The Treatment (The Program #2)(65)

Chapter Four

WHEN I WAKE UP THE NEXT MORNING, THERE’S A sharp pain in my head as if I’ve been smacked with a ham-mer. My hands fly up to feel for any incision, as if the doctors had given me a lobotomy while I slept. There’s nothing but the knots of my hair.

My hands. I look down, surprised to see I’m no longer fastened to the bed. I hold up my arms, seeing the red marks and bruises on my wrists still there, but I’m grateful to be free.

There’s an ache in my chest, a deep dread. I have to tell Dallas about Realm, everything about him. From their past together to the part where he’s a handler; a filthy liar. The part where I hate him.

I glance around the room, remembering how Asa took me to that awful place with the lobotomized patients to see Arthur Pritchard drooling on himself. What exactly does the handler think I can do about it? If it was that easy to escape, others would have gotten out. I’m trapped, and I’m not sure if the knowledge Asa gave me is hurting or helping me.

To keep my sanity, I run through the chronology of my life—or, at least, my life after The Program. James and I met at the Wellness Center the day after I returned. He was mean to me on and off until he became more on. He stuck up for me, including a few times when Realm crossed a line. Realm . . .

I swallow hard and shake my head to keep from screaming.

I’m burning up with fury, but that kind of emotion isn’t going to help. I need to think clearly. I have to figure a way out. But no sooner does the rage come that it’s replaced with a shock of warmth spreading over my chest. The medication must contain an inhibitor that settles my frazzled nerves. I remember it from my first days after The Program.

Without supervision I climb down from the bed, moving slowly to test my limbs, afraid to make any sudden movements.

When I’m steady, I change into the fresh set of scrubs that were laid out on my bed. I leave my room, tentative and anxious, looking over my shoulder. There are voices down the hall, and I head in that direction.

There’s a waiting room, a smaller version of the leisure room. There are four other patients in there, watching the television mounted on the wall—an infomercial on The Program, it looks like—and two others sitting by the window and staring. I see that one of them is Lacey.

I smile reflexively but then temper my expression down as I approach her. I don’t want to scare her. I pause. Can I scare her?

Will she even know what’s going on? I crush the heartache that comes along with that thought.

“Hi,” I say in a scratchy voice when I’m standing next to her. Lacey continues to stare out the window without any noticeable reaction to my words. I check for a scar, but I don’t see one. I’m not sure how they perform lobotomies; I never really thought to research it.

Suddenly Lacey turns to me. She drifts her gaze over my features, and her lips part slowly. “Is it time for breakfast?” she asks in a too-soft voice. Deep sadness burrows through my chest, but I try my best to smile.

“Not yet,” I tell her kindly.

“Oh.” She turns back to the window, her thoughts seemingly a gentle breeze in her mind, no urgency, no fear, no anxiety. I try to think of what I can say, what I can tell her to let her know that I care about her. I’m so sorry I didn’t save her from The Program. I’m so sorry this happened to her.

“Sloane?” The sound of Nurse Kell’s voice startles me, and I glance over my shoulder to where she stands in the doorway. Her expression is steeped in suspicion, and when she calls my name again, scolding me like a child, I know my time with Lacey is up.

“I’ll talk to you soon,” I say to my friend, trying to com-municate in my tone that I hope to see her again. She offers one more uninterested look and then goes back to enjoying the view of the courtyard instead.

My heart is heavy as I approach Nurse Kell. I wilt under the accusation in her expression and quickly try to explain. “I didn’t know where to go when I woke up,” I tell her as soon as I’m close enough. “You weren’t there.”

She takes my arm to lead me from the room. “Asa should have left you restrained then. Sloane, you aren’t ready to interact with the other patients yet. You’re a threat to them.” I turn to Nurse Kell as we walk back toward the prison of my room. “Are you going to tie me down?” I ask, finding it impossible to control the rage bubbling up. “Because I thought I was being pretty cooperative so far.”

“Oh, honey,” she says in a patronizing voice. “You are. But it’s just not healthy for the other patients to interact with you.

You’re still too sick. You can start a whole new epidemic in here.

Give it another week. The time will fly.” In a week I’ll be lobotomized. Nurse Kell must know this, and yet she’s talking to me like I should be thankful. Any cama-raderie she’d tried to build evaporates right then. I gnash my teeth together, saying nothing.

“I left your breakfast in your room,” she says. “I thought you’d be more comfortable there.” She stops just outside my door and motions for me to enter ahead of her. I see the metal tray on a rolling cart next to my bed. The food is covered with tan plastic bowls to keep it warm. I think back to something Lacey once told me—that they put sedatives in the food. I’m starving right now—ravenous really. Can I handle a little bit of medication to get some nutrients? Is it worth the risk?