I look at the door, considering going back to my room, but when my feet touch the floor and I feel its coldness even through my slipper socks, I decide to stay.

“I guess,” I tell him, pretending like I don’t want to. He rolls his eyes and holds up the blanket as I climb in next to him. He puts his arm around me, sighing as I snuggle against him. This is how we’ve been since he came back. He lets me stay in here, holding me close. It’s been nice.

“This isn’t so bad, right?” he asks. “There are definitely worse things.”

“We’re in The Program,” I remind him. “I don’t think it can get worse than this.”

Realm brushes my hair aside, his fingers running down my neck, tickling me. He continues down my spine, a feather light touch over my scrubs, and then back up again. “It can always get worse.” His other hand reaches to take my scarred wrist, and he brings it to his mouth, kissing the mark there.

I swallow hard. His gesture is kind. Even sexy. Realm flattens his palm on my lower back, pressing me into him. He kisses my inner forearm, my shoulder. “I could love you, Sloane,” he whispers next to my ear. “You don’t have to be alone.”

You used to love someone, Roger had told me once. What did he mean? Was there someone before The Program?

Realm brings his mouth close to mine but pauses to look in my eyes as if asking permission. His feelings are so clear, so sure. I don’t know what I feel right now, other than alone. So I lean forward and kiss him.

Realm’s lips are soft but unfamiliar. Warm but not hot. My hands hesitate on the sides of his face, and I realize as his tongue touches mine that I don’t feel lust or hurt or anger. I don’t feel love or disgust. I feel . . . grief.

His hand slides down to pull my thigh over his hip. We could do anything right now; no one is bothering us. He lays me back in the bed, lying between my legs as he trails kisses down my neck and back up again. My eyes close, and I try to feel something other than sadness as Realm knots his fingers in my hair, murmurs how beautiful I am.

His hand is cool as it slips inside my shirt, grazing my stomach before pausing at my bra. And all at once my eyes open, and I’m struck with sudden guilt. A sense of wrong so intense that I push Realm’s hand away and roll out from under him.

“No,” I say, climbing off the bed. I straighten my scrubs as I catch my breath. “I can’t . . . I can’t.”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Realm says quickly, his face reddening as he talks. “I’m so sorry. Don’t go, please.”

I shake my head, backing away. “I . . . I should sleep in my own bed tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” And then without waiting for an answer, I hurry out into the hall toward my room. My heart pounds, and I feel so confused, so unsure of myself. I’m racked with guilt and I don’t even know why.

I pass the nurses’ station, but the young nurse doesn’t ask why I’m coming out of Realm’s room after hours, or what we were doing in there. She just types something into the computer and watches as I go into my room. Once I’m inside, I crawl into bed and pray for sleep.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I SKIP BREAKFAST THE NEXT MORNING AND AVOID Realm. I’m embarrassed that I bailed like that, no explanation. I liked kissing him—he’s a good kisser. But something made it feel wrong, like I shouldn’t be touching him at all.

I pull my legs under me as I sit on my bed, staring at the door and daring myself to leave the room. I have to face him and hope he pretends like nothing happened. He’s my best friend, and I might like him as more than that. . . . But I don’t know. Maybe I’m just an idiot.

Finally gathering the courage, I walk out into the hall and check the leisure room first. Derek sees me and nods a hello as he and Shep watch TV.

“You guys seen Realm?” I ask.

“Nope,” Derek says, not looking away from the screen. “Think he’s got an early session with Dr. Warren today.”

I curl my lip. I have therapy this afternoon, and I’m dreading it, although she tells me my progress has been exceptional. Not like I can remember if she was telling the truth.

I head down toward the offices, wondering if I’ll catch him coming out. When I get to Dr. Warren’s door, it’s closed, and I figure Realm might still be in there. I lean against the wall next to it to wait when I hear raised voices.

“Michael,” I hear Dr. Warren say, “sexual contact is not permitted. It’s against the law, and we will prosecute you to the fullest extent of—”

“We’re not sleeping together.” I recognize Realm’s voice, and I immediately touch my lips, scared he’s in trouble. “I told you,” he says. “I’m doing what I’m supposed to, and we kissed. That’s it.”

I stand outside the door, listening and worried. I didn’t think they cared that Realm and I hung out, but maybe they do. Maybe they’ve been watching us this entire time.

“Even that is crossing the line. And after your little dustup with Roger, I don’t think we can handle anymore of your liability. I’m sorry, Michael. I’m going to have to send you to another facility.”

No! Panic overtakes me, and I almost burst into the room to defend him, but Realm is talking again.

“If you send me away now, you’ll jeopardize her recovery,” he says. “Sloane already thinks I’m leaving next week. There’s no reason to create a situation where she casts you as the bad guy. Her transformation has been remarkable, don’t you think?”

Tiny prickles of fear race up my arms. What’s he talking about?

“Yes. She’s come a long way,” Dr. Warren muses. “Fine. You can stay the week, finish this stage of the therapy, but I’m warning you: hands off. They could bring a lawsuit against The Program.”

“You know as well as I do that physical contact can do wonders for recovery. For trust building.”

“Hands off,” Dr. Warren repeats with a finality in her tone. She exhales. “Michael, are you certain she can complete treatment? There are other options—”

“Sloane will return on time,” Realm says. “I just need a little more space to make sure the memories are cleared out. She’s very fragile right now.”

I stand there completely stunned as I try to wrap my mind around what I’ve just heard. Is Realm even a patient? I . . . I don’t know what to think anymore. Did he set me up?




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