Regret Consumes Them
They all mourned how fate targets those whove already suffered. Only I knew the truth. Watching my reflection, my nose bleeding again, I washed my crumpled leukemia diagnosis down the sink.
At dinner, Dad broke the silence. "Talia, your sister needs a kidney. Youre a perfect match."
I looked at the hope in Elaras eyes, set my chopsticks down, and said coldly, "No. Having one kidney would ruin my life."
Dad slapped me. Chris called me heartless. I stormed out, renting a cheap place near the hospitalfive hundred meters from the organ donation centerjust waiting to die.
My rented room was in the sub-basement, two floors down.
The air hung thick with the smell of mildew day and night. The only window was a tiny slit near the ceiling, barely big enough to show a sliver of the concrete sidewalk above if I stood on my toes.
I looked at myself in the small, cracked mirror.
My face was a ghostly shade of white, tinged with blue.
A familiar warmth filled my nostrils, and blood began to trickle down again.
I tilted my head back on instinct, stuffing a tissue against the flow.
This was the fourth time today.
The doctor had told me that APL M3, my type of acute leukemia, had a high cure rate with aggressive treatment. But that meant money.
A lot of money.
Elara's kidney failure also demanded money. Fifty thousand for the transplant, and then a lifetime of anti-rejection medication.
Our family was already broke.
The property was sold. Dad was hauling bricks at a construction site, and Chris was working three jobs a day.
If I chose treatment, Elara would die.
If I didn't, and gave her my kidney, I could at least save her the cost of buying one from a donor.
The math was simple.
My phone buzzed violently in my pocket.
It was a text from Chris.
"Talia, where the hell are you? Your sister just passed out from the pain!"
"Are you even human? That's your sister! It's just one kidney, it's not going to kill you!"
"Just come back. We won't force you to donate right away. At least come to the hospital for a final compatibility check. I'm begging you."
I read the words and a bitter laugh escaped my lips. Blood trickled down my throat, its coppery taste making me sick.
Compatibility check?
The moment they drew my blood, the abnormal markers would expose everything.
My kidney would become "defective," and Elara's only hope would be gone.
I had to be the selfish one.
My fingers trembled as I typed a reply.
"No money, no kidney. Give me fifty thousand dollars, and I'll consider it."
I hit send.
Less than three seconds later, his call came through.
I didn't answer. I just blocked his number.
I didn't need to hear it. I knew he was cursing me, calling me a soulless, money-grubbing parasite.
Good.
Hate me. Hating me is better than feeling guilty for me.
I curled up on the damp, single mattress, the taste of blood in my stomach churning with nausea.
But I couldn't throw up.
If I started, I might not be able to stop.
To protect this kidney for Elara, I had to keep my body functioning, however barely.
I grabbed the cheap bottle of vitamin B from the table, poured a handful into my palm, and chewed them down dry.
They were useless against my disease, but they were a small comfort, a placebo for my fraying mind. This room was only five hundred meters from the organ donation center.
I had measured it myself.
If I died fast enough, if I could crawl there fast enough, this kidney could be transplanted into my sister's body while it was still warm.
A sudden, violent cramp ripped through my stomach, as if someone were twisting a knife inside me.
The pain sent me tumbling from the bed to the floor, my forehead slick with cold sweat.
The painkillers were in the drawer, but I couldn't take them.
Most painkillers are toxic to the kidneys. I couldn't let Elara have a damaged one.
"Just hold on, Talia a little longer it'll stop soon"
I bit down hard on the corner of the blanket, curling into a tight ball in the darkness.
My phone screen lit up, a notification from a "favorite."
Elara had posted on social media.
The picture was of her arm, covered in needle marks from the dialysis.
The caption was just one sentence: "I guess blood isn't always thicker than water. In my next life, I don't want to be the older sister."
Tears broke free, mixing with the blood on my face.
Elara, I'm so sorry.
Next life, let me be the older sister.
By the third day in the basement, I had lost track of night and day.
The bruises bloomed across my skin, purple and angry, as if I'd been beaten in my sleep.
I knew what they were. Petechiae. A sign my platelet count was crashing.
I took out my concealer and began layering it over my arms.
The tube was almost empty by the time I managed to cover the most gruesome of the marks.
A frantic pounding echoed from the door.
"Talia! I know you're in there! Open up!"
It was Dad's voice, laced with murderous rage.
My heart skipped a beat.
How did they find me?
I scrambled up from the floor, moving too fast. The world went black for a second.
Leaning against the wall for support, I stuffed all the bloody tissues into a garbage bag and tied it shut. I dusted a thick layer of powder on my face until I looked merely pale, not like a walking corpse. Only then did I open the door.
The moment a crack appeared, a rough hand shot through, grabbing the collar of my shirt.
SMACK!
The slap was so loud it made my ears ring, and the world spun.
I stumbled backward, knocking over the small table behind me.
