Chapter 12
Twelve
Unsurprisingly, Trevor was out seconds after dropping onto my bed, but I couldn’t get my mind to shut off enough to sleep.
Hours had gone by, and I couldn’t stop replaying what had happened as his rhythmic breathing filled the room.
And not just because I was trying to make sense of the whole thing, either, but also because I couldn’t stop wondering what other surprises awaited me.
I shifted for probably the hundredth time since lying down, convinced if I could just get comfortable, I would be able to turn my brain off and finally fall asleep.
The band on my left wrist seemed twice as heavy as it had when Hilary first put it on me, which made it twice as difficult to find a good position.
The silicone was sharp against my bony wrists, and the rectangular face clunky.
Tucking my hand under my head the way I usually did was impossible unless I wanted the display pressing into my skull, and putting my arm under my pillow only made the silicone dig into my wrist more.
The pressure of the band was a constant reminder of what had happened.
I hadn’t realized the thing could communicate with me, but maybe I should have.
The program’s rules were stringent, and the stakes too high to leave room for error.
But what else could they monitor? If, for example, I’d taken a sip of Trevor’s beer, would the wristband have been able to tell?
Could it measure if I was taking my vitamins?
If I was coming down with a cold? If I ate one of the unapproved foods?
I wasn’t sure because on one hand, the smoke had been external, but on the other hand, I had no doubt that if the government could spy on every moment of my life for the duration of the program, they would.
Meaning I had even less privacy than I’d thought.
The realization sent a shiver shooting down my spine, and the wristband seemed to grow even heavier.
It felt suddenly hot against my skin as well, and like in the bar, panic rose inside me.
I clawed at the band as my heart began to thud harder, desperate for some relief from the thing.
My stomach tightened, my nails scratched at my skin as I worked a finger under the silicone, and my breaths came out faster.
I couldn’t get it off. I was trapped. A prisoner.
I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling suddenly backed into a corner. Desperate.
There has to be a way out of this. This can’t be real. It can’t.
It was.
My panic never ebbed completely, but somehow, I managed to drift off.
The sleep was fitful, though, and plagued with hazy dreams I could only partly remember when I woke.
I sifted through the fuzzy memories as light streamed in through the crack in my curtains, the beam cutting across the bed.
I recalled being in an exam room surrounded by doctors and nurses but didn’t remember what had been happening.
Then I’d been at the farm, sitting at the small round table in the old-fashioned kitchen, a blonde girl with a round belly standing across from me.
Images from my past and present had twisted together, creating a disjointed and restless sleep, but none were vivid enough to totally recall now that I was awake.
They faded more with each passing second, but the feeling of dread didn’t. It clung to me like a tick.
Trevor’s heavy breathing told me he was still asleep, which was no surprise. The sun was up, but it was early – only a few minutes past seven – and he’d had a lot to drink last night. Plus, he liked to sleep in on his day off.
Since there was no way I’d be able to settle down enough to once again drift off, I dragged myself from bed, standing on shaky limbs.
I’d gotten very little sleep, and none of it had been restful, and I was jittery and unsteady as I slipped from the bedroom, carefully closing the door behind me so as not to bother Trevor.
In the kitchen, I automatically moved to the coffeemaker, salivating at the thought of a big cup of liquid energy. I’d just picked up the glass carafe when reality slammed into me, though. Caffeine was off limits. It was in the contract.
Shit.
Carafe still in hand, I stared at the band secured to my wrist as panic once again snaked through me.
I started to shake. If I drank a cup, would they know?
No, they wouldn’t. Couldn’t. And even if they did, it was just a little caffeine.
But they couldn’t because that was crazy.
Impossible. Secondhand smoke was one thing, but there was no way the wristband could sense the presence of caffeine in my body.
Could it? The more important question, though, was if the authorities could somehow detect it, what would they do about it?
The longer I stared at the small band affixed to my wrist, the more menacing it became, and the more I began to tremble.
My legs first, then my hands. They quivered like an earthquake had started inside me.
