The Treatment

  * * *

  Cas tells us the drive is too long and we’ll have to stop. It’s dark when we end up at a seedy motel a few turns off the highway. The VACANCY sign is only half lit up, and Realm heads toward the glassed-in booth to book the rooms. Dallas rolls down her window.

  “Book a separate room for me and Cas,” she calls coldly. “I’m not sharing a bed with you this time.” Realm stops but doesn’t respond. It isn’t until Dallas’s window is closed that he goes to the booth, talking to the person behind the glass.

  “Dial it down,” Cas mutters, tapping his hands impatiently on the steering wheel. “None of us wants to be in the middle of your lovers’ quarrel.”

  Dallas turns to him. “You didn’t hear what he said,” she snaps. I feel my gut sink, afraid I’ll be dragged into the conversation. “I fucking matter,” she tells Cas, her cheeks growing pink. “He has no right to tell me I don’t.”

  Cas reaches to put his hand on her shoulder, trying to pull Dallas into a hug, but she jerks away. “I’m fine,” she says. “I wish he’d just vanish again.” She glances quickly back at me. “And he can take her with him.”

  I want to yell that I don’t love Realm and I never have. I want to remind her that James—my James—is missing, and her little pity party isn’t making any of our lives easier. But it’s dark, and Dallas is tired. And really . . . I don’t blame her for being angry with Realm. He brings out the worst in all of us.

  Once Realm raises the keys to show us the rooms are set, we grab our bags and head up to the second floor. The place is pretty dingy, with peeling yellow paint and ugly green doors. I curl my lip and Cas nods his agreement.

  “It was a good choice,” Realm says to Cas when he notices our exchange. “They accept cash and don’t require ID.” He stops in front of room 237 and uses the key—like an actual motel key with numbered chain, and opens the door. Immediately the smell of stale smoke hits my nose; the multicolored comforters on the beds are ratty and flat.

  “Gross,” Dallas says, looking in.

  Realm holds out a key to her. “Dallas, I—”

  Dallas takes the key and walks next door. She doesn’t shout at him or repeat the things she said in the car. Cas looks weary as he follows her into their room, and I wait to see if Realm will go after Dallas and talk it out. But he just goes inside the room and disappears behind the bathroom door. Great. I’m starting to wonder if any of us will ever be light again, ever laugh, ever . . . live.

  I close the front door and slide the chain over the lock. I’m feel like I’m in an eighties slasher flick, and I click on the lamp next to the bed. My belongings all fit inside the duffel bag, and I open it, peering in at James’s file. I can’t bring myself to read it, not without James.

  The door opens and Realm comes out, his expression unreadable as he goes to the opposite bed and lies down. He folds his hands behind his head and stares up at the ceiling. I lie on my side, too tired to wash my face or change my clothes.

  “So,” Realm says, sounding exhausted. “What happened at the gas station earlier?”

  I never told anyone about the first night I met Kellan, how he knew my name. I’m not exactly sure how to frame the story. “Have you ever been approached by a reporter?” I ask.

  “No.” Realm scrunches his nose like it’s a bizarre question. “Have you?”

  I take Kellan’s business card from my pocket and stretch it over to Realm. His eyes widen, and he grabs it quickly. He looks it over and then swings his legs to the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “Sloane, how the hell do you know this guy?”

  “I met him at the Suicide Club. He looked like everyone else . . . but he knew my name before I told him. At first I thought maybe he was a handler, like the embedded ones Arthur Pritchard told me about. But when we stopped at the gas station on the way here, he showed up. I was terrified. He gave me this card, said he was a reporter for the New York Times following my and James’s story. He wants information on The Program. I think he can see what they’re really doing to us.”

  Realm runs his fingers through his hair, leaving it sticking up when he drops his arm. “I don’t like it,” he says. “We shouldn’t talk to anyone outside of the rebels. At least not yet. He could be working for The Program.”

  “I guess.” I sit back against the pillows, thinking it over. “But we didn’t believe Arthur, and he was picked up by  The Program.” I turn to Realm. “Do you really think they’ll erase him?”

