The Donor (The Full Novella) Page 7

  I spoke first. “I'm sorry. For what I said about your daughter. It wasn’t right.”

  Jonah blinked a few times, like he had to think about what I was apologizing for. Then he said, “You don't have to be sorry. It was a valid question.”

  I swallowed hard. Not valid enough, apparently. Not enough to keep me in his house and with him.

  “I'm sorry you saw Zoey.”

  It took my muddled mind a few seconds to put the sentence together. Zoey. The image of the girl with expensive shoes flooded my vision and my chest became tight. It was a long time before either of us said anything. Time stretched on between us, ticking by the seconds I didn't have time to lose.

  Jonah opened his mouth to say something at the same time I asked, “When do you want me to leave?”

  A pained look passed over his face, like I had slapped him in the face or punched him in the stomach. “You want to go home?” he asked gently.

  My eyebrows knitted together with sudden anger. “No.” I tried to keep my voice level. “Of course I don't. You're the one who wants me to leave.”

  Jonah shook his head like it would help him put his thoughts in order. I did it for him.

  “My bed is gone, my clothes are packed…the new donor in your living room?” I meant to sound strong but it didn't quite happen. “When were you going to tell me?”

  He stared at me and readjusted himself against the wall, like he wanted to move closer but thought better of it. “Casey,” Jonah said. “I know what it looks like.”

  “It looks like you're kicking me out,” I tried to make it sound like a joke, but it wasn't funny at all.

  His eyes lowered and then met mine again. “I know,” he said. “But let me explain.”

  I crossed my arms. It wasn't an angry gesture; I was just suddenly very, very cold.

  Jonah seemed to be deep in thought, trying to figure out the best way to approach the topic. He inched his way across the small space between us until he leaned against the same wall as me. I wanted to grab his hand, to feel it in mine before everything came apart, but I held back.

  “I don't want you to leave,” he said softly. I noticed he was staring at our hands between us, like he was fighting the same urge I was. “I’m so sorry you woke up to everything the way it was. I can imagine what you thought.” A small smile stuck to his face, but it didn't meet his eyes.

  “You're not kicking me out?” I asked, heart thudding in my chest.

  He shook his head. “Not unless you want to go home.”

  I took a deep breath. It still didn't make any sense. My room was empty, the girl with the expensive shoes...Zoey.

  “But you don't want me to be your donor anymore.” I said. “You want me to stay, but you don't need me.”

  Jonah finally took my hand and brought it to rest in his lap. He stared at my fingers like they were twigs about to snap. “I want to show you something,” he said. “But I don't want to scare you.”

  I bit my lip. I didn’t know what to say to that. “What is it?” I asked.

  “It’s better if you see,” he said. “Less of a chance you’ll storm out as I’m trying to explain.”

  I wanted to laugh at his casual tone, but couldn’t find the strength.

  Jonah slowly stood, taking me with him. I followed him downstairs. We stopped in the hall, where he handed me my coat and we slipped on our shoes without a word. I was about to put on my worn out flats when he stopped me, showing me to a pair of brown snow boots sitting next to them. “I hope you don't mind,” he said. “I figured you’d want to leave the house once in a while without getting frostbite.”

  I smiled half-heartedly. “How am I supposed to top myself now?” I mumbled in a joke. He showed me the same smile.

  We walked the short distance to his car in the dark, snow crunching under our feet. I decided that I would miss snow. I liked how clean it was. How even when it was old and dirty, it still looked like you could wipe it good as new and start over.

  It was already warm when I sat against the leather but Jonah asked me if I was cold anyway. I shook my head. He placed his hand on the gear shift between us and it was comforting. It reminded me of when he picked me up at the airport. I felt like I had come so far in such a short amount of time and I wasn't even sure what the goal was anymore. If there even was one.

  “It's only a short ride,” Jonah said when the silence stretched on.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “I'd rather it speak for itself,” he said.

  “That's exactly what a serial killer would say.” This time, I felt more at ease. It actually sounded like a joke.

  “You don't trust me?” he asked, half-joking, half-serious.

  I paused. “Of course I do.” There was no humor this time. “I'm still here, right?”

  He let go of the shifter and placed a hand on my knee. It sent little tingles of warmth throughout my entire body and I was afraid that my cheeks had become flushed. “Good to hear,” he said.

  ***

  A snowflake hits the window to my left and melts almost instantly, the water dripping in a stream until it looks like it was never there at all.

  I can’t think about what my future holds now. The future is such a strange place to think about. It doesn't really exist, when I think about it. It's just a place we make up to feel better about what we're doing now. So it seems like we’re actually working towards something. We're so concerned with getting to the future that we never realize that we're in it. We never stop and look around to see what we've created already.

  My phone buzzes again. I don't look.

  ***

  We stopped a short while later, outside of what looked like a small log cabin. It was set deep in the woods, away from any main roads or any other houses.

  “You know,” I said. “This isn't doing a lot for your non-serial killer argument.”

  Jonah smiled before he got out of the car, opened my door for me, and took my hand.