It was so intense that without thinking, I released the carafe and curled my hands into fists in hopes of controlling the tremors.
The carafe fell in slow motion, the light streaming in from the living room window catching on the glass as it spun in the air, the heavier top causing it to flip.
It slammed against the old, hardwood floor top first, and the plastic lid broke off and skidded across the room, then the body hit with a crash, and the glass shattered into dozens of pieces.
Some were tiny shards while others were large slivers that spun a few times before coming to a stop.
All of them were sharp. Sharp enough to cut.
I’d had moments after my time at the farm when I might have been what someone would have considered depressed, but never before had I thought about cutting myself.
In that moment, though, standing in my living room with the broken shards spread out around my feet, all I could think about was picking up the biggest piece and running it down my arm.
Would the pain distract me from the throbbing inside?
I imagined it would. Imagined it would drown out every other emotion and anxiety.
My focus on the largest shard, I knelt, careful not to move my feet as I did. My hand was out, the glass inches from my fingers and my heart thudding in my ears, when Trevor came rushing from the bedroom.
“Holy shit, Ara! Don’t move. Stay where you are!”
The worry in his voice snapped me out of it, and I lifted my head, tearing my gaze from the glass scattered around me. Still crouched, I watched Trevor shove his feet into his shoes then hurry toward me, the glass crunching under the thick soles.
Trevor scooped me into his arms when he reached me, cradling me against his chest. He was wearing only boxers, and his bare skin was warm against mine, which was what made me realize that I was shivering.
I clung to him like a frightened child as he picked his way through the shards, the glass crunching under his heavy tread with each step.
When he had me away from danger, he deposited me on the couch. He flopped down beside me then, letting out a long breath that illustrated how exhausted he was. There was something else there as well, though. Exasperation.
He pushed his glasses up and ran his hand down his face, over the brown stubble on his chin and cheeks, then blew out another long breath before turning to me. “What the hell was that?”
“I dropped the carafe,” I replied, hoping he’d let it go.
He narrowed his eyes, which were bloodshot but sharp and alert. “Don’t bullshit me, Ara. You were reaching for glass when I came out of the bedroom. What the fuck is going on? And don’t tell me nothing because I know you better than that.”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled.
He looked me over with eyes that were narrowed to slits. “Are you suicidal?”
My heart jumped and my stomach flipped, but I wasn’t sure what the reaction meant. I wasn’t, but I had been thinking about cutting myself. That signified some kind of mental instability, didn’t it? But how bad was it? I couldn’t say.
“Ara,” he urged when I said nothing. “Answer – ”
“I’m not,” I said quickly. “I’m having a hard time, yes, but I swear, I’m not suicidal.”
He pressed his lips together. “You weren’t planning on picking up a shard of glass?”
“I was. I don’t even know why, but I swear I wasn’t thinking about killing myself. I just had this crazy idea that if I cut myself, it might lessen the other pain.”
“Jesus Christ,” Trevor muttered.
He pushed his glasses up and pinched his nose, a long sigh whooshing out of him.
I sat at his side, silent and feeling like a kid in trouble but also like I’d let him down.
No, not just him. Both of us. I’d let myself down, too.
I was supposed to be stronger than this.
Supposed to be able to get through this insane program unscathed. What was I doing?
“I’m sorry,” I said when the silence had stretched out too long.
“I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t understand any of this.
It’s not me. I’m not me.” I paused. “That’s the worst part, you know?
That I no longer have any control. My life belongs to someone else, and it pisses me off.
And maybe that was my reasoning. Maybe I just wanted to have a little bit of control in what happened to me. ”
“By hurting yourself?” he asked, sounding both confused and appalled.
“Why not? I’m already in pain. At least this way, I would be in charge of why I was hurting.”
Trevor looked at me for a long moment, his gray eyes serious and swimming with hurt. “Don’t do that to me, Ara. Okay? Don’t leave me. Not like that. I mean, you’re all I have. My only family. My closest and oldest friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”