That Walking Blood Bag is a Queen

“For three years, I lived in the attic of the Thomas family's mansion, my only purpose to serve as a living cure for their daughter. I wasn't a foster child. I was a blood bag, my veins drained weekly to treat Katharina's rare disease. The day she was finally cured, I overheard them in the hallway. "That walking blood bag from the rust-belt slums has finally served her purpose," her grandmother announced, her voice thick with disgust. "We are done with her." Katharina let out a light laugh. "Thank God. I never have to smell that cheap, moldy scent on her clothes ever again." They threw me out into the freezing rain, tossing a check at my feet as if I were a beggar. They called it charity for the years I had "leeched" off their family. They truly believed a little cash could pay for the six thousand milliliters of blood they'd stolen from my body, leaving me with chronic anemia and scars covering my arm. To them, I was just a stray to be discarded. I ripped their check into confetti and walked out into the storm. They screamed that I'd be begging on the streets by tomorrow, but as I stood on the dark road, a blacked-out Rolls-Royce pulled to a silent stop. My real family had arrived, and I was about to make the Thomases pay for every last drop.”