“Which arm?” Realm snarls.
“Don’t do this, Michael,” Roger says. “You’ll expose us all.”
Realm punches him hard in the face again, breaking his nose, sending blood in a splatter on the white wall. “Which arm did you touch her with?” Realm demands. When Roger doesn’t answer, Realm grabs the handler’s right arm and twists it behind his back until it snaps, sending Roger into a fit of howls. Realm only steps back, enraged, but oddly calm.
Security comes rushing up, but instead of wrestling Realm to the floor, they whisper to him until he agrees, letting them lead him away. But not before he looks back over his shoulder at me, nodding, as if we have an agreement. A secret between us.
I gasp and stumble sideways, catching the wall with my hand before I fall out of the tub. Secrets—how many do Realm and I have together? How many of them have I forgotten?
It’s all too much; everything piled on breaks me, and I start to sob. I lower myself down into the tub, filled with loss and devastation. I cry under the ice-cold water, shivering but unable to get up. I’m not weak, I know I’m not . . . but this is too much. I have to let it go because it’s too damn much.
The curtain slides open, followed by the squeak of the faucet turning off. I’m still crying when the warmth of a towel wraps around my shoulders, and Realm helps me from the tub. My legs are wobbly, but the minute I realize he’s here, that he’s touching me, I push him back.
I hate Realm for lying to me in The Program—acting as if he was just like me when he wasn’t. He had his memories. He knew Roger. But most of all, I hate him for being here when James isn’t.
I wrap the towel tighter around myself and brush the tears off my cheeks, glaring at Realm. His expression falters, concern replaced with defeat, vulnerability. “I don’t want to hear it right now,” I say, sounding like a petulant child. But I won’t let Realm manipulate me. I feel like he already has.
“Do you know how I ended up in The Program in the first place?” he asks, taking a step closer to me.
I sniffle, surprised by the question, but also by his proximity. I move back, bumping against the sink. “You never told me,” I say. “You said you didn’t remember.”
Realm moves, and I flinch as if he’s going to touch me, but he goes to sit on the edge of the tub. “I was sixteen years old,” he says in a quiet voice. “My parents were both dead and my sister was working day and night. I never saw her. I worked on and off, but mostly I smoked and drank—numbing what I could. The despair was so deep and dark that it was eating me from the inside. I started to imagine I was rotting—that if you split my skin I would bleed black cancerous blood.” He met my eyes. “And so one day I decided to find out.”
My breathing quickens and a slow horror starts to work through me. The confession is already too personal, too painful to hear. My eyes begin to well up.
“My sister was at her job, my girlfriend was gone—gone into The Program weeks before. I had nothing. I had no one. But I wasn’t searching for peace, Sloane. I was searching for pain. I wanted it to hurt. I wanted to feel every inch of my death and I wanted to suffer. So I grabbed a serrated knife from the wood block on the kitchen counter, and I went into the bathroom and shut the door. I must have stood at the sink for close to an hour, staring at myself. The circles under my eyes, the disgust I felt at my own reflection.
“And then . . . I put the blade to my neck and began to saw. I watched as long as I could, watching the blood pour down over my shirt, the skin split, only to lose my place because of my shaky hand. Then I’d start again.”
I cover my mouth, tears spilling onto my cheeks as the images flash through my head. “Stop,” I say. But Realm looks crazed, lost in his head.
“The last thing I remember,” he says, “was the thought that it wasn’t black blood at all. It was red. Everything was so red. I woke up in The Program. Seventy-three stitches. Reconstructive surgery. Extensive therapy. The doctors told me I was a miracle. Do you agree?” he asks, his brown eyes wild. “Aren’t I just a role model now? A fucking inspiration.”
No one should suffer like that. It’s too terrible to even comprehend. I step forward and hug him, wishing I could take the pain away.
Realm’s arms wrap around my waist as he holds me close, taking jagged breaths before going on. “Sometimes I wish it’d worked. I wanted to die that day, but instead I had doctors picking me apart. But that’s not the worst thing I’ve done, Sloane. I wish it were.”
