The Program

CHAPTER ELEVEN




I WAKE UP AND LOOK AROUND AT THE STARK WHITE walls. I’m alone in my bed, alone in my room. After falling asleep at Realm’s, I woke up at about three in the morning and made my way back to my own bed, feeling empty.

When I walk into the dining room, Realm is waiting at the table for me, a stupid grin on his face. His friends whistle as I walk up wearing my lemon-yellow scrubs, holding a tray of scrambled eggs. Realm elbows Shep in the chest. “Get out of here, man.” But the smile never falters.

“What’s going on?” I ask when I’m sitting next to him. I don’t care if they’re gossiping about me—not really. At least that way they won’t try to hit on me. And after Roger, I hope no one ever does again.

Realm shrugs. “They may have noticed a girl going into my room with me last night. If they figured out it was you, and thought we got it on, it’s not my fault.”

“You didn’t deny it?”

“Nope. And it’s still not my fault. You should have worn a disguise if you didn’t want to be noticed.” Realm reaches over and opens my milk carton for me, and then absently goes back to his eggs. I stare down at the milk, thinking that opening it was a sweet gesture, even if slightly possessive.

“I meant to ask,” I say, “how much longer do you have here?”

Realm pauses, but doesn’t look up. “Two weeks. And you’ll have a week and a half after that.”

Panic starts to pull at me, making it hard to breathe. “A week and a half is a long time.” My voice cracks, and I’m suddenly terrified of being here alone. Being all alone with nobody but the stranger with my face. And Roger—who is definitely pissed now.

“Sweetness,” Realm says. “It’s going to be okay.”

“No, it’s not,” I whisper. “I’ll forget everything. And then Roger—what about him? What will he do when I can’t fight him off ?”

Realm’s posture changes. “Roger won’t mess with you again. I promise. I won’t let him.”

“You won’t be here.”

Realm looks sideways at me, his expression deadly serious. “I’m giving you my word that I won’t let him. I don’t care what I have to do, he’ll never touch you again.” He sounds like he means it. Although I’m scared something might happen to him, Realm just smiles, making my worry evaporate.

Then he leans forward to put a soft kiss on my cheek, one that smells like breakfast, and goes back to eating.

• • •

Dr. Francis examines me again, and says that I’ve regained a pound. He’s pleased as he adjusts my medication dosage, saying that I’ve made such strides in my recovery that he can finally lower it. I want to believe him, but I don’t. Not when he still works for The Program.

After I’m checked over, he ushers me to Dr. Warren’s office. She looks happy to see me, her hair pulled into a high, girlish ponytail, her suit replaced with a colorful blouse.

“You look cheerful,” I mumble as I walk in. She smiles at this.

“Thought you could use a change. Do we need Marilyn today?” She slides the Dixie cup toward me.

“Yep.”

I can see her tense, but she just waves her hand and the nurse comes in, holding me still as she stabs me with the needle. It doesn’t take as long this time for my fight to go out. I think that the dose has been increased, and not scaled back like Dr. Francis promised. Either that or I have fewer memories for the medication to attach to.

I sink down in my chair. “What are you going to pick at today?” I ask.

“I’m just listening, Sloane. I’ve never done anything but listen.”

“Liar.”

She sighs. “Why do you love James so much?” she asks. “Is it because he reminds you of the time you spent with your brother?”

“No. It’s because he’s hot.” I laugh, resting my head back against the chair. She’s the crazy one if she thinks I’m going to tell her.

“Would it hurt if I told you that James didn’t love you?”

I glare at her. “What?”

“I’ve been through James’s files, and he told his counselor that he felt obligated to take care of you. That he wanted to save you because you were so unwell, and he didn’t want you to die like your brother.”

She can’t be telling me the truth—James was probably just trying to protect me from them. And yet Dr. Warren’s words are like a punch in the heart.

“James loved me,” I hiss. “And your twisted lies won’t change that.”

“How do you know that, Sloane? When did you realize that he truly loved you? That you loved him?”

“Like I’m going to tell you,” I scoff.

Dr. Warren nods, and then raises her hand to Marilyn. “Another dose, please.”

“Wait, what—”

There’s pain in my arm as Marilyn gives me another shot. “You can’t do that,” I say, scared of overdosing, of dying in this facility.

“Sloane, we will do whatever we have to. We’re trying to save your life and stop the spread of an epidemic. Now please cooperate or we’re going to have to take you to an examination room.”

The threat of the exam room truly frightens me. What will they do? Cut open my head? I glare at Dr. Warren and rub my arm.

“Okay,” I say. “Okay.”

Marilyn leaves and Dr. Warren settles in with my file, ready to write down what I say. I consider lying, but then a wave crashes over me that makes me too weak to be dishonest.

“James had dated girls before me, quite a few actually,” I start. “So when we became a couple out in the open, some of those girls tried to say it was because my brother was dead. The same crap you’re saying now. Of course, they didn’t know that we’d been seeing each other before—but I was too ashamed to tell anyone. Not after keeping it a secret from Brady.

