The Program (The Program #1)(22)

I rest my hand on his chest and listen to him breathe. He doesn’t touch me. “I miss you,” I say quietly. “I’m so lonely without you, James. I’m trying to be strong, but I’m not sure how much I have left. You have to come back to me. I don’t think I can get through this alone.” My eyes well up, but James doesn’t move. God, I just want him back. I want to hear his laugh, his sarcastic comments, his fake ego. “I love you,” I whisper, and the tent is quiet.

I’m losing him, just like I lost the others. I sniffle back the start of tears and talk like he’s there with me. “I won’t let you go, you know?” I say. “I’m never going to just give up. So don’t even think about getting another girlfriend.” I smile, pretending he laughed. “I know things are bad right now, but they’ll get better. You’re not like Brady. You won’t quit. You won’t leave me on the side of a river wondering why. You’re stronger than that. I know you are.”

I slide my hand under his shirt, resting it over his heart. His skin is warm, familiar. The beating is slow.

“We should probably get that heart rate up,” I say lightly. “You could use the exercise.” I get up on my elbow, looking down into his beautiful face, his eyes fixed on a point beyond the tent that I can’t see. “Hey,” I whisper. When he slowly drags his gaze to mine, it’s lost and unfocused.

James and I have a million shared memories, but somehow I know that talking about his little-league games or the time he sliced open his foot on a rock isn’t going to snap him out of this. Instead I run my hand down his upper body and over his stomach, stopping when I get to the top of his jeans. And when I slip my hand inside them, his eyelids flutter and he takes a breath, but just a small one.

I think quickly, remembering that I don’t have any condoms. I doubt James brought any, and neither of us, right mind or not, would ever take a chance. Not in this world. But I want him. I want him to forget how sad he is.

“I love you,” I say, but James’s eyes are shut. I lean down and kiss softly at his lips, nearly stopping when he doesn’t respond. Then I kiss his neck, his chest. I undo his button as I kiss his stomach and then lower. And it isn’t until I feel his hand in my hair and hear him murmur my name breathlessly that I know I have him back—even if only for a second.

• • •

“Do you want me to build a fire?” I ask. James is wrapped tightly around me, his cheek against the back of my neck.

“No,” he says softly, holding me. “I just want to stay here with you.”

I smile a little and realize it’s the first real smile I’ve had since Miller died. The thought of him makes the happiness quickly fade. “Miller would want you to be okay,” I whisper.

James swallows hard and his arms loosen from around me. “I’m not well, Sloane,” James says. I turn and face him. His eyes are bloodshot, his chin growing stubbly.

“Don’t say that,” I tell him.

“I’m going to kill myself.”

My entire chest seizes up, and I grab James hard, pulling him toward me. “Don’t you dare!” I cry out. “I swear to God, James!” But I’m shaking so hard I’m not even sure he can understand my words. “Don’t leave me,” I sob. “Please don’t leave me here alone. Please.”

Slowly James puts his arms around me and guides me against his chest, brushing back my hair. “Sloane,” he says. “I can’t go into The Program. I don’t want to forget you, forget Brady.”

I pull back and look at him. “Do you think you’ll remember if you’re dead? You promised me, James. You promised forever.” Tears roll down my cheeks, and I expect him to wipe them and tell me it’s going to be okay.

Instead he tightens his arms, clinging to me silently as I rest beside him. But he didn’t agree to not kill himself.

“Please hold on,” I whisper. “Tell me you’ll hold on.”

His breath is warm against my skin. “I’ll try.”

We lie around in the tent until it’s dark, leaving only to get energy bars and water, and then later to use the bathroom. I don’t sleep all night, worried about what tomorrow will bring. Wondering if the old James will ever come back.

And when the sun rises again, I look over at him hopefully. He’s on his back, staring into nothing, and I know that he’s lost. And so am I.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

IT’S BEEN TWO WEEKS AND TWO DAYS SINCE MILLER died, but James is still not himself. I’m exhausted, keeping up our front, pretending to be okay. I do James’s homework, ripping out his pages of black spirals and instead writing in math logarithms. I walk him to his classes, making sure he doesn’t try to buy QuikDeath, always watching if anyone notices his change.

It’s clear they do. Other students avert their eyes when we pass, not wanting to be associated with us for the risk of getting flagged. I know time is running out, and so I overcompensate even more. I get louder with my laughter. Kiss James passionately in the hallway—even though he doesn’t respond. I’m starting to forget what he was like before. I’m starting to forget what we were like before.

Nearly a month after Miller’s death, our classes change for the semester. James ends up in my math class by some miracle—or maybe it’s the fact that our student population continues to dwindle. There have been two suicides since Miller. I notice an increase in handlers, including the one who watches me.