“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.
“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.