The Program (The Program #1)(33)

“Why?” Dr. Warren leans her elbows on the desk.

“I was there,” I say, trying to explain. “If I knew how to swim . . .”

“Does James feel guilty too?”

“Yes.” I remember how many nights I held James’s head in my lap, watching him cry. Listening to him tell me that he’d let Brady down. Let me down. I hate the image and I try to push it away, but it’s stuck on a continuous loop that I can’t stop. Like how I can’t stop myself from telling the doctor this, even though I don’t want to. I’m compelled to spill my guts—my ravaged, emotional guts.

“So you both took the blame,” she says. “Took the loss hard. I bet that built quite a bond between you and James. Is that how you got together?”

“No. We’d started dating before that.”

The doctor leans forward. “Tell me about it.”

Even though something in my head tells me not to talk about him, my emotions overwhelm me. I miss him, and I want to remember what it was like before. For the first time in so long, I’m allowed to cry. I’m allowed to let it out. So I close my eyes and lean my head back into the chair.

And I tell her about the first time I realized I had feelings for James.

“Let me get this straight,” the doctor says when I finish. “James tried to avoid the relationship at first?”

“Passive-aggressively, yes. We both loved my brother and didn’t want to piss him off.”

“Then how did you go from that to a relationship?”

“It took a while,” I say, glancing at her. “Even that first day was confusing. After we’d gotten back to camp, it was awkward. Horrible. I figured it’d pass eventually. Then that night, the three of us got into our tent, Brady on one side of me, James on the other. It was a huge tent, and Brady was curled away from us. But James lay right at my side, his arm nearly, but not quite, touching mine.

“It felt like forever. All I could hear was his breathing, my breathing. I tried to close my eyes, but my body was tingling. I sensed him looking at me, and swallowed hard, wishing I could be asleep already. And just then, his hand brushed mine, so lightly, it was like nothing at all. I hitched in a breath and turned sideways, only to find him staring back.” I smile. “His blue eyes were so confused, and I thought he was going to kiss me.”

“Did he?” Dr. Warren asks.

I shake my head. “Nope. Instead he swore and then climbed up, grabbing his sleeping bag and his backpack. He unzipped the tent flap and went outside. He ended up sleeping in the car that night.”

Dr. Warren pulls her eyebrows together. “Why would he do that? Were you upset?”

“Well, I definitely didn’t sleep well. I felt guilty and embarrassed. Later James told me that when he touched me, when I looked at him, he got a hard-on.” I laugh.

“So he’s a romantic?” Dr. Warren grins.

“That’s just James. He actually meant it as a compliment. But he was set on not liking me. So he went to sleep in the car. He was hoping I hadn’t noticed—which I didn’t. I wish I had, though, because I spent the next few weeks feeling miserable. Like I’d done something wrong.”

The timer on her desk goes off, and Dr. Warren smiles at me again. “Fascinating story, Sloane. I hope tomorrow I can hear more.”

I nod, feeling decent for the first time in weeks. Talking about James helped, as if he were here with me—the old James. The one I’ve missed so desperately. Although it might be naive, for a second I think it’ll be okay. That maybe Dr. Warren really does want to help me.

“Wait,” she says, handing me a Dixie cup. I glance inside and see a yellow pill. “Take this, Sloane.”

“But—”

“It’ll help the feeling last longer,” she says, and smiles. I don’t want to go back to the misery I felt when I walked in here, so I swallow it and leave.

As I’m walking down the hallway, heading back to my room, I feel a wave of dizziness. I rest my palm on the cool tile of the wall to balance myself. A streak of fear races through me. Oh, no. What was in that pill? I touch my forehead, thinking back on the session. But as I search my memories, I become disoriented and the world seems to tip sideways.

A hand touches my elbow. “Let’s get you back to your room, Miss Barstow.”

I look over to see the dark-haired handler, a sinister smile on his lips. I yank my arm out of his grip. “Leave me alone.”

“Now, now,” he says, teasingly. “Let’s not be difficult. I can restrain you again.”

But I’m not going to let him intimidate me. Threaten me. The Program can’t have me. So I swing out my arm, punching the left side of his jaw. He immediately recovers and twists my hand up behind my back, cursing under his breath as he slams me against the wall. When there’s a sudden pinch in my arm, the sedative, I laugh. “I don’t care how many drugs you and the doctors give me,” I say. “I’ll never let you take my memories.”

The handler leans in, his breath warm on my ear. “You stupid girl,” he whispers. “We already have.”

And then I sleep.

CHAPTER THREE

I’M IN MY CHAIR BY THE WINDOW AGAIN, THE SAME one I’ve sat in for three days. The sky is overcast and I’m glad. It’s a bitter feeling, something like “if I can’t be happy, no one should.” I wonder what James is doing, but then I push the thought away, remembering that he doesn’t know me anymore.