I do not want to give up, even as a cold shiver of uncertainty moves through me, so I whisper, "Would you at least take my blood and those hairs with follicles, just in case, even for your own scientific curiosity?"
Blue laces his thin fingers together in something like a small steeple, tilts his head slightly, and his sapphire eyes focus on me.
"I am sorry, Mr. Strada, but I see no purpose in storing such materials when I cannot guarantee they will be used for an actual study."
"There are more strange things. I still have the bite mark from Bay on my neck gland. It hasn’t disappeared, even though marks like that usually fade two years after a bite, except in the case of True Mates. Theirs stay. So why did mine persist?"
Blue remains silent, his gaze lingering on my face, his eyelids narrowed slightly as if he is again thinking something over with real focus. Then he straightens a little and shakes his head.
"It still isn’t enough. There could have been other reasons. A rare skin allergy, or keloid scars, scleroderma, or hypertrophic scarring. It may even be a form of Ehlers–Danlos syndrome…"
As he lists other reasons, I barely listen.
The disappointment hits so sharply it tightens my lungs, and I grab my inhaler and take a harsh breath.
What was I thinking, hoping he would simply agree, that he would start a costly research initiative, an entire scientific project, just because someone off the street walked in and suggested it? It is absurd, and I let myself believe in something foolish. I waited half a year for absolutely nothing.
Frustration and bitterness flood me. I clench my hands into fists and then it just bursts out of my throat.
"You could do it for… a relative. As an act of kindness. You could run some basic genetic analysis on my blood and Bay’s DNA."
There. I said it. I let out a shaky breath and feel like I might faint.
Blue’s eyebrows rise sharply, but I do not let him speak, adding immediately,
"Yes, you are my relative, and I desperately need help. This is my only chance to be with Bay, and you are the best person to make it happen."
"What is this supposed to be? Some kind of joke?" Blue says, and suddenly he stands.
"It is not a joke," my voice cracks, "we are related. My dad had an affair, well, affair is too big a word, but a brief encounter with one of the Lowens."
"With whom?"
"I do not know. I only know it was one of you."
Blue bursts out laughing. It sounds strange, almost mechanical, dry and sharp.
"Do you think you are the first person claiming to be part of our family? Every few months we get some lunatic trying to extort money or favors by insisting they are related to us. Please leave my office before I call security."
"It is all true, please just look at us, we could be brothers."
"Are you under the impression that the people who claimed to be related to my family looked any different?"
In a final act of desperation, I pull out the small pouch with a vial of my blood prepared just in case, along with the packet containing Bay’s hairs with follicles.
Inside is also my phone number on a business card.
I set it on the edge of Blue’s desk, but his expression offers no hope. He looks at it as if he were looking at some kind of bug.
I decide to spill everything in a chaotic rush, all of it in a pleading, tearful tone.
"It is all true, Mr. Blue. If I were a scammer, I would give you a specific name, but I simply do not know it. My dad told me this on his deathbed, I didn’t manage to learn anything more, but I know for certain I am not the biological son of Judge Max Strada, who is listed on my papers, because that genetic test has already been done, and my dad would not have lied to me literally while lying on his deathbed a few hours before he passed away. You can verify everything. This is my blood sample, and if it does not confirm anything, please understand that I did not do this in bad faith. I followed my dad’s words."
I stand up and take a step back toward the door. My shaking hand drops my inhaler, and I lean over to pick it up, swaying slightly.
"Thank you for hearing me out. I deeply regret that you do not want to try to help me. I love Bay more than life, and I dream of being with him, but it is impossible if we cannot even touch each other. If you can find at least a little compassion in your heart, maybe you could try to compare our genotypes. Maybe you will find something, because I truly do not understand how people as characterologically compatible as True Mates could turn out to be genetically completely incompatible."
I give a clumsy bow, murmuring, "Goodbye, Mr. Lowen," and then I leave the room.