“My brother had only been gone a few weeks when my parents sat me down for a talk. They said they were worried about me, but I was doing fine. Far better than they were. Then they told me that they were concerned about me getting involved with James—that two people who suffered a tragedy shouldn’t be together because it increases the risk of suicide. I then pointed out that maybe they shouldn’t be together.”

My mother slapped me that night. I can still feel the sting on my cheek. I felt terrible for what I said, but I never apologized. Now I probably never will because I won’t remember.

“I left then,” I tell Dr. Warren. “I got in the car and drove straight to James’s house. It was after ten when his dad opened the door, clearly pissed.”

I remember Mr. Murphy’s face, how closed off he was.

“Sorry, Sloane,” he said. “No visitors this late.” He looked a lot like James, only bigger, heavier. Colder.

Tears had stung my eyes. “But it’s important.”

He bristled. “Listen, I’ve talked with James about this. The two of you . . . I’m not in favor of it.” Mr. Murphy reached to put his hand on my shoulder. “I think you’re a great girl, Sloane,” he said. “And I loved your brother. But you and my son can’t heal when you’re constant reminders of death to each other. Go home, honey,” Mr. Murphy said. “I’m sure your parents are worried.”

“Obviously my parents had called,” I say to Dr. Warren. “They’d given him the heads-up that I was probably on my way.” I stop talking then, opting instead to relax into the memory. Recognize the moment when James and I knew we were forever.

“I love your son,” I told Mr. Murphy as I backed off the porch. “Not because of Brady or anything else. I’m in love with him.”

James’s father lowered his eyes, and then he shut the front door, blocking me out. I stood there, stunned for a moment. But when I headed back to my car, I heard a whistle. I turned to see James running toward me, backpack over his shoulder.

“What are you—”

His face was expressionless. “Let’s go.” He pulled me to my car, and we got in. I drove away, but James looked like he’d been crying.

“James,” I started. “They said that—”

“Sloane,” he interrupted, staring at me intently. “They can’t keep me from you.”

“Then what do we do?” I asked.

He pointed straight ahead. “Just drive.”

Dr. Warren shifts behind her desk, and I look at her. She nods her head, encouraging me to remember everything.

“James and I ran away,” I tell her. “We went to a campsite with yurts—those tentlike buildings already set up—and James rented it for the rest of the week. No one questioned him because he paid cash and looked older. When we got inside, it was like our own little house. Our own little life.”

I lean back in the chair in Dr. Warren’s office, my body warm from the drugs. I think about how James and I rearranged the bed and table, making it all our own. We wanted to stay there forever. There was a deck of cards, and somehow James talked me into a game of strip poker, only he lost.

• • •

“Are you purposely losing?” I asked him, laughing.

“Sloane, when winning means getting you naked, you better believe I’m going to try my damnedest to win.” He ran his eyes over my T-shirt and jeans. “You could at least take off a sock to humor me.”

So I did, taking it off slowly and then tossing it across the room. James’s face changed then, the playfulness fading. “Sloane,” he whispered, laying down his cards. “I love you. You make me feel right.”

James crawled over the cards on the floor and stopped in front of me, his face close to mine, studying me. “I love the way you laugh. Cry. I love to make you smile.” He touched my cheek, and I grinned instinctively. “Make you moan.”

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach, and I reached to put my arms around his neck.

“Baby,” he continued, “I’m going to live the rest of my life with you, or die trying.”

“Don’t talk about dying,” I murmured, kissing softly at his lips.

“You’re the only person I can ever trust. You’re the only one who’ll ever know the real me.”

• • •

“I know James loved me,” I tell Dr. Warren as tears run down my cheeks. “Because I knew him better than anyone ever could. He always acted like nothing was wrong, that he was tough, but inside, Brady’s death tortured him. James hated his father for trying to keep us apart. He resented his mother for leaving when he was a kid. When we were alone, James could be vulnerable, and I loved him then most of all.” I wipe at my face and glare at Dr. Warren. “We were together because we loved each other. And that’s all there ever was.”

Dr. Warren nods slowly, not jotting anything down, just looking on as if she understands. Or maybe it’s fake like everything else. The room is liquidy around me, dreamlike.

“Take this,” she says, sliding me a black pill. It’s different from the usual yellow one I take, and all at once I’m seized with hope. She’s going to help me after all. A smile twitches my lips, and I lean lazily forward and take the pill, swallowing it gratefully. When I do, she exhales, setting her pen down.

“I’m sorry for all you’ve been through, Sloane,” she says like she means it. “You should take a moment to say good-bye.”

I furrow my brow. “Good-bye to who?”

“James.”

The floor seems to drop out from under me, and despite the drugs slowing my movements, I jump out of the chair. No. No. No. I quickly jam my finger down my throat, gagging as Dr. Warren tells me to stop and calls to the nurse. I have to throw up the pill before they can erase him. James.

But the minute I get the pill back up, the relief is short lived. Marilyn walks in with a needle, poised to strip it all away.