Where My Pulse Ended

After my rebirth, the very first thing I did was ride from one blood donation van to another, giving blood until I nearly collapsed.

Why? Because in my previous life, my fiancé's newly hired intern, Shirley Lynch, had bound herself to a blood-exchange system. Every milliliter she donated was siphoned directly from my own veins.

In just a month, she transformed from an ordinary college girl into the nation's beloved Blood Angel, showered with fame and fortune, while I, suffering from severe anemia, was fired from the hospital for being unable to work.

When I exposed her scheme to my fiancé, he looked at me with disgust and broke off our engagement.

"You're selfish and cowardly," he sneered. "You refuse to donate your rare blood type, and now you slander Shirley? You call yourself a doctor, yet you believe in such ridiculous nonsense!"

From then on, every time Shirley donated blood, I would suffer heart palpitations, dizziness, and sometimes collapse outright.

I begged the doctors in my department for help, but my fiancé blocked every attempt, accusing me of jealousy and wasting medical resources.

In the end, to steal my promotion ahead of schedule, Shirley donated a full 1000 milliliters of blood live on television. As her blood drained, so did mine. I went into shock and died.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day Shirley first claimed she carried my rare blood type.

"Young folks always go big, starting out by giving half a liter of blood..."

Derrick Wallace's voice from the next table cut through the air, snapping me back to reality just as the room started to spin, and I nearly face-planted into my lunch.

However, that made no sense. I had just polished off a meal, so there was no way I was crashing from low blood sugar.

It was not until Shirley Lynch strolled by, flaunting her blood donor keepsake with that signature grin, that it hit me.

I was living my life over again.

Back in my previous life, Shirley boasted about her rare blood type, Rh-negative, and how she wanted to save the world one pint at a time. However, every drop she gave seemed to drain straight out of me.

Then, there I was, ghostly pale, overhearing Shirley plotting her next heroic act: another round of blood donation post-lunch.

"It was just five hundred milliliters. It didn't even tickle. I'm going back for another three hundred!"

She ignored me, but her words echoed loud and clear.

Derrick nearly choked on his surprise, coughing up a storm before he could finally grab her and try to talk some sense into her.

"Shirley, I get it, you're fresh on the job and riding on a high, but donating blood isn't a game. For most folks, giving four hundred milliliters in six months is pushing it!"

Another doctor chimed in, worry creasing his brow. "Seriously, don't get swept up and wreck your health!"

However, Shirley was not having any of it. To show off her big heart, she grabbed a couple of buns and made a beeline for the blood donation center.

As she stood up, I bolted from the cafeteria.

I was not going to waste my second shot at life. I was going to beat her to the punch.

I snagged the afternoon off from the chief, worried the hospital might cap my donations. I took a cab straight to the blood donation bus parked at the mall.

With one in each corner of the square, I could hit them all before the system caught on.

I was determined to uncover whatever trick Shirley used that nearly cost me my life.

I never saw it coming. The moment I stepped onto the blood donation bus, there he was, my fiance, Hank Carter.

He spotted me, my face ghostly white as I hurried over, and he cut in line right in front of me, smirking like he knew something I did not.

He sneered and said, "I thought you were all about protecting your 'rare blood type'. What's got you out here?

"Don't tell me you're just trying to get my attention because you saw me fussing over Shirley for donating blood?"

In what felt like a previous life, Hank had completely changed his tune toward me after Shirley became his intern.

They were practically joined at the hip at the hospital, and when I dared to question it, Hank had the nerve to call me out.

"Shirley's my intern. It's my job to help her learn the ropes and get better at what she does. Yvette, why are you being so petty?"

Then came the blood drive. I was out with pneumonia and could not donate, which Hank took as a chance to brand me a coward.

Meanwhile, Shirley donated a whopping 600 milliliters and became the talk of the hospital.

I felt so small, like I had been wrong about her all along. I even bought her vitamins as an apology.

However, something in Shirley changed after that.

She did not stop donating blood, and every time she did, I felt like I was going to pass out. It got so bad that I started fainting during surgeries.

I had every test in the book, but they only turned up severe anemia, nothing else.

When I tried to tell Hank what I thought was going on, he twisted my words, accusing me of having it out for Shirley.

However, Shirley continued to donate more and more, and the city could not stop talking about her. Hank had trained her himself, and he would not let anyone or anything tarnish her reputation.

I was dragging myself, weak and desperate, through the hospital's halls, pleading with the doctors to dig into the truth.

However, Hank would roll his eyes every time, saying I was making a fuss for nothing, hogging the spotlight, and he would tell the doctors to ignore me.

Shirley, with her over-the-top blood donations, had everyone raising eyebrows. To clear her name, she went live and donated a whole pint of blood, as if that was something normal to do.

While she was basking in the glow of cheers and flowers, I was bleeding out, slipping into shock, and then…

Nothing. I was gone.

After I died, Shirley stepped right into my shoes and even tied the knot with Hank before the month was over.

I was going to figure out what Shirley's game really was.