“Please.”
Chapter 7
Restrictions
TAKAKO WAS FINALLY still.
Jo wouldn’t have called the sleep restful; perhaps it wasn’t even sleep at all, more like a forced stasis. Every now and again Takako’s brow furrowed and she twisted, no doubt haunted by any number of ghosts, before settling again. But it was a reprieve, at least.
Takako hadn’t entirely bought into the idea of closing her eyes at first, calling it a “pointless waste of time.” But Jo’s argument that sometimes wasting time was the best thing to do won out, and the Japanese woman had laid down her head and let her consciousness escape her.
It was the only escape they really had.
Takako had separated her two futon and given Jo the better of the two blankets, even though Jo would’ve lied out on bare tatami to make Takako more comfortable. With one hand, she still clutched at Jo’s fingers. Throughout drinking their remaining tea in relative silence, and then talking about some stupid computer babble that Jo had practically invented for the sake of distracting her friend, the other woman had held onto Jo. Even as they’d fallen asleep, Takako held onto her between the futon as though she were a teddy bear—her comfort.
Jo closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she saw a different person altogether.
Yuusuke lay across from her, a memory painting over Jo’s vision fresh and clear. It was one of their first jobs, holed up in some shitty motel room, the only thing two high school students just striking out could afford. He’d been paranoid, afraid of failure, nervous of the career paths they’d chosen for themselves. She’d reassured him then, stayed with him in his bed until he finally slept. Not quite a lover, but certainly more than a friend. Something that was a bit better than both.
Who had Yuusuke leaned on in her revised world? Who did he go to? Did he share that hotel room with someone else or no one at all?
Jo closed her eyes again, but this time a different sight greeted her. It was a flash—a blink then gone. But Jo could’ve sworn she’d seen a woman, screeching as Jo was taken away from her. Jo fluttered her eyelashes several times, but couldn’t conjure back the sight, couldn’t even conjure a memory of it. It was as if it had never happened at all.
Sufficiently too unnerved to rest as well, Jo carefully unraveled her fingers from Takako’s, watching for any signs of disturbance. There were none. She remembered the embarrassment Yuusuke had endured the morning after he’d shown “such weakness” (his words) and, just in case, she’d save Takako some face without her asking.
Somehow, despite the invisible weights that had been chained to her shoulders, Jo managed to stand. Takako was undisturbed. Jo continued to watch for any signs otherwise, but her friend remained motionless up to the moment Jo closed the door behind her.
Jo pressed her forehead against the wood, taking a deep and shuddering breath. Eventually, it would stop hurting; it had to. Technically, she knew no one in the volcano’s path of destruction. Technically, she knew no one in the world as it was. But there was something visceral about the pain. Something that, surely, every human felt at seeing another in such unavoidable agony. And it was a feeling only magnified by Takako’s turmoil.
“How is she?” Like a godsend, Nico’s voice pulled her from the well of suffering she’d been dipping into.
“How do you think?” Jo snapped despite herself, instantly regretting the tone. “I’m sorry, I’m just spent. I didn’t mean that.”
“No, no, it was a foolish question.” Nico continued smiling on, even if it was a bit pitying, an underlying sadness beneath the soft expression. Nothing could discourage that man’s smile, it seemed. He was the only ray of joy in the universe at the moment when the whole world needed him, and only seven others knew of his existence. “Why don’t you come and sit with me for a bit? Take a break from all this. I just made some coffee.”
“I can’t possibly take your coffee.” Her hands and feet didn’t have ears to hear what her mouth was saying, as they were already crossing over to take the cup Nico had in his hands.
“Think nothing of it.” Nico opened the door to his room, and Jo entered without further resistance. It offered the same atmosphere that was part home, part nostalgia for a world, time, and lifestyle she’d never known.
“Thank you.” Jo murmured. Her eyes suddenly fell on his easel. “I have an idea.”
“What’s that?”
“You should paint Takako something.”
“Jo—”
She bristled at the tone of his voice, not wanting to hear his objection. She didn’t care if his muse didn’t feel up to the task. Takako needed it desperately. “Something simple, just like you did for me. Something to remind her of home and family. . . Or, better yet, give her hope.”
“I can’t do that.”
“What? Why?” Jo turned so quickly that she almost spilled her coffee. “Is this some rule passed down by Snow? Because if so, I swear that he’s gone too far and you need to ignore him.”
“I can’t, Jo,” Nico repeated.
It was like the glass of the framed photo she’d worked so hard to mentally create, the one that encompassed the happy smiling picture of Nico, of their whole team, fractured in that moment. “Why is no one else looking out for each other? How are you all okay to just stand by and be divided? And by what? Obligation? How do you neverquestion—”
“Jo.” Nico placed his hands on her shoulders. Even though Jo felt like her bones continued to vibrate under his palms, her mind was settled for the briefest of moments, long enough to actually hear what he’d been trying to say. “Even if I wanted to—which I do—I can’t.”
