Morganville (Justin Bieber)

Chapter 97

Justin took in a deep breath and struggled up out of his chair. Richard turned him around and unfastened the handcuffs. "Good behavior, Justin," he said. "Trust me, you don't want to start trouble here."

Justin nodded stiffly. He glanced at me, then fixed his attention on the nurse who was waiting. He walked toward her with slow, deliberate calm.

"Can I go with him?" I asked, and Richard looked at me in surprise.

"Ana, they're not going to hurt him. It's just like blood donation anywhere else. They stick a needle in your arm and give you a squeezy ball. Orange juice and cookies at the end."

"So I can donate?"

He looked to Rose for help.

"How old are you, child?"

"I'm not a child. I'm almost eighteen."

"There's no legal requirement for anyone under the age of eighteen to donate blood," Rose said.

"But is there a law against it?"

She blinked, started to answer, and stopped herself. She pulled open a drawer and retrieved a small book that was titled Morganville Blood Donations: Regulations and Requirements. After flipping a few pages, she shrugged and looked at Richard. "I don't think there is," she said. "I've just never had anyone donate voluntarily at the Donation Center. Oh, we take the Bloodmobile to the university from time to time, but - "

"Great," I interrupted. "I'd like to donate a pint, please."

Rose immediately became all business.

"Forms," she said, and thumped down a clipboard and pen.

To say that Justin was surprised to see me was an understatement.

To say he was pleased would have been a lie.

As I took the couch next to his, Justin hissed, "What the hell do you think you're doing? Are you crazy?"

"I'm donating blood," I said. "I don't have to, but I don't mind." At least, I didn't think I minded. I'd never actually done it before, and the sight of the red tube snaking out of Justin's arm and down to the collection bag was a little bit terrifying. "It doesn't hurt, right?"

"Dude, they're sticking a big-ass needle in your vein - of course it hurts." He looked pale, and I didn't think it was all from the fact that he was on his second pint. "You can still say no. Just get up and tell them you changed your mind."

The same friendly-looking nurse who'd called Justin to the back rolled up a wheeled stool and a cart. "He's right," she said. "If you don't want to do this, you don't have to. I saw your paperwork. You're a little young." The nurse's bright brown eyes focused beyond me, to Justin, and then back again. "Doing it for moral support?"

"Kind of," I admitted. My fingers felt ice-cold, and I shivered as the nurse took my hand. "I've never done this before."

"You're in luck. I have. Now, I'm going to stick your finger and run a quick test, and then we'll get started. Okay?"

I nodded. Lying on the couch seemed to have effectively sapped away my will to move. The finger stick came as a sharp, bright flash, there and gone, and I lifted my head from the pillow to see the nurse using a tiny glass pipette to gather blood from my fingertip. It was about five seconds, and then the stick was bandaged up. The nurse did some things with items on her cart, nodded in satisfaction, and smiled at me. "O negative," she said. "Excellent."

I gave her a weak thumbs-up. The nurse took my arm and fastened the rubber tourniquet above the elbow. "Talk to your boyfriend," she advised. "Don't watch."