Page 87

I tryto push the guilt out of my head as I lose myself in studying.

The library is open until midnight, and I intend to stay there until closing time. For some reason, it’s comforting to stare at diagrams of arteries, nerves, and muscles. I try to blank out everything except anatomy.

But it’s hard to focus. I keep thinking about that letter I stuffed into Rachel’s locker. Is Rachel going to get me a copy of the exam? And if she does, will I look at it? I’ve never cheated before. This crosses a line.

And of course, if Rachel doesn’t get me the exam, should I make good on my threat and blow the whistle on their little sex romp? An offense like that is enough to get Dr. Conlon fired and Rachel kicked out of school. I don’t have much sympathy for Rachel, but I’d feel sorry for Dr. Conlon. He’s a really good teacher who cares a lot about his students. I can tell his job means everything to him. It’s not his fault that Rachel is playing him for a grade.

But really, what I can’t stop thinking about is Mason. As I look at the diagrams of the arms and legs, I can’t help but think about what he did to our cadaver. The dopamine capsules are long out of his system, though—the matter is out of my hands. Mason has friends, a roommate, and his family to look out for him. It shouldn’t all fall on my shoulders.

But then sometimes I think back to the way he used to kiss me. The way he’d smile at me. The way we ripped each other’s clothes off like the ship was going down. Mason isn’t just my classmate. At one time, I actually really liked him.

I look down at my watch—it’s a quarter to midnight. I’ve barely been able to focus at all in the last few hours, and the library will be closed soon. I may as well get packed up to leave.

“Sasha!”

I practically jump out of my skin at the sound of my name. I look up and gasp when I behold the person who used to be Mason Howard standing before me. He looks awful. His clothing is wrinkled and stained, his hair is disheveled, he has a week’s growth of a beard on his face, and there are dark circles under his eyes.

He seems out of breath. He kneels down in front of me and takes my hand in his like he’s about to propose. There’s a terrible, haunted look in his bloodshot hazel eyes.

“Sasha…” he whispers.

I try not to let on how shocked I am by his appearance. I force a smile. “Hey, Mason.”

“Sasha, I think…” He takes a deep breath. “I think there’s something wrong with me. I… I think I’m losing it…” As he speaks the words, his eyes fill up with tears.

I’ve never seen Mason cry. I’ve only seen aman cry once in my entire life: when my father watched me graduate from college.

“Please help me,” he whispers.

He buries his face in his hands, his trembling fingers reaching into his brown hair and compulsively pulling at the strands.

Why should I help him? Nobody ever helped me.

He looks back up at me, the desperation plain on his face. He’s having his first lucid moment in a long time, and he’s realizing what is happening to him. It’s almost heartbreaking.

Almost.

“Calm down,” I say, trying to put conviction into my words. “You’re fine. Everyone gets nervous before a big exam.”

Mason is shaking his head, mouthing the word “no.”

“Come on,” I say. “Think about it: people who are crazy don’t know they’re crazy, right? You’re just being a typical med student hypochondriac.”

I watch his face, waiting to see if he’ll buy it.

“Maybe…” he says slowly.

“You just need to get some sleep,” I say in my most gentle voice. Hey, maybe I’ve got a career in psychiatry. As if.

Mason’s shoulders sag.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” He sighs and looks back up at me. For a moment, he’s his old self as he offers me a half-hearted grin, “Hey, do you want to go to the locker rooms…?”

Even with everything going on, I’m tempted. Even with his disheveled appearance, Mason is still very attractive. But I can’t. Not after everything I’ve done to him. Just looking at him makes me hate myself.