The Treatment (The Program #2)(77)

I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again.

“Let him give you the shot,” James whispers, leaning in closer. He slides his palm gently over my bruise to check it, and I wince. “I can’t kiss the pain better.”

“I’m sorry I pushed you,” Realm says quietly. “I did this.” I swallow hard, looking over at him. There’s a rush of affection, but I quickly squash it, refusing to let him in even a little bit. Because if I do, I don’t know how much of me he’ll take.

“Don’t be stupid,” James says to him, not unkindly. “You saved our lives. Now, Asa. Can you pass me back the needle?” I look pleadingly at James, but he shakes his head definitively. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.” We stare at each other, knowing he’s promised before. Maybe this is how we go on: making promises about things beyond our control to offer one more moment of hope. Hope—like Arthur Pritchard offered us, is sometimes enough to survive on.

So I nod, pushing up my shirtsleeve to give him access to my upper arm. Asa gives him the needle, and James looks all sorts of nervous as he takes off the cap and holds it up like he’s about to stab me. If my side didn’t hurt so badly, I’d laugh.

“Hold on,” Realm says, climbing back and snatching the needle out of James’s fist. “Jesus, you’re not trying to break through her breastplate.” Realm slides in between us, and this close to him I’m struck with grief. He’s taken off the handler’s jacket and is wearing a cotton T-shirt underneath instead. But his hair is still combed to the side, and I think he looks handsome. I hate him more for it.

“Here,” he says quietly, unable to meet my eyes this close.

He runs his fingers over my muscles, warm and gentle, and then grips the underside to lift my arm. “Take a breath,” he whispers, too kindly. Tears well up, and I press my lips together to keep from crying. I don’t want him here—I don’t want the pain and regret. I don’t want to love him and hate him at the same time.

There’s a pinch and a deep burn as he injects me, and I cry out. But it’s not the needle hurting me, and Realm knows that. When he removes the tip, I cover my face and continue to cry—cry for all I’ve lost in the past few months. The ways I’ve been violated and betrayed. They were going to lobotomize me!

Nothing will ever be right again. So I cry.

Realm gets up and James slides over, whispering I should let it out, as he helps me lie across his lap. I curl against him, my side still aching, and hiccup a few more whimpers. The Thorazine slowly works through me, coating me in contentment. This time I don’t fight against the calm.

“We’ll be at Evelyn’s in an hour, and Sloane can rest there,” Realm announces from the front, pausing before going on. “So long as the doctor lets us in.”

There’s the loud scrape of the metal door opening, and I’m startled awake. My side doesn’t hurt anymore—it feels stiff and full, and I imagine for a second that my midsection has hardened like petrified wood.

“Let’s get her to the back,” a woman’s voice says. The sound is raspy with a light German lilt. It must be Evelyn Valentine.

Strong hands slide under me, lifting me from the seat, and my head falls against James’s chest. I’m trying to wake up, but I can keep my eyes open for only a few seconds at a time as I battle the Thorazine.

“Is she suicidal?” the doctor asks.

“No.” It’s Realm who answers from next to me. I blink my eyes open and see the wood shingles of a small cottage as we approach the entryway. There are vines crawling up the sides like the house is trying to stay hidden in nature. “She’s upset, though,” Realm adds. “We almost didn’t get to her in time. The other one, Dallas, she needs your help.”

The doctor sighs, mumbling something I don’t understand.

I turn my head lazily to find her, but the scene is bouncing wildly as James carries me. It’s hard for me to catch my breath.

“Hello, dear.” Then she’s next to me: a tall, slender woman with glasses. She’s somewhere in her sixties with shaggy brown hair and a mole on the side of her nose. She smiles; her teeth are yellow and crowded, but her expression is genuine. I like her immediately.

“Don’t try to talk,” she says with an impatient wave of her hand. “You need to sleep off the drugs. I’m going to have a look at your side first, just to make sure you haven’t injured anything too badly.”

“Will she be okay?” James isn’t trying to be brave. He’s a wreck, and if I wasn’t the one being carried, I would want to hold him and tell him I’m fine, just so he wouldn’t have to be so scared.

“Oh, I think so,” the doctor says, and I feel her brush back my hair. My body shifts as James turns sideways to fit us through the doorway. We’re swallowed in darkness. The windows are covered, and from above us a light flicks on. “It looks like a nasty hematoma, but I’ll poke it a bit just to make sure.” She pats my arms to let me know she’s joking. “All right, put her in there.”

Cool sheets come up to meet me as James sets me on a small twin bed. I’m groggy, achy—but mostly I’m terrified to be alone with anyone but James. I grab his shirt to prevent him from leaving my side. He sits next to me on the bed, taking my hand and holding it to his lips.