Safety
(Sunday Noon, August 11th)
"You have your medical card?" the nurse asks. William hands it to her, and she copies the information into the tablet. "Okay." She hands it back to him. "You're now in the system. You may move ahead."
William finds his mother waiting in one of the three lines, and he walks over to it. He reads the sign ahead: three bag limit per week. You may not choose blood type, expiration date, nor request replacements. He reads the sign next to it: beggars cannot be choosers. Any choosiness will be regarded as a sign that you have other options, and you will be terminated from the program. You may reapply after six months have passed.
William rubs the back of his neck. He's going to take what he's offered, go home to sleep, and wake up to a nice, fresh source. "Next." He walks forward, and the volunteer hands him bag. He looks inside and examines a bag of clotted blood, the strings made apparent as he squeezes it. "Something wrong?"
He forces a smile, "No. Thank you." before he turns around and meets his mother near the door.
She places a hand on his back and guides him into the corridor, "There. Not so bad."
He steps in front of her, opening the bag to find the clotted blood, "Have you ever gotten one this bad before?"
She smiles, "Don't worry. It's edible."
"It looks like a stomachache waiting to happen," he protests.
"Put it in a blender, add a little sugar, and it will be good as new," she promises.
"Maybe I won't need the third one," William thinks, before he hears the click and sees the camera.
"Come on," his mother urges, as she pulls him away. William turns his head back, sees the black figure, and then exits into the white haze.
"Come on," Brendan knocks again. "Your dinner's being delivered."
"I'm not," William irritably responds, before he opens the door and falters.
He raises the pizza, "Five meat with cheese-stuffed crust."
William frowns, "When you said dinner—"
"I mean," he reminds him, "I'm here too."
"I'm not in the mood," he tiredly states.
"Figured."
He lets him by, "So, you heard?"
Brendan sets the pizza in the center of the bed, "I saw how your mother's coworkers completely backstabbed her."
"She's suspended," he informs. "They don't know how the country is going to react to a vampire reporting human news."
"Then they should have buried the story," he opinionates. "Your mother's been working there for at least ten years. They should be respecting her."
"Since when do you use respect in a sentence?" William points out.
"When it's obvious," he double-downs. "This guy sends sketchy footage of you and your mother standing outside the food shelf with a blood bag, and they just report it? Did they even ask your mother?"
"What do you think?" his eyebrows furrow.
"I think you need to eat." He nods him over, "Come on."
William sits on the other side of the pizza and takes a piece, "She's making me do an interview with her."
"You don't have to, do you?"
"Her job's at stake," he relays. "I have to do it."
"Who would want to work for someone who betrays you?" He suggests, "She should quit. It's not like you need the money."
"I think you're underestimating how high someone's standard of living gets when they've been living on a high income," William reminds him. "The royal salary barely covers the upkeep of the castle, the staff, and my education."
"Then cut it," he easily suggests.
"Cut my education?" he disbelieves.
"No." Brendan cringes, "The other stuff. Downgrade to a mansion. Cut a servant or two. You're an only child, and your family revoked their titles. Why do you have a castle, anyway?"
"Protection," he answers. "Title or not, we're still high status."
"With the right security system, a mansion is just as protection." He frustrates, "You don't need a river. That thing's a bitch to cross in the rainy season."
"I guess, it's a little much," William considers, and Brendan's eyebrows rise. "Okay. A little lot. What does it matter? Security's security. I'd rather have too much than too little."
He deeply breathes, "There are worse things."
"Want to talk about worse things?" He walks over to the side of his desk to open the top of the mini fridge. "This is what they're expecting us to drink."
When he tosses the blood bag to him, Brendan examines it and gags, "And I thought blood couldn't get any more gross."
"My mom says it's edible," William informs, as he walks over to him.
"And you believed her?" He hands it back to him, "I promise if you get a second donor, I won't accuse you of cheating on me."
William laughs, "Funny." before he goes to put the blood bag back in the freezer.
"Why not?" he encourages.
"You're only allowed one legal donor," he reminds him. "That's why Ben is so opposed to it. It's like a marriage."
