The Program (The Program #1)

CHAPTER THREE

I’M IN MY CHAIR BY THE WINDOW AGAIN, THE SAME one I’ve sat in for three days. The sky is overcast and I’m glad. It’s a bitter feeling, something like “if I can’t be happy, no one should.” I wonder what James is doing, but then I push the thought away, remembering that he doesn’t know me anymore.

“I’m guessing another kicked-dog joke would be in bad taste, right?”

I don’t turn toward the guy’s voice, and instead continue to stare outside. I might even appear catatonic.

“Are you always so mean?” he asks.

“Yes,” I answer automatically. I wish he would go away. I wish they all would go away.

“Charming. So anyway, I brought you this and wanted to invite you to our card game tonight if you’re up for it. But leave your horns and pitchfork behind.” He sets a large pretzel stick on the table next to me and I look at it, but not at him. “Very exclusive card game, I might add.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

I lean over and pick up the pretzel stick, examining it for a second before taking a bite. I say nothing and go back to watching the darkening clouds outside of the window. I hope it rains soon.

“You’re welcome,” the guy says, sounding defeated. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

I wait until he’s gone before looking up. He’s on the couch with a red-headed girl, laughing hysterically, as if we weren’t in The Program. As if this was a party in someone’s parents’ basement.

The pretzel becomes dry in my mouth and I think I might choke on it. And just then, the guy glances over his shoulder at me, his dark eyes concerned, and I turn away again.

? ? ?

“When did you and James start dating?” Dr. Warren asks. I sit back, looking her over as the medication makes the edges of my vision hazy. The doctor has her hair pulled up into a bun, her makeup and pantsuit paired nicely. She’s perfect. She’s fake.

I’ve been in The Program for close to a week now. I take the pills when they’re offered, opting to sleep rather than live an actual life. Even though I don’t trust Dr. Warren—not even a little—I took the pill sitting on her desk when I walked in. In therapy, it’s like my past is more attainable, as if the medication can help me zero in with clarity. And when I’m with James in my head, I’m not so lonely anymore.

“I don’t feel like talking today,” I say, wanting to keep the thoughts to myself.

She sighs. “That’s understandable. But I’m just really curious about you two. He’s such a source of anger.”

“No, he’s not,” I say instantly. “He’s the only thing I care about anymore.”

“But you’re angry.”

“Because you took him. You changed him.”

“I didn’t do those things. James was at another facility. But I’ve had a chance to look through his file.” She lowers her voice. “It says that James attempted suicide in The Program. Would you rather he was dead?”

Her words cut through me and I touch my chest, startled. James tried to kill himself ? Oh my God, the thought of it, just the thought makes tears stream from my eyes. “No,” I whisper. “I wouldn’t want him dead.”

“That’s good, Sloane,” she says, like it answers a question. “That how you’re supposed to react when someone wants to kill himself. Now, tell me more about James. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

I sniffle, putting my forearm over my face as I think back on my and James’s life together. “I used to avoid him,” I start, relaxing into the medication. “He’d be at the house with Brady, and I would duck out of the room, or just pretend he wasn’t there. A few times he asked if I was okay, but I couldn’t look him in the eyes after the camping thing. Brady told me I was acting weird.” I laugh softly and lower my arm, remembering the face my brother would make when he said it.

“After a few weeks,” I continue, “James got annoyed. He even paid Brady five bucks to get him to call me into the room with them. I thought he was making fun of me, but when I stormed off, things changed.”

“How so?” Dr. Warren asks.

“James followed me upstairs, telling my brother he was coming to apologize. When he knocked on my door, I didn’t want to let him in at first. But he said please.” I smile, still able to hear his voice in head. Hear the soft, desperate way his words struck my heart. I was helpless to resist him, even then.

I wait before telling Dr. Warren the rest, wait as the drugs course through my veins, enveloping me in calm. I want to tell her everything. But first, I relive the moment for myself, seeking my own safe place in The Program.

? ? ?

When I opened my bedroom door, I found James leaning against the frame, looking utterly miserable.

“You hate me,” he said.

“No.”

“Then why are you ignoring me?”

