My Donor

AmaijaI walk out of my meeting feeling nauseous. This is the third time I’ve felt like this in a week. I feel my forehead to check for a fever, but it isn’t warm. I take two more steps before I sway to the side. I grab the glass wall beside me, steadying myself.“Are you alright, Ms. Klein?” Amy, my assistant, asks.“I’m fine, just a bit nauseous.”“Nauseous? Was it the food? Should I...” Amy sounded very concerned. I laugh.“I’ve been raised in Japanese food, my mother has an unhealthy obsession with the culture, so I doubt it’s that,” I reply.“If it were any other woman, I would think pregnancy was possible, but you’re so focused on launching this game I....”“Pregnant?” I pause.The word hits me like a bucket of ice-cold water. I close my eyes swallowing hard as I try to figure out the date of my last period. The last time w

AmaijaI sit by the fridge with a pile of food laid out before me. It's after midnight. Xoi is streaming late, so he'll probably sleep at his office tonight. I woke up starving; this little one keeps me on my toes. Thankfully, my morning sickness has passed now, but these nighttime hunger surges have come to replace it."You're a greedy one, aren't you?" I scoop another chunk of ice cream into my mouth, savoring the taste."My heart..." I jump at the sound of his voice. He's talked to me about having these nighttime meals, but he's not the one carrying his big-headed baby, and Mama's gotta eat. I turn my face to the side to hide, then scoop another spoonful of ice cream and swallow it. Xoi laughs as he walks up to me."Babe, we talked about this; the doctor doesn't recommend it," he says."Babe, you don't want our child to starve, do you? The little one wants ice cream," I tell him."I think Mommy is the one who wants ice cream," he replies."And Mommy gets what she wants," I say back.

Amaija“Oni-chan!” I whine. It’s been a week since I found out Xoi is a two-timing piece of shit. Since then, Jaden has discovered that the apartment Xoi films in—well, I own it. He bought it with my money, signed my name on the mortgage, and lives there with his girlfriend of five years.I was the queen of idiots in this relationship, but the worst part is that I miss him. How do I miss someone who lied to me and used me? I feel the tears coming again, but I push them away. He’s not worth my tears.“Oni-chan,” I call Jaden again.“Imoto?! Are you okay?”“Yeah, can you pass me the remote?” He frowns but grabs it.“Imoto, I have a lot of work to do,” he tells me.“Oni-chan, I need a hug.” He sighs, sits beside me on the couch, and pulls me into his comforting arms. After a moment, he pulls away slowly.“We changed the locks on your apartment,” he informs me.“Good.”“We also served them an eviction notice,” Jaden adds.“Good. I can’t believe he was such a piece of shit.” Jaden bites his

EriqI sit naked, my balls freezing, as this man pays me to pose for him. How are we in the same profession, yet he can afford to pay someone while I can barely cover rent?“Higher—lift your leg higher,” Pavlo instructs.“This is as high as it goes, Pavlo,” I reply. He scowls, stands, and walks over, leaning in close.“Hey, hey, no touching,” I remind him.He smirks. “Having fantasies about me, Enrique?”“It’s Eriq, asshole. You’re the one paying to stare at my ass,” I glare back.“True, your body is a work of art. Now spread it wider.”“This doesn’t feel right. I already feel a cold draft on my balls,” I complain.“And what magnifique balls they are,” Pavlo says.I want to punch him in the face, but I’m two months behind on rent, my paintings aren’t selling, and I refuse to ask my parents for money again. So I clench my fist and follow his instructions. He nods, returns to his seat, and continues painting. Another hour of torture passes before we’re done.“Splendid!” he exclaims final

EriqI 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 h