The Treatment (The Program 2)

Realm pauses, but Dallas won’t look at him. He rounds the table, touching my shoulder as he passes. James and Dallas don’t notice. I watch Realm leave, wondering what the hell is going on. Does he genuinely want to apologize to Dallas? Is he freaking out because James is back?

Dallas curses and gets up from the table. “He’s such a dick,” she says, rattled. She wouldn’t talk to Realm, but his attention was enough to break her otherwise good mood. Realm called her unstable, but obviously he’s partly to blame for that diagnosis. There’s real damage here that he has no right to tamper with. And to prove it, Dallas tosses her beef jerky on the table and storms upstairs.

James looks over at me, his eyebrows raised. “What was that about?” he asks. “Are Dallas and Cas—”

“They both say no,” I tell him. “Just friends. Either way, I’m ready to get out of here. They want The Treatment, not us.” At the mention, I realize we left the pill in the room. After that little exchange, I’m feeling paranoid. I want to check on it.

“Let’s go upstairs,” I say.

James doesn’t make a joke because he can see I’m suspicious. Together we go back to the room and I immediately check the small inside pocket of the duffel bag. The pill is still there, tucked inside the Baggie with Kellan Thomas’s business card so I won’t lose them.

“What’s going on?” James asks, shutting the door before going to sit on the bed. “Have the rebels been trying to get ahold of The Treatment?”

I shake my head, trying to figure out what’s making me so uneasy. “Not really, or at least, not obviously. They want to keep it safe from The Program. I assumed Arthur Pritchard was the threat, but I may have misjudged him. Now it’s up to us.” I think again about the doctor, hoping I’ll be able to reconnect with him eventually. If he understood the risks of The Treatment, maybe he’d have another idea on how to combat The Program. Maybe there can be a happy ending in all this.

“Can I see it for second?” James asks. I lift my gaze to where he sits, and nod. I take the Baggie and crawl onto the bed.

James lies next to me, and I hand him the items, resting my cheek on his shoulder. He reads the business card through the plastic and then begins tracing the pill with his thumb.

“A cure dangerous enough to kill us,” he says. “What a cruel twist.”

I close my eyes, thinking back on what Dallas said. She would have made James take The Treatment. Realm would have made me. They both thought it would be worth the risk, and now that James has lost everything . . . I wonder if they’re right.

“I understand if you want to take the pill,” I tell him. “I know you’re strong enough to fight off the depression if you want the memories. Especially now that your dad is gone.” James turns to press a kiss on my forehead. “I have all I need right here,” he murmurs. “And if there’s a chance a doctor, or anyone, can figure out how to use this pill to save others in the future, we should hold on to it.” He smiles. “How the hell did we become responsible for the fate of the entire world?” I laugh. “I have no idea.”

James slides the Baggie into the leg pocket of his cargo shorts and then turns to wrap his arms around me. He pets my hair and I reach to stroke my fingers over the scars on his bicep—the names The Program took away.

“We’ll keep the pill safe from The Program,” he whispers.

“In the morning we’ll go far away until all this has blown over.

We’ll even get a puppy.”

“Two,” I say, although I know we’re just playing house again. I don’t mind. When your entire life has morphed into a low-budget action movie, you fantasize about a boring subur-ban existence. How easy it would all be.

There’s a sharp pain in my temple, and I wince and touch the spot. I’m reminded of what happened last time a memory cracked through. But just as quickly as the pain hits, it disappears. So I don’t mention it. I just snuggle next to James and drift off to sleep.

There’s a whisper of wind through the trees, rustling the leaves above us. James stands behind me in the grass, brushing his fingers through my hair as he works out the knots.

“I feel like I’m dating Medusa,” he says. “Do you have snakes hidden in here?” He brushes my hair over my shoulder and the black curls cascade down before he leans to kiss my skin.

“If I did, they’d surely have bitten you by now.” James bites playfully at my shoulder, and I spin and push him back, laughing. He leans down to pick up a pile of leaves from the ground, eying me in a way that leads me to believe they’re going to end up down my shirt.

“We have to get to class,” I warn, taking a step back from him.

“Miller will be lost without us, so no ditching.” James doesn’t answer, only grins stupidly as he moves closer.

“James,” I warn again, although my voice is twinged with laughter. “I will knee you so hard. Don’t make me do that.”

“You won’t,” he says, taking another step.

And just as I scream and turn to run, I feel him tackle me from behind and I fall onto the grass, leaves crunching underneath me as he proceeds to shove a handful of dirty foliage down my shirt, laughing like a maniac. But true to my word, I bring my knee up. It isn’t until he howls, rolling off of me, that I regret what I’ve done. I curse and immediately move beside him as he cups his package, his teeth barred.

“Goddamn it, Sloane,” he chokes out. “I think you just neu-tered me.”

“I’m so sorry.” I lean down and put my face near his neck, trying to hug him although he’s still moaning in pain. I feel awful, even if he totally started it.

“You just killed all our future children,” he mumbles, although his hands have gravitated to my arms as he keeps me in an embrace.

I breathe against his neck, kissing him there once and whispering another apology.

“I didn’t want kids anyway,” I add. “I wouldn’t want them to grow up in a world like this.”

James is quiet for a moment, and the mood changes. The tragedy of life sinking in. “But what if I want them?” I sit up and stare down at him. “You’re joking, right?” I ask.

When I see in his expression that he’s serious, that he’s completely serious, I can’t talk fast enough. “James,” I say, “having children when they’re growing up to kill themselves is stupid. Really stupid and irresponsible. Second of all—having kids is hard. Like . . .