The Complication

by Suzanne Young

“We should see other people,” I said, watching as he flinched again. “With everything going on, I think it’d be the best idea.”

  Wes lifted his eyes to mine, his face pained. “You want to date other people?” he asked, his voice scratchy with emotion. Tears spilled over onto his cheeks, and he was crying. I was making him cry.

  “I think you should see other people,” I clarified. He hitched in a breath, his hand over his heart like it hurt.

  “I want to be with you,” he said. “Are you saying . . . do you still want to be with me, Tate?”

  I couldn’t hold his eyes, and I let the darkness creep over me. Blotting out the light. Erasing us. “No,” I said, staring down at the blanket. “No, Wes. I don’t think we should be together anymore.”

  Wes choked out a cry, and he was a wounded animal, desperate and hurt. I didn’t even want to look at him. Didn’t want to see the damage I had just inflicted. It would save him, though. Letting me go would save him.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, low. “I’m so sorry.”

  Wes dropped back onto the blanket, his forearm over his face, refusing to speak to me. But I curled up next to him anyway, unable to let him cry alone.

  I still loved him. Just not the same.

  And I listened quietly, hating myself, as he told me he wished he were dead.

  • • •

  I wake up to my phone buzzing near my head, disoriented. I squint against the light coming in my window, trying to unravel the mystery in my head. My phone stops buzzing, but my head doesn’t.

  The world is blurry, slow to come back. The memory sticks with me, and a heavy realization crashes over my soul: I broke up with Wes first. I broke his heart and told him to date other people. I sent him away, and when he did try to find happiness, I pulled him back in. I pulled him down.

  Until we were both taken by The Program.

  Although it would be easier to blame the epidemic for this, blame fear—it doesn’t matter what caused it. In the end, my sadness, loneliness, ended with me hurting Wes. And then to make it worse, I continued to hurt him. Right up until the end. Right up until yesterday.

  I finally know the truth of our story. I was slowly dying and thought letting him go would save him. When he did, in fact, start seeing Kyle, it tore me up. And I wanted it all back. I wanted him back. But it was too late. I’d hurt him, broken him down. He was trying to survive, but I begged him to stay with me. And in the end, he wouldn’t leave me, even though he should have.

  I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

  My nose is bleeding from the crashback, mixing with the tears streaming down my cheeks. As I reach to grab a tissue, my phone starts buzzing again. I peek at the caller ID and see it’s Nathan. I have no idea why he’d keep calling instead of texting. It must be serious.

  “You okay?” I ask as way of answering, wiping off the last of the blood.

  Nathan laughs bitterly. “Not quite. But I have an idea. Want to skip school today with me and Foster and get pancakes?”

  I brush my hair away from my face, still trying to get my bearings. “Sure,” I say. “And I . . .” I’m about to tell him about the memory but figure it would be better in person. “See you in twenty minutes?” I ask instead.

  “Deal,” Nathan responds, and hangs up.

  I climb out of bed, the memory set aside, and suddenly the events of yesterday come flooding back. I fall to sit on the mattress. Dr. McKee is dead. My grandparents had my memory erased when I was a kid and then lied about everything. They let me get adjusted. No, they had me adjusted.

  I’m overwhelmed, my heart racing, sweat gathering in my hairline. My skin prickles.

  I switch to my default, the only way to have any normalcy. I have to block it all out, every confusing thought. Every question. Every returned memory. I push it aside and force myself to my feet. To the shower. To the kitchen.

  It’s no way to exist, this empty way I’m going through the motions. But it will help me to live. For now. Wes was right—the past is a dangerous place to be.

  “Have a nice day, honey,” my grandmother calls as I grab my keys from the kitchen. And for one fleeting moment, she stares at me as if she really sees me—like she can tell everything that’s happened. But all I do is smile and tell her I hope she has a nice day too.

  Nathan is sitting on his front porch, his posture sagging, and his elbows on his knees. He looks up from his spot on the stairs when I get to my Jeep. I wave him over, and he grabs his backpack and heads my way. He climbs inside, and I motion toward his bag.

  “Thought we were skipping?” I ask.

