Page 116 of You Only Need One

Once the aftershocks fade, I sink, boneless, into Ben’s mattress. Black spots dot in front of my eyes, and my throat has gone hoarse. The buzzing in my ears retreats until I can hear my own ragged breathing.

Ben appears in my line of vision, supporting himself above me, the way he did before he shattered me. He takes in my hazy, satisfied expression and gifts me with another of his heart-aching grins. If I had any control over my limbs, I’d drag his face down to where I could kiss him.

Instead, he leans down to kiss the end of my nose. “Let me know when you’re ready for round two.”

23

HOLLY

“Has anyone offered to pay you for your kidney?” Dr. Carmine keeps his expression passive while he kindly interrogates me.

“Seriously? Don’t you get tired of asking me that every time we’re here?”

He just waits, pen poised over his pad of paper.

I sigh and avoid the urge to roll my eyes. “No. No one is paying me for my kidney.”

A little voice in the back of my head whispers to me.

What about your rent? Ben’s going to pay for that, isn’t he? Rule breaker.

I shift in my seat. Maybe I should talk to him again. Tell him I don’t need his financial help.

“Do you feel coerced in any way to go through with this donation?”

If he means threatened, then sure. I feel threatened by death with its scaly fingers wrapped around my brother’s throat.

But I doubt that’s what he’s getting at.

“No one has coerced or bribed me.”

“And you understand the risks of this surgery? You will be put under anesthesia, which can be very disconcerting for people.”

Losing consciousness isn’t high on my list of fun times, but I can deal with it. If anything about this process gets me sweating, it’s the needles they’ll be plugging into my veins. Best not think of it. And I have no plans to share my phobia with my temporary psychiatrist. I’m not sure if he’d call off the surgery because of it but better to err on the side of caution.

“I understand that. And I’m ready. I want my brother to be healthy. I want Ben to be healthy. I’d put up with a lot more pain and discomfort than this to make that happen.”

Normally, as Dr. Carmine goes through his list of questions, he wears his classic therapist face. No emotions other than polite interest. But my last statement actually receives a small flicker of curiosity.

“So, you’ve had more contact with Ben?”

With great effort, I keep from shifting in my chair, a twinge of guilt rising in my chest.

Why though? Do I feel bad about dating the guy I plan to donate my kidney to? Or am I uncomfortable because I’m going to withhold the information?

Right now isn’t the moment to dwell on it.

In theory, these sessions are meant to protect my interests, but every time I come in here, I’m on edge. If I give any indication I’m not completely for this exchange, they can call it off.

No way I’ll let that happen.

“Yep. We talk sometimes. I’m looking forward to giving him my kidney. He deserves to be healthy again.”

My answer is pleasantly bland and seems to satisfy Dr. Carmine.

Some of the tension eases out of my shoulders, but I know I won’t fully relax until I wake up from surgery, short one kidney, with the nurse telling me that Marcus’s procedure went just as smoothly as mine.

BEN

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