CHAPTER Five
IT’S THE NEXT DAY WHEN WE ARRIVE AT A SMALL
farmhouse outside of Lake Tahoe—and like Dallas said, it’s in the middle of nowhere. It’s also beautiful. Trees encase the entire property, and the small, shabby farmhouse has a charm all its own. From the peeling white siding to the enormous and invit-ing wrap-around porch—it makes me think of a life I would have liked to have with James. Just us in the country, maybe some dogs running around. But I’m here with a group of rebels instead. Things don’t always work out the way we plan.
I don’t have much to carry as I make my way inside. It’s a little dusty, and I cough the minute Cas pushes the door open.
But I like it. I like how peaceful it is.
“This belonged to the grandparents of another rebel,” Dallas says, and then lowers her eyes. “But she was taken back to The Program a few months ago. Haven’t seen her since. So it’s ours now.” She drops her bag at her feet. “We shouldn’t be disturbed.”
“It’s a nice place,” I say, pausing to look at the framed pictures on the wall. There’s an older couple, very 1970s with pais-ley and butterfly collars. I touch the image, reminded of my own grandparents, who passed away when I was little. Their picture hung on my wall at home.
My home. I may never see it again. I shake off the impending grief and instead walk around to explore the place, needing the distraction. I find a small room, no bigger than a walk in closet with a twin bed and nothing else. I decide that I like it. The window looks out over the expansive yard, a small creek cutting through the grass. I can imagine that in the mornings there might be a deer, or even bunnies, frolicking.
I smile to myself and sit on the mattress, bouncing to make the springs creak.
“Hey.” Cas peeks his head in my room. He looks pretty wrecked after driving all this way, and I’m sure I don’t look much better. His longish hair is in tangles, dark circles under his eyes. He hasn’t shaved since we left. I wonder how long Cas has been this ragged, threadbare. Maybe I was too busy to notice.
“I called dibs on the shower,” he says, “but if you want it first, I’ll give you this one chivalrous pass.” I grin. “No, you clearly need it more than I do.” He puts his hand over his heart.
“Ouch. Well, don’t plan on having any hot water.”
“Such a gentleman.” Cas winks, playful and flirtatious in the same way he is with Dallas. And although it should make me feel included, it only makes me feel lonelier.
I get under the covers of the bedsheets in an attempt to sleep off some of the exhaustion, listening as the shower turns on down the hall. But the emptiness of my small room becomes too much, and I go downstairs in search of life instead. I find Dallas sitting on the couch, her feet propped up on the arm as she scrolls through the screen of her phone. She glances at me.
“Did you need something?” she asks. “You have that needy expression.”
I stand over her for a minute, the never-ending tension between us suffocating me. I could offer a snide comment and walk away like I usually do, but then we’ll never settle this. I roll my eyes and sit cross-legged on the floor next to the couch. This piques her interest, and Dallas slips her phone into her pocket.
“I’m sorry,” I say, staring at the faded rust-colored carpet.
“I’m sorry I got between you and Realm—it wasn’t my intention.” I hear Dallas snort behind me.
“Oh, well. Society is built on good intentions, Sloane. And look how far it’s gotten us.” Her tone is almost harsh enough to make me leave, but I hold out. There aren’t many of us left.
It could be worth it to try and have a girlfriend—one person I can trust.
“If it’s any consolation,” I say, “I don’t think he meant the hurtful things he said.” I’m not trying to make excuses for him; Realm was a total a*shole. But there was something about his posture after, the way he still looks at her now, that makes me think he cares more than he’ll say. I turn to Dallas, see her watching the ceiling with her jaw clenched, her bottom lip jut-ting out. She flicks her eyes to mine.
“That’s our entire relationship,” she says. “And yeah, I don’t think he means to do it either, but he always does. He always has.” Dallas readjusts her position on the couch, settling back with a far-off expression. “I met Realm after I ran away from home. I was in a bad place, worse than I am now. I’d been through The Program, through Roger, through my father’s abuse. I packed a bag and took off on my own. There wasn’t a national story behind it, not like you and James. I just disappeared, spent my nights in abandoned buildings on my way to Salt Lake. I’d heard stories of a resistance there.
“I was timid then. I’m not sure what my life was like just before I was taken, but in junior high, before the epidemic, I’d been a cheerleader.” She laughs. “Can you imagine?” I smile. “No.”
She quiets for a moment and wraps her arms around herself.
“Then Roger happened,” she says. “When I got home, I couldn’t assimilate, but I learned to fake it to get through therapy. The first chance I got, I took off. I met the rebels and they took me in.
One day Michael Realm showed up. The way he acted . . . It felt like he was there for me. The way he spoke, the way he looked at me. I was scared then, but he made it better. For a while.” Listening to Dallas, I’m reminded that maybe I don’t know Realm at all. This was before I knew him. Was it before he’d been in The Program the first time? Was it before the second time? “What happened after that?” I ask Dallas, leaning my elbow on the couch.
“He left,” she says. “Realm would always leave and never say where he was going. Then he’d show up again and act like nothing happened—we’d get closer, and then he’d push me away.