  “Prop,” he says. His voice is tired and raspy. It makes me think he’s been crying, and I decide it’s not the time to talk about my past with Wes. It’s over anyway. Nathan’s pain is right now. I have to deal with one problem at a time.

  “Didn’t feel like telling my mother about skipping,” he adds. “I couldn’t even bring myself to tell her about Melody.” He spits her name like it’s a curse.

  “And Foster?” I ask.

  “He’s going to meet us at Lulu’s.”

  I pull out of the driveway and head toward the pancake house. “How much does he know?” I ask.

  Nathan sniffs a laugh and rests his head back against the seat, staring vacantly out the windshield. “Enough to prove him right, which is going to be super annoying.”

  I smile and press down on the accelerator, speeding us toward our friend.

  CHAPTER TEN

  FOSTER TAKES A BITE OF pancake, wipes his mouth, and then looks across the table at Nathan. “So your ex-girlfriend was a spy for the Adjustment and kept tabs on all of us?”

  “I guess,” Nathan says with a shrug. I sip from my coffee. “Although mostly it was Tatum.”

  “She said she loved you?” Foster asks him. He bites off a piece of bacon, calm about all of this. “Did you love her? Is that what she used to manipulate you?”

  Nathan sighs, lifting his head to glare at Foster. Foster nods that he doesn’t have to answer, before biting another piece of bacon. And I can’t stand that the first girl Nathan loved did this to him. He’ll never get over it; how could he?

  “She also got a job at Rockstar Pizza a few weeks ago,” I add, trying to lighten the moment. Lift his pain. “So she manipulated him with pizza, too.”

  Nathan sniffs a laugh like he hates me. “Now I can never eat there again,” he says, pushing his food around on his plate. “She took my favorite restaurant from me. It’s unforgivable.”

  “You’ll learn to love again,” I tell him wistfully. “Maybe it won’t be Rockstar, but I know there’s a special pie out there for you.” Nathan laughs.

  “So just to make sure . . . ,” Foster starts, scrunching up his nose. “Jana is Melody, who is a closer—a person who impersonates someone who died. Am I right so far?”

  Nathan nods.

  “Cool. She’s also a handler, and Vanessa was a patient she monitored in The Program. I’m still good?”

  “Yes, Foster,” Nathan says, wanting him to get to the point he’s sure he’s trying to make.

  “And then Melody watches Vanessa until she kills her—inadvertently,” he adds quickly for Nathan’s benefit. “But then she starts hooking up with you to keep an eye on Tatum?”

  “That’s what I’ve got,” Nathan says. His skin is pale, and when he glances over at me, his hazel eyes are glassy with embarrassment.

  “Don’t,” I whisper, hating that he blames himself.

  “And so you broke up with her,” Foster continues brightly, and holds out his fist for Nathan to bump; he does. “But she’s still around. At least for a little bit?”

  “I guess,” Nathan says.

  “But I can’t tell Arturo?” Foster wants to know.

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” Nathan says. “I just want her to go away. I don’t want to answer questions or have people wonder if I was somehow in with a handler.”

  “You were in with a handler,” Foster says, t
aking a sip of his coffee. I kick him under the table, and he apologizes.

  “Look,” Foster says, pushing aside his plate and leaning into the table. “It’s not your fault, Nathan. I seriously shouldn’t even have to tell you that. You’re one of the most decent guys I’ve ever met, and I fucking love you. But Jana sucked. She always did. Now, we’re going to expunge her from the record, and push ahead. Correct?”

  I can see Nathan wants to blame himself anyway, but he nods that it’s time for us to move on.

  “The real Jana Simms died last year,” Nathan says. “And I never knew her. So let’s just leave it at that.”

  “Done,” Foster replies easily. But the moment is dark. Morbid and heavy.

  My phone buzzes with a message, and I check it. I sigh heavily, and Foster peeks over to read the text.

  Seriously, Wes texts. Please call me back.

  I look up and meet Foster’s eyes, and he motions to the phone on the table. “Seems to be going well,” he says sarcastically. “And we should note that I saw Wes at school before I left, and he’s at once the most adorable and saddest thing I’ve ever seen. Am I wrong to assume that has to do with you?”

