Chapter 9- He's Real

Eriq

I grab the painting and bolt for the door. I’m supposed to meet the buyer in ten minutes, but I was up all night finishing it and overslept. “Fuck!” I snatch it and dash out as Glen climbs the stairs.

“I don’t have time for your shit today, Glen. I told you no.” I brush past him, heading down to my car—a beat-up ’98 Charger. It was Dad’s until he gave it to me at sixteen. I was so proud of it, driving it everywhere until I got my bike. I still love it, but I miss the rush of riding.

I slide the painting into the backseat as Glen approaches. “Come on, it’s easy money.”

“For you, maybe. I don’t want a bunch of kids with my DNA running around that I don’t even know.” Having a kid means something to me—I can’t do it carelessly just because I’m broke.

“The odds of someone picking you are low. You’re a broke art school grad—not exactly the model specimen these women want,” Glen says bluntly.

“Thanks for telling me I’m worthless. Now I’ve got to go.”

“That’s not what I meant…” I ignore him, slip into the car, and start the engine as my phone rings. It’s Mr. Gelhs, the buyer. I pick up.

“Where are you?” he demands.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gelhs. I’m running late—I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“I don’t have time for this. If you’re not here in five, forget it. The only reason I’m buying is because Sheila loves that mediocre shit you call art.” Mediocre? My blood boils. Who’s he calling mediocre? This rich prick thinks the sun rises and sets on his ass—I hate guys like him.

“Fuck you, you don’t have to buy it!” I shout.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” he snaps haughtily.

“You, asshole! Oh, and your wife wants to fuck me. Guess she’s not just after my art. Maybe your dick’s mediocre, you piece of shit!”

“Punk, if I ever get my hands on you—”

“Fuck you!” I hang up, still fuming. “Fuck!” I slam my hand on the wheel; the horn blares. I grunt. All I had to do was show up on time for four thousand dollars. I hop out, slam the door, and kick it shut.

“Are you okay, man?” Glen asks.

“No, I’m not fucking okay, Glen. My art doesn’t sell. The only buyer I had—because his wife wanted to fuck me—just fell through. My life’s a fucking mess.” I huff.

“It’ll be okay, Eriq. You’ll figure it out.”

“No, I won’t. I just got a letter from my landlord demanding two months’ rent. My bike needs fixing, and my job barely buys food,” I admit. I teach art to seniors at a community center—it’s fun and rewarding, but it doesn’t pay enough to live in New York. I run my hands over my face in frustration.

“Look, I know you don’t want to hear this…” Glen starts.

“Then don’t say it,” I cut him off.

“Eriq, deposit twice a week, and you’ll make $1,500 a month. It’ll tide you over until you find something.”

“No.”

“Okay, Kartel’s always looking for new guys. He loves your body,” he suggests.

“Hell no.” Kartel’s a gay strip club or bar where Glen works. I don’t know the details, but I know people stuff dollar bills in his underwear all night.

“You’ve got to choose. Your landlord wants rent, your bike’s busted—if you don’t do something, you’ll be homeless.”

“I can stay with you.”

“So you’ve forgiven me, and we’re friends again?” he declares, grinning like an idiot.

“I can stay with my parents…” I hesitate. The thought makes me reconsider. I love them, but I’m not moving back in—ever. I sigh. Between stripping and donating sperm, I have to pick the less humiliating option.

“You sure no one will pick me?” I ask.

“Pretty sure.”

I sigh, out of options. “Okay, sperm donation it is.”

---

A week later, we’re at the Estonian Sperm Bank. The receptionist greets us as we walk in. “Welcome back, Mr. Barker. Here for another deposit? And I see you brought a friend.” Is he here so often they’re on a first-name basis?

“Hey, Molly. Yeah, this is Eriq—his first time,” Glen says. Guess he’s a regular. I pity any woman who picks his sperm.

“Oh, wonderful! We’re always looking for new donors. Please fill out these forms, Mr…” Molly exclaims.

“Cruz. Eriq Cruz.”

“Okay, 007,” she says with a wink. I nod, taking the form and pen from her.

“You can sit over there to fill them out,” she instructs.

We head to a group of chairs and sit. I scan the forms—twenty pages of questions about my family, education, and sexuality. I’d leave if I didn’t need the money, but I do. So I glare at Glen instead.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, noticing my expression.

“What the hell, dude? You made this sound easy. I have to get a physical and STI tests?”

“The initial screening’s long, but once you’re in, it’s easy money,” he explains.

“Fine.” I huff, turning back to the forms. I fill them out bit by bit. Glancing at Glen, I see him flipping through nude magazines on the coffee table.

“You make decent money at the club, right? So why donate sperm?” I ask.

“Unlike you, I like the idea of little Glens running around—continuing the bloodline.”

