A.N-All exchange of information made in American Sign Language will be in italics, and is also in the language's syntax, so it might seem confusing at first.
Spanish will be used throughout. It isn't my strongest foreign language, so if you notice a mistake please tell me so.
Butterflies. Frantic, little butterfly pumps of blood. The muscle, the instrument—her heart. Blood surged through veins, desperate to supply every cell with needed oxygen.
Breath. Breath was necessary, breath was required, yet not always easy to partake in.
Sometimes, when John Kennish would raise his voice, the butterfly would resurge, breathing became difficult, and life was frightening. He was an unpredictable sort of man, the kind who could just as easily berate as he could hug. John did his best to live up to his legacy, his importance, but very often failed.
Bay didn't like unpredictable things, anxious sweat coating her body at every possibility.
She didn't begrudge him for it; the pain and worry that he inspired every day. The girl could see how hard he tried most of the time. How easily the anger broke through, how easily he caused the butterfly breaths, the rabbit heart beats. It wasn't his fault, really, it wasn't; she just wasn't strong enough.
The pressure was high, too high, all the time. The chance of disappointing the legacy of John Kennish, famous third-baseman, had struck fear into Bay's heart since she'd passed the age of three. Because of this she went out of her way to be the perfect child. There was no tantrums, no Christmas lists a mile long, no wrecking of the brother's stuff. She was a quiet kid, too quiet. At one point the Kennishes went and had her intelligence tested, fearing she was mentally handicapped.
It had started out for that reason, driving her father's angry eyes away, giving them no chance to appear. Bay devoured books by the handful, knowing that they were the key to a treasure trove of knowledge. Intelligence was the thing most tested in children, book smarts the way to advancement.
But then, surprisingly, it began it bring joy. To know things that people didn't gave her purpose, it gave power where her home life was severely lacking.
If she always got the highest grades in class, if she always followed the rules, people would have to respect her. Shrinking down and making herself invisible to punishment was the goal, yet also to make a mark. To be better than others.
"How was your day today?" Asked John absently, scanning the sports articles, the television blaring his usual after supper routine.
"We did blood tests in Biology." Answered Bay flatly, looking up from her dusty, large book over the Iran-Iraq conflict.
Every school day the same thing would happen. Suppertime would inspire talk about Dad's work, Toby would monologue about something nobody cared about, and then Kathryn would inform them of any new neighborhood gossip. The teenage girl always stayed silent. She never really felt the urge to add anything to the conversation, her interests were too different from "normal" people's. She knew they didn't really care.
Bay was in her favorite reading spot, the end table in the corner beside the TV. She was always stuffing herself into dark corners, feeling safe in small spaces.
"You should be proud, O positive is the universal blood type." Said Mom, smiling as she handed a bowl of popcorn to John and sat down.
Bay furrowed her eyebrows "But it said I was AB."
Kathryn leaned forward, wide, watchful eyes on her daughter. John gave Bay a glance, "That can't be right." He then waved his hand, dismissing the subject.
Scooching out from her reading spot, Bay ransacked her bag and handed over the test to her parents. Their eyebrows pulled down, both sitting back with a pensive expression.
John gave it back to her with a shrug "Sweetie, you might want to take it again; there's no way that's correct."
"Your father and I are both O's." Kathryn piped up.
Nodding, Bay stored the information in her mind. The next day, she walked to the hospital after school. It wasn't very far, only 2 miles.
It was easy to donate blood, Bay found. All that was required was taking a test to prove you didn't have a disease.
It was the simplest (and cheapest) way to learn her true blood type. Bothering Mom and Dad wasn't an option. They wouldn't say no, of course, but that didn't mean she wanted to be a burden.
"Hi, I'd like to donate blood?"
The nurse nodded, looking grim and overworked, handing Bay a couple of forms to sign. Another nurse came out ten minutes later, appearing to be younger and kinder, and led the fifteen-year-old girl to the "blood-sucking room."
It was actually relatively friendly-looking, with blue and white walls—newly painted—and colourful murals around every corner. The nice nurse took a bit of Bay's blood, went and got it tested, and was back within half an hour. Pain didn't bother Bay, not after she'd read about the nervous system in grade 4. It was a necessary indication of sickness.
Bay gave a pint of blood that day.
It was worth it. Her blood was AB and her body completely healthy. She took the test result home; however, getting the courage to show her parents was another story.
There were two probable possibilities. Number One--she was adopted. They were just avoiding the truth because they didn't how she'd react. She understood the reasoning. The love was all there, but the girl wouldn't throw a fit, wouldn't scream or yell. They had to know that that.
Behind the second door, the one Bay was most reluctant to open--Mom had cheated on Dad. That was the easiest explanation for their behavior. Kathryn was acting because she didn't want John to know.
While most probable, Bay hoped desperately for the second possibility to be false.
It took a week before she got up the courage. Seven supper times she spent opening and closing her mouth like a fish, always being interrupted or chickening out. On the eight night, she finally overcame her fear, slamming down the paper when dinner neared its end, placing it right in front of her father.