  “Not on purpose,” I say, lowering my eyes.

  “Uh . . . didn’t you sleep over his house, like, two days ago?” Foster asks.

  “Right?” Nathan laughs and reaches over to take a piece of bacon off Foster’s discarded plate. Foster smiles, as if reassured now that Nathan is eating again.

  “Yes, I did sleep there,” I say. “But nothing happened. Wes and I aren’t getting back together. In fact, I told him that we never dated—that we were just friends.”

  “That was dumb. And kind of fucking mean,” Foster adds, partially under his breath.

  “Yeah, well, in case you forgot,” I say, “I killed someone yesterday.”

  “You didn’t kill him,” Nathan says immediately.

  “Okay,” I admit. “But I’m still their proof of concept, whatever that is. I’m like, the last person Wes should talk to.”

  “You are definitely a bit of a mess right now,” Foster agrees. “But that’s exactly why you shouldn’t cut him completely out of your life. You have a history together. You don’t have to burn the entire bridge, Tatum. You might still need to cross it.”

  “You don’t understand,” I say, guilty. “He can’t be with me. I . . . I broke up with him. Last year, before he met Kyle, I broke up with Wes. I told him to see other people.”

  Foster tilts his head, confused, and Nathan leans his elbows on the table.

  “I had a crashback,” I confess to them. “And I saw it all. What I did, said. How I hurt him. It’s my fault.”

  “What?” Nathan says, shaking his head. “Wait . . . seriously, what? This changes everything. Your entire history. How could you—?” He stops himself from asking how I could forget something like this, wincing slightly.

  “I thought I was protecting him,” I say. “Protecting us from me. Instead, I made him sick.”

  “You told him to see other people,” Foster corrects. “He did. You didn’t force him to do anything, Tatum.”

  “But then I wanted him back,” I explain.

  “Uh-huh,” Foster says. “And that happens in regular relationships that aren’t being manipulated by the fucking Program. The way I see it,” he says, “you’re doing more damage now. He’s better. You’re better. Why lie to him? It’s going to mess him up.”

  “Listen to Foster,” Nathan relents. “You’ve both made mistakes. Admit to them, accept them. I’m sorry, but lying isn’t an option anymore.”

  “Besides the two of you,” I say, “everyone else in my life tells me to stay away from him.”

  “Yeah, well, you should trust us, obviously,” Nathan says, and Foster nods. “Talk to Wes,” Nathan continues. “You don’t have to dive into your entire sordid past yet, but give him the option to find out. Don’t steal his life away.”

  The words hit me hard, and I sit back in the chair, staring down. I think Nathan’s right—I have to give Wes the option of knowing the truth—the full truth. I owe him that much.

  “Where do I even start?” I murmur. “I brought him to this point. My constant lying, even if I did it to protect him. I’m no better than my grandparents, than Dr. McKee or Marie Devoroux. I’m—”

  My phone buzzes, startling me. I check it, and my heart jumps. I quickly look at Nathan, and he leans forward, reading my alarm.

  “Who is it?” he asks.

  “The Adjustment office,” I murmur in the same breath I say hello, the phone at my ear, my gaze locked with Nathan’s.

  “Tatum,” Marie says, the sound of her voice jarring me. “Have you heard from Melody Blackstone? I can’t get hold of her, and her mother said she was gone this morning. Her room cleaned out.”

  “Oh . . . ,” I say, watching Nathan’s expression. “No, I haven’t heard anything. I—”

  “I’m worried,” Marie cuts in. “I need you to come by the office.”

  “Are you serious?” I ask, annoyed she’d even suggest it. “After everything you and Dr. McKee did to—”

  “Dr. McKee is dead,” Marie says harshly. “And this isn’t negotiable. I’ll see you shortly.” Marie hangs up, and I lower the phone.

  “Marie?” Nathan asks. “What does she want?”

  “She said Melody is missing. And she wants me to come by the Adjustment office.”

  Foster’s mouth falls open as he darts a look between me and Nathan. “Not to be that guy,” he says, brow furrowed, “but it’s a trap. Don’t go.”

  “I’ll be with her,” Nathan says instantly, tossing money onto the table. He’s worried about Melody. Despite everything, he’ll still protect her.

