FLATLINE // kazuscara

Epilogue

T/W: Mentions of Suicidal Intents

"I would like the resign," Kazuha whispered, pushing a thin stack of files over towards his boss. His gaze averted, he didn't dare spare a glance at his boss. He's afraid if he did, he'll be in more remorse than relief. His lips pressed into a thin line, he rubbed his hands anxiously between his thighs. His hands were cold. Icy cold.

His boss skimmed through his resignment papers, her gaze slowly morphing into nervousness as she realized Kazuha was not joking about this matter. She took off her glasses and rubbed her temples, letting out a long sigh.

"Are you sure? Why do you want to resign?" she asked, both hands on her office table as she leaned closer to Kazuha. Afraid she'll miss anything Kazuha says.

Kazuha opened his mouth, then closed it. He swallowed, nudging in his position. He didn't know what to tell her. Tell her that he had enough of his God-forsaken job? Tell her that he's fed up with his life? 

He didn't deserve the surgeon's knife. The knife to save someone turned out to be the knife that kills. He can never see a surgery knife the same way again. 

He hears it clearly. The loud dissonant beep of a flatline, the warm, scarlet blood, dripping from the cold knife. 

Every time he passes by an Operation Room, the muffled cries of surgeons chanting out orders brings him back to the crystal clear memories of his own cries when Scaramouche lost his life on his operation table. Kazuha's dissonant screams, his will to collapse onto the cold tiles, his urge to grab a knife and pierce through his own skull. 

He hadn't been willing to enter an operation room ever since two days ago. He's afraid he'll break everything if he entered one. Thankfully he had no upcoming surgeries. The dead atmosphere of the operation rooms choked him, the intricate devices and tools reminded him of how he killed the person he loved. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, a grunt escaping his lips. 

His boss spoke up once again, "We can give you a raise, if that's what you're looking for." she scrambled, her eyes blinking fiercely. It's what she does when she's under pressure. Her eyes become dry.

"No..." Kazuha choked out, a tinge of sourness rising in his esophagus. He felt as if a block of lemon was traveling upwards.

His boss stared at him in confusion.

Kazuha breathed, his breath shaky. 

"I killed someone."

Walking out of the hospital building, he still savored his conversation with his ex-boss just a few minutes ago.

"What do you mean you killed someone?" She would ask, her brows furrowing.

"I killed someone on the operation table." Kazuha would respond.

He let out a sigh, the air outside today was cold. It was piercing. Like cold, dry blood. He breathed, a cloud of smoke escaped his mouth. It blew to his side, and dissolved into the winds. The wind was strong today.

He looked back at the hospital, the place he had spent the last four years of his life in. The world he was trapped in, like there were nothing but Queen Elizabeth Hospital. Until Scaramouche came along, he would've realized how breathless the hospital was.

He was walking. But he didn't know where his feet were taking him. He let them go whatever they wanted. Not like he had anything in life to care about anymore. 

They seemed to know where to go. His steps were nimble. They were quick, and they seemed to be heading towards a designated location. Kazuha wonders where they had in mind.