The Program (The Program #1)(37)
Author: Suzanne Young

Tears continue to trickle down my cheeks as his hand touches my ass, holding me tight against him. His other hand grips the back of my neck and tilts it so he can kiss me there. “You taste delicious,” he says into my skin.

I try to pretend it’s James, but Roger’s touch is too aggressive. James would never touch me like this. James would never do this to me. Soon I’m sobbing and Roger comes to kiss me once more, his hand sliding under my shirt. And finally I snap and bring my knee up, missing his balls, but connecting with his thigh. He yelps and jumps back. But as I stand there in front of him, soft cries still escaping my lips, he laughs.

“Oh, come on, Sloane,” he says coldly. “It wasn’t that bad. Other girls trade much more.”

“Get out,” I manage to say, and I back against the footboard of my bed. “Get out!” I scream.

He flinches and then looks behind him at the door. “Fine,” he says, putting up his hand. “But understand this is between us. If you tell—”

“I know.” I can’t stop crying. I spit out the taste of him right there on the linoleum tile and he looks at it, surprised that I’m even upset.

“Next dose is for bare skin,” he warns. “And I suggest you get ahold of yourself because the crying doesn’t really work for me.” With that he turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

CHAPTER EIGHT

WHEN THE TEARS HAVE DRIED, I’M IN MY BED, LYING under the covers. I know it won’t be long before they come looking for me, wondering where I am. But I can’t go back to the dining hall because my body won’t stop shaking.

I take the pill out of my pocket and stare at it. It might not even work, but I have to try. I have to fight. This is my last chance to keep from losing everything.

I put the pill in my mouth and swallow it dry, coughing once when it gets stuck, but then getting it down. I know what I have to remember. It’s not romantic. It’s not something cherished. But I hope it’ll lead to some answers when I get out. Next pill, I’ll capture a perfect memory with James.

For now, I imagine the picture of him and Brady, the ring. The things I hid in my mattress so that I could find them when I got back. I know now that everything that happened at my house that day will be erased from my memory, so I might never look for the items. This is the only way.

I focus on the picture: James’s face, his chest bare, as his arm is carelessly around my brother’s shoulders. Brady’s laugh and the river rolling through the background. The ring—the purple, sparkly, heart-shaped ring—that James gave me, even if I can’t remember when. But I used to wear it all the time, so it must have been special.

They’re all in the mattress, these things that will lead us back together. So I hold the memory tightly to me as I close my eyes.

Only a few minutes have passed when I’m suddenly ravaged by pain. I cry out, feeling like a hammer just hit me in the back of the head. I lean forward and vomit over the side of the bed, my stomach twisting and my throat burning. I press my hands to my head as if it can stop the throbbing there.

The room spins, and I lie back against the pillow, my eyes squeezed shut. I try to control my breathing, and once again think of the ring and the picture hidden in my bed. It feels like a lifetime of agony, but it’s probably been less than five minutes when I’m finally able to open my eyes again. My stomach is twisted, and I know I’ll have to clean up the puke before Nurse Kell comes for me.

Slowly, I slide out of bed, careful to step around the mess and then clean it up with toilet paper, flushing it away. My breath comes out in jagged gasps, like I might get sick again at any moment. There is a sour taste in my mouth, but behind that—is peppermint.

I lean over the toilet and gag again.

• • •

When I walk into the now half-empty dining room, I’m sure I look bad. I feel hungover; my eyes are bloodshot, and my greasy hair is pulled back into a ponytail. But people don’t seem to notice, and it occurs to me that it’s better not to be pretty here. It’s better to go unnoticed.

I find where I left my tray and pretend to pick at the roll still on my plate. I drink the apple juice, anything to mask the flavors lingering in my mouth. Tabitha’s staring at me from across the room as if she’s studying me, but soon she lowers her gaze.

I wonder if Roger has offered her the pill. I want to ask her, but how can I ask something like that? And what if he hasn’t? She could turn me in and get me sent away for longer.

I miss Realm. I hope that Roger was telling me the truth when he said that Realm would come back soon. What if they’re hurting him? Oh, God. What if they’re erasing me from his memory?

Just then I see Nurse Kell walk into the room, and I jump up to go talk to her. She looks alarmed and then pleased that I sought her out.

“Hello, Sloane, honey. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes. But . . . is Realm okay?”

She smiles, reminding me again of a grandmother. “Michael Realm is just fine. He’s cooling off with Dr. Warren right now. He won’t be sleeping in the wards tonight, I’m afraid. But I hope he’ll rejoin us tomorrow.”

I almost burst out crying. “Will he remember me?” I ask in a small voice.

Nurse Kell shakes her head as if it’s a silly question. “Of course. Why wouldn’t he?”

I let out a held breath, but I still can’t stand it. How they all act as if there’s nothing wrong going on here. As if they’re not erasing our minds. “Thank you” is all I can manage as I head out of the room and into the hallway.

• • •

I skip out on the card game, and sit in my room playing solitaire instead, with a pack of cards Nurse Kell lent me. I listen to the hall, hoping to hear Realm’s laugh. I dread seeing Roger walk by, or worse, stop in. But the place is quiet.

I fall asleep easily, even without swallowing the pills Nurse Kell brings me. When I wake up, I have an early-morning appointment with Dr. Warren, but I take the long way around and go by Realm’s room. He’s still not back.

I go inside Dr. Warren’s office, and she beams like she’s thrilled to see me. “Sloane,” she says. “You’re looking well today.”

I know she’s lying because I haven’t showered or even bothered checking my reflection. I did take a hot washcloth and wipe my neck to clean everywhere that Roger’s mouth touched me. I scrubbed it so raw that it left a rash on my skin. I see Dr. Warren’s eyes flick to the spot, but she doesn’t mention it.