as I hated it, her method worked. I had already picked up on a few phrases, including ones I had heard before. Even some Ryuzo had said in bed. Amazing. So good. I like you. It was funny how gentle he was with me. When I wanted him to be.

It took two hours to calm from a sprint to a jog. When I finally had the chance to stop and breathe, I realized I hadn't eaten in over twelve hours. I scolded myself and went to find food.

"Mi-na!" Ayumi caught me again, a stack of fluids she was balancing in her arms. Without question, I lightened her load and followed her up the hall. When I saw the patient, I stuttered.

Tight bandages covered his head and left arm, and his skin displayed abrasions, lacerations, and large bruises on the visible areas of his body. They were the type of injuries one would see on a car crash victim, which I hadn't seen since I started here. Ayumi replaced his IV bags in silence, though the patient was deep in a sedated sleep.

"What happened to him?" I asked, hoping she would answer rather than scold me for my English usage again.

"He tripped and fell onto the train tracks," she answered. "But the train stopped. He is lucky."

Her answer didn't feel right. "He tripped and fell?"

"Yes."

I could tell she was lying. Ayumi only lost the bubbly inflection in her voice unless a situation was grave. She caught my look, reading my thoughts on my face.

Her eyes flickered toward the patient, then back to her work. "Business is a very competitive profession here, and the pressure can be too much," she explained. "People get very stressed." She didn't elaborate further, but I filled in the blanks.

My heart broke for him. There was so much I still had to learn about the culture, but it was clear how hard people worked, and how little they complained.

As we left, I remembered who was in the next room. My gunshot patient was recovering well. A long-sleeved shirt covered his tattoos, making him look like the kid he was rather than the criminal others saw him to be. For the first time, someone was in the room with him. Two other men stood on either side of his bed, all three laughing loudly over whatever was said right before. Their smiles were infectious.

Side-by-side, the contrast was stark. The boy who did everything "right" was in the same place as the boy who did everything "wrong." Life was gray that way, especially mine. What was supposed to help often hurt, and what was supposed to hurt often felt better than anything.