I pull back and look down into his face. What does that mean? I move out of his arms, tightening my towel once again. I realize suddenly we’re alone, and I’m naked other than this short white cloth wrapped around me. Realm notices my reaction and lowers his eyes.
Although my face feels swollen from crying, I put myself back together. I have to keep going, keep fighting. I may be a runaway, but at least I’m alive. I grip the glass knob of the bathroom door to leave.
“Sloane,” Realm calls in a low voice. I turn to look at him. “If he doesn’t come back, you still have me.”
My eyes weaken. “Realm . . .”
“I love you more than James ever could,” he says so seriously that I know he believes it. I can’t bring myself to hurt him, say the things I should. I can only turn and leave, praying James really will come back. And wondering what it will mean for Realm when he does.
CHAPTER SIX
IT’S LATE. I’M LYING IN bed, close to the window because I understand what Realm meant at the other house—there is a claustrophobic aftereffect of The Program. A light flips on in the backyard, and I immediately sit up, my stomach lurching with fear.
Slowly, I slide the curtain aside and peer out. It takes a second to find them, but then I see Dallas and Cas on the lawn. Dallas is laughing—a genuine emotion of happiness—as Cas has his switchblade, flipping it open and waving it around like he’s from West Side Story. I smile too.
I slip my arms into my sweater and push my feet into my sneakers, and head downstairs. When I push open the back screen door, they both spin to face me—Cas’s knife is gripped in his hand and pointed at me.
“You scared the shit out of me,” he says. Dallas rolls her eyes, and I consider going back upstairs, but ultimately I’m too awake to sleep. And I definitely don’t want to lie in bed and think all night.
“Do you mind if I stay out here for a while?” I ask.
“Of course you can,” Cas says quickly. “I’m just showing Dallas how to defend herself. You know”—he glances back at her—“since she’s so delicate and demur.”
“Suck it, Cas,” she says, pulling her dreads up into a high knot. “I guarantee I can put you down in less than five seconds.”
Cas flips his blade closed and pulls off his jacket, tossing it to me. “Ooo . . .” he says. “I like that challenge. Wanna put down money, Sloane?”
I laugh. “I’m definitely taking Dallas on this one.”
“Smart girl,” Dallas says, and starts dancing from foot to foot like she’s a boxer. The night is quiet behind us, the thick trees lining the property, keeping us safe from neighbors. It’s cool but comfortable outside. I see the stump of a tree and go to sit down on it, completely entertained.
“All right, baby,” Cas says, brushing his hair behind his ears. “If I hurt you, you’d better not hold a grudge.”
Dallas nods mockingly. “Sure thing, Casanova. And if your man bits lose their ability to reproduce, I hope there are no hard feelings.”
Cas drops his arms. “Hey! You can’t—”
Dallas springs, sweeping his feet out from under him. At the same time, her hands shoot forward, knocking Cas back. He barely has time to react and ends up flat on the grass, moaning. Dallas drops into a squat next to him.
“Was I too rough?” she says in a baby voice. Cas starts to laugh, shaking his head. Dallas offers her hand and helps him up. Even though she just kicked his ass, Dallas and Cas go at it again and again, nearly every time ending with Dallas triumphant.
&nb
sp; “Want to give it a whirl?” Dallas asks me. There’s a smudge of dirt over her brow from when Cas tried to reach her from the ground.
“No, thanks,” I say, holding up my hands. “I think I’d rather fight Cas.”
“Hey!” he calls with a laugh. Cas gets up, swiping at the grass stains on his jeans, which are past the point of return. He comes to sit on the stump next to me, smelling like earth and soap. Dallas walks over, stretching her arms to one side as she works out a kink in her shoulder.
“I meant to tell you,” she says. “I got in touch with an insider. The Program is still looking for James.” At the mention of his name in combination with The Program, my muscles tense. “Relax,” Dallas says, reading my anxiety. “This is good news. It means he got away. James is safe, hiding out somewhere. Now it’s just a matter of us tracking him down.”
“He’s okay?” I ask, too scared to be hopeful.
