Blood Type
Page 2
Reyna bit back a snide retort. “Yes.”
Chapter 2
Reyna walked through the door.
The admin escorted her down the long white corridor studded with white doors and past starkly dressed administrators standing like ducks in a row.
“He’s plainly unfit. We’ll have to turn him aside,” a male admin murmured to another as they passed.
“Agreed. Let’s speak with the doctor…” the woman responded.
Whatever she said after that was lost to Reyna. She craned her neck in their direction. “Are some people not picked to work for Visage?”
The admin didn’t even turn around or acknowledge her question.
She knew it was possible that people were turned away. Everyone had heard horror stories about blood diseases and worse. The blood donors at Visage were supposed to help control vampiric urges, or so they said, not make them worse.
Reyna bit her lip and tried to slow her breathing. She couldn’t have a blood disease. It wasn’t possible. She couldn’t even fathom it. She needed the money too bad for anything to go wrong. She was determined to pass and get an assignment working for a vampire. She didn’t care how many times she had to master her fear of needles and blood. In the end, it would all be worth it.
“This way,” the administrator said.
Reyna followed her around the next corner. Her arm itched all over again and she had to resist the urge to scratch. She steeled herself, pushing her shoulders back, and refused to let her dark gaze stray from the direction she was being led.
They took a right and the admin stopped in front of one of the plain white doors. She removed an identification card from her pocket with her name and picture on it and swiped it over a glass screen by the handle.
“Patient identity?” the machine chirped.
“Number four hundred and ninety-two. Miss Reyna Carpenter,” the woman said.
“Identity cleared.”
Reyna watched in awe. The Warehouse District didn’t have technology this advanced. Hell, machines everyone had taken for granted before the collapse—cellphones, laptops, cars—weren’t even available to most people. Voice-activated locks were practically from another world.
The lock clicked, and the woman pushed the door open unceremoniously. The interior of the room looked like any hospital room. Though she didn’t remember the last time she had been able to afford a real hospital visit. A patient bed sat in the corner, covered with white sanitation paper. High-tech equipment lined the walls. Reyna had no clue of their purpose and hoped that she wouldn’t find out today.
The administrator stepped inside and fiddled with a few tools on a wheeled cart. She glanced up at Reyna, realizing that she hadn’t moved from her position in the doorway.
“Take a seat.” She gestured to the bed.
Reyna took a deep breath, reminding herself of all the reasons she had decided to do this, then walked inside and sank down onto the bed. The paper crinkled underneath her, and she cringed at the harsh lights. Everything smelled like plastic and disinfectant. Reyna had thought the waiting room was the most unwelcoming room she had ever been in. She was wrong.
The woman strapped a band around Reyna’s arm, clipped her finger in a large plastic clothespin-type device, and stuck a giant thermometer in her mouth. She stuck a stethoscope under the band and squeezed a bag that inflated the band and constricted Reyna’s arm. Reyna tried to relax, but she wasn’t successful.
“Good,” the administrator said. She nodded her head as the bag deflated. “Vitals all look good.”
Reyna breathed a sigh of relief.
The woman spoke to herself as she entered information into the computer system. “Temperature—97.8 degrees Fahrenheit. Acceptable. Pulse—72 beats per minute. Acceptable. Blood Pressure—102 over 65. Acceptable/Low.”
She turned away from her computer to face Reyna. “Family history?”
Reyna stilled her shaking hands. She needed to keep it together. She could talk about her parents. This was possible.
“My parents are, um…dead.” The words sounded hollow.
It had been thirteen years since they died in the car accident. Since she and her brothers had moved in with their uncle in the city. Since the world had gone to utter shit.
“Yes, but any diseases or chronic illnesses?” the woman asked. Her voice was flat. No compassion in the Visage hospital ward.
“Breast cancer on my mother’s side. That’s all I know,” she whispered.
“Are you often ill?”
“No.”
“When was the last time you were admitted to the hospital?”
Reyna wracked her brain. She couldn’t even remember. “Probably when I was a baby.”
The woman gave her a searching look. “Any other treatments?”
“Nothing life-threatening. Just a cold. Local medical practitioners helped when we could afford it.” She stared the woman straight in the eye when she said it. No one could afford a hospital stay. This woman had to know it. She wasn’t going to act ashamed of her life.
