Chapter Five
By the time Karim returned, Luis was in a slightly better headspace. The food had settled and he and Julien had slipped into companionable silence on their phones, for which Luis was grateful. He was too tired for conversation.
Mostly, Luis was eyes closed relaxing, doing his best not to think about having to do the treatment when Karim returned. As much as he needed to, he didn’t want to.
“This it?” Karim asked.
Luis jumped, eyes flying open. He hadn’t heard anyone come in.
Karim had Luis’s blue medical kit in hand.
“Yeah, that’s it. Thanks.” Luis took it when Karim brought it over, and set it beside himself on the bed.
He was still being supported by the headboard, because even being upright was a chore.
He felt Karim’s eyes on him, felt his judgement or questions.
But seconds ticked by, and none of it materialized into words.
“We’ll give you privacy,” Julien said as he stood, “if you need anything, just call.”
“Or text,” Karim added.
“Okay, I will. Thank you,” Luis said.
The two left, closing the door behind them. Then Luis was alone.
It should be a relief, but his eyes went to the kit and his heart thumped hard. He didn’t want to do this.
He dragged the kit closer and unzipped it.
Inside, as always, were a selection of sealed needles, collection containers, sterile wipes, tourniquets, bandages, and a mini sharps disposal box. There was also his hemocrit tester.
Luis closed his eyes and took a breath. His hands were shaky as he pulled out the rapid tester. Maybe–maybe he didn’t need to do the treatment just yet. Maybe his counts weren’t that high.
He pricked his finger, put a drop of blood on the strip, and waited with dread for the results.
Breathe, breathe, it’s not that bad.
But what if it was? If the number was too high, he’d have to go to the hospital regardless. It’d be too dangerous. He shuddered.
Thirty seconds later, the tester gave his number.
High, he required treatment, but not catastrophic. He wasn’t likely to drop dead, at least not at his young age.
Hands sweaty, Luis pulled the test strip free and dumped that and the lancet into his disposal container.
Okay, so he had to do the next part.
You can do it; he coached himself as he reached for an alcohol swab and the tourniquet from the kit. You’ve done this dozens of times before.
But it didn’t matter, it never got easier.
If anything, over time Luis only seemed to dread it more.
The smell of an alcohol wipe now was enough to turn his stomach.
The prick of a needle always made him want to rip the thing back out and run.
It was self-torture, but someone else doing it was worse.
Luis tore open the alcohol swab and held his breath as he wiped it over the crook of his left arm. He’d done the right arm last time, today was left.
This or the hospital. This or the hospital.
His eyes burned with unshed tears, and Luis blinked rapidly to make them go away. This had to be done, and it had to be done now. He needed to stop being such a baby.
Awkwardly, Luis managed a weak tie of the tourniquet around his upper arm before another sweep of nausea hit him and he had to stop.
He couldn’t do this.
His whole body was trembling in a cold sweat. God, fuck, why was he so pathetic? Luis rubbed a hand over his face, sucking in a thin breath of air. If he couldn’t do this, he was in trouble and his options to fix it were few.
Hospital. Call his mother. Ask for help from Julien or Karim.
All bad options. All with consequences he couldn’t fully know in this moment.
But some choices were worse than others.
If he asked, Julien and Karim would help him. Probably. They’d at least try, and wouldn’t be mean about it.
Still, it took a long time to reach for his phone and text Julien.
“You need help?” Julien asked thirty seconds later, peeking his head in cautiously. Luis watched his eyes go to the medical kit, then to the array of items on the bed.
Luis swallowed the lump in his throat.
“Yeah, um.” He couldn’t meet Julien’s eyes. “I don’t know if you can–but if you can–I just–it’s just hard for me today.”
Julien stepped fully into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Anything you need,” he said as he came to the bed.
“Um,” Luis had the latex tourniquet strip in hand. He’d never explained this to anyone who wasn’t a medical professional. He tried to piece it together. “I have a blood condition. It’s–I produce too many red blood cells, so I have to regularly treat it by-by removing blood.” His voice wobbled.
Julien nodded. His hands were neatly tucked behind him, and everything about him was calm and contained. He was trying to put Luis at ease.
“I see,” Julien said. “You need help?”
“Um, yeah. If–if you can be around blood?” He hated asking, the question felt offensive, but he didn’t actually know if asking a vampire to do something blood-related was… bad.