Dad stood in the doorway, his eyes bloodshot.
Chris was right behind him, his face a mask of disgust and disappointment.
"You animal!" Dad roared, pointing a trembling finger at me, his spit hitting my face. "Your sister is in the emergency room, fighting for her life, and you're hiding here?"
I licked the metallic tang of blood from my lips and forced myself to stand straight.
I couldn't collapse.
Not yet.
I smoothed my messy hair and managed a brittle, cruel smile.
"You want me to stop hiding? Then pay up."
I held my hand out to Chris.
"Fifty thousand. Not a penny less. Money in my hand, and I'll go to the hospital and let them carve me up."
Chris stared at my outstretched hand, and the last flicker of light in his eyes died.
He had held that hand countless times. Now, he looked at it as if it were something vile.
"Talia, what happened to you?" he asked, his voice raspy with disbelief. "The Talia who would starve for two days to save a stray cat, where did she go?"
"People change, Chris," I sneered, turning away from him. "A stray cat didn't ask me to carve out a piece of my body. This is a kidney. I want to get married, have kids. What if my husband resents me for it? Is it so wrong to ask for a little compensation?"
Dad was shaking with rage. He raised his hand to strike me again.
Chris stopped him.
"Don't, sir," Chris said, his voice as cold as ice. "She's not worth dirtying your hands over."
He pulled an envelope from his bag and threw it at me. It hit me in the face, the sharp corner slicing my cheek.
"Here's ten thousand dollars. It was my savings for our wedding. From this moment on, we're done."
"Someone like you doesn't deserve to be Elara's sister. And you sure as hell don't deserve to be my wife."
The thick stack of bills scattered across the filthy floor.
I crouched down, picking them up one by one, blowing off the dust.
"Only ten grand? How pathetic," I scoffed.
"Fine. For old times' sake, I'll take it. But as for the kidney? Forget it."
"You!"
Dad grabbed a broom from by the door and lunged at me.
I slammed the door shut just in time, locking it with a loud click.
All their curses and accusations were left on the other side. Outside, Dad kept kicking the door while Chris tried to pull him away.
"Let's go, sir. Begging a piece of trash like this is useless. I'll sell my blood, I'll take out a loan from a shark, whatever it takes! I will save Elara!"
Their footsteps faded away.
I leaned my back against the door, my body slowly sliding down until I was sitting on the cold concrete. Only then did I let myself gasp for air.
A mouthful of blood erupted from my lips, staining the cash in my hands.
This was the money Chris had saved for three years. For our wedding.
I carefully wiped the money clean and tucked it into a small metal box under my pillow.
There was already over four thousand dollars in there.
Money I had saved over the years from odd jobs, from skipping meals, even from selling my hair.
It was still not enough.
I'm sorry, Elara. I'm not strong enough. I couldn't get you the fifty thousand.
I looked at my blood-soaked hands and smiled.
That slap was a good one, Chris.
Forget me now.
Marry Elara. She's kinder than I am. She's better.
Most importantly, she's about to get a healthy kidney.
And I was about to become a rotting corpse.
The night after Chris left, a fever took hold of me.
My bones ached with a deep, gnawing pain, as if they were being eaten by ants.
I knew I didn't have much time left.
I had to get everything in order while I was still lucid.
With great effort, I pulled an old backpack from under the bed.
Inside was the Organ Donor Designation form.
I had secretly picked it up from the Red Cross a month ago.
The volunteer there, seeing how young I was, had urged me to think it over.
I remember smiling and saying, "I just want to do something good. You never know, I could choke on a glass of water tomorrow. At least this way, I won't go to waste."
I took out a pen. My hand was shaking so badly that my own name came out jagged and crooked.
In the section for "Designated Recipient," I wrote out "Elara" one careful stroke at a time.
I was terrified of making a mistake, as if a single stray mark would cause the kidney to lose its way.
After filling it out, I sealed it in a waterproof document pouch and hung it around my neck.
This was my passport. My final offering before I went to meet my maker.
With that done, I took out my phone.
I wanted to leave them something.
But I looked terrifying.
My face was ashen gray, my lips were cracked and bleeding, and my gums were so swollen they barely covered my teeth.
If Elara saw me like this, it would break her heart.
She was so smart. She had always understood me best.
I rummaged through my things and found the red dress.
I'd bought it last month, a painful splurge of thirty dollars.
When I brought it home, Dad had yelled at me for being wasteful. Elara didn't say anything, but I saw the reproach in her eyes.
The truth was, I bought it for today.
I put on heavy makeup.
The reddest lipstick, the thickest foundation. I even put on a pair of oversized, gaudy sunglasses to hide my sunken eyes.
I propped my phone up on a cup of instant noodles and started recording.
The woman in the frame wore a tacky red dress and smiled like she didn't have a care in the world.
"Hey Dad, Elara and you Chris."
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