The Remedy (The Program 0.5)(63)

He closed them, not letting me see. Hiding. But I knew him too well, could feel his pain. And his pain was my pain.

I got on my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his, my fingers sliding into his hair, my body against his. Deacon went completely still, letting me move my mouth over his without any response. There was a flutter of a touch at my hip, but just as my heart began to beat again, he turned his face away, breaking our kiss. He put his fingers over his lips like they hurt.

I fell back a step, wholly rejected. When Deacon finally looked at me again, the mischief was gone from his eyes. Instead his expression was deadened. Cold and uncaring. I’d never, ever seen him look at anything the way he stared back at me. Like I was a stranger, invisible. Like I meant absolutely nothing to him. “Quinlan,” he said, “I’ve moved on. I want you to do the same.”

A sharp pain broke across my chest, and my lips started to quiver. I sniffled hard, but the tears brimmed over and streaked down my cheeks anyway. I took another step back, putting my hand over my heart. Feeling it break into a million pieces.

“You should go,” Deacon said simply. “This isn’t good for you. It’s over. It never should have started.”

I tried to read the lie in his expression, I begged for it, but it wasn’t there. No hints of hidden truths—blotchy skin, shifty eyes—nothing. He looked straight at me, reducing me to ash. Not even a week ago we’d been in his bed and he’d been drawing a tattoo in black pen across my bare back, kissing my neck at every pause. If I looked in the mirror, the faded design would still be there. And I didn’t mean to ask; I don’t even know why it came out.

“Don’t you love me?” I murmured, warm tears rushing over my lips. Deacon didn’t flinch or show any emotion at all. He held my gaze.

“No.”

I stilled, my face and extremities going numb. My broken and betrayed heart stopped beating. We had never said those words before, but I did love him—thought I did, at least. But you can’t be in love with someone who doesn’t feel the same way. That’s not real love.

The world went fuzzy around me, and before I could break completely, I turned and started down the hall, my boots echoing loudly on the floor. I heard Deacon’s door shut, and my legs weakened. He didn’t try to come after me. I flattened my palm against the cracked plaster wall, steadying myself. Trying to hold back the sobs that would wreck me. Somehow I made it down the stairs and out the front door.

There was no way I could drive my car in that state. I took out my phone, my arm wrapped around my stomach, holding myself up as I hunched over. I dialed, and when my father answered, I cracked at the sound of his voice.

“Dad,” I said in a choking voice, “can you come get me?”

He did. Seeing me that broken down is why my father doesn’t want me around Deacon anymore. He’s afraid he’ll keep hurting me. He’s right. That’s why Deacon and I can’t be together. Because even if he wanted to, Deacon would never let himself love me. And I deserve better than that.

* * *

I set my phone on the side table, Deacon’s betrayal sticking to my skin. At this point, my jealousy over the journal entry has faded to a dull irritation. But I don’t want these feelings anymore. I get out of bed and grab the pages from the floor on my way to the closet. I stash them up on a high shelf so I won’t be tempted to read them again. Your life is over, Catalina, I think, turning away. It’s my turn now.

My backpack is on the floor, and I kneel next to it and rummage through until I find the picture of me that Deacon drew. I don’t unfold it. I crumple the paper into a tight ball. I stand, walk over, and drop it into the wastebasket under my desk. There is an instant of regret, but I block it out. I go to the side table and grab my phone. I click my settings and delete all of my apps, not knowing which is used to track me. I just get rid of all of them.

No one will follow me anymore. I drop the phone onto the table and climb back into bed and under the sheets. I shut off the light and close my eyes, waiting a minute for my old emotions to fade, and then let the night settle over me. I touch my lips, imagining Isaac’s on mine. Imagining him at my ear, telling me he loves me. I beg him to say it again. And again. He whispers it against my skin until I fall asleep.

* * *

I sleep in, missing breakfast entirely. I wake up feeling refreshed, though, excited for the day. My skin is alive, and I note the glow it seems to have when I look in the mirror. I cover my freckles and put on a new outfit that my mother picked out and head to the kitchen to find my parents.

Both of them are there, content in my presence, and they ask if I’d like to do anything fun today—as if I’m on an extended vacation while everyone else is at school. My father even took time off. I walk over to the patio doors and glance at the sky—not a cloud in sight. I smile and tell them it’s going to be a perfect day.

We decide to pack up some hot dogs and burgers and head to the river to cook out for lunch. My father asks if he should hitch up the boat, but I tell him he doesn’t have to. We’ll just hang out by the water and soak up the rays of the sun.

I pack a bag with my swimsuit and a change of clothes. I grab sunscreen and a book I’ve never seen before off the shelf. I take a quick moment to open my computer and send Isaac a message of where I’ll be. I tell him I got a new phone, and I give him the old number. Now that it’s not traceable, I can take it with me. I walk over to grab it and immediately a message pops up. I smile.