Fainting on Purpose? No, I'm Just Dying

To avoid any suspicion of favoritism, my father, Myron Bradshaw, forces me to participate in the group blood donation. The only problem is I'm severely anemic. When the nurse, Lorna Ritter, draws 100 milliliters, my vision suddenly goes dark. I've just put my hand on the needle tube, about to call for a stop, when Ms. Ritter holds my wrist down. "You're calling it quits after only 100 milliliters? All the other students are donating 400 milliliters." She glances at my bloodless face, her eyes full of disgust. "Donating blood is such an honorable thing to do. Selfish fakers like you who pretend to be sick really deserve to be penalized with a double draw." Beside me, Dad looks at me coldly and says with disappointment, "Ronnie Bradshaw, is this how I raised you? Everyone else has donated, so don't think you can be an exception. You'll draw 400 milliliters of blood today even if it kills you." I gasp for air, my heart racing so fast it feels like it's about to burst. By the third tube, my vision blurs completely, and I collapse heavily to the ground. My soul slowly rises into the air as I gaze at Dad guiltily. I'm sorry, Dad, I'm really not lying. This time, I truly can't hold on any longer. Chapter 1 A suffocating, near-death sensation suddenly seized me, and everything went black as I collapsed onto the donation table. The needle was yanked sideways, and the blood began to flow back. Ms. Ritter shoved me hard and impatiently pulled out the needle. "I'm drawing your blood—can you just stay still? Now I have to stick the needle in all over again!" When I didn't respond, a flicker of disgust crossed her eyes. She pinched the needle and jabbed it viciously into my arm. "Oh dear, it went in crooked. You don't mind, do you?" Ms. Ritter deliberately botched the insertion several more times, stopping only when my arm was black and blue. However, I could no longer feel the pain. Without even lifting her head, she swapped out the blood bag and muttered, "Fine, I give you credit for putting up with it. But you have no sense of collective spirit at all. You fake being sick and fainting just to get out of donating blood. "It's only 400 milliliters—what's the big deal? Everyone else donated, but you have to be so dramatic about it. How could an outstanding man like Mr. Bradshaw have a son as selfish and irresponsible as you?" The classmates behind me in line whispered to each other. "I heard he's severely anemic, yet he still showed up to donate blood. What if he actually dies?" "That's not possible. Didn't the nurse just say he's faking it to get out of it? Besides, Mr. Bradshaw usually dotes on him the most. If something was really wrong, would he still be standing there so calmly?" Amid their chatter, the looks they cast at me grew a little more contemptuous. I floated in mid-air and looked at Dad in a panic. He was staring down at my body, his brows furrowed tight with disappointment and disgust. "Ronnie, stop pretending. All your classmates are watching—get up right now!" However, I remained motionless. Ms. Ritter, who was pressing down on my arm, paused mid-motion. Then, she sighed and said to Dad, "Mr. Bradshaw, with Ronnie being so uncooperative, should we even continue drawing blood? "I've only drawn 100 milliliters of his blood so far. The other students all gave 400 milliliters and none of them had such a strong reaction. Moreover, Ronnie just threatened me. "He said he's your son and told me to record the blood donated by the other students as his; otherwise he'd file a complaint against me at the hospital. Maybe we should just call off his blood draw." I instinctively tried to explain, but I couldn't make a single sound. Dad's expression darkened, and he kicked me fiercely in the lower back. My body was already limp, and the force of the kick sent me crashing heavily to the floor. "You've truly disappointed me. When did you learn to bully others by throwing your weight around? How could I have raised a son like you?" Chapter 2 I lay on the floor completely motionless. Shaking with rage, Dad stomped one foot down onto my wrist. "Ronnie, you must be feeling pretty pleased with yourself, playing dead in front of all these people just to embarrass me. Do you think just because you're my son you can act like you're above everyone else? The biggest regret of my life is insisting on having you back then." Several sharp gasps came from behind. Ms. Ritter covered her mouth, but her eyes gleamed with smug satisfaction. My heart tightened, as if someone had viciously twisted it. I was born premature and was left with congenital anemia. To care for me, Dad taught himself massage and nutrition therapy, filling one thick notebook after another with meticulous notes. Every time I got sick, he was so terrified that he couldn't sleep for nights on end. However, everything changed after I started college. He was the dean of this school. On the first day of class, Dad pulled me aside for a talk and told me that from then on, he had to make sure everything was fair and impartial at college to avoid any appearance of favoritism. For the sake of appearances, he gave the national scholarships that should have been mine to the runner-up. "You're my son. If you took this scholarship, people would say I was playing favorites. You have to understand where I'm coming from," Dad said calmly. To prove his impartiality, he gave the state competition spot I had earned to a student from a low-income family. Dad tried to reason with me. "Ronnie, don't blame me. In this position I'm in, so many eyes are watching my every move." Time and again, I tried to see from Dad's perspective and swallowed every injustice. But this time, to keep up a fair image, Dad actually made me participate in the group