Reclaimed for the Eighth Time and Ready to Quit Chapter 2

Graham stood over me, his voice tight with manufactured outrage. "Because of your little stunt on the terrace, Sienna’s chronic cardiovascular weakness flared up. The specialists downstairs are saying her autoimmune markers are crashing. She needs an immediate, emergency plasma and whole-blood exchange."

I blinked at him. "If it's an illness, buy her medicine. If it's terminal, buy her a plot. What does that have to do with me?" I tilted my head, studying him with blank curiosity. "Though, if she genuinely doesn't know how to die, I'd be happy to give her private lessons."

The room was temporarily clear of our parents; they had stepped out to talk to the chief of medicine. Hearing my response, Graham lost whatever civilized veneer he had left.

His palm cracked across my cheek.

The sting burned, snapping my head to the side.

"You did this to her!" Graham hissed through clenched teeth. "Your sick theatrics triggered her relapse! You owe her this transfusion, Jasmine. You don't get a say in the matter!"

In the corner of the room, Sienna leaned against the doorframe, tears spilling down her pale cheeks like perfectly timed rain. "Forget it, Graham... Jasmine despises me so much. She’ll never agree to donate her blood for me. Just let me fade away. I deserve it."

Her tears worked like an accelerant on Graham's temper. He lunged forward, grabbing the collar of my hospital gown and dragging me upward until my toes barely grazed the floor.

"Jasmine Mercer, if you ever want a place under our roof, you will sign that donor consent form right now, or so help me God—"

The room spun in dizzying circles. My throat constricted, and a violent cough rattled my ribs before he shoved me roughly back onto the mattress.

"Don't make me bring the Mercer legal team up here," Graham warned, smoothing his cuffs. "Be smart for once in your life. Take the pen, read the consent form, and—"

Before he could finish the sentence, I scrambled up, snatched the clipboard off the bedside tray, and scrawled my signature across the authorization line in two seconds flat.

I tossed the pen at his chest. I didn't even look up. "Hook me up. Drain it."

Graham froze, entirely derailed. "What?"

"I said, hook the tubes up to my veins and pump it into Sienna," I said, voice flat as a dial tone. "In fact, tell the phlebotomist to just keep the pump running until the bag is completely full of everything I've got. I'm trying to check out of this dimension anyway."

Sienna looked at Graham, her eyes wide with calculated alarm, letting out a soft, trembling gasp.

Graham’s face twisted into an ugly, mottled red.

"Jasmine, are you seriously doing this right now? It's a standard plasma transfusion! Do you have to twist everything into this grotesque, passive-aggressive spectacle just to make us look like monsters?" He paced the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples. "Name your terms. What do you want? What will it take for you to just donate the blood like a normal human being without this revolting martyrdom—"

The relentless, circular absurdity of his logic hit my skull like a sledgehammer. My temple throbbed with a blinding migraine.

Donate? Don't donate? Sign? Don't sign? Nothing satisfied them. The performance never ended.

The last microscopic shred of my patience snapped clean in half.

I sprang to my feet on top of the hospital bed, towering over him, and screamed straight into his face:

"I signed it! Take it! Take all of it!"

My voice tore through the quiet ward. "I'll give her the blood! I'll give her my marrow! I'll give her my damn lungs if she wants them! Can you shut your miserable mouth for five seconds?!"

Before Graham could blink, my hand darted to the fruit basket on the rolling table. I snatched the small paring knife, flipped the blade backward, and dragged the edge fiercely across my left wrist.

Except the expected spray of warm arterial blood never arrived.

Graham’s reflexes, honed by years of college lacrosse, kicked in on pure instinct. His bare hand clamped down hard over the steel blade, arresting the slice just millimeters from my radial artery.

Crimson welled between his knuckles, dripping onto the pristine white sheets.

Sienna shrieked in horror, stumbling backward out into the corridor to scream for the trauma team.

Graham slammed me flat against the mattress with his uninjured forearm, pinning my shoulders down. His face was ghostly pale, his voice trembling with an unhinged vibration:

"Are you insane?! Jasmine, have you completely lost your mind?! Is this the only card you know how to play to get attention?" His chest heaved against mine. "Before you disappeared and lost your memory, you spent every waking moment pulling these suicidal dramatics! It’s been seven years! Seven years out in the world, and you haven't grown up a single inch!"

I went rigid under his weight. Then the rage surged back, and I began thrashing like an alligator. "Let go of me! Whether I've grown up has nothing to do with you! Get off me!"

"I am your brother!" The veins in his neck stood out like thick cords.

I kicked, clawed, and twisted. When my limbs couldn't gain leverage, I snapped my teeth forward, sinking them deep into the fleshy meat of his thumb.

The coppery tang of his blood flooded my mouth. I bit down with everything I had, tasting his skin, grinding my teeth toward the bone.

He grunted in agony, but he didn't let go. His grip remained an iron vise.

Exhaustion finally washed over me. I loosened my jaw, letting his blood smear across my lips, and slumped back against the pillows. I forced a soft, radiant, angelic smile onto my bruised face.

"Okay, Graham," I whispered, keeping my tone breathy and sweet. "You caught me. You're just too smart for me. I confess. I did it all for attention. I just wanted Mom and Dad to look at me instead of Sienna. I wanted your love."

I blinked up at him, wide-eyed and innocent. "You saw right through my pathetic little act. The show's over now. I don't want to die anymore. Can you please let go of my hands?"

Graham stared deep into my eyes, searching for the crack in the facade. My expression was an unblemished sheet of absolute sincerity.

Slowly, heavily, he released his grip and took a ragged breath.

"Jasmine," he said, wrapping a stray towel around his bleeding hand, trying to reclaim his authoritative composure. "I don't like forcing you. But Sienna is family, and helping her is the decent thing to do. You crossed a line today. But I promise you, if you cooperate with the medical staff and help Sienna recover, this family will welcome you back. We can start over—"

Before the word over left his lips, my right hand darted forward, snatched the knife from the bedspread, and drove the point straight into the side of my neck.

The universe seemed to pause.

The heavy mahogany door swung open. Charles and Evelyn walked in holding brown paper bags from the upscale deli down the block.

A jet of hot arterial blood sprayed in a wide arc across the room, spattering across the front of their cashmere coats and into Evelyn’s face.

The brown bags hit the linoleum with a wet thud.

A high, inhuman wail shattered the room: "DOCTOR! GOD ALMIGHTY, SOMEBODY GET A DOCTOR!"