No Longer Their Footstool

Willow’s POV

An hour earlier as a nurse prepped me for my third round of blood donation for the day, I decided I was ending it all today.

Eighteen years ago when I was two, my parents adopted Erin—the anemic infant of my father’s secretary—who saved mum in a fire accident that’d destroyed our first home—whose mum had abandoned after birthing her.

On the day it happened, Dad was out of town visiting family, while I was in daycare. My little brother, Raphael was born three years later.

Since then, my life had been hell, as my parents showered Erin and Raphael with utmost affection while ignoring me completely.

“Orla, will you like to speak to the ox?” Erin’s taunting voice came from beside me, as blood flowed out of my veins into her bloodstream, making my head light and my vision fuzzy.

She was on a call with her best friend, and I was the ox.

Mum had called me that when the doctor, upon seeing my decrepit form yesterday after a day of incessant blood donation, had told her and dad to consider other anemia treatments for Erin.

But mum, who was hellbent on bleeding me dry for her precious daughter, had called me an ox, who could still withstand at least twenty rounds of blood donation.

If I kept it up that way, sooner or later, I’d end up dead. Therefore, I’d chosen to do it in my own time.

“No, thank you. I will pass.” Orla spoke from the other end, causing Erin to erupt into a hearty burst of laughter.

“The SAT scores come out in three days, right?” Erin spoke again, and I began to feel dizzier, my right hand, suddenly feeling like it was no longer a part of my body.

I had graduated high school two years ago, but had remained stuck at home because our parents wanted Erin and I to go to the same college, at the same time.

Three weeks ago when I wrote both our SATs as Erin had suddenly developed a stomach flu the night before the exams, I had been hopeful, thinking I would finally be able to live freely, majoring in my dream course—architectural engineering—like I’d dreamed of for years.

Just for her anemia to return three days ago, with a vengeful force, that’d made me a living blood bank since then, as no single blood bank in the country had our blood type—I was unlucky enough to have the same blood type as Erin.

“Yeah. I’m so nervous,” Orla sighed, “I went straight from Carmine’s house to the exam hall on that day, you know.”

“You naughty slut.” Erin replied, and I inwardly huffed.

The sheer talent it must take her to be two-faced.

My parents knew Erin as their sweet, little baby who needed constant attention and could do no wrong, while I knew her as the complete opposite.

I was about to doze off involuntarily when the door creaked, and footsteps padded in, forcing me to peel my eyes open.

Upon seeing my parents, my heart sank, especially as they paid me no mind, and scooted closer to Erin, who had gone from a chatterbox over the phone with Orla, to looking pitiful within seconds.

“Hi, mum. Hi, dad.” My voice sounded hoarse, like it didn’t belong to me.

“Hm.” Dad hummed absentmindedly, him and mum paying me no mind, as she sat next to Erin’s bed on the only chair in the room.

Swallowing harshly, I consoled myself with the fact that everything would finally be over by this time tomorrow.

“My poor baby,” Mum cooed, cupping Erin’s face, “Everything will be over soon, and you can have your life back, okay?”

“O-Okay, mum,” Erin croaked out. “Raphael didn’t come with you guys?”

“Your brother is stuck with football practice at school, but we know he will certainly make it up to you.” Dad said, gently holding her forearm.

“Look alive, Willow!” Mum snapped, finally looking at me, albeit with a glare, “You never want to help your sister. Don’t allow your bad energy to contaminate the blood!”

How could I look alive when my entire body was weak, my arms marred by needle marks, and my veins flared and bruised, which limited me to wearing long sleeves to hide them?

Then again, they were too far gone in their love for their precious Erin to even notice that something was wrong with me.

“I’m sorry.” I muttered, hot tears clogging my throat.

“No, sister,” Erin whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks, as she looked at me, “I am the sorry one. I am the one who’s putting you through so much stress because of my sickness. Please forgive me, Willow.”

Erin genuinely needed to forgo her interest in architectural engineering and pursue acting instead.

“Don’t ever apologize to her for being sick, my love.” Dad said, giving me a pointed look, “She has no choice but to help you get better. She’s your sister after all.”

His words almost made me chortle mirthlessly. I was Erin’s sister, their own blood, yet they treated me like a complete outcast.

Thirty minutes later, the transfusion was done for the day, and a nurse gave Erin and I each one bottle of electrolyte drink.

I was gobsmacked when mum snatched mine from me.

“Erin needs this more than you do. Remember she’s the sick one.” She claimed, putting the bottle in her bag.

She was the sick one, but I was the one who’d donated six pints of blood to her in two days.

“You are right, mum.” I rasped, both mentally and physically exhausted.

“We brought the Hyundai, and we still need to pick Raphael up from football practice, so you will have to go home on your own,” Dad said, as him and mum helped Erin out of the hospital building, while I staggered behind them, clinging onto walls nearby, so as not to fall over my own feet.

“Okay.” I managed to whisper, my throat parched with thirst and despair.

The car could perfectly fit the five of us, but my family clearly didn’t want to entertain that possibility.

Neither mum nor dad asked if I had cash on me to board a vehicle or whatnot, as they assisted Erin, who stealthily darted me a scornful smirk, into the backseat of the car.

Paying her no mind, I hauled myself past them. Since I didn’t have a dime on me, I was walking home, even though my legs were on the brink of caving in on me.

I continued walking the long distance, giving robotic nods and shaky “okays” to the few concerned passersby, who stopped to ask whether I was alright, as I tipped from side to side like a leaf in autumn.

An agonizing hour later, I got home, completely worn out.

Encouraging myself to remain strong, I stumbled to the mini shed which housed the grill and fire-starting equipment.

My eyes welled up with hot liquid, my chest tightening, as I grabbed the fire-starting materials and three pouches of charcoal briquettes.

Soon, I would be no more.

Blinking the moisture away, I dragged my lead-heavy limbs up the attic, which was my new residence after Erin told mum that she wanted her own space three years ago.

There were spare rooms in the house that I could have stayed in, but my parents had chosen to alienate me from the rest of the house by making me live up here.

Spreading the briquettes on the floor, I lit them up and laid right next to them, inhaling lungfuls of their horrid smell as I embraced eternal bliss.