The Program (The Program #1)(50)

“Sweetness,” Realm says. “It’s going to be okay.”

“No, it’s not,” I whisper. “I’ll forget everything. And then Roger—what about him? What will he do when I can’t fight him off ?”

Realm’s posture changes. “Roger won’t mess with you again. I promise. I won’t let him.”

“You won’t be here.”

Realm looks sideways at me, his expression deadly serious. “I’m giving you my word that I won’t let him. I don’t care what I have to do, he’ll never touch you again.” He sounds like he means it. Although I’m scared something might happen to him, Realm just smiles, making my worry evaporate.

Then he leans forward to put a soft kiss on my cheek, one that smells like breakfast, and goes back to eating.

• • •

Dr. Francis examines me again, and says that I’ve regained a pound. He’s pleased as he adjusts my medication dosage, saying that I’ve made such strides in my recovery that he can finally lower it. I want to believe him, but I don’t. Not when he still works for The Program.

After I’m checked over, he ushers me to Dr. Warren’s office. She looks happy to see me, her hair pulled into a high, girlish ponytail, her suit replaced with a colorful blouse.

“You look cheerful,” I mumble as I walk in. She smiles at this.

“Thought you could use a change. Do we need Marilyn today?” She slides the Dixie cup toward me.

“Yep.”

I can see her tense, but she just waves her hand and the nurse comes in, holding me still as she stabs me with the needle. It doesn’t take as long this time for my fight to go out. I think that the dose has been increased, and not scaled back like Dr. Francis promised. Either that or I have fewer memories for the medication to attach to.

I sink down in my chair. “What are you going to pick at today?” I ask.

“I’m just listening, Sloane. I’ve never done anything but listen.”

“Liar.”

She sighs. “Why do you love James so much?” she asks. “Is it because he reminds you of the time you spent with your brother?”

“No. It’s because he’s hot.” I laugh, resting my head back against the chair. She’s the crazy one if she thinks I’m going to tell her.

“Would it hurt if I told you that James didn’t love you?”

I glare at her. “What?”

“I’ve been through James’s files, and he told his counselor that he felt obligated to take care of you. That he wanted to save you because you were so unwell, and he didn’t want you to die like your brother.”

She can’t be telling me the truth—James was probably just trying to protect me from them. And yet Dr. Warren’s words are like a punch in the heart.

“James loved me,” I hiss. “And your twisted lies won’t change that.”

“How do you know that, Sloane? When did you realize that he truly loved you? That you loved him?”

“Like I’m going to tell you,” I scoff.

Dr. Warren nods, and then raises her hand to Marilyn. “Another dose, please.”

“Wait, what—”

There’s pain in my arm as Marilyn gives me another shot. “You can’t do that,” I say, scared of overdosing, of dying in this facility.

“Sloane, we will do whatever we have to. We’re trying to save your life and stop the spread of an epidemic. Now please cooperate or we’re going to have to take you to an examination room.”

The threat of the exam room truly frightens me. What will they do? Cut open my head? I glare at Dr. Warren and rub my arm.

“Okay,” I say. “Okay.”

Marilyn leaves and Dr. Warren settles in with my file, ready to write down what I say. I consider lying, but then a wave crashes over me that makes me too weak to be dishonest.

“James had dated girls before me, quite a few actually,” I start. “So when we became a couple out in the open, some of those girls tried to say it was because my brother was dead. The same crap you’re saying now. Of course, they didn’t know that we’d been seeing each other before—but I was too ashamed to tell anyone. Not after keeping it a secret from Brady.

“My brother had only been gone a few weeks when my parents sat me down for a talk. They said they were worried about me, but I was doing fine. Far better than they were. Then they told me that they were concerned about me getting involved with James—that two people who suffered a tragedy shouldn’t be together because it increases the risk of suicide. I then pointed out that maybe they shouldn’t be together.”

My mother slapped me that night. I can still feel the sting on my cheek. I felt terrible for what I said, but I never apologized. Now I probably never will because I won’t remember.

“I left then,” I tell Dr. Warren. “I got in the car and drove straight to James’s house. It was after ten when his dad opened the door, clearly pissed.”

I remember Mr. Murphy’s face, how closed off he was.

“Sorry, Sloane,” he said. “No visitors this late.” He looked a lot like James, only bigger, heavier. Colder.

Tears had stung my eyes. “But it’s important.”

He bristled. “Listen, I’ve talked with James about this. The two of you . . . I’m not in favor of it.” Mr. Murphy reached to put his hand on my shoulder. “I think you’re a great girl, Sloane,” he said. “And I loved your brother. But you and my son can’t heal when you’re constant reminders of death to each other. Go home, honey,” Mr. Murphy said. “I’m sure your parents are worried.”