blood donation—me, who was severely anemic. "It's precisely because you're my son that you should be the one leading by example. If everyone else donates but you don't, what will people think of me?" And now he was saying he regretted ever having me. I floated in mid-air and looked down at my own body lying on the ground. My arm was covered in needle marks and bruises. I wasn't playing dead, no. Instead, I was truly dead. Ms. Ritter grabbed the blood bag and made a half-hearted show of tugging at me a few times. "Ronnie, just get up now. There's only 200 milliliters left to go." She failed to pull me up and instead stumbled backward a few steps, falling to the ground. The blood bag slipped from her hand and flew through the air, red blood splashing all over the floor. The body she had just pulled up crashed back down hard into the pool of blood. My white shirt was instantly soaked through, making me look even more like a corpse. Ms. Ritter bit her lip, her eyes suddenly reddening. "Ronnie, there's no need to make things difficult for a lowly nurse like me! I was just trying to help you up—why did you have to push me? Now look what's happened. All that blood we just drew is spilled. What a waste of all the trouble Mr. Bradshaw has gone through for you." Her shoulders shook as she sobbed, as if she had suffered some terrible injustice. "You have no idea how much I envy you for having such a good dad. We're practically the same age, yet you get to enjoy campus life without a care in the world, while I'm stuck working myself to the bone as a nurse. And on top of that, I have to put up with being bullied by you." I stood to the side, finding the whole thing utterly absurd. How could a dead person have pushed her? However, Dad believed her. He walked over and gently wrapped his arms around Ms. Ritter. "Don't cry, I'm here. I won't let him bully you anymore," he said as he patted her back. I froze abruptly and stared at Dad in a daze. He looked at my body lying on the floor with disgust. "Since he's so determined to play dead and get out of donating blood, then I won't cover for him either. Get back every drop that was spilled—insert the needle and draw his blood again. Let's see how much longer he can keep up this act!" The classmates waiting in line behind me all started pointing fingers and accusing me. "So, he really was faking it. Look, he's made even Mr. Bradshaw lose his temper—and he's usually so gentle." "He thinks just because his dad is the dean, he can get special treatment. Good thing Mr. Bradshaw doesn't indulge that nasty temper of his." "Yeah, it's just a little blood—was it really necessary to play dead? There are still so many people waiting in line behind him. What a waste of time!" Just then, the president of the college, Karl Poole, appeared outside the blood donation bus after hearing the commotion. When he saw me lying on the ground with horrific amounts of blood around me, his face instantly changed. "Mr. Bradshaw, what's happened to this student? Should I call for an ambulance?" Dad turned around and sighed lightly. "Mr. Poole, this is my son. He's playing dead to get out of donating blood. The blood on the floor is from him deliberately smashing the blood bag in a fit of temper. Pay him no mind—the more he acts out, the more I need to teach him a lesson and fix that rotten attitude of his." Chapter 3 Upon hearing this, Mr. Poole gently tried to persuade Dad. "Mr. Bradshaw, blood donation should be voluntary. If your son really doesn't want to do it, just let him be." With that, he turned and left. Dad glanced down at my body, the rage burning in his chest flaring even hotter. "Still won't get up, huh? Fine, you can just lie there on the floor while the blood is drawn. Ms. Ritter, go ahead and draw his blood. When it's done, ignore him. If he wants to lie there, let him. Don't let him hold up the other students waiting in line." After saying this, Dad refused to spare me another glance and walked away without looking back. Ms. Ritter picked up the needle and the blood bag. Then, she jammed it ruthlessly into my vein and didn't stop until a full 400 milliliters had been drawn. When it was over, she kicked me and said, "Get up. There's no point in pretending after all the blood's been drawn. Besides, Mr. Bradshaw isn't even here anymore, so there's no audience left for your little act." Seeing that I still didn't move, Ms. Ritter let out a scoff and shouted toward the blood donation line behind her. "Can I get two strong guys to carry this selfish brat outside? We don't need him holding up the line in here." I floated in mid-air, watching as I was tossed onto the sidewalk, a bitter ache swelling inside me. Two hours later, all the students had finished donating blood. A classmate rubbing his arm glanced somewhat sympathetically in my direction. "Given how frail Ronnie is, won't something happen to him if he just lies out there baking in the sun like that?" Ms. Ritter, who happened to be passing by with the blood donation records in hand, rolled her eyes disdainfully. "You there, I know you mean well, but he's completely faking it. You'd better stay away from him. Be careful he doesn't try to scam you into paying his medical bills. I've seen plenty of cases like this." A student who had witnessed the entire incident just moments ago also chimed in. "Ronnie just uses the fact that his dad is the dean to make everyone give in to him. And now he's playing dead and tarnishing our school's honor." "Exactly. I think he's just being shameless, trying to get everyone to feel sorry for him and fawn over him again." When the classmates who had originally been worried about me heard this, they all hurried away in disgust, afraid of getting caught up in the trouble. After hearing those words, Ms. Ritter