“It appears so,” Dallas says. “Does that turn your frown upside down?” she teases, trying to get me to smile. My relief is absolute.
“Yes,” I say honestly, blowing out a measured breath. “It certainly does.” I’m weightless. Even though James isn’t here now, Dallas said it was only a matter of time. And I trust her. After all this time, I finally trust her.
“I don’t have The Treatment anymore,” I confess. “James accidently took it. We left the pill behind with him.”
Cas turns suddenly, confusion crossing his features. “Are you serious?” he asks. “You don’t have it here?” He and Dallas exchange a look, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake confiding in them.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” I say. “I wasn’t sure—”
“Sloane,” Dallas interrupts, “it’s fine. It’s not like we’ve only been tolerating you for The Treatment.” She pauses. “Okay, maybe at first. But now, hell—we’re, like, almost-friends.” She flashes her wide smile, and the tension evaporates. “Besides,” she adds, “James will be back soon anyway with The Treatment. Then we’ll figure out what to do next.” Cas agrees, and I’m so grateful they’re not mad. If anything, it might make them search for James a little harder.
“Oh.” Dallas snaps her fingers and looks at Cas. “We’re low on funds and I need to pay for some information. Got a connection?”
Cas grabs a bottle of water sitting on the grass and takes a sip. It hadn’t occurred to me that we needed money. On the first day, Dallas and Cas collected what Realm’s sister had given us. I never thought to question where else they get money from.
“I’ll get us the cash,” Cas says, sounding exhausted. “I haven’t let you down yet, have I?” Dallas shakes her head.
“Where does the money come from?” I ask. Cas side-eyes me, and takes another drink.
“He never says,” Dallas announces. “I think he’s a thief, but I figure we’re all allowed our secrets. And if my little klepto wants to borrow from the more fortunate, then so be it. It’s keeping us fed.”
“One day we’ll have lobster and steak,” he says, grinning behind the top of his water.
“You cook,” Dallas says.
“Hell yes. I’m not going to let you burn it.”
We’re all smiling, but it has to be at least three in the morning by now. I say my good nights, and Dallas and Cas stay behind. I don’t think they’re going to fight anymore. I don’t think they’re going to hook up, either. It makes me like them both a little more in a weird way. Their friendship is so honest and easy, and once again I see another side of Dallas. Combined with the news that James is currently safe from The Program for now, and I almost hopeful about this whole situation.
* * *
The days pass slowly, comfortably. It’s early one morning when I find Realm by the back door, a wide smile plastered across his face. It’s so out of character that I actually look around the kitchen to make sure I’m not missing something. When I see it’s just us, I put my hand on my hip and laugh.
“What?” I ask, returning his smile. Rather than answer, Realm takes the handle of the back door and opens it. I stare out over the yard, my eyes widening as a gentle breeze that smells like grass blows in. There are at least six deer in our backyard; one is a baby. They’re so beautiful. I take a step toward them, and Realm puts his finger to his lips.
“Shh . . .” he says, turning to watch them too. I go to stand next to him, and he puts his arm over my shoulders. “It’s hard to remember the good sometimes,” he whispers.
The deer continue to eat out of the old garden, and the baby is lying in the grass. The property is even prettier in the morning light: green and alive. How can there be a suicide epidemic when nature can be so soft and gentle? How can anything horrible happen in a place like this? I lean my head on Realm’s chest as we watch the deer, lost in a beauty we forgot existed.
“What are you guys doing?” Cas calls from behind us. One of the deer turns its head, its ears twitching. Cas stomps over to where we are, not quiet and not subtle. “Oh shit,” he says, pointing to the yard. Two of the deer immediately scamper off, and the rest freeze, looking in our direction. “Should we kill one and eat it?” Cas asks.
I scoff and turn to stare at him. Realm chuckles, lowering his arm from my shoulders. By the time I look back at the deer, they’re gone. Disappointment weighs me down. I liked the feeling the deer gave me; I liked feeling small next to nature.