The admin tapped out a few more notes and then withdrew a needle and a few small vials from a drawer. Reyna’s stomach dropped out, and the color drained from her body.
Reyna held her breath as the woman placed a tourniquet around her right arm, swabbed the crook of her elbow, and then without warning pricked the vein in her arm. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to calm her rapidly accelerating heartbeat. She suddenly felt nauseated, weak, and clammy. Fear pricked at the back of her neck.
She glanced down at her arm and gagged. Bright red blood flowed out of the vein and into the little tube. Pain throbbed in her elbow, but she couldn’t look past the blood. It made her stomach turn, and she had to physically look away until the administrator was finished.
After she removed the needle, the woman placed a Band-Aid over the hole and then gave her a cup to pee in.
“The doctor will be in with you shortly. Just leave the cup in the compartment in the restroom.” The woman pointed to a nearly invisible doorway to her right. “Come right back here once you’re through. The doctor will be with you soon.”
“Thank you,” Reyna said hollowly.
At least the worst was over.
Reyna tried not to think about the blood loss or needles. She needed to think about eating right, sending money to her brothers, and finally living a real life again. It wasn’t as if this was permanent. She could get out at any time. She could work for a couple months as a blood donor and then quit if she wanted. Just enough to get her back on her feet…for her to find something else.
She left her sample in the restroom and then returned to wait for the doctor. At least the bed was more comfortable than the chairs in the waiting room. Honestly, it was more comfortable than everything else they had at home too.
When she had been younger—before the economic collapse and her parents’ deaths—she’d had a two-story house with a white picket fence, a green lawn, the whole nine yards. Then the accident happened, and she and her brothers had to say goodbye to their home and move in with their uncle in the city. All he was good for was drinking and gambling away their inheritance. He had been that way ever since their aunt had left him. Three years later, the economy crashed. He lost everything, and no one thought twice about him abandoning them when everything else fell to shit.
A knock at the door pulled her from her dark thoughts. The doctor strode inside with a clipboard. She was a tall wiry woman with black groomed hair held back in a ponytail and dark emotionless eyes. Like everyone else who worked there, she clearly didn’t think smiling was part of bedside manners.
Chapter 2
Reyna walked through the door.
The admin escorted her down the long white corridor studded with white doors and past starkly dressed administrators standing like ducks in a row.
“He’s plainly unfit. We’ll have to turn him aside,” a male admin murmured to another as they passed.
“Agreed. Let’s speak with the doctor…” the woman responded.
Whatever she said after that was lost to Reyna. She craned her neck in their direction. “Are some people not picked to work for Visage?”
The admin didn’t even turn around or acknowledge her question.
She knew it was possible that people were turned away. Everyone had heard horror stories about blood diseases and worse. The blood donors at Visage were supposed to help control vampiric urges, or so they said, not make them worse.
Reyna bit her lip and tried to slow her breathing. She couldn’t have a blood disease. It wasn’t possible. She couldn’t even fathom it. She needed the money too bad for anything to go wrong. She was determined to pass and get an assignment working for a vampire. She didn’t care how many times she had to master her fear of needles and blood. In the end, it would all be worth it.
“This way,” the administrator said.
Reyna followed her around the next corner. Her arm itched all over again and she had to resist the urge to scratch. She steeled herself, pushing her shoulders back, and refused to let her dark gaze stray from the direction she was being led.
They took a right and the admin stopped in front of one of the plain white doors. She removed an identification card from her pocket with her name and picture on it and swiped it over a glass screen by the handle.
“Patient identity?” the machine chirped.
“Number four hundred and ninety-two. Miss Reyna Carpenter,” the woman said.
“Identity cleared.”
Reyna watched in awe. The Warehouse District didn’t have technology this advanced. Hell, machines everyone had taken for granted before the collapse—cellphones, laptops, cars—weren’t even available to most people. Voice-activated locks were practically from another world.
The lock clicked, and the woman pushed the door open unceremoniously. The interior of the room looked like any hospital room. Though she didn’t remember the last time she had been able to afford a real hospital visit. A patient bed sat in the corner, covered with white sanitation paper. High-tech equipment lined the walls. Reyna had no clue of their purpose and hoped that she wouldn’t find out today.