This is the first time he brought another girl home, though. I’m not going to lie, Sloane. It hurts. I thought I’d grown immune to pain, but Realm knows just how to twist the knife to keep me from loving him completely.”
Guilt falls all around me, even though I’m not the one to blame. Still, I can understand why Dallas hates me. I can’t imagine how I’d cope if James fell in love with someone else.
“What about Cas?” I ask. “Have the two of you ever—”
“No,” Dallas says quickly. “We’re not like that. Shit, I’m not even sure what type of girl Cas likes. He’s my best friend—
which is how we both want it.”
We sit quietly for a while, and I turn over our conversation, putting it together with what Realm has told me. I don’t feel I have the full story—like there’s a piece missing from their dynamic. “Have you ever talked to Realm about his behavior?
Have you told him how you feel?”
Dallas’s expression weakens as she turns toward me. “He said I didn’t matter, Sloane. I don’t think he could have been clearer than that.”
I wince, Realm’s words stinging even me. I don’t understand his motivation. Then again, James was kind of a jerk when I met up with him, too. “James pushed me away,” I confess. “I called him on it, kind of ran off. My friendship with Realm is what made James finally admit his feelings for me. Until a few days ago, I thought we were solid. I thought we were forever.” James is the connection between who I was and who I am now.
Without that, I’m lost.
“We’ll find him,” Dallas states. “I have no doubt that James is safe. If anything, he’s probably just pissed. This isn’t because I hate you or anything,” she says with a smile, “but I kind of see his point. You and Realm . . . You act like more than friends.
I’d have left you too.”
James wouldn’t be friends with a girl who was in love with him, not if it hurt me. I’m ashamed of my behavior. Ashamed I wasn’t mature enough to have more respect for my boyfriend.
I’m embarrassed that even Dallas can see it.
“Can I ask you something?” Dallas starts tentatively. “What are you going to do with The Treatment?”
The question catches me off-guard, and it takes me a second too long to answer. “I honestly don’t know,” I say eventually. “It’s a lot of pressure. What . . . What would you do?”
“If it were me, I’d have taken it right away. I wouldn’t care about Pritchard or the others. But if I were you”—she shrugs—
“I would have given it to James.” She glances over at me and smiles. “Can I be real for a second? Your boyfriend is superhot.
Seriously, James really does it for me. I just thought you should know.”
I laugh, tossing my head back. Above us the pipes rattle and there’s the whine of a turning faucet before the water shuts off. Talking to Dallas has given me some perspective, but more surprisingly, I can see she’s a good person. I haven’t given her nearly enough credit. I climb to my feet, hoping Cas didn’t really use up all the hot water.
“Thanks for the talk.”
“Don’t mention it,” Dallas responds, her tone dismissive as if she’s not taking away the same bonding experience as I am.
“Hey, if you see Cas, let him know I’d like to knife fight later.”
“Uh . . . okay.”
Dallas takes out her phone, and her change in demeanor bothers me slightly, but this could just be what she does to avoid getting hurt. I can’t expect her to trust me, not yet. I start for the stairs but pause to look back at her. Dallas waves her hand in acknowledgment, a smile on her lips, and swipes her thumbs over her keypad, shutting me out.
Cas is in his room by the time I get upstairs, and I walk into the steamy bathroom, running my hand across the fog in the mirror. I study my reflection, noting that the healthy glow I had after leaving The Program is now replaced with dark circles, pale skin. I’ve thinned, and I wonder what my parents would think if they saw me now.
They’d probably think I was sick. They’d probably call The Program to come get me. I wonder for a moment about how it happened, but I quickly block it out. It’s too horrific to imag-180
ine. Would I want to feel what it’s like for my own parents to betray me?
I blow out a hard breath, trying to clear my head, and go over to turn on the shower. The bathroom is old, with a black-and-white tiles floor and a claw-foot tub with standing shower.
I don’t have any soap, but I find an unopened bar underneath the sink. The minute I stand beneath the rushing hot water, I’m grateful Cas didn’t use it all. My muscles, stiff from the car ride and lack of good sleep, begin to loosen, my mind slowly unraveling the past few weeks.
I start with Lacey—a place I haven’t let myself go since she left. Dallas said she was back in The Program, and my only way to deal with that was to stop thinking about her. But now I can see her, both before and after her spiral. I see the note: Miller.
Can I think of the memory of Miller? Will it spur new memories and drive me crazy? The water is beginning to cool as I close my eyes and pretend James is here with me in the shower.
He says he’s sorry for leaving. I say I’m sorry for lying. We’re both so sorry. We’re always sorry.
I work the bar of soap through my wet hair, but suddenly there’s a sharp pain in my temples, a swift blow of memories smashing through the surface.
The tile floor is ice-cold under my bare feet. I fumble with the door handle. Just as I get it open, I see the stark white corridor of The Program. Realm stalks toward the nurse’s station, where Roger is standing, laughing. My wrists are sore from when the handler had me strapped down, but I’m so scared for Realm. I’m so scared of what he’ll do.
