The Donor (The Full Novella)

by Nikki Rae

  It was around this time—a few months ago—that I started to become better friends with Gina at work.

  ***

  I expected his house to be bigger, more obvious. But it’s almost similar to the house we lived in before we had to move. Two stories, but medium sized. White siding that reflects back at us as we pull into the driveway. He tells me to wait in the car after he cuts the engine. He walks around to the trunk, his shoes crunching snow as he retrieves my suitcase. I stare at the house, wondering if I made some horrible mistake, but the trunk closes, causing the car to shake slightly, and soon, he’s opened my door.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  ***

  “I’m telling you, Casey,” Gina said one day. “This site is amazing.”

  We were in the break room. Gina and I had started taking our breaks together. I took a lot of breaks. To be honest, my head couldn’t withstand making copies or stapling and un-stapling papers for more than a few hours at a time without causing major migraines, so I didn’t feel too guilty.

  The headaches weren’t anything new. They started during my junior year of high school. The fact that they had gotten worse, sometimes accompanied by nosebleeds had me worried, though. We didn’t have enough money for me to worry about going to the doctor, too, so I dealt with it. If Dad could survive with a broken back, I could do this.

  “What’s it called again?” I asked Gina.

  “Oh.” She took a sip of her coffee and left a red stain of lipstick around the rim of the mug. “I can’t tell you that.”

  I snorted. “Why not?”

  “It’s exclusive. Invite only.” She adjusted her turtleneck sweater under her chin. I almost started sweating watching her do it. It was eighty degrees that day. “You need to be invited to get access.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So why not just invite me then?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Are you joking, Casey?” she asked. “It’s not that easy.”

  “Uh,” I said. “Okay.” For something that was so secretive, she sure talked about it a crap-ton.

  She looked me over. “You should give me a picture of yourself,” she said. “And your email.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll send it to the admin. If they like you enough, they’ll probably give you an invite.”

  Our conversation reminded me of high school and how the cool kids never let me sit at their lunch table. If she only wanted to brag about the website and not let me in on it, I didn’t need to press the issue. I excused myself, making something up about having work to get finished.

  I got a nosebleed in the bathroom later that day at work. It was the fourth one I got that week. I was sent home early with toilet paper pressed under my upper lip and a headache the whole ride home, but as soon as I got in my room, I emailed Gina my picture and contact information.

  ***

  Jonah leads me into the house, shutting the door behind us and flipping on lights ahead of me. The inside is just as unassuming as the outside. No crystal vase on the dining room table. Just hardwood floors. No plasma screen in the living room. No original artwork. Just plain, white couches, a coffee table, and a desk. The only thing that hints at his wealth is the huge fish tank across from the sofa. I’m not aware that I’m moving toward it until my hand presses against the glass. Bright purple and orange coral sits on the bottom, two large black and yellow striped fish slowly swim past my face. I spot three brown seahorses hanging behind a rock, bobbing with the current the filter is creating.

  “Do you like them?” he asks from directly behind me. His coat is off, sitting alongside my suitcase on an arm chair. He’s also rolled up the sleeves of his light grey pressed shirt.

  “Yeah,” I say, turning back to the tank. “Not everyone can keep seahorses alive.”

  He lets me stare a while longer before he says, “Would you like to sit down?”

  I turn around, slightly self-conscious that I went all gaga over something he probably never thinks twice about. If one died, he could drop another two hundred dollars and get a new one over-nighted without much thought.

  I slip off my backpack and sit down on the couch across from the seahorses. I take off my coat too, and give it to Jonah when he holds out his hand. After he’s placed it next to his, he sits down next to me.

  When neither of us says anything, I say, “I like your house.”

  He rests his hands on his thighs. “Thank you.”

  Then silence again. He smiles. I smile. I adjust the hem of my dress over my knees.

  “So did you bring the paperwork?” he asks.

  ***

  In the weeks after I sent Gina my picture, my work life went on the same as usual. Eventually, she stopped talking about MyTrueMatch altogether and I started doubting she really sent them my photo.

  I was a little preoccupied by then anyway so I didn’t really care. All of my time was spent on trying to pick up extra hours to help pay for a surgery Dad had to get in order for one of his slipped discs to stop pressing on a nerve. There was also the small matter of gathering enough money for my own doctor’s appointment that was weighing on my mind. The headaches were getting worse. The nosebleeds were getting more frequent. Blurred vision was now added to my list of symptoms.

  Then one day, Gina stopped by my desk.

  “Hey,” she said, stepping into my cubicle.

  I was distracted, looking through my desk drawers for any aspirin bottle that wasn’t empty. I finally found a single pill, slightly covered in lint, at the bottom of my purse. I sighed in relief, took it with cold coffee, and turned toward her.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Hi.”

  “Just wanted to drop this off,” she said, handing over some manila envelopes I was supposed to file away.

  “Oh.” I took them and set them down next to my keyboard. The pounding behind my right eyeball was becoming more like a screwdriver being driven directly into my brain, so the idea of reading anything was enough to make me nauseous.

  “Still getting those headaches, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You get them checked out?”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and shut my eyes for a second. “Working on it.”

