The Program (The Program #1)(45)

I wonder if Roger has offered her the pill. I want to ask her, but how can I ask something like that? And what if he hasn’t? She could turn me in and get me sent away for longer.

I miss Realm. I hope that Roger was telling me the truth when he said that Realm would come back soon. What if they’re hurting him? Oh, God. What if they’re erasing me from his memory?

Just then I see Nurse Kell walk into the room, and I jump up to go talk to her. She looks alarmed and then pleased that I sought her out.

“Hello, Sloane, honey. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes. But . . . is Realm okay?”

She smiles, reminding me again of a grandmother. “Michael Realm is just fine. He’s cooling off with Dr. Warren right now. He won’t be sleeping in the wards tonight, I’m afraid. But I hope he’ll rejoin us tomorrow.”

I almost burst out crying. “Will he remember me?” I ask in a small voice.

Nurse Kell shakes her head as if it’s a silly question. “Of course. Why wouldn’t he?”

I let out a held breath, but I still can’t stand it. How they all act as if there’s nothing wrong going on here. As if they’re not erasing our minds. “Thank you” is all I can manage as I head out of the room and into the hallway.

• • •

I skip out on the card game, and sit in my room playing solitaire instead, with a pack of cards Nurse Kell lent me. I listen to the hall, hoping to hear Realm’s laugh. I dread seeing Roger walk by, or worse, stop in. But the place is quiet.

I fall asleep easily, even without swallowing the pills Nurse Kell brings me. When I wake up, I have an early-morning appointment with Dr. Warren, but I take the long way around and go by Realm’s room. He’s still not back.

I go inside Dr. Warren’s office, and she beams like she’s thrilled to see me. “Sloane,” she says. “You’re looking well today.”

I know she’s lying because I haven’t showered or even bothered checking my reflection. I did take a hot washcloth and wipe my neck to clean everywhere that Roger’s mouth touched me. I scrubbed it so raw that it left a rash on my skin. I see Dr. Warren’s eyes flick to the spot, but she doesn’t mention it.

“Before we start . . .” She slides the cup with the red pill toward me, but I shake my head.

“I don’t need it. Thank you.”

She smiles. “You will take the pill, Sloane. We’ve already been over this.”

I know from what Roger told me that the pill helps isolate memories, highlights them to be taken later. I don’t want to put it in my mouth. I want to crush it under my socked heel.

“Have we?” I say. “Maybe I don’t remember.”

Dr. Warren’s jaw tightens. “Follow procedures if you want to be released.”

“I’m not taking it,” I shoot back. What should be doctorly advice from her feels more like a threat. My anger starts to bubble over.

“Last chance,” she says, leveling her gaze on mine.

I lean toward her. “I’m not taking the f**king pill, okay?”

Dr. Warren doesn’t even flinch. She sits back calmly in her leather chair. “Marilyn,” she calls behind me. A large woman in a white nurse’s uniform stalks in, a needle poised in her hand. I barely have time to register what’s going on before I feel it pierce the skin on my upper arm.

“What is this?” I yell, jumping up from the chair.

“Calm down,” Dr. Warren soothes, not even looking a little sorry. “It’s the same dose. But I told you, you will take the medication one way or another. Voluntarily is just the least painful.” Dr. Warren looks at the nurse. “Get the other needle ready for after the session.”

I stand there, clutching my arm and feeling helpless. I’m so violated, so angry, that I think I might completely lose it right now.

“Today,” Dr. Warren says, ignoring my obvious fury, “I want to talk about you and James after your brother’s death. How you became so codependent.”

“We’re not codependent, you bitch. We love each other.”

She looks me over thoughtfully, content to wait until I’m fully compliant. Already I can feel the drug coursing through my veins, and I sway on my feet, knowing it won’t be long until I’m at its mercy. Telling her all of my secrets.

When I collapse back into the chair, my limbs light and my head hazy, I start talking.

“James and I dated secretly for two months,” I say, my temple resting against the fabric. “It was tough keeping it from Brady. James slept over all the time, and each night he’d slip out of Brady’s room at three in the morning and climb into my bed. We’d kiss and whisper, James always making me laugh. I didn’t want to hide how I felt about him, but I knew it wouldn’t go over well. Not with Brady. Not with our parents. So we spent time like that, lying in each other’s arms and talking about leaving Oregon.”

“Were you having sex?” Dr. Warren asks, making notes in her file.

“No. I mean, we could have, I guess. But we didn’t.” I smile to myself. “We just made out a whole lot.”

I let my eyes close, feeling distant. “After Brady died, James was torn up with guilt. I was worse. If I’d known how to swim, maybe I could have saved him. He was my brother and I didn’t even see the signs. I wondered if it was because I was too involved with James. If he was too involved with me. For that first week, James and I stayed far away from each other. I couldn’t even look at him.”