Blood Bond

BEEP... BEEP... BEEP...

The metallic shrill pierced through the haze in my mind. I pushed my heavy eyelids open, and then sat up. My eyes followed the blurred IV tube to the bag hanging off the pole. I was Leo again.

I threw on my glasses, trying to piece together last night. What had happened? I remember Stonehand laughing after downing the drink, his bass shaking the room. And then, the blood – my blood – seeping into him. I tried to stop it. For some reason, I felt I had to. I tried so hard to hold myself back from taking his heart. I remember pain stabbing through my head again. And then nothing. Had I fainted?

My hands covered my face. I felt mortified. I had fainted everyday, for the past three days! Had I become one of those princesses?

A soft rustle of fabric came from the chair beside my bed. Mom. Her head had been resting against the hard plastic back, a magazine slipping from her lap to the floor. My slight movement as I sat up, or maybe just a change in my breathing, must have disturbed her light, exhausted sleep.

Her eyes fluttered open, instantly finding mine. The initial startled look softened into that fierce, maternal relief I knew so well, though shadows of deep worry still clung to her. "Leo! Honey, you're more awake now." She was beside me in an instant, her hand cool and blessedly familiar on my forehead, then reaching to grip mine tightly. "How are you feeling? You were sleeping so heavily. Nurse Miller came in not too long ago to change your IV bag – the next round of that chemo is running." She gave the IV pole a nervous glance. "She said your vitals were stable, but those blood counts... they're still a bit puzzled, running more tests."

"Just tired, Mom," I managed, my voice still raspy, clinging to her hand as if it were a lifeline back to this world. The solid warmth of her touch was an anchor. "Really, really tired." The words felt inadequate to describe the bone-deep weariness that came not just from the chemo, but from a place she couldn't imagine.

She nodded, her smile half-faltering. "Of course, you are, baby. It's strong medicine." She poured me a little water from the plastic pitcher on the bedside table, holding the cup with the bendy straw to my lips. The water was cool, tasteless, normal.

Mom was just telling me she'd let Maya know I was properly awake when a brisk, cheerful voice preceded a knock. "Morning, Leo! And Mrs. Vega. Just doing our rounds."

Nurse Miller, the same one who'd started the chemo drip the night before, came in with her cart of medical supplies. She had a no-nonsense efficiency, but her eyes were kind. "Good to see you sitting up. How are we feeling with this particular dose? Any nausea?"

"A bit," I admitted, as she checked the IV pump, the clear liquid still dripping steadily into my arm. The faint, underlying emptiness inside me seemed to pulse in time with the drip, a sensation I pushed away. "Mostly just... wiped out."

She nodded sympathetically, making a note on her chart. "That's to be expected. We can get you something for the nausea if it gets worse." As she was about to adjust the drip rate, my mind, grasping for something solid and scientific, latched onto a question.

"Nurse Miller," I asked, trying to sound like my usual curious self, "is this part of that... induction therapy Dr. Sharma mentioned?" My gaze went to the clear bag of fluid. "How does it know which cells to target? I mean, I read that chemo affects fast-growing cells, but isn't that a lot of different kinds in your body, not just the... the leukemia?"

She paused, giving me a slightly surprised but understanding smile. "That's a very good question, Leo. You're right, many chemotherapy drugs target cells that divide rapidly. Cancer cells, like leukemia, divide very quickly and often uncontrollably. So the drugs are designed to interfere with that process – different drugs work in different ways, some damage the cell's DNA, others stop them from being able to copy themselves."

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

She gestured to the IV bag. "This particular one, and others you'll receive, are very good at seeking out those rapidly dividing cells. Unfortunately, some of our healthy cells also divide quickly – like the cells lining your mouth and stomach, or your hair follicles. That's why patients can get side effects like nausea or hair loss. We try to balance hitting the cancer hard while giving your healthy cells a chance to recover." She gave the IV line a final check. "But the main goal right now is to get those leukemia cells down as much as possible."