“I can.” Julien reassured quickly. “You’re safe here, I promise. We are not–that is–our appetites are similar to human appetites. We eat when we’re hungry, but we’re not mindless about it. If you need help removing blood, I can help you.”
Luis’s cheeks were burning in a confusion of gratitude and humiliation. “Okay.”
Julien took a tentative seat further down the bed on the other side of the lunchbox kit. Giving Luis plenty of space. “Tell me what I should do.”
“Okay,” Luis said again. He took a breath, then another. He was trying to radiate calm and not the tangled-up anxiety and fear. “You’re going to draw blood. So first,” he offered up his left arm and the rubber strip, “can you tie this around my forearm?”
A few things had to be shuffled around for Julien to get closer. He did so carefully, and Luis stiffened so he wouldn’t jolt at the first touch as Julien’s hand moved his arm away from his body to wrap the strip of rubber and tie it.
“Next the alcohol swab,” Luis said through a grimace.
He hated the tourniquet too, the sharp, uncomfortable pressure.
He offered the crook of his arm and Julien opened a fresh packet and then wiped his arm.
Luis held off breathing as long as possible.
“Okay,” he said when that was done. “Now I need you to assemble the needle.”
He described each piece and Julien plucked them out of the kit, opening the packaging and looking at Luis to make sure he had everything right. He took to it easily, and Luis worked on flexing his hand.
“Now,” he said with a gust of air when that was done. “I’m going to explain how to do the rest, because if I freak out, you need to know how it goes and finish it.”
Julien nodded. His expression was serious and attentive. Maybe he’d been telling the truth and this was all okay with him. Luis really hoped it was. He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.
He instructed Julien through how to draw the blood, fill the bag, and how much to remove with as much detail as he could manage. He’d done this so many times and he knew his body.
“Keep going if I hyperventilate,” he added at the end. “I should come back around in a few seconds. If it’s anything longer than that–if anything else happens medically, then I’ll need to be taken to the hospital.”
At that Julien looked uncomfortable. “Do you think that’s… likely to happen?” He asked.
“No. No, I just–I want you to know what to do in case anything happens.”
“Alright,” Julien said, but he still looked troubled. “You normally do this all by yourself?”
Luis tried for a casual shrug. “Usually. But usually, I haven’t been drugged before having to.”
Julien frowned. “About that, Karim got the man’s ID–”
Luis held up a hand to stop him when his gut clenched. “I can’t–not right now. I need to get this done.”
Julien inclined his head. He had the needle in hand, held aloft to keep it sterile. “Of course,” Julien said. “Then shall I…?”
Luis offered his arm, turning his head away. “Yeah.”
A hand wrapped around his arm to steady him. Luis wanted to apologize for the way his body was quivering. Still, Julien’s touch was warm, skin and not nitrile gloves.
“Starting,” Julien warned.
Luis shut his eyes at the familiar sensation of the needle as his breathing shallowed.
“Good, you’re doing so well,” Julien said, even though all Luis had done was sit there.
“I hate this so much,” Luis said, voice small. “Every time. It never gets easier.”
“I’m sorry,” Julien’s tone was soft, like a caress. “How long have you had to do this?”
“Over a decade. I was diagnosed just out of high school,” Luis admitted. That’d been a horrible time. All the tests and drugs and specialists. It’d taken a while to come to a diagnosis. What he had was rare, especially at his age.
“And how often do you treat it?”
“Twice a month, give or take,” Luis answered.
He heard the quick suck of Julien’s breath. “I’m so sorry,” Julien said.
So was he, but that was life. Luis kept those words in. Whenever he got maudlin about his condition, people tended to squirm.
Eventually Julien broke the silence with a gentle, “Almost done.”
Then the needle was being removed. A gauze pad pressed to his skin, and Luis almost collapsed in relief. A strong arm wrapped around him and Luis leaned into it.
“I’ve got you,” Julien said.
Luis took a shaky breath. “Thank you,” he said.
“You did so well,” Julien said, as if Luis had accomplished something great. “What is the aftercare for your treatment?”
Aftercare? Usually Luis just laid on his bed or floor and felt sorry for himself.
“Um, nothing really, just give me a minute to calm down and I’ll put everything away.”
“Oh, I can do that, don’t worry,” Julien said. “I meant more like, they usually give humans something sweet after a blood donation, would that help?”
For some reason, the offer made the corners of his eyes burn. He pinched them tight, breathing in and out. “I’m fine, I’ll be fine,” he said.