“Wine?” She holds out one of the glasses and I accept it with a sigh, setting it on the counter next to my laptop.
“That’s new?” I tilt my head, not recognizing the bottle she’s holding, but assuming it’s blood all the same. Zuri is a vampire, but she was raised in an extremely progressive family—they only believe in drinking blood that has been ethically sourced with the donor being well compensated for their time and contribution, and they never, ever, drink directly from humans or animals. The “traditionalists” AKA old-school vampires, on the other hand, don’t abide by current legal or ethical guidelines, and many drink only from humans, whether the victims are willing or not.
“Yeah, you know that new place I’ve been going to for the last couple months?” Zuri asks.
“Mhm.” I nod, then take a sip of my wine.
“Right, so they started this new sustainability initiative where you pay an initial fee to start using glass bottles, but then every time you return an empty one, you get a slight discount on the next one. It’s cheaper after only five bottles, and there’s basically zero waste. Awesome, right?”
“Actually, yeah. That is pretty cool.” I blink in surprise; I had no idea vampires, or humans, or whoever runs these blood clinics, were so innovative or invested in… the environment? Shrugging, I return my attention to Z, who has uncapped the bottle and is now adding it to her wine. It doesn’t change the color, but my shifter senses pick up on the slight coppery scent, so I bring my own glass closer to my face to cover it, then take a long sip.
“No luck yet?” Zuri says.
I shake my head, eyes blurring across the computer screen, and she squeezes my shoulder.
“I’ll let you keep at it. Let me know when you need a break.”
My web browser has thirteen different tabs left open and I refresh each page with the saved job searches I’ve been using. My search filters have been getting significantly less related to my actual degree while my fingers have become slightly more frantic with each application I submit, but I know it will eventually pay off. One week of job searching is not very long, and I expect it will take at least a couple before I start to hear back about interviews, but moon and stars, this is draining.
When I finally attend an interview the following week for a project management position I’m only mildly qualified for at a tech consulting firm, I’m understandably nervous. I only partially shift once during the whole thing, but manage to continue the interview and explain that the shifting does not impact my functioning or ability to complete my job. Luckily, it was only my ears that shifted into twitching bunny ears, andit lasted only a few minutes. The interviewer didn’t seem offended or put-off by it, thankfully.
Regardless, my spirits are more upbeat the next few days, now that my hard work of applying day in and day out is paying off. But I’m still facing the fact that I won’t have enough income from my last paycheck to cover my portion of rent this month, whether I get the project manager position or not, and I refuse to ask my parents or sister for financial help.
Zuri had suggested the blood bank she uses as a backup option for a quick payout, so I text her for the address and plug it into my GPS.
It’s raining when I step outside, the beat of the drops relaxing as they tap, then streak down my umbrella. It’s clear with yellow trim around the edges, and a bright yellow, smiling sun in the middle—perfect for brightening a rainy Portland day. The few blocks to the blood clinic take no time at all.
I’m the only one in the waiting room when I get there, which helps calm my nerves somewhat. It’s set up similar to a pharmacy, with a secure area behind the counter and another section off to the side with doors where, presumably, I’ll go when it’s my turn to give blood.
No biggie, just like getting a flu shot.
The lady behind the desk has fabulous bright red glasses and is wearing a vintage dress.
“Raya?” she calls, and I stand, striding up to the tall desk.
She gets me set up with the proper documents and I verify that payment is sent within twenty-four hours directly to my bank account. The payment is based on how much blood I want to give, taking into consideration the maximum is for my weight and how much money I need.
“And don’t worry,” she continues, offering an encouraging smile after dumping a load of information on me. “The clinicis run entirely by humans, so there’s never a concern about vampires going rogue around so much blood.”
I blink as my hand pauses over a signature line. That’s a worry that hadn’t yet crossed my mind, but I’m glad it’s already been thought of and addressed.
After signing the final consent and confidentiality forms, I’m led into one of the side rooms. I expect a standard doctor’s office, but am surprised to see the vibe is much more relaxed. While still sterile and clean, I’m sitting on an adjustable seat similar to a dentist chair, and instead of intimidating anatomical posters on the walls, there are motivational quotes. “Give the gift of life; share your blood” and “Your blood saves lives” and “You don’t have to be a doctor to be a hero.” It reminds me a bit of a middle school classroom if it were combined with a dentist office, with a heavy focus on blood, obviously.
Shaking my head at the wandering thoughts, I refocus on the phlebotomist who knocks and swiftly enters the room. They’re wearing bright purple scrubs with straight brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. They check my vitals, then we talk through how much blood I would like to give based on my BMI.
I decide to only give two units for now, which equates to what an average vampire might drink for four light meals, two average meals, or one big meal, which can last them up to a week. If I dip into my meager savings, that will give me the last bit of money I need to cover rent, and hopefully by the end of next month I’ll be fully employed again.
The phlebotomist offers an encouraging smile as they prick my vein and attach the tubing. I wasn’t sure how I’d respond; turns out I’m not squeamish about it at all. I figure it’s because I’m used to living with a vampire and having blood in our fridge.
“We’re halfway there already, how are you feeling?” they ask when they switch out the collection bag for a second one.
“Fine, actually," I reply, shrugging my opposite shoulder.
“You’re doing great, we’ll be done in no time.”
I lean my head back against the padded seat, watching as the blood bag next to me slowly fills up and imagining the dollar signs filling my bank account at the same time. It almost feels like the pent up anxiety is flowing out of my veins right alongside the blood, making me feel light headed in more than one way.
When the needle is replaced with a little cotton ball and teal sticky wrap, they smile and tell me I’m all set.
