Chapter 2
"What took you so long? Yolanda's hungry already," Ingram said impatiently.
Yolanda immediately pulled the covers up to her chin, her eyes wide and timid as she peeked at me.
"Debbie, please don't blame Ingram. I really wanted your soup..." she mumbled.
I stayed silent, my face expressionless.
I walked to the bedside table and placed the thermos down without a word.
"Drink it," I said.
Ingram walked over, opened the thermos, ladled out a bowl, blew on it to cool it down, and offered it to Yolanda.
"Careful, it's hot," he said.
Yolanda took a sip, and her expression suddenly changed.
She spat out the soup, splattering it all over Ingram.
"Ugh, it's so bloody. Debbie, did you even clean the ribs? Why does it taste like blood?" Yolanda whined.
Ingram lowered his head and sniffed the soup, his expression turning stormy in an instant.
He hurled the bowl to the floor.
Porcelain shards scattered everywhere.
One sharp piece sliced across my ankle, drawing a thin, bloody line.
"Debbie. Was that on purpose?" Ingram snapped.
He stormed over and shoved me hard in the shoulder.
I was so weak already; his push sent me crashing backward.
The back of my head hit the wall hard.
Thud!
Everything went dark for a moment.
My stomach twisted in agony.
I covered my mouth, fighting the urge to vomit.
Ingram pointed right at my nose, his finger almost touching me. "Apologize to Yolanda right now. Go get another soup, and if you pull any more stunts, I'll break your legs."
I braced myself against the wall, forcing the dizziness to fade.
I raised my head and locked eyes with Ingram, refusing to back down.
"I'm not apologizing," I said. "And I'm not getting you another soup."
Ingram looked stunned, like he couldn't believe I was standing up to him.
He swung his hand and landed a slap right across my face.
Smack!
The sound echoed in the room, crisp and loud.
My face whipped to the side, and blood trickled from the corner of my mouth.
"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Ingram growled, his jaw clenched.
I spat out a mouthful of blood.
I looked at him and gave a faint, bitter smile. "Ingram, there's no blood in the soup. But my stomach is bleeding out. Want to take a look?"
Ingram snorted, his laugh icy and full of contempt.
"Putting on another show, huh? Debbie, with acting like that, you should be in Hollywood," he sneered.
He snatched my wrist and hauled me out of the room.
"Since you love putting on this terminal illness act so much, let's head to the exam room. Let the doctor call you out to your face. Let's see if you still dare to say no to the kidney donation."
I was dragged along, stumbling and nearly falling with every step.
My shoe slipped off.
My bare foot stepped onto the freezing hospital tiles.
Yolanda called out from behind, "Ingram, don't do that, Debbie will get hurt..."
But there was an unmistakable excitement in her voice.
Outside the exam room, Ingram pushed me in.
"Run a full scan on her, especially her stomach and kidneys," he told the doctor. "I want the full report, right now."
The doctor, a middle-aged man, glanced at Ingram, then at me, seeing how battered and miserable I looked.
"Mr. Torres, this..." the doctor said.
"Do it!" Ingram snapped.
The doctor didn't dare say another word and hurriedly filled out the paperwork.
I just let the nurses drag me around, blood tests, X-rays, CT scans, whatever they wanted.
Ingram stood right there the whole time, watching me like a hawk.
Like he was afraid I'd try to pull a fast one, or maybe just bolt.
When the nurse saw all those needle marks on my arm, she stopped, clearly surprised.
Those were from chemo.
"Miss, your veins are really thin, and..." the nurse began, but hesitated.
Ingram snorted coldly from the side.
"You did all that to yourself just to fake being sick? You really went all out, huh?" He sneered.
The nurse shot Ingram a quick look, then kept her head down and stuck the needle in.
The blood oozed out slowly, thick and sluggish.
The color was a dark, almost black red.
Ingram glanced at it, then turned away with a look of disgust.
"Disgusting," he muttered.
Two hours later, all the tests were done.
I sat on a bench in the hallway, shivering.
The hospital AC was turned way down, making it feel like a freezer.
Ingram stood by the window, smoking, impatiently checking his watch.
The doctor walked out, holding a stack of medical reports.
His face was serious and troubled.
Ingram tossed his cigarette to the floor and crushed it under his shoe.
"Well? Is she just pretending? The kidney's fine, isn't it?" he demanded.
The doctor glanced at me, then at Ingram.
"Mr. Torres... Debbie's condition..." the doctor started, sounding unsure.
Ingram cut him off. "Just get to the point. Can her kidney be used or not?"
The doctor swallowed hard.
"Her kidneys... For now, they're still functioning," he said.
Ingram let out a cold laugh and turned to me. "You hear that? Still working. Debbie, where's that cancer diagnosis of yours?
"Go ahead, show it to the doctor. What, is your forgery getting a little too ridiculous now?"
I leaned back against the bench, too weak to even open my eyes.
"Doctor, finish the rest," I said, my voice barely audible.
The doctor took a deep breath and handed the report to Ingram.