Suzanne Young - The Treatment

Her paranoia will never really fade. She knows that much. Dallas drops the junk mail into the trash and then sets the case on the kitchen table. Her fingers shake as she reaches inside, and when she pulls out a picture, she stumbles sideways into the chair. It’s her, a picture of her before The Program. Soft blond hair, a hoodie—a normal girl. And next to her is Realm. Smiling.

There are other pictures, and tears fall over Dallas’s cheeks as her entire past unfolds in front of her. She frantically sorts through all the photos, the notes. She has no idea how any of this stuff was saved, but she figures they’re probably not hers at all. They’re Realm’s.

The last thing Dallas finds in the case is a postcard much like the ones she sends to Sloane. It’s from Florida, from her very town, and has a bright-orange sunset streaked across the sky. Dallas’s breath catches in her throat when she looks down at the message scrawled across the white background. It’s not signed, it’s not addressed. It holds only two words, two words that cut through Dallas and make her dissolve into sobs; heavy, aching sobs that both break her down and build her up. The doubt that’s haunted her, the self-hatred, eases slightly, and she knows now she can heal.

Dallas wipes her cheeks and stands. She’s going to get ready for work and pick out her outfit for her date tonight. She’s going to do everything she wants to do. She’s going to accept that good things can happen to her.

Dallas closes the leather case, set to store it away in her closet. She looks at the message one last time, memorizes it, and then leaves the postcard on the table before she walks away.

You matter.