  “Well,” she said, already backing out of my space. “Feel better, okay?”

  For the hell of it, I checked my email once she was gone. I was officially invited to sit at the cool kids’ table.

  ***

  He takes the papers from me that I produce from my back pack. Then he opens a drawer in the coffee table to retrieve a black folder and a blue ballpoint pen. He crosses one of his legs over the other as he smoothes out the paper I folded in half and places it inside the folder resting on his lap.

  He uncaps the pen. “I just have to ask a few questions.”

  I feel a faint sharp pain in my temple, but it goes away before I give it a second thought. “Okay.”

  “How old are you?”

  I clear my throat. “Eighteen.”

  Jonah looks at the paper I’ve just handed him—a copy of my birth certificate—and marks something off on his own paper.

  “When is your birthday?”

  I think it’s pointless to ask these questions when the proof of my birthday and age are right in front of him, but whatever. “February third.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “That’s soon.”

  My smile feels tight on my face. “Yup.”

  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “I wouldn’t be doing this if I did.”

  He smiles to himself before checking off something else.

  “Why do you need to ask me this stuff anyway? You know everything already.”

  He shuts his folder containing his notes so he can look at me. “It’s for legal reasons, in case something should happen and you want to sue me,” he says with an edge of humor. “I’m nearly done.”

  “Oh.” I honestly hadn’t thought of that.

  “Do you have any health problems I should know about?” He re-opens the
folder. “Heart conditions, things like that?”

  “No,” I answer quickly. “I mean, I get headaches sometimes, but it’s no big deal.”

  “Okay…” The scribbling of his pen against the paper becomes faster. He’s writing it all down.

  “Why are you consenting to do this?” He asks this when he’s not even done writing down the answer to the previous question.

  I stare at my knees. “I don’t know.”

  His pen stops moving. He glances at me for a second. “Yes.” He looks back down. “You do.”

  I fold my arms across my chest. “The money, I guess.”

  His pen stops again. “That doesn’t seem entirely true either.”

  I sigh. “My dad’s sick.”

  I hear the folder close so I look up at him. “With what?” he asks.

  “That’s not on the form,” I say. “Is it?”

  He just stares. When I don’t say anything else, he picks up the papers again. “And you’ll be here for two weeks?”

  “Yes.” I say. “Uhm…” I try to find the words. “How often do you…need me?”

  His smile is almost reassuring. “A few times a week.”

  I nod, let that sink in.

  “And…you’re still okay with only a few thousand?” he asks after a while.

  I shrug. It would be enough to pay some of the medical bills at least. Enough so my parents won’t have to worry. “‘Only?’” I try to joke.

  He surprises me when he laughs. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but I can afford to give you a few thousand for each session.”

  I smile so he can’t see how uncomfortable I am. Hopefully. “That could work.” My parents could pay my medical bills as well as some of Dad’s that way.

  Jonah turns his attention back to the folder, seemingly pleased about shoveling money at some girl he’s just met.

  “Okay,” he says, handing me the folder and all of the papers it contains. “All you have to do is sign here, agreeing to the terms we’ve discussed, as well as agreeing that any false information will be a breach of contract, resulting in termination.”

  He hands me his pen, and I sign the three lines he indicates.

  Finally, he closes the folder for good and sets it on the coffee table. “Are you tired?” he asks.

  “No,” I say. “Why?”

  He moves a little closer.

  I have to say, I could be doing this with someone a lot worse. He isn’t bad looking for an older guy, and he’s pretty nice, too.

  “You’ve been staring at your legs for the past fifteen minutes.”

  “Oh.” I laugh nervously. “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” he says. “Want me to show you to your room?”

  I nod before I can tell myself I should leave.

  ***

  “So,” I said to Gina the day after I set up my profile page and information. “You met someone on MyTrueMatch right away?” We were in the bathroom this time. I had just spent the past ten minutes in a stall, unraveling a roll of toilet paper until my nose stopped bleeding. “How long did it take?”

  She was fixing her lipstick in the mirror as I washed my hands. “Oh, I’ve met more than one,” she said. “It took a few weeks, I guess.” She shrugged like it was no big deal. “The guys on there are hungry. You’ll meet one soon.”

  ***

  The room he shows me is upstairs, and he carries both my suitcase and backpack, walking ahead of me. He opens one of the doors, revealing a medium-sized room with a queen sized bed. It’s simple, like the rest of the house. White sheets and comforter, wood floors. Blank walls except for a brown dresser sitting against one of them with a matching nightstand on the right side of the bed.

  There are two doors: one is to a closet and one is to a bathroom. He leaves me to change in there. Gina told me to wear something sexy for the first night I was here, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I slip into a tank top and blue sweatpants. I throw my hair in a ponytail as an afterthought.

  Jonah is still in the bedroom when I emerge. I watch him lean over the bed and dig his fingers into the comforter as he lifts it back for me. I crawl into bed as quickly as humanly possible. He smiles again. He has a really nice smile. Innocent. Sweet. He sits down right next to me, his back leaning against my thigh. Our bodies are only separated by a few inches of fabric.