Swift as a teenage girl could be, Bay thundered up the stairs to her room, diving into her room with skill enough to be an Olympian. She then barricaded the door with every piece of furniture she had the ability to lift.
Loud discussion could be heard from downstairs, the lower tones caught if Bay really strained her ears. Kathryn's voice started calm and sweet, but got scratchier and louder as time went on. Her father boomed every word he spoke, attempting to overpower the only way he knew how.
Louder and louder it became, one clear line spoken--"How dare you!"
Dining chairs scraped back.
This all passed within 15 minutes. 15 minutes of anxious nerves, twiddling of thumbs, and a low attention span. Bay tried to read her book, one she had great interest in, but to no avail. She ended up just hiding in her closet, huddled up in her favorite afghan and hugging her stuffed bear. For those 15 minutes the butterfly breaths made their appearance, and when her father and mother finally knocked on the door, it just got worse.
The Cadiz expedition aroused Philip of Spain to action. For some years he had been contemplating another attack upon England. In the autumn of 1596 with what for him was amazing celerity, he organized, equipped and dispatched a second armada.(1)
Her mind voice spoke the lines to her, word for word, calming the trembling hands and speedy heart. She was still anxious, but no longer on the verge of a panic attack. Reciting history books was her panacea.
A crash sounded--the big pile of furniture was broken through--Bay cursed her very poor barricading skills.
"Honey? Can we talk to you?" Kathryn rolled the closet door back, Bay's eyes dilating at the light. The parents were standing awkwardly close to each other, with stiff, angry bodies. When Kathryn and John shared a glance, the wrath sparked a twitch in facial expression, barely visible to the naked eye.
Giving Bay a hand up, Kathryn escorted her to the bed. Each parent sitting beside the teenage girl. The redheaded woman grabbed Bay's hand, holding it in both of hers and giving a large, fake, reassuring smile. "Sweetie, we've phoned the hospital and booked us all in for more tests."
An eyebrow went up, "Why would they need to test it again?"
Kathryn tucked a lock of the brunette's hair behind her ear, pulling the girl forwards and laying a kiss on her forehead. John piped up, "Everything's going to be fine, sweetie. We'll get this all figured out."
Apparently Bay wasn't old enough for her parents to give her a straight answer. But she trusted them, enough. Enough to wait for the three weeks of tests and "making sure."
The time that passed was long and dragging. Kathryn and John had a strange, angry tension between them, nasty hidden barbs in each sentence they spoke. They weren't loving or kind toward each other, only civil when the kids were present.
It was frightening.
Bay spent more time than ever outside of the house, picking up extra shifts at Tormento de Fuego, the Spanish restaurant she worked at in town. She couldn't bear to be around her father, not when he was mean. Confrontation hurt her, making the little brunette feel sick, faint and angry.
Toby always scoffed at her job, but Bay loved it. She adored using her money for whatever she wanted. The girl didn't have many things she bought, being to type to use her minimalistic items until they really couldn't function property.
Bay was practical, and her father might not always be rich, or willing to pay for her. So she stored 75% away of each paycheck, a perfect miser, to be ready for any disaster.
"Necesito una quesadilla, un emparedado de jamón, y una salada mexicana." Bay yelled loudly in low-accented Spanish to Peter, the cook. The entire (small) staff of Tormento de Fuego was required to speak Spanish in order to work there. It was one of the reasons Bay had chosen this job. A chance to actually use her foreign languages was something to be jumped at. Studying such subjects was one of her many hobbies, and practical use was one of the easiest ways to begin perfecting.
A middle-aged, dark-haired woman and her red-haired daughter were seated in the left side of the restaurant, Bay's section, so she plastered on a smile on headed over to them. The woman's name was Regina, she knew, and the daughter was Daphne.
"Bienvenido a Tormento de Fuego, que quieren ustedes hoy?" She said, signing swiftly along with her Spanish.
"Yo quiero una sopa de maíz." Regina answered, handing over the menu.
Same, Daphne signed, the gesture for "like" pointing at both herself and the person she was agreeing with.
"Okay, y estas todos?"
Both nodded, so Bay took her leave.
Phone call said what? Daphne asked her mother. Just two hours earlier the telephone had rung, and after going white as a sheet, Regina had told Daphne they were eating out.
Phone call was... Hospital you born were? Daphne nodded, indictating she knew the subject. They mistaken.
The mother's face was screwed up in anxiety, sweaty hands clasped together. Her daughter's face was clouded in confusion, carefully watching the scene before her. Mistake how?
Another girl and you, switched at birth. Regina covered Daphne's hand with hers. I will love you, always, no matter about this. You my baby.
Daphne's eyes were wide and unbelieving, her colour gone and as she clenched and unclenched her jaw. She nodded, slowly, towards her mother.
Regina continued, your birth family want you see.
Nodding again, the redhead slowly stood up, walking over to the other booth seat, and embraced her mother. Tears ran down both their cheeks, scared, anxious, and confused.
1-Quote from The Tudors, history book by Conyers Read.
Alright, so I know absolutely nothing about the US health system and blood donating. So, let's just pretend all that was accurate? Thx:)
Also, how do you feel about the characters so far? They will be different from the TV show, as this is AU.
