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Social interactions had always been gruelling for Jeremy Heere.
But Jesus, had they gotten a dozen times worse since he’d been squipped.
Something Jeremy had realised very early on as he had been released from the hospital, was that returning back to normal after having a supercomputer dictate your every movement for weeks is real tough.
He feels for Rich, who had the AI in his head for way longer.
Jeremy’s head throbs painfully, remembering the person he once was.
He used to have the habit of fiddling with his hair, or the hem or his shirt, or his own lanky fingers, or whatever he could get his hands on. And he used to sweat. Really badly.
Jeremy remembers how his face would go all red whenever he was speaking to anyone, which would make him more lightheaded and worried as he spoke, his rapid thoughts coming out a stuttering mess.
He would always speak too much, too much of nothing as his lips would quiver unsurely, empty words flowing out his mouth, unable to catch up with the speed his mind was working at.
Yet nowadays, whenever Jeremy was facing a tough social situation he would freeze . Small and powerless. Waiting for the Squip’s instructions, waiting for it to just take over him and handle it. Knowing he’d mess it all up if he was to try doing anything by himself, because he sucks . He was so afraid of going back to his stuttering self when everything was so terrible.
He would wait as his vision would go blurry and he would lose control of his own body; not to the Squip like he would wish, but to nothing . He would lose to himself. He was helpless.
The brown haired boy frowns.
God, he hates how he had grown so dependent on the Squip.
He hates how he can never get it just right.
He hates how he can never stop at a middle point.
He’s hates how extreme he is; too much or too little. Never just enough.
He was too much when he was at school, disturbing his mates by just wondering the halls. No matter how much he tried to make himself small, he was getting in the way of people’s flows. He had caused almost the entire school to get squipped.
Yet he was too little when he wasn’t there. Jeremy was too little when he had left Michael all alone for however long he was squipped, when he had abandoned him in Jake’s bathroom.
Even today, he would be too little, he realises as he checks his phone, reading 10AM.
He’d missed school.
He hates himself.
Jeremy wants his Squip back.
No he doesn’t. Ignoring Michael again would only make his life worse. And the electrifying strikes spreading through his veins whenever he did anything slightly faulty were painful.
Jeremy pulls at his own hair tiredly, then brings his right arm over his eyes, cardigan leaving his face wet with tears.
Wiping his tears so easily was a reminder that he no longer was wearing his glasses, as he no longer required them since the Squip had meddled with his optic nerves. And the thought of the Squip meddling with his optic nerves made Jeremy’s stomach twist. Some of the Squip’s interference with his vision had still stuck, as a reminder of his sins. But what if the optic nerve blocking — what was keeping Michael out of his vision — had also stuck?
Logically, Jeremy knows very well thay it couldn’t have been, as he had most definitely seen Michael just fine ever since he’d been freed. But how had it not? Why?
Questions remain unanswered as the boy sits up in his bed, wanting to make himself forget it all. His head was propped onto his knees as he was now sobbing silently, self hatred heavy in his stomach. He felt sick. And so tired.
Jeremy missed who he was before he’d taken that stupid pill.
—
The blue eyed boy stood in front of his bathroom sink, eyes gazing onto himself in the mirror.
He looked like ass.
His hair was greasy and gross. His his face was red from all the crying, which made his acne stand out more than usual. His eyes were red and puffy, the translucent skin under them exposing blue veins as he had been neglecting his sleep schedule — not like he ever had one.
Well, he did have one.
He only ever had a healthy sleep schedule when the Squip was around.
Agh. Fuck. He shouldn’t be missing the thing that was ruining his life.
But he did. He wanted so bad to just sit in the backseat of his own mind and let the Squip take over. He was exhausted.
He didn’t want to have to think anymore. He had ran out of energy to do so.
He wanted to take a break. He wanted to stop existing for a few weeks or months then come back fresh. He wanted a temporary suicide, and he was willing to let the Squip mess everything up as long he could come back well rested.
Then he’d be able to fix everything.
Right now he couldn’t.
He was too tired to do anything at all.
He was stuck.
What if I just killed myself? Not temporarily. Just forever.
A sob escaped his mouth as he kneeled down slightly, both hands hugging his chest as he heaved desperately.
Jeremy’s head felt heavy, so many thoughts crowded into that tiny thing. Sardines in a can.
He slowly allowed his head to come down onto the bathroom floor, forehead lightly touching the cold tiles as he held himself up with his arms below himself, knees still folded onto each other. His breathing was quick and shallow and he was so tired.
Jeremy Heere is so fucking tired.