The Complication (The Program #6)(7)

Nathan waits a moment, trying to discern my behavior. But at the same time, he must accept my explanation, because he gives me a quick hug. “I’ll check in soon,” he says before heading in Jana’s direction.

I look past him to where Jana is standing, watching us curiously. I wave politely, and she smiles—quick and impersonal.

As they walk away, the tension in my body lessens, but it also leaves more room for my fear, my misery. I dart my eyes around the hall, feeling like I’m being watched.

It’s a fact that everyone I love betrayed me. How can I square that? How can I feel okay when there’s no one left to trust? When I’m so fucking alone? When I’m forgotten?

I slam my locker shut and rush for the back exit, desperate to escape the confines of the school. To breathe. I can’t stay here anymore. I have to figure out what the hell is going on.

The moment I exit the double doors to the parking lot, I take a big gulp of air. The sun shines brightly, blurring everything in a haze of yellow. I take another breath, but the panic floods in, overwhelming me like an ocean wave crashing over my head. My chest constricts and I’m drowning.

My life is a lie.

I walk faster, my heart beating rapidly, pins and needles prickling over my skin. I need to get to my Jeep. Several people are hanging around, laughing, and making plans for lunch, but my singular mission is to get to my Jeep without collapsing.

I’ve made a mistake; I’ve let myself think—feel—too much. I should have gone home with fake cramps hours ago. Now I’m walking devastation.

My Jeep comes into focus, and the relief is immediate. I pull my backpack off my shoulders and jog to the door, opening it and tossing my bag across to the passenger seat. My hands shake as I climb in and grip the steering wheel.

I turn the ignition, but instead of starting, my Jeep revs, never catching. I turn it again, slamming my foot on the gas, but the engine only sputters, and I let it die.

It’s a karmic pile-on, and I can no longer hold back. The quiet in my Jeep is deafening, the air warm and thick. I scream, the shriek cutting through the small space, and I smack the heel of my palm against the steering wheel. It hurts, but I do it again, harder—letting the anger take over.

The image of my grandparents, trying to pull me away from the handlers—crying and helpless. They didn’t save me. They couldn’t. No matter fault, they still failed me.

And then, even more unforgivable, my grandparents lied to me—both indirectly and to my face. Those pills they gave me . . . I realize now they were probably to keep me well-behaved. Keep me in line. What else have they done to cover this up? I don’t know how deep this all goes, but I know that life as I know it is over.

I choke on the start of a sob and use my other hand to slap the steering wheel, accidently blasting the horn. I’m losing it right now, dissolving into ashes and ready to blow away. People may be watching. Gossiping. But I don’t care.

I’m about to hit the wheel again when there’s a sharp knock on my driver’s-side window. Startled, I spin to look, and my entire body freezes.

“Hey,” Wes says, his voice muffled behind the glass. My lips part; my heart registers shock. When I don’t move, he mimes rolling down the window, exaggerated and funny.

I’ve barely caught my breath when I lower the window, and I quickly wipe away the tears on my cheeks. For his part, Wes is disheveled, as if his first day back to school was more traumatic than he thought it would be. I search his expression to see if our meeting with Dr. Wyatt has hurt him. But there’s no bloody nose, no flinching. He just looks tired.

“What are you doing?” I ask, still half in my head. This is the second time he’s seen me cry today.

Wes smiles sheepishly, like he’s wondering if he should leave. But he must overrule his instincts. “I saw you trying to start the Jeep. You know, before you started beating the shit out of it. I’m pretty good with engines—want me to take a look?”

“Why would you do that?” I ask, unsure of what he’s thinking. Why he’s here at all.

“Because I’m a nice guy,” he offers with a smirk. He’s flirting despite the clearly shitty day we’re both having. Doesn’t he wonder why Dr. Wyatt pulled me into his meeting? Or maybe he just wants to forget about it.

Despite my reservations, I pop the hood of the Jeep. “All right,” I say, a little shaky. “Have at it.”

Wes drops his backpack on the pavement, rounds the Jeep, and props up the hood. I lean down so I can see him through the opening near the windshield. He presses his lips together and stares at the engine, making his dimples deepen. The sun beats down on his cheeks, and they’re slightly red, freckles dotting his nose.

What starts as admiration quickly turns into longing. It hits me how much I need him to know me. Love me again—the way he did in the beginning of us. I want him to confirm that I’m real—that some things were real.

“Well,” Wes says, looking up from under the hood. I quell the rising panic in my chest, not wanting to alarm him. “It could be your battery,” Wes says. “Can you try starting it again?”

I do just that, and, to my surprise, the engine turns over. Wes closes the hood, grinning at me. I leave the engine running and get out of the driver’s seat.

“I swear it wouldn’t start,” I say, temporarily stunned out of my misery.