  He takes a glass of water from the night table that I hadn’t noticed was there. Then he opens his palm and hands me a tiny white pill.

  “Don’t be nervous,” he says as I take it from him. Gina told me that some of them give out pills so you don’t flip out the first few times. “It’s not that bad. I promise.”

  I hand him back the empty glass. “This is a nice room,” I say because I have nothing else to say.

  “I figured I’d leave it simple,” he says. “In case you wanted to make it your own. Whatever makes you the most comfortable.”

  I smile, wondering if two weeks is really enough time to make anything my own. If there’s really enough time to do anything in life. And also if my vision is blurring because I’m about to get another headache or because the pill he gave me is working that fast. Suddenly, his hand is on my face. It’s not rough, or even particularly scary. I just hadn’t expected it to be so cold or so gentle.

  “You’re very pretty,” he says quietly.

  I smile a little, realizing that it is in fact the pill as I start to feel tingly all over. “You’re very…” I almost slur. “Forty.”

  He laughs softly. “Thanks.”

  Things start to move like we’re under water. His hand leaves my face. I lie all the way down. His hand is in the drawer of the night stand and I’m shutting my eyes to keep the room from spinning. So I don’t have to see what he’s doing.

  ***

  A week ago, I started really getting nervous. The headaches and nosebleeds weren’t helping, but add to that the fact that I was going across country to see a guy I barely knew to do God knows what for money. It was too much. Gina apparently noticed how on edge I was and cornered me in the parking lot one day after work. I was already in my car, and she was tapping on the closed passenger’s side window, asking me through the glass to let her in.

  I unlocked my doors. She sat down and slammed the door too hard, making my head pound. Not that it wasn’t already.

  “So Monday’s the big day, huh?” she asked.

  “How did you know?”

  She flipped the visor in front of her so she could look into the mirror and check her hair. “You took off the next two weeks.”

  “Oh.”

  “Are you excited?” she asked, smiling like a teenager.

  “I’m freaking out,” I admitted.

  “Oh,” she said. “Don’t sweat it. It’s not that bad.”

  “You realize the ridiculousness of that statement, right?” I said. “This whole thing is ridiculous, but that sentence is so ridiculous I could puke.”

  She was silent.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “My head hurts.”

  “Look.” She turned in the seat like she was about to tell me a secret. “You need the money to help your folks,” she said. “And I’ve got three kids and a deadbeat ex who doesn’t pay child support. There are worse ways to make money.”

  And I remember thinking: Are there?

  ***

  I feel a pinch in my right arm. It’s not exactly painful, but it’s enough to make me jump.

  “Sorry,” Jonah says. “I promise, that’s the worst part.”

  I somehow doubt that.

  ***

  “Here,” Gina said, unwrapping her scarf from around her neck. “I’ll show you.”

  I had been to the forums on MyTrueMatch. I’d seen the bite marks on necks, thighs, and chests. Dozens of them. Gina’s were no different than any of the other scabbed over black and blue marks I’d already seen, so I was barely fazed.

  “I don’t care about that part,” I said.

  “Oh.” She wrapped the scarf
around her neck again, canary yellow against bruised peach. “The sex isn’t so bad either,” she said. “After they give you that little pill, you can sleep through it if you want.”

  My stomach turned and the pain behind my eye twisted. “I have to go,” I said. “I have a doctor’s appointment.”

  ***

  When I open my eyes, Jonah is taking the needle out of my arm and placing a Band-Aid over the tiny hole he’s created. He sets a bag filled with my blood on the nightstand, and it somehow seems better than the alternate route this process could have gone.

  “That’s it?” I ask.

  Jonah crumples the Band-Aid wrapper and smiles. “That’s it.”

  “You’re not going to bite me?” I almost cover my mouth with a hand. Those words sound so strange and blunt shoved together like that.

  He raises an eyebrow, but his tone serious. “Did you want me to?”

  I gulp and shake my head. “And you don’t…” My brain is having a hard time stringing together sentences. “Want anything else?”

  Now he laughs. “We barely know each other, Casey,” he says. “I’m not like a lot of the guys on that site.

  I smile, relaxed at how easy this conversation is despite how strangeness of the entire situation.

  “Besides,” he continues. “I think I might be too young for you, being twelve years old and everything.”

  I can’t give him more than another smile to show my appreciation at his jokes before my head rolls to one side and I fall into the deepest sleep I’ve gotten in weeks.

  I wake up some hours later, but it’s still dark. My head is pounding, there’s buzzing in my ears, and I have to vomit. I blink a few times, but my vision doesn’t clear. The important thing is that Jonah isn’t here anymore, and I can stumble to the bathroom without him seeing me.

  When I’m done puking up the small amount of food I ate on the plane, I head to the sink to wash my face and brush my teeth. My nose drips a red spot into the toothpaste around the drain. Somewhere between replacing the toothbrush in the holder and searching my cosmetics bag for aspirin, everything tunnels and begins to turn black. The last thing I see is that drain, and the toothpaste mixing with my blood causes a light pink bloom before it’s sucked down.