Before My Transplant, My Father Tried to Kill Me

The words landed, and the air went dead.

The smirk on my father's face slowly flattened. The crowd of onlookers began to thin.

Mom walked beside me, following the doctors toward the operating room.

My father just stood there.

My back was to him.

But I could feel his gaze, sharp and amused, boring into me.

I counted silently.

One. Two. Three.

Right on cue.

On the count of three, I heard his cold laugh.

"You know what I always say? Some people are just rotten to the core."

He lifted his chin, strode in front of me, and jabbed a finger at the medical report in Dr. Cobb's hands. Every word rang through the corridor.

"He takes advantage of his sister being a doctor at this hospital to falsify his test results! He's got a filthy disease and he's trying to trick doctors into operating on him!"

"Gerard, is your life the only one that matters? Don't the doctors' lives count for anything?" He paused, then added, "Oh, and—"

He pointed at the rash on my neck, his lips curling with contempt.

"That rash has been there for a while now. You think I didn't see you hiding in your room, stealing your sister's foundation to cover it up? If you had nothing to hide, why would you do that?"

His voice climbed louder with every sentence. Mom tried to step in, but he shoved her aside.

A ring of people closed around us, whispering and pointing.

"Got a disease and tried to cover it up. People like that belong in prison!"

"Exactly! Getting sick is one thing, but what if he infects the doctors? How many lives does he have to pay that back?"

"Can't blame the father for turning him in. If it were my son, I'd disown him on the spot!"

I listened to every word of it. My expression didn't change. I even let out a quiet laugh.

Only my eyes burned, stinging with an ache I refused to show.

"Dad, I can smell it."

The moment I said that, his face went blank for a split second.

As I continued, a cold edge crept into his eyes.

"You smoked jasmine cigarettes today. And I'm severely allergic to jasmine."

"This rash is nothing more than an allergic reaction. You know that better than anyone, don't you?"

What I didn't expect—

Being called out in front of everyone didn't embarrass him in the slightest.

He laughed. A big, hearty laugh.

"Come on, Gerard. You're the CEO of Harmony Corp. You can't take a little joke?"

"Dad just saw how stressed you've been lately and wanted to lighten the mood. Help you relax a little."

"Didn't Dad always teach you? You've got to stay happy if you want to get things done!"

A joke.

There it was again.

No matter what he said, no matter what he did, all it took was one line: I was just joking.

And everything floated away like it weighed nothing at all.

Just like the day I turned eighteen, when I came home from school after being beaten half to death.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and saw the cigarette burns layered across my arms, one on top of another.

I broke. Completely shattered. And I chose to slit my wrists.

I lay in the bathtub, watching the water turn red around me.

The pain in my wrists coiled around me like a vine, tightening with every heartbeat. But beneath the agony, I felt something I hadn't felt in years.

Relief.

What I never could have imagined—

When I woke up in a hospital bed, the very first thing I heard was my father's voice, cheerful and bright, chatting with the woman in the bed next to mine.

"Kids these days, pulling a suicide stunt at his age. Definitely just trying to impress some girl!"

"The other day, I even caught him sneaking into our bedroom to grab condoms!"

"What? Really? He doesn't look like that kind of kid!"

When my eyes opened, the first thing I saw was the woman in the next bed staring at me with undisguised disgust.