The Complication (The Program #6)(101)

Michael Realm could have spun this entire story to get at my secrets. And it probably wouldn’t have been the first time he’d done it. But I wanted to believe his sincerity; I wanted to believe he’d help me.

“Just stick with me, and we’ll get through this,” he said. “I promise.”

And so I lay back on the bed, Realm lying next to me, and I told him the greatest love story I knew. The story of me and Wes. And when I was done, I didn’t even feel bad for lying about most of it.

? ? ?

There’s a rustle of sounds, light seeping in from under my closed eyes. I feel a cloth pressed under my nose, making it harder to breath, as wetness slides down my neck.

“Tatum,” a voice says, and I realize it’s Sloane. “You’re having a crashback. You’ve got to stay with me. Do you understand? We need you.”

She pinches my nose, and I gasp out of my mouth, my eyelids fluttering open. I sit up, Sloane’s hand falling away as she stares at me, wide-eyed.

“Are you back?” she asks like I’m not really here.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to clear the blood in my throat. I look around the room, James standing in the doorway. Sloane next to the bed, terrified. I blot the blood under my nose, furrowing my brow.

“I told half-truths,” I murmur, turning toward Realm.

I find him lying there, staring at me. His every breath is a small gasp, followed by a rattle. He tries to smile, but he winces like it hurts.

Realm got me out of The Program. I remember now. I remember us.

Realm and I had planned it all, how he would present my memories to Dr. Warren. How I could call them up for erasure. He and I would lie in my hospital bed night after night and play card games during the day. We knew the system. Michael Realm told me all of his secrets, but I didn’t tell him all of mine. He was so lonely. He said he always had been. I wanted to take that loneliness away, and we grew close. I wanted to save him.

Eventually, a deal was struck—one where Dr. Warren would let me out but keep an eye on me afterward, looking for any signs of depression or suicidal thoughts. If they appeared, she’d put me back in The Program.

My grandfather came in and assured her that wouldn’t happen. Realm assured her that I was well, supplying my distorted memories of Wes as proof. I didn’t know then, but he had tracked Wes down, told him what had happened in the facility. He fed him my memories, even if he didn’t realize they were lies. It skewed Wes’s files.

We’re all liars, just like Michael Realm said. But in the end, he saved my life. And a tear drips onto my cheek, mixing with the blood from my nose, because I realize I don’t think I can save his life in return.

I lie down next to Realm, my head on his shoulder, just like how we’d lie some nights as he told me about Sloane. How he wished he could be good enough for her.

Realm continues to gasp in breaths, slowly, but he reaches to put his hand on my hair. “I’ve missed you,” he says.

I close my eyes, knowing that I’ve missed him too. Our relationship was never romantic; it was friendship. It was the closest thing we had to real in a place that demanded lies.

We did our best. We grew real enough to survive.

And so when there’s a sudden stillness next to me, and Realm’s breathing stops, I cover my face and I cry.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN


“MOVE, MOVE,” SLOANE YELLS, PUSHING me off Realm’s shoulder as she turns him on his side, sitting on the edge of the bed. “James!” She screams so loud her voice cracks, the mirror on the wall rattles.

“Don’t you fucking die, Realm,” she says, swiping her finger through his mouth. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

I sit there, stunned. Realm’s cheeks are hollow, and his mouth has gone slack. I put my hand on my chest because my heart hurts. I remember him. He can’t go now.

James rushes over to the bed, his blue eyes scanning Michael’s body before he falls to his knees next to Sloane’s legs. Together, they work him onto the floor.

“Find out where Marie is,” Sloane says to James. She tilts Michael’s chin up and presses her mouth to his. She begins to administer CPR while James, looking pretty awful himself, calls Marie.

Sloane starts chest compressions, up on her knees to apply enough pressure. At one point, I hear the pop of a rib, and my stomach swirls with sickness.

“Don’t do this,” Sloane is murmuring over and over. Tears run down her face even though she’s laser focused. “Not after everything. You can’t leave me like this.”

She leans in to give him more breaths.

“Marie?” James says into the phone, squeezing his eyes shut. “Marie, it’s Michael. He . . . he needs help.” But James starts crying, and I have to reach over and grab the phone from his hands.

“Realm stopped breathing,” I tell her. “What do we do?”

Marie is silent for a moment, and I check to make sure the call didn’t drop. I put it back to my ear. “Please, Marie, he’s dying.”

“I’m on my way,” she says. “Get him breathing again. I’m ten minutes away. Just get him breathing.”

“And then what?” I ask.

“Then we’ll find out if the cure works,” she says.

Sloane falls back to sit on the floor, and I turn. Realm gasps, coughing and moaning. He places his hand on his ribs, and I forget all about Marie on the phone.