Dr. Warren removes her glasses, setting them beside her before folding her hands on the desk. “This is an important step in your recovery,” she says. “You must take it or we’ll have to give it to you intravenously. And that’s never pleasant.”
“You’d force me?” I ask. Even though I knew the situation all along, knew that I was in The Program against my will, the idea of being physically restrained again is enough to make me panic.
“This is treatment,” Dr. Warren says. “Think of it as your antibiotic. We need to treat the virus, and then you’ll be free of it. Take the pill and go home, Sloane. It’s as simple as that.”
I consider arguing, fighting my way out. But there’s nothing outside this office but the stark white halls of The Program. And so I throw the doctor a hateful glare and lean forward to grab the yellow pill, swallowing it down before walking out.
CHAPTER FOUR
IT’S NEARLY DINNERTIME WHEN NURSE KELL COMES in to get me, saying that Dr. Warren has denied my request to eat in my room. The nurse helps me get dressed because I’m still groggy from my therapy session. I’m not sure I’ve had one clear moment since coming to The Program.
Nurse Kell holds my arm as we walk to the dining room, and the moving around actually helps me wake up a little. I try to think back on where the day went, but it’s all a blur. “Stop drugging me,” I mumble. “It’s too strong.”
Nurse Kell looks concerned. “Oh, dear. Well, I’ll certainly mention it to Dr. Francis. Maybe he can change your dose.”
“Yeah,” I say, pulling my arm from hers now that I can stand on my own. “I’m sure he will.” I turn away and head toward the serving line, looking over the different foods set out on trays. I don’t want to eat. I don’t want to talk. What I want is to take this tray and smash things with it, but I know that won’t get me home any faster.
I grab my food and head to a table in the corner and sit down. I want to go home. I just want to go home.
“Are you going to eat or are you a starver?”
I look up to see the guy from the leisure room, the one who gave me a pretzel, standing at the end of my table with a tray.
“A starver?”
He shrugs. “It’s pretty common around here.”
I glance around, noticing how several patients are just poking at their food with plastic spoons. It makes sense, I guess. With no will to live, why eat?
“How can I resist a menu like this?” I murmur, looking down at my plate. There are chunks of meat and potatoes in gravy, along with a side of broccoli and orange Jell-O.
The guy laughs. “So you’re funny? That’s refreshing. Mind if I sit?”
I don’t really care either way, so I just shrug. The guy pulls out the chair across from me and then exhales heavily. “My name’s Realm,” he says.
“Realm?” I look at him.
“It’s Mike Realm, but everyone just calls me Realm.”
“So can I call you Mike?”
“Nope.”
My mouth twitches with a smile, but I immediately straighten my expression.
“It’s okay sometimes,” Realm says, grabbing the roll off his tray and dipping it in the mashed potatoes. “Your face won’t break if you smile.”
I look him over. His hair is crazy, but now I see it’s styled that way. The scar on his neck stands out pink against his skin, and he still has shadows under his eyes like he’s been inside too long. But he’s cute—I’m sure under normal circumstances he is.
“If I smile they’ll think they got to me.”
Realm pauses before answering. “And that’s a bad thing? You want to stay here?”
“No. But I don’t want them to win, either.”
“Ah, well, sweetness. You’re gonna have to decide which you want more if you plan on going home.” He takes a bite, chewing slowly before talking to me again. “What’s your name?” he asks. “I tried to steal your chart, but I got busted.”
“You were going to steal it?”
He nods as if he’s proud.
“My name’s Sloane Barstow, but you can call me Sloane.”
“Can’t call you Barstow?”
“Nope.”
“Okay.”
Realm doesn’t go on, and he finishes his food in silence while I pick at mine. “If you eat more,” he says, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin, “the drugs won’t hit you as hard. I’m guessing they’ve got you pretty doped up. Keeping you under control.”
“Seeing that I can’t remember large chunks of time, you’re probably right.” I take a bite of my now-cold mashed potatoes.
“What color pills do you take?” he asks, leaning forward on his elbows.
“Red before therapy, yellow after.”
He nods and looks away, fidgeting with the hem of his scrubs.
“And then,” I continue, “there’s what the handler gives me.”
Realm looks up suddenly and tilts his head. “What? What do you mean?”
I take a sip of my milk and flip my gaze over to where the dark-haired handler is standing, not looking at me for once. “The one by the door,” I say behind my cup. “He injects me with sedatives.”
“What?” Realm says loud enough to earn a few stares. “That ass**le! What’s he giving you?”
“I don’t know exactly,” I say. “But it pretty much just knocks me out where I stand.”
Realm ducks his head as he lowers his voice. “Are you being serious about this?”
I scoff. “Why would I lie to you? To impress you with my tales of Program misadventures? Yes. He injected me the day I came here, and again in the hall after therapy. I haven’t seen him today, at least not until now.”
“Sloane,” Realm whispers, his dark eyes a different shade of worry. “If he does that again, if he hurts you, you need to tell Dr. Warren.”
“I tried. But she—”
“Tell her I made you tell. She’ll believe me.” Realm looks around then, noticing how others have finished their dinner and are headed out to watch TV or play cards. “I should go,” he says like he doesn’t want to. “But remember, the card game invitation stands, okay?”
I nod, having forgotten until he mentioned it. I watch as he leaves and notice that he goes out of his way to walk past the handler. When he passes, Realm looks sideways at him with a death stare, and for a second I think he’s going to get in a fight. But instead, the dark-haired handler, the one I’m scared of, pushes off from the wall and leaves the room.