The administrator stepped inside and fiddled with a few tools on a wheeled cart. She glanced up at Reyna, realizing that she hadn’t moved from her position in the doorway.
“Take a seat.” She gestured to the bed.
Reyna took a deep breath, reminding herself of all the reasons she had decided to do this, then walked inside and sank down onto the bed. The paper crinkled underneath her, and she cringed at the harsh lights. Everything smelled like plastic and disinfectant. Reyna had thought the waiting room was the most unwelcoming room she had ever been in. She was wrong.
The woman strapped a band around Reyna’s arm, clipped her finger in a large plastic clothespin-type device, and stuck a giant thermometer in her mouth. She stuck a stethoscope under the band and squeezed a bag that inflated the band and constricted Reyna’s arm. Reyna tried to relax, but she wasn’t successful.
“Good,” the administrator said. She nodded her head as the bag deflated. “Vitals all look good.”
Reyna breathed a sigh of relief.
The woman spoke to herself as she entered information into the computer system. “Temperature—97.8 degrees Fahrenheit. Acceptable. Pulse—72 beats per minute. Acceptable. Blood Pressure—102 over 65. Acceptable/Low.”
She turned away from her computer to face Reyna. “Family history?”
Reyna stilled her shaking hands. She needed to keep it together. She could talk about her parents. This was possible.
“My parents are, um…dead.” The words sounded hollow.
It had been thirteen years since they died in the car accident. Since she and her brothers had moved in with their uncle in the city. Since the world had gone to utter shit.
“Yes, but any diseases or chronic illnesses?” the woman asked. Her voice was flat. No compassion in the Visage hospital ward.
“Breast cancer on my mother’s side. That’s all I know,” she whispered.
“Are you often ill?”
“No.”
“When was the last time you were admitted to the hospital?”
Reyna wracked her brain. She couldn’t even remember. “Probably when I was a baby.”
The woman gave her a searching look. “Any other treatments?”
“Nothing life-threatening. Just a cold. Local medical practitioners helped when we could afford it.” She stared the woman straight in the eye when she said it. No one could afford a hospital stay. This woman had to know it. She wasn’t going to act ashamed of her life.
The admin tapped out a few more notes and then withdrew a needle and a few small vials from a drawer. Reyna’s stomach dropped out, and the color drained from her body.
Reyna held her breath as the woman placed a tourniquet around her right arm, swabbed the crook of her elbow, and then without warning pricked the vein in her arm. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to calm her rapidly accelerating heartbeat. She suddenly felt nauseated, weak, and clammy. Fear pricked at the back of her neck.
She glanced down at her arm and gagged. Bright red blood flowed out of the vein and into the little tube. Pain throbbed in her elbow, but she couldn’t look past the blood. It made her stomach turn, and she had to physically look away until the administrator was finished.
After she removed the needle, the woman placed a Band-Aid over the hole and then gave her a cup to pee in.
“The doctor will be in with you shortly. Just leave the cup in the compartment in the restroom.” The woman pointed to a nearly invisible doorway to her right. “Come right back here once you’re through. The doctor will be with you soon.”
“Thank you,” Reyna said hollowly.
At least the worst was over.
Reyna tried not to think about the blood loss or needles. She needed to think about eating right, sending money to her brothers, and finally living a real life again. It wasn’t as if this was permanent. She could get out at any time. She could work for a couple months as a blood donor and then quit if she wanted. Just enough to get her back on her feet…for her to find something else.
She left her sample in the restroom and then returned to wait for the doctor. At least the bed was more comfortable than the chairs in the waiting room. Honestly, it was more comfortable than everything else they had at home too.
When she had been younger—before the economic collapse and her parents’ deaths—she’d had a two-story house with a white picket fence, a green lawn, the whole nine yards. Then the accident happened, and she and her brothers had to say goodbye to their home and move in with their uncle in the city. All he was good for was drinking and gambling away their inheritance. He had been that way ever since their aunt had left him. Three years later, the economy crashed. He lost everything, and no one thought twice about him abandoning them when everything else fell to shit.
A knock at the door pulled her from her dark thoughts. The doctor strode inside with a clipboard. She was a tall wiry woman with black groomed hair held back in a ponytail and dark emotionless eyes. Like everyone else who worked there, she clearly didn’t think smiling was part of bedside manners.