I was thrown off, and looked past him into the hall to make sure no one was around. “What do you care?” I asked. “You already told me I wasn’t allowed to . . .” I motioned between the two of us, my face burning with embarrassment.

“Yeah, I say a lot of stupid things, Sloane. Why did you listen to that one?”

I stepped back then, confused. Was he . . . ? Did he . . . ?

James pushed my door open wider and walked in, closing it behind him. I stared at him, not sure what he was going to do.

“Here’s the thing,” he said. “I don’t want to like you.” My heart sunk. “I don’t even want to notice you’re pretty. I want to tackle you in the dirt and make fun of your hair. I shouldn’t be thinking about putting my arms around you. And I sure as hell shouldn’t be thinking about kissing you right now.”

I tiny gasp escaped my lips, and my entire body warmed at his confession. But I was terrified of what would happen next, what it would mean. “You can’t kiss me,” I said, taking another step back. “You’ll ruin everything.”

“I know!” he agreed. He looked around my room, clearly annoyed, and then back at me. “What have you done?” he asked me.

“Me?”

“God,” he said, ignoring my question. “Do you know how many girls I don’t like? And then the one I do . . . It’s my best friend’s little sister?”

Butterflies went crazy in my stomach. “You like me?”

His eyes met mine, and then he furrowed his brow like he thought I was stupid. “Yes, Sloane.”

“And you’re being mean to me because . . .”

Then suddenly, James’s face cleared and he laughed. “I don’t know exactly. But I’ve been trying to not like you since you gave me a hard-on in the tent so—”

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it. Okay, so listen. We’re not going to kiss or anything,” he said, as if I’d propositioned him. “Maybe . . . I don’t know, maybe if we hang out—just the two of us—we’ll realize that we don’t really like each other. You could end up hating me. I can be a total shithead.”

My mouth twitched with a smile. “James, I’ve known you since I was in second grade. I’m not sure spending more time together is a great idea.”

He watched me for a while, thinking it over. “Probably not,” he said quietly. “But I want to anyway.”

“Oh.”

He shrugged. “Come here.”

I widened my eyes, startled. I thought he said we wouldn’t kiss. “No.”

James didn’t wait and instead moved to wrap his arms around me, pulling me into a hug. He rested his cheek on the top of my head, and I wasn’t sure what to do. We didn’t move for a long moment, and eventually I slid my hands from my side and put them around his waist. He sighed when I did.

“Freaking hell, Sloane,” he breathed into my hair. “We’re gonna end up making a mess of things.”

“I know.”

He squeezed me one more time and then dropped his arms, turning and leaving the room without another look back at me. I was stunned, standing there alone in my room. But after a moment, I put my hand over my heart and smiled.

? ? ?

I startle when the buzzer sounds the minute I’m done talking, signaling the end of therapy. I feel better, the remembered moments with James enough to make me want to live another day. Even if it’s just today.

I stand to leave when Dr. Warren calls my name. I turn back and she smiles, sliding the Dixie cup with a yellow pill toward me. “You forgot your medication,” she says.

Even though the calming effects of the last pill are still heavy in my system, I get a sudden sense that something is wrong. I look down at the medication, trying to figure out what’s really going on.

“What’s in the pills?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at Dr. Warren.

“I told you, just something to relax you.”

“Then I don’t need it,” I say. “The last dose is still with me.”

Her expression doesn’t falter. “Take the pill, Sloane.”

My heart kicks up its beats, and I move back a step. “No.”

Dr. Warren removes her glasses, setting them beside her before folding her hands on the desk. “This is an important step in your recovery,” she says. “You must take it or we’ll have to give it to you intravenously. And that’s never pleasant.”

“You’d force me?” I ask. Even though I knew the situation all along, knew that I was in The Program against my will, the idea of being physically restrained again is enough to make me panic.

“This is treatment,” Dr. Warren says. “Think of it as your antibiotic. We need to treat the virus, and then you’ll be free of it. Take the pill and go home, Sloane. It’s as simple as that.”

I consider arguing, fighting my way out. But there’s nothing outside this office but the stark white halls of The Program. And so I throw the doctor a hateful glare and lean forward to grab the yellow pill, swallowing it down before walking out.