The Complication (The Program #6)(56)

“I want to be with you,” he said. “Are you saying . . . do you still want to be with me, Tate?”

I couldn’t hold his eyes, and I let the darkness creep over me. Blotting out the light. Erasing us. “No,” I said, staring down at the blanket. “No, Wes. I don’t think we should be together anymore.”

Wes choked out a cry, and he was a wounded animal, desperate and hurt. I didn’t even want to look at him. Didn’t want to see the damage I had just inflicted. It would save him, though. Letting me go would save him.

“I’m sorry,” I said, low. “I’m so sorry.”

Wes dropped back onto the blanket, his forearm over his face, refusing to speak to me. But I curled up next to him anyway, unable to let him cry alone.

I still loved him. Just not the same.

And I listened quietly, hating myself, as he told me he wished he were dead.

? ? ?

I wake up to my phone buzzing near my head, disoriented. I squint against the light coming in my window, trying to unravel the mystery in my head. My phone stops buzzing, but my head doesn’t.

The world is blurry, slow to come back. The memory sticks with me, and a heavy realization crashes over my soul: I broke up with Wes first. I broke his heart and told him to date other people. I sent him away, and when he did try to find happiness, I pulled him back in. I pulled him down.

Until we were both taken by The Program.

Although it would be easier to blame the epidemic for this, blame fear—it doesn’t matter what caused it. In the end, my sadness, loneliness, ended with me hurting Wes. And then to make it worse, I continued to hurt him. Right up until the end. Right up until yesterday.

I finally know the truth of our story. I was slowly dying and thought letting him go would save him. When he did, in fact, start seeing Kyle, it tore me up. And I wanted it all back. I wanted him back. But it was too late. I’d hurt him, broken him down. He was trying to survive, but I begged him to stay with me. And in the end, he wouldn’t leave me, even though he should have.

I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

My nose is bleeding from the crashback, mixing with the tears streaming down my cheeks. As I reach to grab a tissue, my phone starts buzzing again. I peek at the caller ID and see it’s Nathan. I have no idea why he’d keep calling instead of texting. It must be serious.

“You okay?” I ask as way of answering, wiping off the last of the blood.

Nathan laughs bitterly. “Not quite. But I have an idea. Want to skip school today with me and Foster and get pancakes?”

I brush my hair away from my face, still trying to get my bearings. “Sure,” I say. “And I . . .” I’m about to tell him about the memory but figure it would be better in person. “See you in twenty minutes?” I ask instead.

“Deal,” Nathan responds, and hangs up.

I climb out of bed, the memory set aside, and suddenly the events of yesterday come flooding back. I fall to sit on the mattress. Dr. McKee is dead. My grandparents had my memory erased when I was a kid and then lied about everything. They let me get adjusted. No, they had me adjusted.

I’m overwhelmed, my heart racing, sweat gathering in my hairline. My skin prickles.

I switch to my default, the only way to have any normalcy. I have to block it all out, every confusing thought. Every question. Every returned memory. I push it aside and force myself to my feet. To the shower. To the kitchen.

It’s no way to exist, this empty way I’m going through the motions. But it will help me to live. For now. Wes was right—the past is a dangerous place to be.

“Have a nice day, honey,” my grandmother calls as I grab my keys from the kitchen. And for one fleeting moment, she stares at me as if she really sees me—like she can tell everything that’s happened. But all I do is smile and tell her I hope she has a nice day too.

Nathan is sitting on his front porch, his posture sagging, and his elbows on his knees. He looks up from his spot on the stairs when I get to my Jeep. I wave him over, and he grabs his backpack and heads my way. He climbs inside, and I motion toward his bag.

“Thought we were skipping?” I ask.

“Prop,” he says. His voice is tired and raspy. It makes me think he’s been crying, and I decide it’s not the time to talk about my past with Wes. It’s over anyway. Nathan’s pain is right now. I have to deal with one problem at a time.

“Didn’t feel like telling my mother about skipping,” he adds. “I couldn’t even bring myself to tell her about Melody.” He spits her name like it’s a curse.

“And Foster?” I ask.

“He’s going to meet us at Lulu’s.”

I pull out of the driveway and head toward the pancake house. “How much does he know?” I ask.

Nathan sniffs a laugh and rests his head back against the seat, staring vacantly out the windshield. “Enough to prove him right, which is going to be super annoying.”

I smile and press down on the accelerator, speeding us toward our friend.





CHAPTER TEN


FOSTER TAKES A BITE OF pancake, wipes his mouth, and then looks across the table at Nathan. “So your ex-girlfriend was a spy for the Adjustment and kept tabs on all of us?”

“I guess,” Nathan says with a shrug. I sip from my coffee. “Although mostly it was Tatum.”