I didn't waste my time panicking or wondering what's happening... I know too well what's happening. I got out of the tub, wrapped a towel around myself and picked up the first clothes I could get. I was shaking so much that it took me three times to button my shirt. I looked up, pressed a tissue into my nose and took my bag.
I made it to the front door and the tissue was already wet... the blood soaking it and dropping on the floor.
I don't recall many of the miles driven. I could k Lu recall reminding myself to not die. "You're fine, Neriah. You're fine. Just get there."
I wasn't fine.
I made it as far as the hospital's waiting room before my legs gave out from under me. The final memory I registered was me missing a stair and someone yelling for help.
After I opened my eyes again I was lying on the hospital bed with an IV taped to the back of my hand. There was a nurse standing over me watching the monitor next to my bed.
"Miss Vale? Can you hear me?" she asked, leaning towards me.
"Yes," I said. My voice came out hoarse. "I hear you."
"How do you feel?" She asked in a gentle voice.
"I'm fine." I replied. "Just a bit light headed."
She looked at me as if she didn't believe it, but she didn't say anything. She took my pulse, my blood pressure, and made notes on her chart.
"The doctor will be in shortly to go over your results," she said, and left.
I looked at the ceiling and worked to calm my breathing. I was not fine. I hadn't been feeling well for weeks. I have become really good at pretending.
A few minutes later the door opened again. Dr Whitfield comes in with a folder under his arm and already his face says to me this is not going to be a short chat.
He pulled a stool over to sit by my bed, "Neriah," he said. "How are you feeling?"
"Better than I look, I promise," I said, doing my best to give a smile.
He didn't smile back. He flipped the folder open and scanned through the pages of numbers that I couldn't make heads or tails of.
Finally, he said, "Your latest results aren't good. Your kidney function is down again, so is your platelet count, that's why you had the nosebleed."
I said quietly, "Okay."
He looked up at me. "When was the last time you got your injections? Your medication?"
I hesitated. "It's... It's been a long time."
"How long?" He asked.
I said, "I suppose it's been about six weeks."
His jaw tightened. "What happened? Why?"
I didn't look at him, I looked at my hands. "All my mother's trust fund money has been used - months ago - and I can't afford the meds anymore - at that price."
He took a while to say it. "What about your dad? Is he involved in your treatment in any way?"
My stomach clenched when I heard the question. "Let's discuss something else, right?"
"Neriah-"
"How long do I have ...without my drugs and injections?" I asked, desperate to change the topic.
He studied my face for a long time, as though he wanted to go deeper into the question about my father, but he didn't.
Tapping on the folder, he said, "Based on these results, the damage will begin to spread to your other organs within two months, if you don't treat it. Maybe sooner."
Two months.
I knew I had a short time left on earth, but hearing it from a doctor didn't make me feel better. It had been a thing I knew for years since I was a small child, and my doctors told my mother I may not make it to twenty-one.
"Do you think there is something I can do?" I asked. "Any other option? To get the money for the drugs or just the drugs at least?"
Dr. Whitfield exhaled. "There is an NGO; they help those who cannot afford medical treatment - I've referred patients to them before; it's competitive but your case is severe enough that you have a good chance - I can give you their information, I'd suggest that you apply as soon as you can."
I said 'Thank you.'
He gave me a small card containing the organisation's name, and an email address for contact, and patted my shoulder lightly and reassuringly before going outside.
I didn't move from my seat for a while, I just looked at the card in my hand, and then I got up.
When I arrived home, there was a quietness in the house. I immediately headed to the bathroom, and there I discovered the blood stains there - smeared along the rim of the tub, and a few drops on the tile floor. I knelt down and slowly began cleaning it, methodically, as I would most things when I didn't want to think too deeply about what had just happened.
As the bathroom was once again clean, I sat on my bed with my laptop and opened a new email.
I was very careful in my typing, telling them what I diagnosed and my prognosis and my financial situation. I explained my treatment and the need. I took my laptop out, read the email twice and then only sent it after I attached what medical records I could save.
I propped myself up in my pillows and shut my eyes, I hoped it just would be enough.
I was interrupted from my thoughts by a knock at my door.
"Miss Neriah?" Rosa, one of the maids, stuck her head in. "Your father is calling you, he wants you in his study."
I blinked at her. "Me? Did he really say 'me'?
"Yes, miss, he said to come right away." She added.
I frowned. This was the first time in years that my dad had called me to his study. That man acted like I didn't exist 90% of the time. My stomach twisted with unease at something about it.
"Alright," I said.
I closed my laptop, changed my clothes and combed my hair down and headed down the stairs, my brain buzzing with all sorts of possibilities of why he might have wanted to see me. I could think of not one that would make sense.
At the time of my arrival, the door to the study was open. When I went in, I saw Elara sitting in one of the chairs, looking bored and with her legs crossed, facing our father's desk.
She looked at me as I came in, but didn't say anything.
"Sit," Darius replied, without raising his eyes from his desk.
I sat down in the empty seat next to my sister.
At last my father raised his head and thrust a folder over the desk at me. "Read this."
I took up and opened it. I'd had to pore over the pages of financial statements and revenues and debts for a while before I understood it. I got my stomach churning the more I read. The results were lousy. Worse than bad.
"This is-" I raised my head to him. "The company is in an imminent danger of bankruptcy."
Darius responded with a flat tone. "I know/"
He then went into his desk drawer and produced yet another document, handing it to me in the same manner. I placed the first folder and took up the new one.
This one was special. It was a proposal for an investment, a lot of legal jargon I didn't fully grasp: clauses on capital injection, ownership stock, terms of agreement. In the financial jargon, I saw other terms I would have never seen in a business document.
Marriage terms.
I peered up, puzzled. "What is this? What is the reason for investment proposals to have marriage clauses?"
"I have an investor now," Darius said. But he has asked one condition to be met: "Someone willing to save this company from collapse.
"Which is?" I asked.
"Elara, he wants to marry your sister." He said.
I blinked, and looked at my sister, who was staring at her nails, like nothing could worry her.
I turned to my father and still didn't get it. "OK," I mumbled. "Well, what do you want from me? Need help going over the contract with me or-"
But je scoffed.
"The issue is," he continued, "Elara is too young to get married. But you, on the other hand-"