Cas sighs and then walks back into the kitchen, reaching into the lower cabinets to pull out a heavy pan. He fills it with water and sets it on the stove, clicking the burner to life. I think the idea of venison stew is still dancing through his head, but really he’s going to cook gross processed food they got from the gas station. Cas still hasn’t found money, but neither Realm nor Dallas is pressing him about it. I can see they’re getting nervous, though.
Realm comes over. “Hey,” he says. “Want to go for a walk? It’s gorgeous outside.”
I look up, feeling calm for the first time in a while. It’s hard to stay angry in a place so beautiful. I agree and tell Cas to save us some food before Realm and I go out back.
The sun is shining, but the breeze is cool, and I wrap my arms around myself as we walk over the expansive lawn toward the creek, toward the woods beyond. On the other side of us is a massive mountain range, enclosing us in the safety of nature. For a minute I’m reminded of when Realm and I were both in The Program. He brought me out to walk in the flower garden with him, and it gave me so much hope. It reminded me that there was a world to go back to.
A small wooden bridge curves over the creek, and we pause in the middle of it and rest our elbows on the railing, gazing at the house and the woods. “What are we going to do with our lives?” I ask quietly. “How long do we live out here?”
“As long as we can.” He lowers his head, and I look sideways at him. “We’ll always have to keep moving,” he says. “As long as The Program is out there, we won’t be safe.”
I know he’s right, but to admit it crushes the contentment of the moment. I exhale, long and heavy, and then stare at the world once again—wishing it could always be like this.
“I want to tell you everything, Sloane,” Realm says quietly. “But I don’t know if I can.”
My eyes are trained on the trees, but my heart begins to race. “Maybe it’s time you try,” I say. I’m not in denial; I’ve always known Realm was hiding something. But now, here, I’m scared of what he has to say.
Realm nods, leaning farther over the railing to study the streaming water below. “It’s about Dallas,” he murmurs. “I knew her before either of us were in The Program.”
I pull my eyebrows together, processing his words. Dallas met him after she got out of The Program. “What?” I ask, turning to him.
Realm’s expression is filled with pain, regret. “She was my girlfriend before she went into The Program. She just doesn’t remember.”
“Oh my God,” I say, covering my mouth. How could Dallas not know? How could Realm not tell her?
&n
bsp; “Sloane,” he says, taking my wrist to pull my hand down. “After I took The Treatment and got my memories back, I sought her out. I’ve been trying to keep her safe.”
“Why wouldn’t you tell her then? Why would you pretend you’d only just met? Were you manipulating her by using things from your past?”
“No,” he says quickly, but then swallows hard, looking down. “A little. I did what I had to do, though. You didn’t know her. She’s not like you, Sloane.”
“What does that mean?” I’m suddenly protective of Dallas, and my anger at Realm is growing exponentially.
“She’s not strong. Sure, she tries to be. She puts on a show.” He shakes his head. “But she’s not. Dallas may think she wants her memories back, but I can tell you right now that she can’t handle them. There was her bastard father, her suicide attempt. And then there was me. I wasn’t exactly the best boyfriend.”
“I think you’re underestimating her.”
“You didn’t see her. I’m the reason Dallas went into The Program. I was suicidal, vicious, angry. I said horrible things. I wanted her sad—I made her sad. And then . . .” He stops, turning to look at the lawn as he puts his palm over his mouth, coughing a cry into it before he can compose himself.
“What did you do?” I whisper.
“I called The Program and told them to take her.”
My eyes widen, and then I’m a flurry of motion, slapping whatever part of him I can hit. “You son of a bitch!” I scream, trying to wound him. He takes it all, but soon my hands begin to hurt and my arms tire. “How could you?” I whimper, heartbroken for a girl who has been through too much. More than anyone ever should. He’s kept all this from her. It makes me wonder exactly what Realm is capable of. I drop down to sit on the bridge, overcome.
Realm looks at me, a small scratch—raised and red—on his cheek. “When I got my memories back,” he says, “finding Dallas was my first priority. And when I saw she was okay, I was so relieved. I’d been worried she didn’t survive. Believe me, I hate myself for what I did. Right away she and I fell back into a relationship of sorts. She’s vulnerable, especially to me.
The Treatment Page 14