I nodded slowly, absorbing the information. It made a grim sort of sense from a biological standpoint. A poison carefully calibrated to kill, hoping it killed the right things faster. The emptiness inside me seemed to resonate with that thought. And within it I could sense the slight fringes of that hunger again. What am I going to do this time to fill it?

Nurse Miller smiled again. "You ask good questions. Keep that curious mind working, okay? Let me know if you need anything." With another reassuring nod to Mom, she bustled out.

—

The only splash of color in the beige room was the lurid green dragon on the cover of the book Maya had set screen-down on the bedside table. She was staring out the window now, her reflection superimposed on the buildings outside, looking as trapped by the silence as I felt by the crinkly sheets. The rhythmic beep of the monitor beside my bed was a maddeningly steady metronome counting out the seconds of my confinement.

"Maya?" My voice felt a little rough, like an instrument unplayed for too long. It was Leo's voice, yes, but the tune felt like it was the other me.

She turned, a small, almost startled jump. "Oh, hey. Leo. You're awake." A hesitant smile. "Or, more awake, anyway."

"More or less." I tried for a reassuring smile, but it felt foreign on muscles still relearning expressions. "That book," I nodded towards it. "The one with the dragon. Do they... do they ever have stories like that set in places like this?" I gestured vaguely with a hand, the IV tube pulling slightly. "And still find magic?"

Maya's brow furrowed. She picked up the book, her fingers tracing the scales of the illustrated beast. "Magic in a hospital?" She gave a short, uncertain laugh. "That's a new one. Usually, it's all ancient forests, hidden kingdoms, you know. Grand stuff. Why?" She tilted her head, her gaze sharpening a little. "You actually sound… interested. Are you feeling okay? I mean, apart from the obvious."

"Just… wondering." I watched her. She was my age, yet lived in a world that felt galaxies away from the other I'd known, and the one I was currently stuck in. "It must be nice, to escape into those grand adventures. Especially when your own world feels… limited." A sigh escaped before I could catch it. I found myself drifting. "The fairy tales I grew up with weren't always so grand. Sometimes they felt like they were happening in very quiet rooms. Like this one, almost."

She tilted her head, and frowned as if something was wrong. But instead she asked, "really? Like what?"

"Well," I shifted slightly, the sheets rustling. "I know one. It's probably not in any of your books." I looked at her, wondering what she saw. Perhaps, she'd humor me for a bit longer. "It's about a princess. But she wasn't locked in a dungeon by a sorcerer, or waiting for a prince to slay a dragon."

I paused, and Maya leaned forward slightly, her earlier surprise replaced by attentiveness.

"This princess," I continued, my voice softer now, "she lived in a room that was always bright, always safe. Everything was provided for her. She was cherished, they said." A faint, ironic twist touched my lips. "So cherished, she felt like a porcelain doll kept behind glass. She could see the world from her window – oh, she watched it all, every bird, every cloud, every distant laugh. But the glass was always there. An invisible wall made of care, of empty expectations. She wasn't truly sick, but she was... kept. Guarded by an invisible sort of quiet, and the echo of her own breaths in the stillness."

I looked at Maya, whose eyes were wide, reflecting the dim light of the room.

"She knew all the stories from the books they brought her," I went on, "but she yearned to be in one, even a messy one, of her own making. To feel the mud between her toes, not just read about it. To choose a path, even if it was the wrong one, just to know what it felt like to choose."

I let the silence settle for a moment. Maya didn't speak, just watched me, her expression unreadable but intense.

Then, she let out a slow breath. "Wow. Leo, that's..." She looked away for a second, towards the window, then back at me. "That's not like any fairy tale I've ever heard. It's… really sad, actually." She hugged her own arms. "But I kind of get it. It makes you think..." Her voice dropped a little, her gaze meeting mine with a surprising depth. "...everyone's 'wanting to break free' from something, I guess."

A beat passed between us, the beeping monitor the only sound. For the first time, it felt like someone had a glimpse of the porcelain world through my eyes. I felt a connection to her that's deeper than any kinship.