Chapter 4 · Rainless Light

Cold rain seeped down the back of my neck, but I was past shaking.

I fought with everything I had, but my fever-weak body was no match for three grown men. My raincoat twisted and tore. Their filthy body heat closed in around me.

"Help—!" In the end, I could only scream, sharp and desperate.

I knew it was useless. I was just terrified.

They laughed, low and ugly, like my fear was entertainment.

I was shoved hard against a cold, wet tree trunk. A heavy body pressed down on me.

Breath thick with booze hit my face. One hand clamped over my mouth. Another started clawing at my clothes, forcing its way inside—

The world narrowed to warped faces and disgusting whispers in my ears.

"Bang!" A gunshot.

"Bang! Bang!" Two more followed. My hand shook around the gun.

I wasn't Ethan. I hated risks. That was why I always carried a gun when I went out. Two shots missed, tearing through the man's loose jacket. The last one hit his leg.

"Get the hell out of here," I shouted. "Or I swear I'll drop every one of you."

They froze—then panic hit. The three of them scrambled and fled, disappearing into the trees.

I leaned against the tree, my eyes locked on the direction they'd run.

Once I was certain the coast was clear, I picked up the clothes they'd torn off me from the ground. I didn't care how filthy they were—I wrapped them back around myself, pulled on my raincoat, and kept walking.

I had no idea how long it took, but I finally reached the hospital.

I staggered up to the front desk. "Please... help me."

The nurse on duty looked like she'd seen people like me a thousand times before. She slid a form across the counter, her expression flat. "Emergency intake starts at 200 dollars. How would you like to pay?"

I reached for my wallet on instinct. But it was gone. Those assholes must've taken it while I was struggling.

I clenched my fingers and said quietly, "I just need some cold medicine, something for the fever."

The nurse just looked at me. She didn't move. Instead, she asked, "Basic fever medicine is a dollar. Cash or card?"

A dollar? I couldn't even afford that. All I had left was the forty-one cents Ethan hadn't spent.

The nurse waited a few seconds, her eyes flicking over how wrecked I looked. Then something seemed to click. She tilted her chin toward the hallway. "You see that door with the blue light? That's the plasma center. They're open all night. You can sell plasma for cash."

She paused, looking me over, calculating. "Not only will it cover your meds, but it might even chip away at whatever's left on your credit card."

I didn't want to sell my blood. But I wanted to live. So I went.

The needle pierced my skin. I watched my blood rush through the clear tubing, flowing into the collection bag.

When the first bag filled, the machine beeped.

I opened my mouth, my voice barely there. "That's enough. Stop. I'm only selling that much. I don't feel well."

But no one answered me.

The nurse pushed me back down and swapped in a fresh empty bag. "Relax, ma'am. Your levels look great. You can donate more. We'll give you a solid 500 dollars for it."

The second bag filled just as fast.

The edges of my vision went dark. The sounds around me drifted farther and farther away. I thought I was going to die there.

When the second bag finally filled, the nurse's voice reached me from a distance. "Alright. The money's been transferred to your account."

With the money, I was finally treated.

The day I was discharged and went home, Ethan had just wrapped up his trip to Nordica.

He pushed the door open excitedly, a big department store bag swinging from his hand. Inside was the very pan I'd asked him to buy that night. He didn't even notice how sick I looked.

Like he was presenting a prize, he held the pan up in front of me. "Babe, look. The pan you wanted.

"Let's stop fighting, okay? It's funny—I checked our account after I landed, and there were a few hundred extra dollars in there. Must've been my overtime pay hitting early. So I figured I'd make it up to you and grab the pan right away."

I stared at him—his face completely untroubled, almost waiting to be praised. My stomach churned.

I raised my hand and tossed the hospital receipts straight at his face. "Ethan, do you know where that extra money came from? I sold my blood for it."

Chapter 4

Cold rain seeped down the back of my neck, but I was past shaking.

I fought with everything I had, but my fever-weak body was no match for three grown men. My raincoat twisted and tore. Their filthy body heat closed in around me.

"Help—!" In the end, I could only scream, sharp and desperate.

I knew it was useless. I was just terrified.

They laughed, low and ugly, like my fear was entertainment.

I was shoved hard against a cold, wet tree trunk. A heavy body pressed down on me.

Breath thick with booze hit my face. One hand clamped over my mouth. Another started clawing at my clothes, forcing its way inside—

The world narrowed to warped faces and disgusting whispers in my ears.

"Bang!" A gunshot.

"Bang! Bang!" Two more followed. My hand shook around the gun.

I wasn't Ethan. I hated risks. That was why I always carried a gun when I went out. Two shots missed, tearing through the man's loose jacket. The last one hit his leg.

"Get the hell out of here," I shouted. "Or I swear I'll drop every one of you."

They froze—then panic hit. The three of them scrambled and fled, disappearing into the trees.

I leaned against the tree, my eyes locked on the direction they'd run.

I had no idea how long it took, but I finally reached the hospital.

I staggered up to the front desk. "Please... help me."

I reached for my wallet on instinct. But it was gone. Those assholes must've taken it while I was struggling.

I clenched my fingers and said quietly, "I just need some cold medicine, something for the fever."

The nurse just looked at me. She didn't move. Instead, she asked, "Basic fever medicine is a dollar. Cash or card?"

A dollar? I couldn't even afford that. All I had left was the forty-one cents Ethan hadn't spent.

She paused, looking me over, calculating. "Not only will it cover your meds, but it might even chip away at whatever's left on your credit card."

I didn't want to sell my blood. But I wanted to live. So I went.

The needle pierced my skin. I watched my blood rush through the clear tubing, flowing into the collection bag.

When the first bag filled, the machine beeped.

I opened my mouth, my voice barely there. "That's enough. Stop. I'm only selling that much. I don't feel well."

But no one answered me.

The nurse pushed me back down and swapped in a fresh empty bag. "Relax, ma'am. Your levels look great. You can donate more. We'll give you a solid 500 dollars for it."

The second bag filled just as fast.

The edges of my vision went dark. The sounds around me drifted farther and farther away. I thought I was going to die there.

When the second bag finally filled, the nurse's voice reached me from a distance. "Alright. The money's been transferred to your account."

With the money, I was finally treated.

The day I was discharged and went home, Ethan had just wrapped up his trip to Nordica.

He pushed the door open excitedly, a big department store bag swinging from his hand. Inside was the very pan I'd asked him to buy that night. He didn't even notice how sick I looked.

Like he was presenting a prize, he held the pan up in front of me. "Babe, look. The pan you wanted.

I stared at him—his face completely untroubled, almost waiting to be praised. My stomach churned.

I raised my hand and tossed the hospital receipts straight at his face. "Ethan, do you know where that extra money came from? I sold my blood for it."