“That’s what the world needs—more of you,” I say sarcastically. He laughs as I tackle the mountain of forms.

---

Amaija

After two months of searching, I’ve finally chosen someone I’d like my child to resemble, and I got inseminated today. I’m thrilled to be on my way to pregnancy after three months of planning. My siblings and friends are here for a pre-insemination party before we hit the club. I’ve told them all, but we haven’t shared it with our parents yet.

“Congrats, Ami,” Xion greets me.

“Thank you.” I hug him. He’s Zara’s brother and one of my closest friends.

“I’m still hurt you didn’t ask me,” he says.

“Aren’t you still in love with Brin?” I tease.

“Shhh.” He nods. He’s seven months older than me, and I’ve known him forever, but he fell for Brin, not me. That’s fine; he’s like a brother. He’s never told her, though, and now that she’s with Federico, he might give up.

“Wouldn’t that have been weird if you ended up together?” I ask.

“I wouldn’t have said yes,” he replies.

“So you wanted me to ask just so you could reject me?” I say, incredulous.

“It’s common decency,” he quips.

“Xion, please jump off a cliff.” He laughs and pulls me into a hug.

“I’m thrilled for you, Ami. You’ve always chased what you want without fear. I wish I were more like you.” His eyes drift to Brin and Federico chatting with Jaden and Zara. I sigh. I know Rico and Brin love each other, but my heart aches for Xion. To cheer him up, I grab two shots.

“It’s a party, Xi. Let’s drink! If the insemination works, this’ll be my last time drinking, so I’m going all out tonight.”

“COME ON, GUYS, LET’S DO SHOTS!” I yell.

They cheer and grab glasses.

“WAIT!” Jaden shouts. We stop and turn to him.

“I need to make a toast first. To Am, one of the strongest women I know. You’re going to be an amazing mother.” Everyone cheers as I smile.

“And if that baby’s a serial killer like his father—” he continues.

“Jaden, shut up!” Brin yells.

He laughs. “I’m joking. I mean, what serial killer stops by a clinic to let off steam? Well, we hope not.” I roll my eyes.

“To Ami!” he says.

“To Ami!” everyone echoes, and we drink.

“Okay, let’s go get you laid!” Chloë, my bonus cousin, exclaims.

“Let’s go!” I shout, riding the festive vibe as we rush out, pile into cars, and head to Blitz, the city’s hottest club. They all think I should have a one-night stand before I “get fat.” Brin, Zara, and Chloë went all out on my outfit and makeup—I look smoking hot.

Twenty minutes later, we’re in the VIP section, ordering shots and bottles. We drink and party, everyone dancing. I forgot I’m supposed to find a one-night stand. I dance with a few guys, but none I’d sleep with.

Four hours later, I’m smashed. A guy grinds on me. I try to push him off, but he pulls me in and kisses me—a sloppy, nasty kiss. I’m drunk, but not that drunk. I punch him in the stomach.

“You bitch!” He swings at me, but I duck. Xion, Clark, and Jaden step in front of me.

“Did you just swing at my little sister?” Jaden growls. Punches fly before I can process them. I scream as the guy’s friends join in. I search for my crew in the chaos, but I can’t find them. Security finally breaks it up, and everyone scatters. Zara grabs my hand, pulling me toward the entrance, but I lose her. I stumble outside, fall to my knees on the sidewalk, and inhale. I try to stand, but I’m too dizzy.

“Are you okay?” someone asks. I look up at a gorgeous man and nod. I pause—he looks familiar.

I gasp. “Baby daddy? Look, baby, it’s daddy!” I latch onto his leg and climb up. I’m probably dreaming, but wouldn’t it be fun if I met your father? I stand, facing him as he looks confused. I wonder if your father’s a good kisser. Even if it’s a dream, I need to know. I tilt my head to kiss him, but he pulls away.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I don’t have kids, and you’re not exactly my type,” he says curtly. I pout. Even in my dreams, my baby’s father rejects me, just like Xoi. My chest tightens as tears well up.

“It’s okay, baby. Daddy doesn’t have to love Mommy—Mommy has you,” I say to my stomach.

“Look, I’ve got to get back to work…” His words slur as everything fades to black.

---

I groan, opening my eyes. My head throbs like I’ve been hit. I blink, adjusting to sunlight streaming through an unfamiliar window. This isn’t my room—or any room I know. Where am I? What happened? I remember drinking, the fight, then dreaming about my sperm donor. He’s even hotter in my dream, baby. You’re going to be a looker.

“I’m happy to see you’re up.” I freeze. Did I bring someone home? I don’t remember, but that was the goal.

“Look, it was just a one-night stand. Let’s not make a…” I sit up and freeze again. Standing before me is my donor—and he’s very real.