The Program (21 page)

“She’s fine,” Realm says quickly, rubbing my upper arm as I cry into his shoulder.

“Doesn’t look fine,” Shep answers.

I feel Realm tense, but then he sighs. “She just missed me a bunch, right, sweetness?” he says jokingly. “It must have been tragic sitting here with you guys for three days.”

They scoff, but I feel the tension leave the table. “Come on,” Realm says, helping me stand up. I’m too embarrassed to look at the guys, so I keep my face hidden against his shirt. “Game’s done for tonight.”

“Ah, man!” Derek yells, and I hear the smack of his cards on the table. Realm doesn’t respond, and leads me out into hall and toward his room. By the time we get there the tears have stopped, and I feel a little more in control, although still empty.

“Come hang out with me?” he asks. I nod and he smiles, sneaking me into his room.

•  •  •

I’m sitting in a chair by Realm’s bed as he lays out another round of solitaire. It’s past eleven, but no one has come to kick me out. It’s been three days since Realm came back, and night after night, I’ve been allowed to stay in here with him. It’s
strange, and I’m not sure if I should be worried or grateful. It’s definitely better than being alone.

“Why don’t they bother us?” I ask.

“What’s that?” Realm groans and lays the cards aside. “How can I not win? I’m playing myself.”

“They never send me back to my room. Why?”

Realm stretches, raising his hands above his head. “Maybe they think we’re a cute couple.”

“I’m serious.”

“And I’m tired.” His dark eyes look me over. “Come to bed with me?”

I look at the door, considering going back to my room, but when my feet touch the floor and I feel its coldness even through my slipper socks, I decide to stay.

“I guess,” I tell him, pretending like I don’t want to. He rolls his eyes and holds up the blanket as I climb in next to him. He puts his arm around me, sighing as I snuggle against him. This is how we’ve been since he came back. He lets me stay in here, holding me close. It’s been nice.

“This isn’t so bad, right?” he asks. “There are definitely worse things.”

“We’re in The Program,” I remind him. “I don’t think it can get worse than this.”

Realm brushes my hair aside, his fingers running down my neck, tickling me. He continues down my spine, a feather light touch over my scrubs, and then back up again. “It can always get worse.” His other hand reaches to take my scarred
wrist, and he brings it to his mouth, kissing the mark there.

I swallow hard. His gesture is kind. Even sexy. Realm flattens his palm on my lower back, pressing me into him. He kisses my inner forearm, my shoulder. “I could love you, Sloane,” he whispers next to my ear. “You don’t have to be alone.”

You used to love someone,
Roger had told me once. What did he mean?
Was
there someone before The Program?

Realm brings his mouth close to mine but pauses to look in my eyes as if asking permission. His feelings are so clear, so sure. I don’t know what I feel right now, other than alone. So I lean forward and kiss him.

Realm’s lips are soft but unfamiliar. Warm but not hot. My hands hesitate on the sides of his face, and I realize as his tongue touches mine that I don’t feel lust or hurt or anger. I don’t feel love or disgust. I feel . . . grief.

His hand slides down to pull my thigh over his hip. We could do anything right now; no one is bothering us. He lays me back in the bed, lying between my legs as he trails kisses down my neck and back up again. My eyes close, and I try to feel something other than sadness as Realm knots his fingers in my hair, murmurs how beautiful I am.

His hand is cool as it slips inside my shirt, grazing my stomach before pausing at my bra. And all at once my eyes open, and I’m struck with sudden guilt. A sense of wrong so intense that I push Realm’s hand away and roll out from under him.

“No,” I say, climbing off the bed. I straighten my scrubs as I catch my breath. “I can’t . . . I can’t.”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Realm says quickly, his face reddening as he talks. “I’m so sorry. Don’t go, please.”

I shake my head, backing away. “I . . . I should sleep in my own bed tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” And then without waiting for an answer, I hurry out into the hall toward my room. My heart pounds, and I feel so confused, so unsure of myself. I’m racked with guilt and I don’t even know why.

I pass the nurses’ station, but the young nurse doesn’t ask why I’m coming out of Realm’s room after hours, or what we were doing in there. She just types something into the computer and watches as I go into my room. Once I’m inside, I crawl into bed and pray for sleep.