  Realm considers my question for a long moment. “There’s a chance this is just a stunt to draw us out,” he says. “I mean, he’s the creator of  The Program. Could they really do that to him?”

  “I hope not,” I murmur. If I could rewind, I’d talk to Arthur longer, find out what else he had to say. If I could rewind time, I’d do so many things differently. My bottom lip quivers and I bite down on it. “Tell me James is okay,” I whisper.

  “I can’t. But if  James loves you, he’ll find you.” Realm turns to me. “I found you.”

  James does love me, even though Realm always tries to dispute that fact. But it’s now been two days since James left—two days without a word from him. He was so angry the last time I saw him. I hope he knows how sorry I am. At that thought, I reach to click off the light, submerging the room in darkness. I lie back on the bed, curling up in the loneliness.

  “Sloane,” Realm says, his voice low. “Remember in The Program, when you would sneak into my room with me?” he asks. “We’d snuggle. Platonically, of course.”

  I used to spend time in Realm’s room, talking—although I don’t know exactly what we talked about anymore. I do remember what it felt like to let him stroke my hair, to let him whisper his stories near my ear.

  “It was nice,” Realm says. “Holding you.”

  I close my eyes, squeezing them tight, as if I can block out how I’ve missed him. Once upon a time Realm was everything to me. It hurts to remember that—because now I’m not sure if that was the real Realm. “It was nice,” I say softly.

  “If you . . .” He pauses, and I hear his throat click as he swallows. “If you wanted to sleep here with me, I wouldn’t mind. I won’t try anything either.”

  “I can’t,” I say simply. Even if I didn’t know about Realm and The Treatment, I still wouldn’t run to him now. I learned my lesson at his house that stormy night. I love James. It’s not fair to pretend otherwise.

  “The offer stands, Sloane,” Realm says. “I’ll always be here for you.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IT’S THE NEXT DAY WHEN we arrive at a small farmhouse outside of Lake Tahoe—and like Dallas said, it’s in the middle of nowhere. It’s also beautiful. Trees encase the entire property, and the small, shabby farmhouse has a charm all its own. From the peeling white siding to the enormous and inviting wraparound porch—it makes me think of a life I would have liked to have with James. Just us in the country, maybe some dogs running around. But I’m here with a group of rebels instead. Things don’t always work out the way we plan.

  I don’t have much to carry as I make my way inside. It’s a little dusty, and I cough the minute Cas pushes the door open. But I like it. I like how peaceful it is.

  “This belonged to the grandparents of another rebel,” Dallas says, then lowers her eyes. “But she was taken back to The Program a few months ago. Haven’t seen her since. So it’s ours now.” She drops her bag at her feet. “We shouldn’t be disturbed.”

  “It’s a nice place,” I say, pausing to look at the framed pictures on the wall. There’s an older couple, very 1970s with paisley and butterfly collars. I touch the image, reminded of my own grandparents, who passed away when I was little. Their picture hung on my wall at home.

  My home. I may never see it again. I shake off the impending grief and instead walk around to explore the place, needing the distraction. I find a small room, no bigger than a walk-in closet, with a twin bed and nothing else. I decide that I like it. The window looks out over t
he expansive yard, a small creek cutting through the grass. I can imagine that in the mornings there might be a deer, or even bunnies, frolicking. I smile to myself and sit on the mattress, bouncing to make the springs creak.

  “Hey.” Cas peeks his head in my room. He looks pretty wrecked after driving all this way, and I’m sure I don’t look much better. His longish hair is in tangles, dark circles under his eyes. He hasn’t shaved since we left. I wonder how long Cas has been this ragged, threadbare. Maybe I was too busy to notice.

  “I called dibs on the shower,” he says, “but if you want it first, I’ll give you this one chivalrous pass.”

  I grin. “No, you clearly need it more than I do.” He puts his hand over his heart.

  “Ouch. Well, don’t plan on having any hot water.”

  “Such a gentleman.” Cas winks, playful and flirtatious in the same way he is with Dallas. And although it should make me feel included, it only makes me feel lonelier.

