Died to Be Loved

That night, Mom brought the medicine tray into Nina's room. Her eyes were still swollen, her voice rough. "Why are you standing there? Go get ready."

I jumped up.

"No need."

Nina's voice stopped me.

Mom and I both froze.

"Mom, stop taking Chloe's blood. I'm dying anyway. It won't help."

Mom rushed to the bed like she wanted to hug her but didn't dare. "No! I won't let you die! I'll beg the doctors! There has to be a way!"

Nina didn't look at her. Her eyes were empty. "Why me? Mom... did I do something bad?"

Mom broke down. "No! No, this is my fault! I failed you! God, take me, not her! Please, let my daughter live!"

I stood by the door. Tears ran into my mouth. Salty and bitter.

I kept thinking about it and thinking about it and my chest hurt.

***

It was really late. I climbed out of bed real quiet.

The extra blood bags and stuff were in the living room cabinet. I crouched and dug around.

"Chloe?"

Dad's voice came from behind me.

I froze. The bag in my hand almost slipped.

He frowned. "Why aren't you asleep?"

My head went empty. "I miss Grandma..."

Dad took me to Grandma's picture in the living room.

"Say goodbye. She loved you more than anything."

In the photo, Grandma smiled soft, like she was about to call my name.

I stared at her. 'Grandma, I'm sorry. It's all my fault. But don't be scared. I'll be with you soon.'

"Go back to bed when you're done. Don't let your mom see you."

Mom's voice cut in. "Daniel, who told you to bring her here?"

Her hair was messy. Her eyes were puffy. She glared at me. "You don't get to stand there and act like you cared. Go back to your room."

Dad grabbed her. "Enough. Don't start."

He dragged her into the bedroom and slammed the door.

I went back to my room.

The plate of meatballs was on my desk.

I picked one up and put it in my mouth. Bite by bite, I ate real slow.

Tears fell again. I wiped them, but more kept coming, like a broken faucet.

'Grandma, your meatballs are so good. I wish you were sitting next to me, watching me eat.'

I swallowed the last one. My throat felt stuck.

Then I pulled the painting from under my pillow.

I traced each face with my fingers.

Dad. Mom. Nina. And me, smiling like an idiot.

I took a deep breath, like I was hyping myself up. "Chloe, be brave."

The bags filled fast, one after another, piling up like a little hill.

My head started spinning. Everything went dark, then light, then dark again.

My arms got cold. My lips went numb.

But it still wasn't enough.

I looked at the swollen bags next to me.

Nina was taller than me. Bigger than me.

For a full blood swap, this wasn't even close.

My eyes landed on the box cutter in the corner of the drawer.

I pressed it against the blue vein on my wrist and slid it across.

Blood rushed out. I scrambled to catch it in a bag.

It hurt. It really hurt.

More than Mom's slaps. More than the needle. More than hitting my head on the wall.

My body got colder and colder, like I fell into an ice cave.

I closed my eyes and pictured Mom holding me.

She hummed, patting my back.

I pictured Grandma by the bed, smiling at me.

It's so warm...

My thoughts got floaty.

'Nina, this is enough blood, right?

'Grandma, don't walk so fast. Wait for me. I'm coming.'

***

Early next morning, it was barely light.

Mom's eyes were puffy. She was laying out funeral clothes.

Her voice sounded rough. "Chloe, come help me with this."

But this time, I didn't run out right away.

Her face tightened. "Chloe Cooper, are you deaf? Right now, and you're still acting up? Get out here!"

No answer.

She marched to my room and yanked the doorknob.

"Chloe, are you trying to—"

She froze.

Blood bags were stacked up like a little hill.

The clothes slipped from her hands and fell all over the floor.