"And I'm telling you to cheat on me." William frowns at him, and he insists, "You have needs. I understand."
"Oh. Shut up," he grins, before he sits back on the bed and continues the pizza. "How's this for cheating? I'm having a fivesome."
"You got the virus from your mother," the reporter reiterates. "Did you know it's illegal to pass the virus on to someone else?"
"The virus was passed during the pregnancy," William's mother interrupts. "I didn't choose for him to have it."
"But you could have refrained from having children," he suggests.
"It's not illegal for someone with medical conditions to have children," she states.
"Of course, not." He presumes, "However, you must have thought about it."
She takes a minute, "It's not guaranteed that the virus will pass on to your child, and the life I live is not bad. I wanted a family, and I didn't think the risk of my baby having the virus would make any significant difference."
"William," he addresses. "What do you think? Is the life you have worth the struggle or would you have rather never existed?"
He frowns, "I agree with my mother. My life isn't that bad."
"Not that bad," he repeats. "That's not a very joyful answer."
"Well," William mentions, "it is a little unfortunate that I won't be able to play tourney in college now that people know I have an athletic advantage."
"To be fair," the reporter pinpoints, "it's not a good idea for someone with a bloodborne disease to play a contact sport competitively."
William's eyes narrow, "I've heard that argument before."
"Will," his mother emphasizes. "Patience is a virtue." He leans forward, staring at the reporter, and the man pulls at the neck of his tie. "Play the long game," she interprets, and William sits back against the couch.
"So," the man uncomfortably continues, "the picture showed you with a blood bag outside of the food shelf. That means you're on the program, doesn't it?"
"Yes," he answers.
"And what do you think of it?" he continues.
William glances at his mom, before he faces the reporter, "I am so lucky that the resource exists, so I do not need to endure the pain like my mother did."
William frowns when he opens the door, and Brendan comments, "If that processed blood is as good as you say, then I guess we'll need a divorce."
He glares at him, "If I said it tasted like a mercury thermometer, I would have lost it as an option. I need to have a backup."
Brendan sighs, "You looked like you were going to kill that reporter. I'm here to ask you if you want dinner. Again."
"It's Monday," he starts.
"You didn't drink yesterday," he reminds him. "You can get back on track next week."
"I could use a pick-me-up," William considers.
"Okay, then," Brendan agrees, but William doesn't move. He notices his intense stare, "Hey. We should sit down." William fails to respond, and he tries to smile, "To do this, you need to move."
"I will," he stresses. "In a minute."
"William. Just," he starts, as he squeezes between him and the doorframe; however, William grabs his arms and pushes him to the wall. Brendan notices his tense nervousness, "William. We need to sit down."
"Just give me a second," he irritably replies, glancing at his neck.
"If you do this, you're going to get us both in trouble," Brendan reminds him.
"The wrist is so slow," he complains.
"You just need more experience," Brenden mentions, before William inches forward. "And it's safer. They do check-ins."
"It hasn't been a month, yet," William informs. "They won't know."
"Unless I tell them," Brendan warns, and William looks over him. "I'm not comfortable with you biting into my neck. My safety is more important. Don't you agree?" William fails to answer, and Brendan falters, "That wasn't supposed to be hard to think about. We're friends, remember? You said you cared before."
"I do care."
"Then listen to me," he pleads. "Let's sit down and do this properly."
"I want to," William slowly replies.
Brendan shakes his head, "But what? You want to take a millisecond to think about drinking me dry?"
"I'm not going to do it," he reassures.
"You're trying to convince yourself you won't," Brendan notices. "Let me make it easier for you." He meets his eyes, "I'm your donor, so you have to do what I say. And if you don't, you can forget about the government letting you get another legal donor. You will have to worry about scrounging around for blood and whether they cry assault or not."
"You're right," William accepts. "I'm lucky to have you—as both a friend and a donor— and I don't want to do anything that could jeopardize that."
"Then why are you acting like this?"
William shakes his head, "I don't know. I just wanted to… I'm sorry."
- Posted: 07/29/2020