The Remedy (The Program 0.5)(46)

I stand up in my darkened room, out of breath and with sore arms. Well, I won’t be doing that again. I look toward the door and see that it’s still closed; my pillow is still tucked under the sheet like a sitcom setup. My hoodie is wet, and it feels great to peel it off my skin, lay it over my desk chair to dry. Now, in the quiet of my room, the end of the night settles over me. But mostly the final moments I shared with Isaac. Using the dim light from outside the window, I find and change into my pajamas, thinking about Isaac. I wonder if his idea of me is altered after tonight.

I’m still wired from the night out, and I know I should wash up before getting in bed, but I’m afraid the noise will wake my parents. So I grab a couple of makeup remover wipes and rub them over my face. My hair will dry crunchy from the drink my sister threw at me, but hopefully the rain washed most of it out. I check my phone, but it’s dead, so I plug it in and grab my laptop from the desk before climbing into bed to get under the covers.

In a moment I’m toasty warm. On a soft mattress with overstuffed pillows, surrounded by a nicely decorated room that smells like fresh laundry. I’m comfortable, and I consider the difference between this house and my own. This room feels permanent, and not because it’s not allowed to be changed, like my room. A person lived here, lives here. This is a home.

I open my computer and click around the different sites, checking in on what I’ve missed. I want to send Deacon an apology message, but he’s not much into e-mail. And the situation is too complicated to explain via text. I’ll have to call him in the morning.

A message flashes on the bottom of my screen, followed by the quiet ding. I click it, sending the message up to the middle of my screen. I let out a held breath when I see it’s Isaac.

I REALLY AM SORRY FOR THE WAY I’VE TREATED YOU, he writes. His words repair the small hole torn in my soul tonight, and I smile with the relief.

THANK YOU, I return. THAT REALLY MEANS A LOT. I should say more, but I’m afraid of ruining the moment. The screen tells me he’s writing, and then another message pops up.

I’VE BEEN REALLY LONELY, he writes. NO ONE UNDERSTANDS. THEY THINK I SHOULD BE OVER IT ALREADY, OR THEY WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT ENDLESSLY. I DON’T WANT EITHER OF THOSE THINGS. BUT TONIGHT, YOU MADE ME SEE HOW ALONE I AM.

I PROMISE YOU—IT WILL GET BETTER. TIME WILL MAKE IT BETTER.

YOU MADE IT A LITTLE BETTER.

My breath catches, and I glance around the dark room as if worried someone is watching. They’re not, of course—the only sign of life coming from the glow of my computer screen. But I feel guilty nonetheless. My fingers are poised over the keys, but I have no idea how to respond to his statement. I don’t want to give him the wrong idea. I’m not his replacement girlfriend. I have to answer, though.

I’M GLAD, I write. Good thing this isn’t my everyday life or he would think I’m completely boring. I’m glad. Really? I exhale, figuring we’re done for the night. But he sends another message, and this one makes my heart soar.

DO YOU WANT TO HAVE LUNCH TOMORROW? he asks. I CAN PICK YOU UP AT NOON.

I rest back against my pillows, torn on how to proceed. This is therapy, I remind myself. There’s nothing to feel bad about. But I call myself out on my bullshit. I’m happy that he asked me, and I want to go. To be perfectly honest, I just want to be around him. I liked how it felt tonight. I even liked being honest.

OKAY, I answer, heat immediately flooding my cheeks. SEE YOU THEN. I click off the screen and slam my computer shut, my body pulsing with electricity. I set the computer on my nightstand and slide back under the covers in the dark. I curl up on my side, my hands folded under my cheek. Normally I don’t let myself fantasize on assignment; I keep my imagination reined in. But tonight I let my mind wander.

I imagine a different time, a different person. Isaac is there. He murmurs how much he loves me, leans in to kiss my lips softly. My fingers trail over his skin, and I stretch my leg over his thigh to press us closer.

I ache for him. Ache for him to love me like he loved her.

I have no more thoughts of closers and assignments. I drift off to sleep dreaming that I’m Catalina Barnes, lost in love with Isaac Perez.

* * *

“Catalina?” a soft voice calls from somewhere far away. My eyelids are heavy, and it takes me a moment to get them to stay open. My mother’s voice calls me again from the hallway.

“I’m awake,” I mumble, hopefully loud enough for her to hear.

“Breakfast, honey,” she says cheerfully, followed by the sound of her footsteps echoing down the hall.

Confused, I glance toward my alarm clock, surprised to see that it’s after nine a.m. I can’t remember the last time I slept through my internal alarm. I roll over, still tempted by the comfort of my sheets. I lie there a minute, and then I remember what I was thinking about before I fell asleep. Sure enough, in the light of day I’m ashamed. There has to be a rule about coveting your assignment’s boyfriend. Hell, coveting her life. I sit up and throw off my sheets.

A morning chill runs over my arms, and I rub my skin with my palms. Now’s not the time to psychoanalyze myself, so I get dressed. I grab a sweatshirt from the closet and I pull it over my head. I didn’t take out my contacts last night, and my eyes are itchy, but I don’t have time to clean them now. Instead I grab a small tube of eye drops and drip liquid into each eye.

“Oh God,” I say, blinking away the artificial tears as a new worry sets in. I agreed to go out to lunch with Isaac today. I didn’t consider the implications, think about what I’d tell my parents. Maybe there’s still time to cancel. I turn around, lean against the desk. My mind is swirling so fast, I can’t make sense of anything. I put my hand over my forehead and squeeze my eyes shut.