The Program (The Program #1)(39)

“No, I . . .” But I stopped, feeling jealous. “Whose ring is this?”

James laughed and then sat down next to me, his thigh pressed against mine as he reached to pluck the ring from my hand. “You shouldn’t snoop,” he murmured.

“You’re not going to answer?”

He looked sideways. “It’s for you, stupid,” he said with a smile. “I got it for you.”

I stared at him, trying to decide if he was telling the truth, but then he took the ring from my hand and slid it onto my finger. James leaned forward, pausing when he got really close to me. “Can we kiss now?” he asked. “Is that okay?”

I close my eyes as I sit across from Dr. Warren, remembering how warm James’s mouth was on mine, how his tongue touched my lips before I opened them, letting him in. Letting him lay me back on the blanket as his mouth found mine, again and again, always gentle, yet urgent.

I’ll never feel that passion from James again. I’ll never be that girl again. Tears start to stream down my cheeks as I cry, missing James. Missing myself. I wish everything could just go back to the way it was, but instead I’m slowly losing everything—I’m witnessing my own death.

Dr. Warren doesn’t say anything, but she hands me the yellow pill. I take it gratefully, wanting to sleep. Wanting to feel better.

But never wanting to forget.

• • •

“Wakey, wakey,” a voice whispers in my ear.

My eyelids feel heavy as I try to lift them, and when I turn to the voice I feel warm breath on my face.

“You’ve been out too long, Miss Barstow. They asked me to come retrieve you.”

My eyes fly open, and I see the dark-haired handler leaning over my bed. I reach out to push him away, but he catches my wrists. “Don’t fight,” he soothes. “I’m not going to hurt you. I only like the willing.”

I yank my arm from his, accidently hitting myself in the mouth. I wince and touch at my lip, seeing a bit of blood there.

The handler tsks. “You should be more careful.” He walks over to my closet and pulls out a clean pair of scrubs and my robe, laying it over the bed. “Help you get dressed?”

“Hell no,” I say, sitting up in the bed. “And I’m pretty sure this is sexual harassment.”

He smiles. “How so?”

I’m not sure if making my skin crawl is enough of a reason to file charges, but I won’t mind taking the chance. “Get out or I’ll call Nurse Kell,” I say, motioning to the door.

The handler shrugs. “If you want.” He starts walking that way and then stops, looking back at me. “But what if I can offer you something?”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Not even a memory?”

I pause, but then push back the blankets to climb out of the bed. “What do you mean?”

The handler beams under my attention. “If I can save you a memory, something you could take out of here with you, would it be worth it?”

I swallow down the sick feeling in my stomach. “Would what be worth it?”

His eyes narrow deviously then, scanning over my body. I instinctively fold my arms over my chest and step back from him. “Being friends,” he says, but the tone is nothing short of sinister.

“Just leave,” I snap, pointing behind him.

He nods, not looking fazed in the least. “You think about it, Sloane. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“Drop dead.”

He opens the door, but as he walks out, he says nonchalantly, “Wonder how much you’ve lost already.” And then he’s gone.

I stand there, staring at the closed door. What I’ve lost? I look suddenly to my hand, but the finger is naked. The purple heart ring that I always wear is at home in my mattress. I wouldn’t forget that. James gave it to me when . . . I stop, thinking. A spike of fear rushes over me. He gave it when . . . Oh, God.

I cover my mouth, realizing for the first time that a memory is gone. I stumble back against my bed, my mind racing over everything I can think of. The ring. How did I get the ring?

There’s a quick knock at the door. I’m sure it’s the handler, so I yell out for him to go away. The door opens, and Dr. Francis is standing there, his eyebrows pulled together.

“Sloane,” he says carefully, “Roger said he couldn’t get you to come out of your room. Is something the matter?”

Yes, there is so much the matter that I wouldn’t know where to start. But I can’t turn in Roger for being a creep. Not yet. Not in case he can help me. I clear my throat and straighten, putting on a calm exterior. Let’s see if Dr. Francis can call bullshit.

“He woke me up and I was cranky,” I say. “I think my medication is too strong.”

Dr. Francis purses his lips as if thinking this over. “Maybe you just need to get used to the dosage.”

“Maybe,” I respond, my voice bitter. He nods then, stepping away from the door.

“It’s time for lunch, and the staff is concerned that you’re not eating enough. Nurse Kell tells me you’ve lost four pounds since arriving.”

“No fast food,” I respond. “Bring on the chicken nuggets, and I’ll eat the hell out of them.”

He laughs then, looking relieved that I can make a lame joke after all. “I’ll see what I can do,” he says. “And I’ll adjust your medication dosage. We want you to feel comfortable. I know this is a difficult transition.”