  I followed him to the door, waited for him to unlock it, and followed him inside the dark house. “Hang on a second,” he said, touching my shoulder so I wouldn't move forward without him. He switched something on the wall and the lights came on, revealing a homey-looking cabin. It was completely open, no doors except the one leading to the outside. There was a sofa, a fireplace, a small kitchen with a table and two chairs, a bedroom to the right, a bathroom next to it. No door on those rooms either.

  “Can I take your coat?” he asked, already shrugging out of his. “The fireplace heats the place up pretty fast.”

  I unbuttoned my coat and handed it to him. He hung them on a rack by the door.

  He set to work building a fire in the small fireplace, placing logs carefully on top of one another, lighting them with a long match. I couldn’t help but think he was stalling.

  “Why did you bring me here?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest uncomfortably.

  Jonah hesitated before he turned toward me. “You're standing on it,” he said.

  I stared beneath my feet at the worn, but not terribly old throw rug. It was brown with geometric patterns around the edges in light blue. I stepped off of the rug. “You wanted to show me this?” I asked.

  Jonah shook his head as he stood and walked back over to me, but didn't say anything as he bent down to roll the rug aside. Underneath was what looked like a door without a knob.

  “The cellar,” he explained. “That’s what I wanted to show you.”

  Jonah lifted the hatch, revealing stone steps that led down into a dark room.

  My throat was suddenly dry. “I need to know if you're going to try to kill me right now.” I was only half-joking.

  Jonah laughed a little. “I'm not going to kill you.” He stepped down into the cellar and held out his hand, which I took before I could talk myself out of it.

  “Watch your step,” he said, slowly guiding me down the stairs. After a few steps, a light turned on, and it was even brighter that it was upstairs.


  The cellar looked almost nothing like the upstairs. It was more like Jonah's house: modern, shiny, white and clean. The off-white linoleum floor was shiny and the room smelled clean, almost sterile. There was a black leather armchair and a desk chair with wheels on it. There were also white cabinets above a counter and sink. It almost looked like a doctor's examination room. I wanted to speak, to run, but my tongue swelled in my mouth and my feet were paralyzed.

  Jonah tried to let go of my hand when we reached the bottom of the stairs, but I didn't let him, gripping so tightly that I thought my knuckles cracked.

  “It's okay,” he said quietly, turning to me with a concerned look on his face. “I need to show you, that's all. You're safe here.” There were more reassuring words after that, but I couldn't hear them over the throbbing in my temples.

  The place reminded me of all the tests I had to take to find out what was wrong with me, all of the machines and blood and sitting still and waiting. I wanted to leave, but I wanted to find out why the hell Jonah had a secluded cabin in the woods with a room like this under it.

  When I didn't move, Jonah turned so he was completely facing me, blocking off most of my view of the room. “Take a deep breath,” he instructed.

  I did, I felt a little better. I did it again.

  “Okay?” he asked after a while.

  I finally looked him in the eyes. They were cautious, but gentle. Like he was just as scared as I was. “Okay,” I said.

  He backed away, but his hand lingered around mine and I was grateful for the contact. “What...” I had to clear my throat. “What is this?”

  Jonah finally let go of me, letting me walk around on my own. My boots made a solid, hollow sound against the linoleum. He leaned against the counter, his hands behind his back. “It's where I keep my inventory,” he said.

  Looking around the room, I found nothing but the clean surfaces, the cabinets, the chairs. “For your store?” I asked. “I don't get it.”

  He crossed his arms uncomfortably, a gesture that seemed out of place with his crisp and clean clothes. “Open the bottom drawer,” he said. “The last one on the right.”

  I looked up at him and he nodded. I didn't know what to do other than what he had asked. Kneeling down near said drawer near his shin, my fingers came to rest on the handle. Jonah didn’t move.

  “I better not find human teeth in here,” I said, scolding myself immediately afterwards. This was a serious situation and here I was trying to tell jokes. For all I knew, there really could be teeth in there. “Sorry.”

  But Jonah didn't say anything other than, “You're nervous. It's not teeth.”

  The metal was cold against my hand but my face was burning hot. I wanted to believe it was from the fireplace heat radiating down the stairs, but I knew that wasn't the case. Without any more hesitation, I opened the drawer.

  ***

  I mentally check off the things I packed, just so my brain has something to do. I had my clothes, toothbrush, medicine, a few books...and that was it. I forgot that I hadn't actually packed all that much to begin with. I hadn't planned on staying with Jonah all that long. I hadn't planned on any of this.

  A hand brushes my shoulder and I relax. I recognize the cool fingertips and reassuring pressure. Funny, how two people could know each other for such a short amount of time yet know the simplest things instantly.

  I turn and Jonah is behind me, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Sorry it took so long,” he says, handing me the paper cup. “The line was really long.”

  He sits down next to me and my heart slows, my breathing becomes more even. “You're nervous.” It’s not a question.

  I make a sound that’s half-way between a snort and a Psssh, embarrass myself, and take a sip of my coffee.

  Jonah places a hand on my knee. “You're afraid of flying?”

  I shake my head. “I kind of like it,” I say. “I mean, I've only been on one plane ride so far so I don't know if I like it or not, I guess...but I think I do.” Now I’m rambling. I take another sip of coffee to shut myself up.