  I get under the covers of the bedsheets in an attempt to sleep off some of the exhaustion, listening as the shower turns on. But the emptiness of my small room becomes too much, and I go downstairs in search of life instead. I find Dallas sitting on the couch, her feet propped up on the arm as she scrolls through the screen of her phone. She glances at me.

  “Did you need something?” she asks. “You have that needy expression.”

  I stand over her for a minute, the never-ending tension between us suffocating me. I could offer a snide comment and walk away like I usually do, but then we’ll never settle this. I roll my eyes and sit cross-legged on the floor next to the couch. This piques her interest, and Dallas slips her phone into her pocket.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, staring at the faded rust-colored carpet. “I’m sorry I got between you and Realm—it wasn’t my intention.” I hear Dallas snort behind me.

  “Oh, well. Society is built on good intentions, Sloane. And look how far it’s gotten us.” Her tone is almost harsh enough to make me leave, but I hold out. There aren’t many of us left. It could be worth it to try to have a girlfriend—one person I can trust.

  “If it’s any consolation,” I say, “I don’t think he meant the hurtful things he said.” I’m not trying to make excuses for him; Realm was a total asshole. But there was something about his posture after, the way he still looks at her now, that makes me think he cares more than he’ll say. I turn to Dallas, see her watching the ceiling with her jaw clenched, her bottom lip jutting out. She flicks her eyes to mine.

  “That’s our entire relationship,” she says. “And yeah, I don’t think he means to do it either, but he always does. He always has.” Dallas readjusts her position on the couch, settling back with a far-off expression. “I met Realm after I ran away from home. I was in a bad place, worse than I am now. I’d been through The Program, through Roger, through my father’s abuse. I packed a bag and took off on my own. There wasn’t a national story behind it, not like you and James. I just disappeared, spent my nights in abandoned buildings on my way to Salt Lake. I’d heard stories of a resistance there.

  “I was timid then. I’m not sure what my life was like just before I was taken, but in junior high, before the epidemic, I’d been a cheerleader.” She laughs. “Can you imagine?”

  I smile. “No.”

  She quiets for a moment and wraps her arms around herself. “Then Roger happened,” she says. “When I got home, I couldn’t assimilate, but I learned to fake it to get through therapy. The first chance I got, I took off. I met the rebels and they took me in. One day Michael Realm showed up. The way he acted . . . It felt like he was there for me. The way he spoke, the way he looked at me. I was scared then, but he made it better. For a while.”

  Listening to Dallas, I’m reminded that maybe I don’t know Realm at all. This was before I knew him. Was it before he’d been in The Program the first time? Was it before the second time? “What happened after that?” I ask Dallas, leaning my elbow on the couch.

  “He left,” she says. “Realm would always leave and never say where he was going. Then he’d show up again and act like nothing happened—we’d get closer, and then he’d push me away. This is the first time he brought another girl home, though. I’m not going to lie, Sloane. It hurts. I thought I’d grown immune to pain, but Realm knows just how to twist the knife to keep me from loving him completely.”

  Guilt falls all around me, even though I’m not the one to blame. Still, I can understand why Dallas hates me. I can’t imagine how I’d cope if James fell in love with someone else.

  “What about Cas?” I ask. “Have the two of you ever—”

  “No,” Dallas says quickly. “We’re not like that. Shit, I’m not even sure what type of girl Cas likes. He’s my best friend—which is how we both want it.”

  We sit quietly for a while, and I turn over our conversation, putting it together with what Realm has told me. I don’t feel I have the full story—like there’s a piece missing from their dynamic. “Have you ever talked to Realm about his behavior? Have you told him how you feel?”

  Dallas’s expression weakens as she turns toward me. “He said I didn’t matter, Sloane. I don’t think he could have been clearer than that.”

  I wince, Realm’s words stinging even me. I don’t understand his motivation. Then again, James was kind of a jerk when I met up with him, too. “James pushed me away,” I confess. “I called him on it, kind of ran off. My friendship with Realm is what made James finally admit his feelings for me. Until a few days ago, I thought we were solid. I thought we were forever.” James is the connection between who I was and who I am now. Without that, I’m lost.