  Foster checks the time on his phone. “Shit. I have a test fourth hour—I can’t miss it. But I’ll be done by noon. Find you after?” he asks.

  “Of course,” I say, still thinking about Melody. Wondering if she has anyone to turn to. Worried that she really is in danger. We should have looked out for her.

  “For real, though,” Foster adds, getting up from the chair. “Answer my call at twelve or I’m showing up at the office to rescue you.”

  Nathan promises Foster that we’ll check in, his mind clearly somewhere else. Foster glances at me, concerned, and touches my arm in good-bye before walking out.

  • • •

  “Do you think she’s all right?” Nathan asks quietly from the passenger seat as we drive toward the Adjustment office. I look sideways at him and see him chewing on the corner of his thumbnail.

  I almost say yes automatically, but I think about Marie and Dr. McKee, how they were always honest with each other. Sort of like Nathan and me. At least, the way we try to be.

  “I don’t know,” I tell him. “But I truly hope so.”

  “What if she . . . ?” Nathan creases his forehead and turns away.

  My heart aches, and he doesn’t have to finish his sentence. We’ve lived through a suicide epidemic. The possibility is always on the table.

  There are no cars in the strip mall parking lot when we pull in. It’s early, and none of the few remaining businesses are open yet. The frosted-glass windows of the Adjustment office are lit up, the lights on inside. I can’t help it—I check around for handlers. For their van. For any sign that Foster was right about this being a trap. But it’s a quiet morning in Oregon. Nathan starts to open his door, but I reach out to grab his arm.

  “I’m scared,” I say.

  “If she or anyone tries to hurt you, I swear, I’ll go nuclear,” he says. “Remember that time in Chuck E. Cheese’s when—”

  I smile. “When Rex Wisteria pegged me with a plastic ball from the pit?”

  Nathan nods, looking proud of himself. Nathan isn’t exactly a fighter, but he beat the shit out of that kid when we were in eighth grade. Of course, Rex deserved it. He’d been torturing me at school, and when he saw me at the restaurant without my grandparents, he tried to continue. Only this time
Nathan was there, and he pounced. A fight in a Chuck E. Cheese ball pit is certainly something to behold. Rex never messed with me again.

  “I love you,” I tell him.

  “Yeah,” he says, lifting one corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”

  He gets out of the Jeep, and although I’m frightened—terrified, really—I don’t think Marie would call me, drag me down here, only to forcibly adjust me. Again. She’s far too clever to be that obvious.

  The door is locked, and I press the buzzer to let Marie know I’m here. It’s quiet, apart from a few birds in the cherry trees along the road.

  The door opens, and Marie nods a hello at Nathan—her mouth tight. He flashes her a winning smile, part sarcastic, and she tells us both to come in. She leaves it unlatched.

  We get inside the lobby, and I’m stunned by her appearance. Marie is a beautiful woman, but today she is a tragic figure. Her dark skin has taken on a greenish hue, her red lipstick gone and her lips chapped. By the swelling around her eyes, I can see she’s been crying. It actually chokes me up a little bit, and I clear my throat to regain my composure.

  It’s then that I see the picture of Dr. McKee, the one Nathan joked about the first time we came to the Adjustment office. Marie must have hung it back up today.

  “When’s the last time you spoke to Melody?” Marie asks, folding her arms over her chest.

  “Yesterday,” Nathan says. “But if you think she’s going to come back and work for you, you’re insane.”

  “I don’t want her to work for me,” Marie says curtly. “I’m worried about her. There are things you don’t understand, Nathan. Other forces at work here. She can’t just disappear; believe me when I say that doesn’t typically lead to a good outcome.”

  “Typically,” I repeat. “Meaning it’s happened before?”

  “Not with Melody,” Marie says with a shake of her head. “I’ve known her for years, since she was a child really. She helped us in the grief department, and then she decided to work for The Program, against my and Dr. McKee’s wishes.”

  Nathan flinches and sniffs as he looks away.

  “But when The Program was getting shut down, Melody came to me. She felt horrible about what she’d been a part of. She wanted to make amends. So she began to help us here, watching returners and correcting those we could.”