The Program (The Program #1)(27)

I think about going over there, introducing myself, but something holds me back. In my head, I know that Lacey doesn’t remember me, and yet, I hope that James will. So if I confirm that Lacey doesn’t know me . . . what does that mean? I’m clinging to an unlikely expectation, but it’s the only thing keeping me going. Every day I feel myself slip more and more, but I’m holding on. I’m holding on for James.

I wonder if Lacey even knows Miller is dead, if somewhere inside she misses him. Misses all of us. Can The Program take away our emotions, or do they always remain—only without a source?

On the other side of the room, a group of girls—including Kendra Phillips—are giggling and drinking Diet Cokes while sitting at a round table. I make my way over, casting another glance at the handler who seems to have noticed me, before sitting down with the girls.

They smile kindly, none of them remembering me as they keep talking, gossiping about boys, clothes, stuff that I can’t even fathom caring about. But I’ve become a pretty good actress, so I laugh at the right moments, roll my eyes when it’s needed. Inside, my heart hurts, but I cry only when I’m alone, on a long drive out in the country after leaving the center. No one is there to wipe my tears and tell me it’ll be okay.

For three weeks I follow this pattern: Laugh, cry, laugh, cry. I’ve become numb, uncomfortably so. But it’s the only way I can survive the time. When I finally get my cast off, I’m relieved as I stare down at my pale arm. James would have been so concerned if he’d seen me bandaged up the minute he got back. I hope he hurries.

The days tick slowly by.

• • •

I’m sitting at the table, painting my nails a horrid shade of pink as the girls talk about Evan Freeman—how he and Lacey are a thing. I don’t react, pretending I don’t know either of them. The door of the center opens, a soft jingle from the bells attached at the top.

I’m concentrating on painting the nail of my ring finger, gazing at the purple heart there. I’m about to move on to the next nail when I realize that the room has gone quiet. Finally. They’ve finally come for me.

Exhausted, I glance up, sure it’s a handler to take me to The Program. But instead, the floor feels like it’s dropped out from underneath me. There are handlers in their stiff white coats, but they’re not alone. In between them, with a newly shaved head, is James. He’s wearing a short-sleeved polo shirt, and I can see, even from here, the white marks on his arm. The tattoos have been removed, Miller’s name stitched up.

James’s eyes scan the room, curious but not intense. Not the way he usually looks at things. They don’t even pause on me.

He’s back. My James is back. This is the only reason I didn’t die. This is the moment that kept me going.

James.

They walk him to a chair near the vending machines where a couple of guys sit, playing a game of cards. The handlers are letting James have his first bit of social interaction here at the Wellness Center where it can be monitored. He sits, not saying a word to the people at the table.

The handlers don’t look at me, seemingly unaware of my and James’s past. I wonder if that’s true, or if they’re trying not to draw his attention to me. Either way, I’m thankful that the dark-haired handler isn’t here.

I run my eyes over my boyfriend’s clothes. He looks smaller, as if he’s lost weight while he was gone. I don’t like that they took away his beautiful golden hair, but it’ll grow back.

I ache to touch him.

I watch his slow movements, my heart pounding, adrenaline racing through my veins. The girls around me start talking again, but it’s quieter, as if they can sense my change. I wait for the right moment to approach James. I won’t let anyone keep him from me. I have to get close and make him see me. He’ll be fine. He survived and now he’s back. It’s me and him forever.

Just then James pushes the cards away and stands, murmuring something to the handlers like he wants to leave. Panic explodes in my chest. He can’t leave yet.

I jump up, nearly knocking over my soda as James turns to leave. He’s flanked on either side by handlers as they head to the door, but I have to find a way to get his attention. If he can just see me, I know he’ll remember. He’ll ask if I’m checking him out. He’ll laugh. He’ll remember, I know it.

I think about what he would do if he were me. He’d be reckless. Sort of smartassish. I slide off my plastic purple ring and take aim. I wind up and shoot it, pegging James in the back of his shaved head. He stops, rubbing the spot. The handlers keep going, walking out the front door as the ring ricochets across the room, landing near the desk.

Slowly, James turns around, looking for whoever hit him. I’m in the middle of the room, not trying to hide the fact that it was me. His blue eyes glide over me, and I feel like he knows. I kiss my fingers and hold them up in a wave. Waiting.

James stares for a second and then rubs at his head again, as if it still stings. Then without smiling, without reacting at all, he turns and leaves the Wellness Center.

There’s a knot in my stomach, one that’s tightening. I hope that James will rush back in and acknowledge me, but when he doesn’t, it’s like my heart stops beating. Emptiness, deep and dark, swallows me whole. A tear slides down my cheek, but I don’t bother wiping it. Why should I? Why should I even care?