  “We’ll find him,” Dallas states. “I have no doubt that James is safe. If anything, he’s probably just pissed. This isn’t because I hate you or anything,” she says with a smile, “but I kind of see his point. You and Realm . . . You act like more than friends. I’d have left you too.”

  James wouldn’t be friends with a girl who was in love with him, not if it hurt me. I’m ashamed of my behavior. Ashamed I wasn’t mature enough to have more respect for my boyfriend. I’m embarrassed that even Dallas can see it.

  “Can I ask you something?” Dallas starts tentatively. “What are you going to do with The Treatment?”

  The question catches me off guard, and it takes me a second too long to answer. “I honestly don’t know,” I say eventually. “It’s a lot of pressure. What . . . What would you do?”

  “If it were me, I’d have taken it right away. I wouldn’t care about Pritchard or the others. But if I were you”—she shrugs—“I would have given it to James.” She glances over at me and smiles. “Can I be real for a second? Your boyfriend is superhot. Seriously, James really does it for me. I just thought you should know.”

  I laugh, tossing my head back. Above us the pipes rattle and there’s the whine of a turning faucet before the water shuts off. Talking to Dallas has given me some perspective, but more surprisingly, I can see she’s a good person. I haven’t given her nearly enough credit. I climb to my feet, hoping Cas didn’t really use up all the hot water.

  “Thanks for the talk.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Dallas responds, her tone dismissive, as if she’s not taking away the same bonding experience as I am. “Hey, if you see Cas, let him know I’d like to knife fight later.”

  “Uh . . . okay.”

  Dallas takes out her phone, and her change in demeanor bothers me slightly, but this could just be what she does to avoid getting hurt. I can’t expect her to trust me, not yet. I start for the stairs but pause to look back at her. Dallas waves her hand in acknowledgment, a smile on her lips, and swipes her thumbs over her keypad, shutting me out.

  * * *

  Cas is in his room by the time I get upstairs, and I walk into the steamy bathroom, running my hand across the fog in the mirror. I study my reflection, noting that the healthy glow I had after leaving The Program is now replaced with dark circles, pale skin. I’ve thinned, and I wonder w
hat my parents would think if they saw me now.

  They’d probably think I was sick. They’d probably call The Program to come get me. I wonder for a moment about how it happened, but I quickly block it out. It’s too horrific to imagine. Would I want to feel what it’s like for my own parents to betray me?

  I blow out a hard breath, trying to clear my head, and go over to turn on the shower. The bathroom is old, with a black-and-white-tiled floor and a claw-foot tub with standing shower. I don’t have any soap, but I find an unopened bar underneath the sink. The minute I stand beneath the rushing hot water, I’m grateful Cas didn’t use it all. My muscles, stiff from the car ride and lack of good sleep, begin to loosen, my mind slowly unraveling the past few weeks.

  I start with Lacey—a place I haven’t let myself go since she left. Dallas said she was back in The Program, and my only way to deal with that was to stop thinking about her. But now I can see her, both before and after her spiral. I see the note: Miller. Can I think of the memory of Miller? Will it spur new memories and drive me crazy? The water is beginning to cool as I close my eyes and pretend James is here with me in the shower. He says he’s sorry for leaving. I say I’m sorry for lying. We’re both so sorry. We’re always sorry.

  I work the bar of soap through my wet hair, but suddenly there’s a sharp pain in my temples, a swift blow of memories smashing through the surface.

  The tile floor is ice-cold under my bare feet. I fumble with the door handle. Just as I get it open, I see the stark white corridor of The Program. Realm stalks toward the nurses’ station, where Roger is standing, laughing. My wrists are sore from when the handler had me strapped down, but I’m so scared for Realm. I’m so scared of what he’ll do.

  Realm’s fist connects with Roger’s face, sending him over the desk and the nurse screams. I try to make my way closer, to tell Realm to stop before they take him away, but I’m so foggy. Roger drugged me.