“And how are you feeling, honey?” my grandmother asks me. I notice that Pop hasn’t said much the entire meal, and his passivity in this pisses me off.
“Well,” I say, pushing my plate away. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I’ve ended things with Wes; I’ve gone to therapy; hell, I even tell you about my headaches. So basically, I’m miserable.”
I’m purposely prodding them, seeing if they’ll break down and confess. Confess what, I still don’t know. It’s already bigger than I imagine.
“It’ll pass,” my grandmother says. “You’ll be in college soon—things will be better. You’ll see.”
I stare at her, and my eyes must be cold, because she lowers her gaze.
“I’m going to bed,” I say suddenly, and stand up. I’ll be better at faking normal tomorrow. Right now, I’m spent. Unable to pretend for another second.
My grandparents stay at the table, murmuring good night as I leave. But when I get to the top of the stairs, I don’t go directly to my room. I’m drawn to the box in my grandparents’ closet. Something about it felt off. And I want to know exactly why.
I slip inside their bedroom and stride over to the closet. I open the doors and get on my tiptoes, but as I reach up, I find the box is gone. I take a step back, surveying the space, in case I put it back in the wrong spot. But my heart sinks because I know I didn’t. The box is gone.
It’s so bizarre; I’d entertain it was never there in the first place, except there is a box-size hole on the shelf. An empty space exactly where it had been. And then I remember that I didn’t just tell Nathan and Foster about it—I told Dr. Warren, as well.
I fall back a step, overwhelmed. My grandparents aren’t who I thought they were—how could they be? At this point, if I confront them, will they tell Dr. Warren? Will The Program come for me? I need help—I see that very clearly now.
Paranoid, I quickly dash back to my room. I don’t understand what’s happened, how quickly my life has unraveled. And that box... I don’t get. It was baby stuff. What was in there to hide?
I shut my door, and consider locking it—just like Wes locks his—but I have to accept that physically, if I can keep pretending, I’m not in any danger. I have to believe that for now because there isn’t another option. Not yet.
My bed creaks as I sit down, and I’m more confused than when I woke up. So much of my past is a lie. Not even my recent past, but my actual childhood. And although I should be too worried to sleep, my eyelids are heavy. My conscience tired. I lie back, staring up at the ceiling.
I watched someone die today. I had my reality shaken. Once Nathan deals with his broken heart, we’ll figure out what to do next about Melody. We’ll figure it out together.
I’m drained, ready to slip away into the darkness of sleep, but I think about Dr. McKee again. How his last wish was to talk to his daughter. And how, for some reason, Marie said no.
There’s a buzzing, and I glance over wearily and see Wes’s name lit up on my phone. I debate answering, sure that if I talk to him, we’ll talk for hours. I watch the phone until it grows silent.
There’s a vibration, and I pick up the phone and see he texted.
I really need to talk to you,he writes.Can you please call me?
I stare at the words, and I hate that he has to ask. I should have answered the phone; I should call back. Wes has only known me two days—he can’t feel that strongly about me. Not after I told him we weren’t together like that. Then again, muscle memory. His heart remembers me.
But I don’t respond. I tuck the phone under my pillow, and I close my eyes. So tired. So fucking tired.
There’s an itch in the back of my head, deep in my skull. A fuzziness begins to spread, and then all at once, the bed drops out from under me as I fall deep inside a memory.
•••
Wes and I were at the park, six months before The Program came for me. The weeping willow tree rustled quietly in the sunny afternoon sky. Blanket spread out in the grass; birds singing on the branches.
I turned the page of my magazine, and Wes leaned in to kiss my bare shoulder, his finger teasing the spaghetti strap of my tank top.
“Can I ask you something?” he said, kissing my skin again. I shrugged him off and turned another page.
“Sure,” I said. I didn’t really want to talk. The Program had been collecting more and more people from class, their threat bigger than ever. Closing in on us. Talking seemed like a terrible idea.
“Do you love me?” Wes asked in a quiet voice.
I looked over at him with a sudden skip in my heart. His soft brown eyes reflected the light, shining even as he squinted at me.
“Yeah,” I said impatiently. “Of course.”
Wes fell silent, and then pushed on. “But you don’t love me the same,” he added.