I SKIP BREAKFAST THE NEXT MORNING AND AVOID
Realm. I’m embarrassed that I bailed like that, no explanation. I liked kissing him—he’s a good kisser. But something made it feel
wrong
, like I shouldn’t be touching him at all.

I pull my legs under me as I sit on my bed, staring at the door and daring myself to leave the room. I have to face him and hope he pretends like nothing happened. He’s my best friend, and I might like him as more than that. . . . But I don’t know. Maybe I’m just an idiot.

Finally gathering the courage, I walk out into the hall and check the leisure room first. Derek sees me and nods a hello as he and Shep watch TV.

“You guys seen Realm?” I ask.

“Nope,” Derek says, not looking away from the screen.
“Think he’s got an early session with Dr. Warren today.”

I curl my lip. I have therapy this afternoon, and I’m dreading it, although she tells me my progress has been exceptional. Not like I can remember if she was telling the truth.

I head down toward the offices, wondering if I’ll catch him coming out. When I get to Dr. Warren’s door, it’s closed, and I figure Realm might still be in there. I lean against the wall next to it to wait when I hear raised voices.

“Michael,” I hear Dr. Warren say, “sexual contact is not permitted. It’s against the law, and we will prosecute you to the fullest extent of—”

“We’re not sleeping together.” I recognize Realm’s voice, and I immediately touch my lips, scared he’s in trouble. “I told you,” he says. “I’m doing what I’m supposed to, and we kissed. That’s it.”

I stand outside the door, listening and worried. I didn’t think they cared that Realm and I hung out, but maybe they do. Maybe they’ve been watching us this entire time.

“Even that is crossing the line. And after your little dustup with Roger, I don’t think we can handle anymore of your liability. I’m sorry, Michael. I’m going to have to send you to another facility.”

No!
Panic overtakes me, and I almost burst into the room to defend him, but Realm is talking again.

“If you send me away now, you’ll jeopardize her recovery,” he says. “Sloane already thinks I’m leaving next week. There’s no reason to create a situation where she casts you as
the bad guy. Her transformation has been remarkable, don’t you think?”

Tiny prickles of fear race up my arms. What’s he talking about?

“Yes. She’s come a long way,” Dr. Warren muses. “Fine. You can stay the week, finish this stage of the therapy, but I’m warning you: hands off. They could bring a lawsuit against The Program.”

“You know as well as I do that physical contact can do wonders for recovery. For trust building.”

“Hands off,” Dr. Warren repeats with a finality in her tone. She exhales. “Michael, are you certain she can complete treatment? There are other options—”

“Sloane will return on time,” Realm says. “I just need a little more space to make sure the memories are cleared out. She’s very fragile right now.”

I stand there completely stunned as I try to wrap my mind around what I’ve just heard. Is Realm even a patient? I . . . I don’t know what to think anymore. Did he set me up?

“Fine,” Dr. Warren responds. “Then I guess we’re done here.”

“Almost,” Realm says in a quiet voice.

I’m still next to the door when it opens suddenly. I push back against the wall, my heart pounding, as Realm stalks out. He starts to leave and then pauses. I hold my breath.

“Don’t get caught standing there,” he murmurs, not turning to me. “Or they’ll send you away for another six weeks.
Maybe more.” He lowers his head and then walks down the hallway.

I want to run after him and ask him what’s going on—make him explain. But the realization is just hitting me. Realm is working with them. He’s my friend, my only friend, but it’s not real. He’s part of The Program.

Oh, God. Realm is
part of The Program
! All this time I’ve confided in him, he’s been passing the information to Dr. Warren—things I don’t discuss in therapy. My secrets.

Realm
. My lip quivers at the same time my hand clenches in a fist. He’s . . . he’s been messing with my mind. He’s no better than any of them.

•  •  •

Realm doesn’t sit with me at dinner, and I don’t raise my head when he passes me. A few people ask if we’re fighting, but I ignore them, picking at the chicken on my tray. Realm is a plant, a fake. I could out him in front of everyone here, and this entire place would explode. But what happens after? Will they send us all through The Program again? Are Derek and Shep a part of it?

Anger is fighting its way past the meds in my system. I look over to where Realm is sitting with his friends, and I stand, my hands shaking. I start over, and Realm looks at me just before I reach him and jumps up.