  Jonah kisses my forehead and brings me closer to him. “You are a very brave woman,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

  I swallow my coffee and whisper back, “No thank you’s.”

  He smiles. “You're right.”

  ***

  It was surprisingly cold inside the drawer, and I noticed that it was a lot deeper than it looked from the outside. There was a small light that illuminated what looked like heavy duty, light blue paper towels.

  “It's refrigerated?” I asked, only glancing at Jonah momentarily.

  He nodded once. “Peel back the paper.”

  His voice had become quiet, which made me uneasy.

  Underneath the paper was plastic. Thick, clear plastic. And inside of the plastic was blood.

  I took a deep breath, telling myself that there was no need to freak out. Not until I knew more. I took out one of the bags and it was cold, the liquid sloshing around in my hands. There was a label with writing on the front:

  Name: Silvia Croft.

  Age: 32

  Type: O+

  Special: Mother, divorced, antidepressants.

  Match: No.

  I set that one aside and picked up another

  Name: Monica Graves

  Type: A-

  Age: 21

  Special: Drug User

  Match: No

  And another

  Name: Jason Straight

  Age: 23

  Type: B-

  Special: Athlete, College Student

  Match: No

  Then I found me.

  Name: Casey Williams.

  Age: 18.

  Type: AB-

  Special: Fear. Dying.

  Match: Yes

  I recognized the handwriting as Jonah's immediately, the same writing that he had signed our contracts with, but I couldn't help but want to believe it was someone else who had written these things down. Someone else who had done this to me.

  My breath caught in my throat and I set the bags back where they came from, folding the paper neatly over top once more. I shut the drawer and sat on the cold linoleum, waiting for Jonah to explain.

  He sat down too, his back against the drawers that I now noticed were lined up under the whole of the counter space. How many bags of blood were there? How many were mine and how many belonged to strangers?

  “You sell blood,” I said. “You've been selling my blood.”

  Jonah swallowed hard and I saw him clench his jaw. “Yes.”

  I stared at the shiny floor beneath my boots. There was melted snow on the tips, but it just looked like water droplets now. “This is why I'm here?” I asked. “Not for you, but for some weirdo on the internet who's going to pay you for my blood?”

  Jonah took a deep breath. “I need to explain.”

  I crossed my arms uncomfortably. “Explain.”

  Jonah removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, buttoning the dark grey material above his elbows. “I originally intended for you to only be my donor,” he said softly. “But after the first draw, I couldn't do it.”

  I swallowed and waited for him to go on.

  “It didn't...taste right.”

  I wasn't sure why, but I was slightly offended at the words.

  “It took me a little while to figure out the reason.”

  My mind flashed to the bag of my blood in the drawer. Fear. Dying. “I can guess,” I whispered.

  Jonah smiled without happiness. He reached out to grab my hand and I let him. “I like you, Casey.” When I looked up at him his eyes were burning into mine. “I like you very much.”

  “But you don't need me.”

  He smiled again, the same way. “I wouldn't say that,” he said. “I wouldn't say that at all.”

  ***

  We board our plane; Jonah had spared no expense in that. We sit in first class with the comfy seats that recline all the way back, our own television screen in front of us. T
here aren’t many people on the plane this late at night, and we timed it so we’d land just as it got dark at our destinations as well. I don't care about any of it as I fasten my seatbelt.

  He places a hand on my knee and gently squeezes. “Won't be long now,” he says.

  I nod. Not long at all.

  We’re quiet as the flight attendants go over the safety procedure, passing out cocktails and small packets of food. The plane takes off with minimal turbulence and we’re flying through the air before we know it.

  I lean my head on Jonah's shoulder, knowing that there’s only a few hours standing between us being together and apart.

  “When you get home,” he says, “you should call your bank to tell them you'll be receiving a large sum of money. So they don't think it's suspicious.”

  I nod.

  “Give them my number if you have any trouble.”

  I nod again.

  I know if I speak I’ll cry, so I keep my mouth shut. Stroking my hair, Jonah squeezes my knee again and then kisses my forehead. “Everything is going to be fine,” he whispers. “I'll see you so soon you won't even know I was gone.”

  Grasping his hand on top of my leg, I know I squeeze too hard, like I can hold everything together that way. “I don't know what to tell my parents,” I blurt out in a strangled whisper.

  If I’m cutting off his circulation, he doesn't make any indication of it. “Just be honest,” he murmurs.

  I gulp. There’s too much to tell and not enough time to process the fact that I’m the one who has to say these things. “I don't think I can do it.” I have to whisper because my voice is choked off.

  Jonah kisses my forehead again. “You can, Casey.”

  I don't believe him.

  “I'm not going to pretend I know what it's like,” he says. “But in the short amount of time I've known you, you've shown me just how strong you are. You may not realize it, and you may think you have no purpose, but trust me, you do. To some people, you are everything.”

  At those words, a single tear slips through and I swipe it away before Jonah sees it. He brings my face closer to his and kisses me like we’re alone, back at his house and not on a plane in front of people.