Leah felt the blood rushing to her face. "Please don't put me in there. I'm sorry."
TD beckoned Stanley John with two fingers. He stepped inside, running a hand through his lank brown hair, which fell back perfectly along the part. He was the kind of guy the girls at Pepperdine had found attractive – strong jaw, perfect teeth, pronounced brow. He cast a concerned eye at the Teacher. "What's the prob, TD?"
"She's bleeding."
"C'mon, Leah. You know better than that. Now, don't you?"
She tried not to shake. "Well, actually, I was never told. I just finished my period, actually, so I wasn't really -"
"Oh, I think you know how to take accountability better than that, don't you?" Keeping his eyes on Leah, Stanley John extended his hand. TD lowered the necklace into his palm, the copper wires gleaming through the beads.
Leah studied her shoes, her face burning.
TD placed his ageless face before hers. "The Program ensures you'll have a steep learning curve, even if the learning isn't always fun."
Her head sank, her shoulders drooped. If she could have melted into the floorboards, she would have.
"You said last session that your parents think you don't listen. After your real dad died of cancer, you didn't fit in well with your new family."
She looked away to hide her welling tears. "Yes."
"Sound familiar? You not fitting in?"
Moisture on her cheeks. Shame burning like an infection. "Yes."
He placed his hands softly on her cheeks until she raised her eyes. "Your acting out like this isn't going to get you the kind of attention you're seeking."
"I know. It's my Old Programming."
"What do you feel?"
She wiped her tears. "That no matter what I say, you'll be disappointed with me."
"Don't you see that's a self-fulfilling prophecy? You're acting weak, crying like a victim. You're creating in me the very disappointment you're so afraid of."
Her thoughts pulled in ten directions at once. "I don't mean to do that. That's not what I meant to do."
"Don't worry, Leah." He stroked her face gently. "TD will break you of this habit. We'll get you fixed. Okay?"
Her head barely moved. Up, down, up.
Stanley John led her out. She felt dead inside, as if she'd withered away and her body was walking of its own volition. When they reached the oval of grass, the others stopped their gardening and playing and talking and stared, reading the situation from the expression on her face. When Stanley John started up the steep paved road toward the empty treatment wing of the preceding adolescent facility, there could be no doubt.
Two girls playing Frisbee stopped and called out admonitions. Janie's husband, Chris, the chubby Webmaster for The Program's incipient site, stopped flipping burgers in the barbecue pit and stared at Leah disapprovingly, one hand perched possessively on Janie's hourglass waist. Janie, looking even more youthful and pretty beside her balding husband, was shaking her head, knowing she'd face chastisement for Leah's failure. A group of people near the picnic tables whispered and pointed. Nancy stood among them, drunk with relief, seeming gleeful that the focus had been turned away from her. Her face still carried the pink stains of her earlier crying. Leah had lied to protect her, and she'd been repaid with derision. She felt too numb to hate Nancy. All she felt was her own shame at deceiving TD, at denying Nancy her rightful lesson. Clearly, Leah was getting what she deserved now.
The others started streaming over in twos and threes, following Stanley John and Leah up the hill toward the treatment wing. Leah could barely walk; her legs had gone weak with anticipation. Stanley John stopped her about thirty yards from the doors.
He walked ahead, fishing for keys in his pocket, as Leah felt the crowd swarm up behind her. The fabric of her shirt, pasted to her chest, fluttered with her heartbeat. Her rash, which stretched from her breasts to her clavicle, burned and itched. She closed her eyes against the snatches of conversation.
About thirty of them lined up on either side of her, forming a path to the front door, which Stanley John held open. Her breathing shallow and rapid, she started forward on tingling legs. The first girl on her right pinched her on the back of her arm, hard. Chris squeezed the soft skin of her left arm, twisting, a satisfied grin on his thick lips. Janie, fresh and vibrant, waited her turn beside him. Leah bit her cheek to keep from crying out as hand after hand reached out to nip the tender flesh at the back of her arms.
Janie leaned in close, her brown hair drifting like parted drapes. "This is your experience. You can make of it what you want."
Leah tried to mouth her thanks, but the next sets of hands were on her, and she had to clamp her jaw to keep from crying out. She wanted desperately to break into a run, but if she tried to flee, she'd have to walk the Wellness Train all over again. She forced herself to step, pause, step, like a bride moving to the altar. Finally she couldn't help herself, and she started to pull away from the grasping fingers, elbows tucking to her waist. Her face was hot and slick with tears. Everyone was cheering and yelling. Nancy gripped her skin but didn't squeeze; her eyes were sad and horrified. Two new guys at the end eagerly awaited their turn. They grabbed the now-purple flesh and squeezed until Leah yelped, a small, throaty noise lost in the roar of the crowd. The guy on the right studied her face, an erection bulging in his shorts.
She stepped past them, her arms on fire, the rash on her chest seething beneath her sweat-drenched shirt. Stanley John took her by the shoulders and turned her around so she faced back up the aisle.
Everyone burst into applause for her.
"Way to go, Leah!"
"Atta girl!"
"No pain no gain."
Satiated, they dispersed, joking and talking about dinner.
Stanley John unlocked the door and led her in. She cupped the swollen backs of her arms in her hands. The pain continued to smolder within them, a deep-tissue burn.
"You'll have five hours of treatment."
A blast of denial hit her. "Five hours? I can't make it through five hours."
"You doubt yourself? You know what? I'm gonna prove to you that you can make it six hours."
They reached the Growth Room. He turned the key in the lock, guided her inside. "I want you to meditate on your negativity. We don't have room for it up here. And I want you to think about how self-impeding you were to question Teachings. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"I want you to stay in there until you decline to exercise the option called weakness."
She heard the muffled thunk of the dead bolt as it slid home.
She sank to the floor and pulled her knees to her chest. Soon she was rocking, her back hitting against one of the padded walls. The caged bulb overhead threw a bluish light through the tiny cell, reflected in the small square of glass set high in the door. She was exhausted. Her arms throbbed. Her rash raged. Her head pounded.
The light clicked off. A few moments of silence. Leah's eyes darted about, her body braced. Static burst through hidden speakers at incredible volume, causing her to jerk back against the wall, hands pressed over her ears. It ended just as abruptly. The lightbulb turned back on. Hesitantly, she removed her hands from her ears, her heartbeat hammering, her eyes trained on the lightbulb.
She started to weep, her cries hoarse and desperate. Curled in the corner, she sobbed. Finally she closed her eyes, succumbing to exhaustion. After ten minutes darkness fell across her body. When the inevitable burst of static came, she screamed, scrambling around the padded room like a trapped rat.
At last it ceased. The pain in her head grew so intense it blurred her vision. She drifted in and out of sleep, snapping to and staring to make sure the lightbulb remained on. It clicked off at irregular intervals that made anticipation impossible. Eventually she started screaming in the dark even before the noise came. The deafening static lasted sometimes three seconds, sometimes five minutes.