The Complication (The Program #6)(17)

“I wasn’t—” Realm winces, seeming embarrassed by the accusation. “I guess it was spying, but I didn’t mean it that way. I swear.”

His brown eyes have some sincerity to them, although the shading under them is dark, like he hasn’t slept. And although I don’t know his larger role in the Adjustment—his role with Marie and Dr. McKee—he acts like he’s telling the truth. Not that I’m the best judge of that.

“You said you want to help me,” I start. “What exactly did you mean? What can you do?”

“Personally?” he says. “Not much. But I wanted to talk to you, let you know just how dangerous it is for you to be around Wes right now.”

A wave of sickness rolls over me. “That’s your story too?” I ask. “Does everyone think I have amnesia—like I’d forget what Dr. McKee warned?”

Realm chews on his inner lip. “Depends,” he says. “Do you? Because you left with Wes. And I saw you at lunch, Tatum. Saw you in your Jeep, losing your shit. Maybe . . . maybe we have a reason to be worried.”

“You don’t even know me,” I shoot back, realizing how unbalanced I must have looked in those moments in my Jeep. My cheeks heat with shame.

“Look,” Realm says, leaning closer. “I’m not trying to make you more upset. I’m just . . . Give it all some time to settle. I’ve known a lot of returners, and I’ve seen what happens when they get too much stimulus too soon.”

“And how much time?” I ask. “When would be an appropriate time for me to live my own life? Or do I need permission?”

Realm smiles at my question, and I notice the nasty red scar on his neck. It proves he has a past, a pretty gnarly one judging by the wound. Despite this, he’s charming. Sweet, even. Then again, he could be a really skilled liar. I tend to draw them to me.

“We all want you to live your life, Tatum,” Realm says. “An amazing, happy life. But it’s hard for you to do that when you’re living half in the past. Now, I’m not saying that you and Wes aren’t meant to be, or whatever romantic notion has been built up. But you’re not meant to be right now. That I can promise. So all I’m asking is for you to—”

“Stay away from him,” I finish. Realm nods, looking apologetic.

“We need you to be well,” he says in an exhausted breath.

“You said ‘we,’?” I point out. “Does that include my grandparents?” Realm shifts uncomfortably. “Are you . . . are my grandparents working with the Adjustment office?” I ask, my heart beginning to race at the idea.

“It’s not like that,” Realm says, shaking his head. “Your grandparents want what’s best for you.”

His words aren’t a denial, and I realize I need to get away from here. I need to figure out exactly how and why my grandparents would be a part of this. It’s bigger than just them knowing I was in The Program. This is more involved.

“I have a better idea,” I tell Realm. “How about if everyone stops trying to help so fucking much? Now get out.”

Realm reaches for the door handle and looks back, sizing me up. “Please be careful,” he says simply. “And know that however misguided our help may seem . . . we care.”

“Yeah, right.”

He smiles like he kind of enjoys my bad attitude, but my expression shares none of his amusement, and he straightens his face.

“Fine,” he says. “But until the doctors figure out what’s causing the crashbacks in returners, you and Wes should . . .” He stops himself. “Like I said, just be careful.”

“Bye,” I say, running my hand roughly through my hair as a headache pulses in my temples. “And stop following me,” I add as an afterthought.

Realm pushes open the door and gets out. I expect him to try to explain, but he closes the door gently. And just as easily as he appeared, he’s gone. I catch sight of him across the road, going into the 7-Eleven.

I have no idea what to make of him. Why would he care what happens to me or Wes? He met us for five seconds months ago. Sure, he probably works for the Adjustment, but that doesn’t mean he actually cares about the patients. I made the mistake of thinking Dr. McKee and Marie cared, and look—Wes has been reset and I’m sitting in the parking lot watching a stranger buy a Big Gulp.

Obviously my problems are much bigger than that, but I’m learning to compartmentalize. One problem at a time. And now that I know my grandparents have a lot more to do with my condition than they let on, I’m determined to figure out what role they’ve played.

How deep does their betrayal go?

I shift into gear and race toward home.





CHAPTER EIGHT


NEITHER OF MY GRANDPARENTS IS home when I arrive, and I immediately rush inside. I pause in the foyer at the bottom of the stairs, and it’s like walking over my own grave—an incredible sense of dread. A part of me died here—the part The Program erased. It’s a horrific feeling, and I practically run up the stairs as if handlers are still chasing me.

At the top, I grip the railing. My heart is racing, sweat gathering in my hairline. I’m suddenly struck with grief, loss. I wish Nathan never told me about The Program. But then again, it would have come out. It had to. Besides, I deserve to know the truth. This is my life.