Read The Donor (The Full Novella) for Free Online Page A

at me like...” I can't finish.
    “Like you're sick.”
    My voice is raspy when I turn away. “Yeah.”
    Jonah gently closes the laptop and sets it aside. I sit up so we can face each other. “Is that why you’re here?” he asks. “Why you don’t want your parents to know?”
    I take a deep breath. “I guess,” I say. “At least part of it.”
    He nods, seeming to think it over. His hand grazes mine again as he turns toward me. “I promise,” he says. “I’ll try to treat you like you’re not sick.”
    I smile a little. “Thanks.”
    “But as my donor, I’m responsible for you,” he continues. “It’s in the contract and everything.” He smiles. “Technically, you have to do whatever I ask as well, but that’s never been me.”
    I fold my hands in my lap.
    “So if you’re not feeling well, you need to let me know.”
    “I already told you no hospitals.”
    Jonah shakes his head. “I’m not talking about that. Honestly, I don’t like hospitals either.” He hesitates, but he smoothes a piece of hair behind my ear. Little goose bumps form on the back of my neck. He smiles again. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” he says. “If I can help it, at least.”
    I understand where he’s coming from. I honestly didn’t know what I was expecting. Maybe if I had chosen one of the creepers in my inbox on MyTrueMatch instead of him, I would have been matched with someone who didn’t care. Someone who didn’t treat me like I was sick, but didn’t treat me like I was human either.
    His hand rests on my neck and I grasp it, squeezing slightly. “Okay,” I agree. “I’ll tell you when I don’t feel good.”
    Jonah smiles to himself. “Good.” He picks up his laptop again and my skin is cold where his hand just was.
    ***
    The day they told me what the diagnosis was, it was quiet. When I didn’t respond to what the doctor was saying, a silence so long and so… final stretched from phone line to phone line. Birds were chirping outside, a lawnmower sounded in the distance. I stared at the clock above the stove. It was in the shape of an owl, the belly filled with numbers. I bought it for Dad with my allowance money for his birthday when I was ten.
     
    Miss Williams?
     
    Miss Williams, just because it’s inoperable doesn’t mean we don’t have options.
     
    I stared at the tablecloth, the same torn, stained, flower-printed thing we had since I was in middle school.
     
    Miss Williams?
     
    I blinked a few times. How long? How long had I had this thing growing inside me, choking off blood to my brain, killing me? I wanted to ask, but I didn’t really want to know.
    And he had said we . We had a tumor. We only had two months to live. We were going to die.
                 
    Miss Williams, I know this is a lot to take in, but talking about it will help. We can make an appointment and discuss options.
     
    Yes. Our options for our cancer.
     
    Miss Williams?
     
    I slowly hung up the phone, pushing it all the way across the table until it clattered to the floor.
     
    ***
     
    Jonah is in front of the fish tank again. This is after he makes us both dinner and refuses to let me leave the table until I eat mine and at least one third of his. I don't mind. For someone who doesn’t really eat, he’s a really good cook. He clears the dishes and instructs me to wait for him in the living room, which I also don't mind. I want to stare at the fish tank without him staring at me, studying me.
    I watch as a black and yellow striped fish swims past my face and then through a hole in the bright purple coral. I search for the remaining seahorse and after a few seconds find it, anchoring itself to a different piece of coral in the back. It suddenly jerks forward when Jonah is beside me; I hadn't heard him leave the kitchen. When I look at him he’s staring at the same thing I was.
    I move aside slightly, wanting to stare at him for a while. I can't explain why. I think it’s maybe