Free The Donor by Nikki Rae

the side, and on the floor next to the couch is a pair of black high heels. The kind with the red bottoms that mean they're expensive. I gulp. There's someone else in the house.
    I turn the corner, wondering if I shouldn't just go back upstairs.
    Then I hear Jonah talking, saying something in a low voice. There's a giggle in response. When I finally have enough nerve to look up at where the sounds come from, Jonah is sitting next to a girl my age with a short blonde bob. She's wearing a pencil skirt and it's too short. They don't see me, but they're a little preoccupied.
    Jonah has a needle in her arm and there's a blood bag on the table.
    I must make some small noise, because he lifts his head in my direction. Except for a hint of being startled, his expression is almost unreadable.
    I don’t know what else to do other than run back upstairs to my empty room. I sit on the floor where my bed used to be, rocking back and forth slightly.
    Everything is temporary. I know that, especially with my life the way it is now, but I didn’t think my time with Jonah would be up so soon. Through the pounding of my pulse in my ears, I can hear faint knocking on the door.
    I have a hard time doing anything besides sitting still.

The Donor
                 
    Part Three
     

I try to not look at my phone as I sit down in the lobby. The snow has seemed to slow everything down. People sit with their kids in the hard plastic chairs, trying to occupy them until things start moving again. I don't have anyone to talk to, so I sit with my hands in my lap and look out the window. There are thick white flakes floating down onto the pavement. Everything is in slow motion. Everything except me and my rapid heartbeat.
     
    ***
     
    The knocking stopped after a while, but I could still hear him on the other side of the door. He wasn't speaking. He wasn't even really moving. Just a soft slide of his back against the door as he sat on the carpet outside of my now empty room. We were both stuck, I realized. Both unable to move.
    I fell asleep on the floor, curled up on my side, and woke up more tired than I was the day before. More distraught than when I saw that woman, her blood in a bag between Jonah and her as they laughed and made small talk.
    He had another donor. If he had another donor, where did that leave me?
    Slowly, I sat up, pushing my greasy, knotty hair out of my face. My eyes felt swollen even though I hadn't cried, and my jaw was tight and achy, like I had clenched my teeth tightly together while I restlessly slept. I didn't really know what time it was or how long I had been in the room, but there was grey light floating in through the window. It appeared I had slept through the entire day and night was falling once again.
    I wasn't sure what I should do now. I didn't want to stay in the empty room that was no longer mine, but I didn't want to leave either. If I stayed, I would be wasting time. If I left, I was only speeding things up, cutting off the time I had left with Jonah and the illusion that he cared about me, that I wasn't replaceable.
    Standing on shaking legs, I pushed my hair from my face again. I didn't know what was waiting for me on the other side of that door, but I couldn't prolong it. I had to move forward.
    The doorknob was cold under my hand, probably because I was sweating, dreading the conversation Jonah and I were about to have. He was going to send me home, tell me that it wasn't working out, that I was too sick to be his donor anymore. I would have no reason to convince him to let me stay.
    The door creaked open quietly and I cautiously stepped out. I didn't have to go far before I saw Jonah curled up on the floor in the hall, his suit jacket thrown over him like a blanket. I could have just retreated back into the room, or headed downstairs to wait for him and the inevitable, but I didn't. I crawled over to his side, taking my own piece of the jacket, and fell back asleep next to him. His hand curled