Realm’s fist connects with Roger’s face, sending him over the desk and the nurse screams. I try to make my way closer, to tell Realm to stop before they take him away, but I’m so foggy. Roger drugged me.
“Which arm?” Realm snarls.
“Don’t do this, Michael,” Roger says. “You’ll expose us all.” Realm punches him hard in the face again, breaking his nose, sending blood in a splatter on the white wall. “Which arm did you touch her with?” Realm demands. When Roger doesn’t answer, Realm grabs the handler’s right arm and twists it behind his back until it snaps, sending Roger into a fit of howls. Realm only steps back, enraged, but oddly calm.
Security comes rushing up, but instead of wrestling Realm to the floor, they whisper to him until he agrees, letting them lead him away. But not before he looks back over his shoulder at me, nodding, as if we have an agreement. A secret between us.
I gasp and stumble sideways, catching the wall with my hand before I fall out of the tub. Secrets—how many do Realm and I have together? How many of them have I forgotten?
It’s all too much, everything piled on breaks me, and I start to sob. I lower myself down into the tub, filled with loss and devastation. I cry under the ice-cold water, shivering but unable to get up. I’m not weak, I know I’m not . . . but this is too much. I have to let it go because it’s too damn much.
The curtain slides open, followed by the squeak of the faucet turning off. I’m still crying when the warmth of a towel wraps around my shoulders, and Realm helps me from the tub.
My legs are wobbly, but the minute I realize he’s here, that he’s touching me, I push him back.
I hate Realm for lying to me in The Program—acting as if he was just like me when he wasn’t. He had his memories. He knew Roger. But most of all, I hate him for being here when James isn’t.
I wrap the towel tighter around myself and brush the tears off my cheeks, glaring at Realm. His expression falters, concern replaced with defeat, vulnerability. “I don’t want to hear it right now,” I say, sounding like a petulant child. But I won’t let Realm manipulate me. I feel like he already has.
“Do you know how I ended up in The Program in the first place?” he asks, taking a step closer to me.
I sniffle, surprised by the question, but also by his proximity. I move back, bumping against the sink. “You never told me,” I say. “You said you didn’t remember.” Realm moves, and I flinch as if he’s going to touch me, but he goes to sit on the edge of the tub. “I was sixteen years old,” he says in a quiet voice. “My parents were both dead and my sister was working day and night. I never saw her. I worked on and off, but mostly I smoked and drank— numbing what I could. The despair was so deep and dark that it was eating me from the inside. I started to imagine I was rotting—that if you split my skin I would bleed black, cancerous blood.”
He met my eyes. “And so one day I decided to find out.” My breathing quickens and slow horror starts to work through me. The confession is already too personal, too painful to hear. My eyes begin to well up.
“My sister was at her job, my girlfriend was gone—gone into The Program weeks before. I had nothing. I had no one.
But I wasn’t searching for peace, Sloane. I was searching for pain. I wanted it to hurt. I wanted to feel every inch of my death and I wanted to suffer. So I grabbed a serrated knife from the wood block on the kitchen counter, and I went into the bathroom and shut the door. I must have stood at the sink for close to an hour, staring at myself. The circles under my eyes, the disgust I felt at my own reflection.
“And then . . . I put the blade to my neck and began to saw.
I watched as long as I could, watching the blood pour down over my shirt, the skin split, only to lose my place because of my shaky hand. Then I’d start again.”
I cover my mouth, tears spilling onto my cheeks as the images flash through my head. “Stop,” I say. But Realm looks crazed, lost in his head.
“The last thing I remember,” he says, “was the thought that it wasn’t black blood at all. It was red. Everything was so red. I woke up in The Program. Seventy-three stitches. Reconstructive surgery. Extensive therapy. The doctors told me I was a miracle. Do you agree?” he asks, his brown eyes wild. “Aren’t I just a role model now? A f*cking inspiration.” No one should suffer like that. It’s too terrible to even comprehend. I step forward and hug him, wishing I could take the pain away.
Realm’s arms wrap around my waist as he holds me close, taking jagged breaths before going on. “Sometimes I wish it’d worked. I wanted to die that day, but instead I had doctors picking me apart. But that’s not the worst thing I’ve done, Sloane. I wish it were.”
I pull back, and look down into his face. What does that mean? I move out of his arms, tightening my towel once again.
I realize suddenly we’re alone, and I’m naked other than this short white cloth wrapped around me. Realm notices my reaction and lowers his eyes.
Although my face feels swollen from crying, I put myself back together. I have to keep going, keep fighting. I may be a runaway, but at least I’m alive. I grip the glass knob of the bathroom door to leave.
“Sloane,” Realm calls in a low voice. I turn to look at him.
“If he doesn’t come back, you still have me.” My eyes weaken. “Realm . . .”
“I love you more than James ever could,” he says so seriously that I know he believes it. I can’t bring myself to hurt him, say the things I should. I can only turn and leave, praying James really will come back. And wondering what it will mean for Realm when he does.