The Remedy (The Program 0.5)(26)

“I’m sure he’d love to hear that.”

Marie laughs and then reaches to pull me into a hug. I close my eyes, drinking her in, and when she lets go, I don’t allow myself to look at her again. In complete silence she walks out the door, and I close it, locking the dead bolt behind her.

* * *

After dinner, my family and I retire to the living room, where we watch my favorite show, one I’ve never seen before, and eat popcorn. They asked me to change out of my prom dress, so sitting on the couch in sweats and a T-shirt is actually relaxing, maybe even a little fun, as the three of us laugh at a few one-liners on the television. Although it’s full immersion, my father is still resistant and finds it impossible to say my name. We’ll have to work on that.

After telling them good night, I head to my room, drained from all the smiling and ready to think over my next steps for therapy. My room is starting to feel a bit more like mine, but I pause when I notice my computer on the desk.

I fidget, but then walk over to it and sit down. I open the screen, and sign in to my e-mail, checking for a message. My heart sinks when there’s no new note from Isaac, and I suppress my guilt and allow myself to think selfishly for a moment. Whether I truly know him or not, that picture of Isaac staring at me, that adoration . . . I want that. I want to know what it feels like to be someone’s world. And the devastated look in his eyes tonight, I want to know more about that, too. I want to know how to fix it.

I’m curious and anxious and inexplicably drawn to Isaac. And not just because of who I’ve become. I believe I can help him—save him, even. He can be my own personal case study. Closers have never dealt with a relationship like this, not that I know of. I’ll be the one to find out if role-play therapy can work. No, I’ll prove that it can. I don’t want to see Isaac locked away. I want to bring back his smile, show him he can have a full life, even after his loss. And maybe in exchange he can give me a look into what it’s like to be normal, to have a normal and perfectly average life.

Resolved, I consider contacting him. But it’s late, and I think it would be crossing a line, especially when he was so outspoken about not being involved in the therapy. Those seeking help approach us. We don’t chase them. I’ll have to give him time to come around. I believe he will.

I wait a minute longer, but without any word from him I close the screen. I take off my wig and brush it out, and then remove my contacts. When I’m stripped down to the studs, I click off the overhead light and climb into bed.

The ceiling fan swirls above me, the dangling string ticking against the glass. The grief-stricken sound of my father’s voice, the attentive manner of my mother, the entire night plays over in my head. And then there was Isaac. My existence disturbed him, upset him so much he left; he couldn’t bear the sight of me. How could you bring that thing in here?

Crushing loneliness spreads over me. I curl up on my side, hands tucked under my cheek. I hate this feeling. Closers rarely talk about their emotions; I guess we repress most of them. And we definitely don’t discuss the way people react to us. Imagine the confusion for the clients. Their reactions can switch from love to agony to hatred in a matter of moments. We’re everything they want and everything they hate to be reminded of. We’re a paradox.

And then there’s the backlash. People are afraid of us—I saw it in Isaac’s eyes tonight. I’m unrelatable and untouchable. I’m an abomination to them. A thing.

Right now, my soul feels paper thin. I’d give anything to talk to my dad, or Deacon, or Aaron. Hell, even Myra. But I’m alone in this. I close my eyes and search out a memory that will bring me comfort, make me feel loved.

I think of Anna Granger, my best friend all through junior high. We did everything together: shared classes and secrets. We even got our periods at the same time. I smile, thinking of the ridiculous picture of us at our ninth-grade semiformal, our dates in oversized suits and Anna and me with terribly cut bangs. We bailed before the end of the night and had our parents bring us to IHOP for pancakes. Anna and I were close enough to be sisters, and I miss her. I miss the thought of her.

Because I’ve never met Anna Granger. She belonged to someone else’s life.

CHAPTER NINE

I BLINK MYSELF AWAKE. THE blinds are open, letting in huge patches of unfiltered sunlight that fall across my bed. I turn to the clock on the side table, not surprised to find out it’s barely seven a.m. I open and close my jaw a few times, the muscles sore from smiling the night before. I can hear the kitchen sink running, the low murmur of a television. Seems my parents are early risers too.

I’m not quite ready to see them yet this morning, so I stand, moaning with my sleepy muscles. The wig is on my desk next to my computer, and I pick it up and brush my fingers through it again. Marie did a great job, but it still doesn’t feel right.

I drop the wig back onto the table and sit at the computer. The wallpaper startles me, the adoring picture with Isaac—so different from the way he treated me last night. I click open my e-mail and scan the messages. They’re mostly spam or people who don’t know I’ve died yet. They’re not part of this closure, so I don’t respond. They’ll find out sooner or later, I guess.

My computer dings, and my body tenses as I search for the blinking icon. Anxiety twists inside me the second I pull up the small screen and see Isaac’s image. He’s reaching out. There’s a short message: I DIDN’T SLEEP LAST NIGHT, he writes. Then a moment later: IT FEELS LIKE I’LL NEVER SLEEP AGAIN.