“Hey, sweetness,” he says, and I can see how forced his smile is as he grabs my arm hard, turning me in the other direction.

“Don’t touch me,” I hiss, yanking away from him.

Realm fixes me with a warning glare and then turns back to his table. “Looks like I’ve moved from the doghouse to the porta-potty,” he says, making them laugh. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.” They chuckle, but I’m backing toward the door, tears gathering in my eyes. When he notices, Realm grabs me quickly into a hug, pushing my cheek against his shirt as I struggle to pull away.

“Don’t let them see you cry,” he says quietly. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, but if they think you’re breaking down, they’ll keep you. I know you want to go home, Sloane.”

I put my hand on his forearm, digging my nails in as hard as I can. He flinches, but he doesn’t pull away. I stop, knowing that I’m hurting him, and thinking that even now . . . I don’t want to. What I want is for him to tell me that I’m wrong. That he’s real and hasn’t betrayed me. I sniffle and wipe my tears on his shirt before straightening up.

“My man is smooth,” Derek says with a laugh from behind us.

Realm looks down at me, his expression miserable. His dark eyes are so sorry, but his jaw is tight, and I don’t know if I can believe any of the emotions he shows me. I’m suddenly struck with the idea that I don’t know what’s true anymore. Maybe I’ve finally snapped.

Realm takes my hand and leads me toward the doorway, saying nothing. When we get there, Nurse Kell shoots Realm a worried glance.

“It’s fine,” he says. Then quieter, “Can you please send the meds directly to her room? Now.”

She nods, and then Realm pulls me into the hall. But instead of going to my room, he takes the turn toward his. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, his grip tight on my wrist.

“What are we doing?” I ask, wondering if I should be scared of him. That maybe he could be as dangerous as Roger.

“They can’t listen here,” he mumbles, and brings us inside. Realm backs me against the door as he closes it, standing with his head bent by my ear. “I know you heard,” he whispers, “and please believe me, I really am your friend.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He puts his hands against the door on either side of my head. If anyone were to look in on us, they might think we were in some romantic against-the-door moment. “I’m a special sort of handler,” he continues. “I’m embedded with the other patients but was assigned specifically to you because you’re . . . difficult.”

A pain rips across my chest as he confirms my worst fear: that my only friend in the world, the only one I can remember, isn’t real. I’ve been manipulated, and I feel violated and ravaged. Realm moves closer, sliding one arm behind me as if in an embrace.

“I’m so sorry, Sloane,” he says, his mouth touching my ear. “But I promise you, I’m only trying to help. If I didn’t intervene, they were going to dig deeper. Do you know what that means?” he asks. “You could have been lobotomized.”

I start to feel weak in his arms and I want to lie down, but he holds me fast. “You can’t fall apart now,” he soothes. “They’re going to know something is wrong.”

I look up at him then, at the scar on his neck. “I don’t understand,” I say, my chest aching. “You’re one of us.”

He nods. “I was in The Program last year”—he motions to his neck—“for an unfortunate incident with a serrated knife. But then I got here, got better. About halfway through, Dr. Warren pulled me aside and asked what I planned to do when I got out.

“I had nothing to go back for. My parents died a long time ago, and I couldn’t remember any of my friends. I had
nothing
. So Dr. Warren offered me a job—a future within The Program to rehabilitate patients. I signed a contract.”

“What do you do to us?”

He cringes, as if knowing I won’t like the answer. “Form healthy relationships; reestablish connections so that subjects aren’t shell-shocked when they leave. We were having relapses and meltdowns, and they determined it was from the trauma of reassimilating. Emotions are like raw nerve endings, and without some sort of preparation, it’s like sending back an exposed wire.”

“So you weren’t just pretending to be my friend?” I challenge. “You didn’t betray me and tell them the things we talked about? Things I can’t even remember anymore.”

“Of course I had to tell them,” he says. “I had to make sure the therapy was taking. And believe me, sweetness, you wouldn’t want to walk around with half memories anyway. You could go crazy.”

I yank my hands from his and push him back. “And kissing
me? Was that part of my rehabilitation?” I’m embarrassed saying it, feeling cheated somehow. Used.