The Complication (The Program #6)(40)

On one side is Dr. Warren’s, and on the other is the office of a therapist I’ve never seen in person, although I’ve noticed a few patients go in that door. A plaque on the wall reads MR. CASTLE—LICENSED THERAPIST.

I’m the only person in the waiting room now, and I take out my phone to check for missed messages. There is one from Wes, and my heart sinks when I see his name. I click it open.

Good luck on your paper.

I don’t know how to answer, so I turn off the phone and put it away. He’s trying to get to know me. And honestly, if I hadn’t remembered, I would have fallen right back into a relationship with him. But the self-hatred I felt that night at his house . . . I’ll never forget it again. That kind of pain is forever.

I needed help, and instead I got The Program. I won’t put either of us in that position again.

“There she is,” Dr. Warren announces, startling me. I look up and see her standing at the door of her office. She’s wearing a denim dress with a red belt and tall brown leather boots. “Come on in.” She waves me forward and walks into her office ahead of me.

I follow her and go sit in my usual spot—an oversize leather chair with high arms and worn soft cushions—as she closes the door. Dr. Warren picks up a clipboard from her desk and takes a seat on the couch opposite me.

Dr. Warren is slight with cropped short hair and stylish glasses. She seems like she’d be somebody’s favorite aunt.

“Thank you for making time for me today,” she says. “I was worried.”

“My grandparents shouldn’t have done that,” I respond. “I would have called you if I needed you.”

“Would you have?” she asks, taking a pen out of the breast pocket of her dress. She clicks it and then steadies her gaze on me. “What’s going on, Tatum?” she asks. “I can see you’re upset.”

She has such a soothing voice, and I want to tell her my problems, get her advice. “I’m not sure where to start,” I say.

“Well,” she says. “We’ve covered the Adjustment and what it did to both you and Weston, so perhaps it’s best to start with his latest return. Your grandparents were greatly concerned. Mentioned headaches?”

“My headaches have nothing to do with Wes,” I tell her. “And I’m not here about them. I’m here about The Program.”

Dr. Warren presses her lips into a concerned smile. “I told you, Tatum. You were never in The Program. Where did you hear that?”

She gives nothing away—exhibiting the same demeanor I’ve trusted for over a year. But I’m not going to throw Nathan under the bus. “Someone at school,” I say like it doesn’t matter. “But how can you be sure it’s not true?” I ask, leaning forward. “You wouldn’t really know. . . .”

“I’ve worked with a lot of returners,” she says, jotting down a note. “You have zero markers, no symptoms—”

“The headaches?” I point out. She smiles.

“Stress,” she says. “And I don’t think we’ll have to look hard to find the cause.”

Back to Wes again. I huff out an annoyed breath and lean my head against the chair. “It’s not Wes,” I say. I’m being defensive, even though I know she has a point. We’re quiet for a minute, and I relent.

“Okay,” I admit. “He might have a little bit to do with this. But it’s over. Wes and I are over. I lied to him today—told him we were never a couple and that we were just friends.”

Dr. Warren’s lips part in surprise. “That . . . that must have been difficult. I’m sorry you had to lie.”

“So am I,” I say. “But I wanted to be better. His mother said some pretty hurtful things. They hurt because they weren’t wrong.”

I want to get back to discussing The Program, but Dr. Warren seems pretty certain I wasn’t there. She’ll need proof. I guess it’s possible my grandparents never admitted it to her; it’s possible they never told anybody.

Dr. Warren leans forward and pats my knee. “I’m so proud of you for breaking things off,” she says. “It was selfless.”

“My friend said the same thing,” I tell her. “But I’m not sure the opposite of selfish is selfless. I just stopped hurting him. Hurting both of us.”

She sits back, making another note. “I have to say, Tatum,” she begins. “This is the most mature I’ve ever seen you. I’m encouraged, and with your permission, I’d love to tell your grandparents that you’ve made huge strides toward wellness.”

“Sure,” I murmur. But there’s a tingle up my arms as I take slight offense at her words. First, my life is pretty fucked—it’s not fair to say I was immature before. Second . . . I’m not sure what she means about wellness. Wasn’t I well before?

No, I realize. I wasn’t well—not if I was flagged for The Program. She might have seen that during therapy, the remnants of my spiral. But again, wouldn’t that have clued her in? I’m starting to doubt her effectiveness as a therapist. I’m starting to doubt her.

Almost in response to my thoughts, Dr. Warren smiles warmly.

“Can you tell me what made you decide to finally break off ties with Wes?” she asks. “Was there an epiphany of some sort?”