felt a great deal of satisfaction. With the blood donation records in hand, she turned and walked into Dad's office. "Mr. Bradshaw, here are today's blood donation records. If there are no issues, just sign here." Dad's furrowed brow slowly relaxed when he saw that my record showed I had donated 400 milliliters of blood. "Why didn't Ronnie come? Didn't I also arrange for him to be your volunteer?" Ms. Ritter lowered her head, hesitating as if she wanted to say something. "Oh, him? I was nice enough to have someone help him up earlier, but he said he's not getting up unless you come and sweet-talk him yourself." Dad's expression darkened instantly. "Mr. Bradshaw, Ronnie has been lying there for quite a long time now. This can't go on like this. Why don't you just go and give in a little? At least get him up first, and we'll sort things out later." Dad slammed the blood donation records heavily onto the desk, his voice brimming with towering rage. "I've spoiled him far too much, and that's exactly why he's grown such a temper. If he refuses to get up, then he'd better have the nerve to just stay lying on the ground forever." Chapter 4 The temperature steadily climbed under the blazing sun. The students on campus all stopped lingering outdoors and ran back to their dorms. A putrid stench gradually emanated from my body, attracting several of the campus' stray cats. My body lay there, unable to run or call for help. I could only watch helplessly as they gnawed and tore at my flesh. It truly hurt. My soul drifted desperately toward Dad's office, only to find him and Ms. Ritter chatting happily together. Ms. Ritter was flipping through Dad's notebook with wonder in her eyes, her face full of admiration. "Wow, Mr. Bradshaw, are all these the nutritious meals you made for Ronnie? It must have taken you years to fill this notebook, right?" I looked at the notebook in her hands, my eyes instantly prickling with tears. Dad had been keeping it since the day I was born. He always said that as long as he followed the notes in this book, I would grow up healthy and strong. Dad stared at those thick, well-worn notebooks, his gaze flickering for a moment. He looked at the yellowed pages as if reminiscing about something. After a long pause, he sighed and gently ruffled Ms. Ritter's hair. "If only Ronnie were half as sensible as you are." Just then, Mr. Poole hurried into the office. "Mr. Bradshaw, is Ronnie still lying outside? It's 95 degrees Fahrenheit out there. I heard Ronnie is poor in health—what if he gets heatstroke? That would be serious trouble." Dad paused mid-motion on Ms. Ritter's head, then replied with utter indifference. "Given how pampered Ronnie is, there's no way he could even bear to let himself suffer in the sun. Mr. Poole, I know my own son. He's just sulking on purpose. The more I pay attention to him, the more he acts up. "Once he's had enough of lying there and feels it's pointless, he'll get up on his own." Mr. Poole shook his head, then sighed and walked out of the office. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. For a fleeting moment, Dad looked relieved. But when he saw the students who entered, a faint disappointment flickered across his face. I knew he was waiting for me. However, he would never see me come. Those students had come to pick up their scholarship certificate and state competition award certificates. With a smile, Dad took the certificates out of the drawer and encouraged them to keep working hard in the future. The students exchanged glances, guilt flashing across their eyes. "Mr. Bradshaw, we're the ones who should be thanking Ronnie. He's the one who stepped aside and gave us this opportunity." Dad's smile froze. It was as if the air itself had solidified. I watched his suddenly rigid expression and gave a bitter, self-mocking smile. All along, he had believed that keeping me at arm's length was the same as being fair. But now, everyone knew those honors were mine, that I had given them away. Meanwhile, he had become the man who took my honors and used them to bolster his own image, all in the name of upholding fairness. Dad's expression turned icy, and his tone was laced with disdain. "There's no need to thank him. He didn't win fair and square to begin with. He secretly went through my computer to get first place. You are the ones who truly deserve it." The students looked deeply embarrassed. They quickly took their certificates and left the office. I felt as if I had been viciously stabbed in the heart. There was another knock at the office door. Ms. Ritter's eyes gleamed with smug satisfaction. "Mr. Bradshaw, that must be Ronnie coming to make peace with you." Dad cleared his throat, and with the poise of a victor, said, "Weren't you acting all tough lying on the ground earlier? And now you've finally come to admit you were wrong? Ronnie, if you truly know you were in the wrong, then you'll apologize to Ms. Ritter tomorrow in front of the entire school. "After that, you'll write a five-thousand-word self-criticism about how you played dead and disregarded our collective honor and post it on the bulletin board. Otherwise, don't bother calling me your father anymore." The knocking continued, more urgent than before. Dad rose impatiently and pulled the door open. The moment the door opened, his entire body stiffened. Two uniformed police officers stood at the doorway, their expressions solemn. "Are you Ronnie Bradshaw's father?" Dad froze for a second, then a flicker of impatience crossed his eyes. "Yes, I am. What kind of trouble has he stirred up now? Did someone report him for refusing to get off the ground?" The lead officer didn't respond to his questions. Instead, he just stared at Dad grimly and said, "Ronnie's already dead. I'm so sorry for your loss."