Blood and Aurora

Cold rain poured down the back of my neck, but I was past the point of shivering. I struggled with everything I had, yet my sick body was no match for the strength of three grown men.

My raincoat was twisted out of shape as they grabbed at me. The sour, filthy heat from their bodies surrounded me.

“Help!”

In the end, I couldn’t stop myself from screaming. I knew it was useless, but I was terrified.

They burst into rough, hoarse laughter, as if my fear were part of the entertainment. Then, they shoved me backward until my back slammed into the cold, wet trunk of a tree. A heavy body pressed down on me, and breath thick with alcohol was in my face. While one hand clamped over my mouth, the other started tearing at my clothes, reaching inside…

The world shrank to the twisted faces in front of me and the disgusting laughter ringing in my ears.

“Bang!”

A gunshot cracked through the forest.

“Bang! Bang!”

Two more followed. My hand trembled violently as I gripped the gun.

I wasn’t Cole. I hated taking risks, so I had always made it a habit to carry a gun whenever I went out. Two of the shots missed, punching holes through the wide jacket of the man in front of me, and the last one hit his leg.

“Get out, or I’ll make sure all of you die here!”

My vicious tone scared them. The three men scrambled away, stumbling and crawling into the darkness of the woods.

I leaned against the tree, my eyes locked on the direction they had fled. Only after the forest fell completely silent did I finally move. With trembling hands, I picked up the clothes that had been torn off and scattered on the ground. I didn’t care how dirty they were. I wrapped them around myself as best as I could, pulled my raincoat back on, and kept walking.

I had no idea how long it took, but I eventually reached the hospital. Staggering inside, I collapsed toward the front desk.

“Please… help me.”

The nurse on duty looked like she had seen plenty of people like me before. Her expression remained indifferent as she slid a form across the counter.

“The initial fee for emergency treatment is 200 dollars. How would you like to pay?”

Instinctively, I reached for my wallet. It was gone. The three men must have taken it during the struggle.

My fingers tightened slowly as I asked, “I just need a box of cold medicine, the kind that reduces fever.”

The nurse looked at me but didn’t move. Instead, she asked, “Basic paracetamol is one dollar. Cash or card?”

One dollar? I couldn’t even come up with one dollar. All I had left on me was the 41 cents Cole hadn’t spent.

The nurse waited quietly for a few seconds, her eyes sweeping over my miserable state. It seemed like she understood something.

She tilted her chin toward the hallway and said, “See the door with the blue light over there? That’s a licensed blood donation center. It’s open twenty-four hours. Ma’am, you can sell your blood for some money.”

She paused, her gaze settling back on my face, as if measuring my reaction.

“Not only will it be enough to buy that box of medicine, but it might even help you chip away at whatever debt you’ve got on your credit card.”

I didn’t want to sell my blood, but I wanted to survive. So, I had no choice.

The needle pierced my skin, and I watched as my blood rushed through the clear plastic tube into the collection bag. The first bag filled quickly, and the machine let out a soft beep.

I parted my lips and forced out a weak voice. “That’s enough. Stop. I’m only selling this much. I feel terrible…”

No one responded. Instead, the nurse pushed me back down and replaced the full bag with another empty one.

“Relax, ma’am. Your indicators look great. You can donate more. We’ll compensate you properly. It’ll be 500 dollars.”

The second bag began filling just as quickly. Darkness crept along the edges of my vision, and the sounds around me grew distant and muffled. It felt like I might die right there.

When the second bag was finally full, the nurse’s voice drifted toward me from far away.

“All right. The money has been transferred to your account.”

With that money, I was finally able to get treatment.

The day I was discharged and returned home, Cole had just ended his trip to Iceland. He pushed the door open excitedly, carrying a large department store shopping bag. Inside was the cooking pot I had asked him to buy.

Cole didn’t even notice how sickly I looked. Like he was presenting a treasure, he held the pot up in front of me.

“Baby, look! Here’s the pot you wanted! Let’s not fight anymore, okay? Funny thing, when I got off the plane, I saw there were a few hundred extra dollars in my account. Maybe my overtime pay came early. So, I immediately went out and bought this pot for you to make up for everything!”

I stared at Cole’s face. There wasn’t a trace of gloom on it. If anything, he looked like he was waiting for praise.

My stomach churned with nausea. I raised my hand and threw the hospital receipts straight at his face.

“Cole, do you know why there were a few hundred extra dollars in your account? That was the money I got from selling my blood.”