Pay In Part Or Pay In Full

“You’re back again?”

With a slacked jaw and wide eyes, I question my most recurring customer. No customer should be recurring, not with the business I run.

“This is the third time this month,” I continue with concern, letting the carefully constructed mask falter. This line of business doesn’t allow empathy or humanity while working with customers. Showing empathy, and having humanity, causes one to lose their sanity the longer they work in such an occupation.

“Thought you would be happy. I’m a consistent stream of revenue. You don’t have to worry about paying for your next meal,” she chuckles breathlessly, thinking that cracking some half-ass joke would lighten the mood. 

Disregarding the poor excuse at humor, observing her doesn’t ease up the feeling. Sunken eyes and paling skin indicate severe blood loss and dehydration; Gods, her veins are on full display with how translucent she looks. It’s almost as if there’s music playing with the constant swaying.

I subconsciously move closer in case she buckles under her nonexistent weight. Getting closer increases the tightness in my chest as I look into her eyes. It’s as if I’m not even standing there. Her eyes struggle to focus on the face that sits just a few inches from her face. Grabbing my arm seemed like a chore as she sluggishly lifts her hand. I barely feel any pressure as she finally does get a hold. And no wonder that chuckle sounded breathy. She can’t even catch her breath. I’m surprised she’s still standing, though supported, considering the lack of oxygen she seems to be getting.

No. No empathy, no humanity. That’s the unspoken rule of the job. I can’t be worrying about every client that comes in here or I won’t have any clients. Even if that means not caring about opening people up in an unsanitary environment, taking pieces of body parts just to provide them medicine, or having them feel as if you’re their only option for living...

“Enough.”

This abrupt statement seemed to have pulled her out of her dazed state.

“... What?”

“I said enough,” I state with as much authority as I can muster. Strange, I don’t think I’ve ever been authoritative. I don’t want to be authoritative. That’s what the government is for.

“What do you mean enough?” she questions with fear in her eyes. Why is there fear? Does she know what I’m about to say, or is there something worse flowing through her mind?

“I’m cutting you off. I will no longer be taking you as my client. And I suggest that you don’t go looking for another Body Broker until you’re healed enough to stand up without fainting,” I instruct while setting her down in a nearby chair.

I’ve never seen such a look of betrayal before. Such a powerful look that glues me to my spot. 

“You can’t do that! I’m paying you with my body,” she exclaims as she stands far too quickly for her body to handle. We both end up tumbling to the ground as I try to stop her fall. In my attempt to help her off the floor, she pushes me away and stays where she is. So we end up sitting on the grime-covered floor in pure silence. That is until I heard an indistinguishable whisper.

“What was that?”

“I need this medicine,” she repeats in a voice a little louder than her previous whisper. “My brother needs this medicine.”

“I know, but your body can’t keep going through this. At this rate, you won’t live long enough to get him the proper treatment that he needs.” Explaining this to her won’t change anything, I know that, but I can’t watch her slowly kill herself like this.

“Why did you decide to start caring now? A Body Broker’s whole job is to take pieces of a body in exchange for what the client desires. You’ve taken from me before. Why won’t you take from me now?” Defeated. That’s the sound of her voice. She’s given up so much to provide for her brother. Given up so much for this pathetic excuse for a society.

“I can’t keep taking pieces if you end up dead from your previous surgeries. The last time you were here, I took a piece of your liver. You shouldn’t be walking around right now,” criticizing her like a mother probably isn’t the best choice, but now that the facade is gone, the emotions keep spilling out.

“What choice do I have? It’s either this or owe my entire liver to the Collective and become their property! It’s your entire slogan, god dammit!”

I can’t do much but stare in silence as tears fall down her face. She’s truly desperate. We all are. This pathetic excuse of a society has failed us. Drove us to the point where we either chose to illegally have pieces of our bodies taken from us to pay for essentials or have a bar code engraved into our necks and be used at the Collective’s disposal. That’s what led to me becoming a Body Broker. The ability to help those in need, even if not through completely humane ways, gave me a reason to keep fighting in this society. To keep living. 

Though it definitely takes a toll on you. Especially with being a Pharmaceutical BB. I decided to become one that causes clients to keep coming back. I hate to admit that I make a substantial living, one that she doesn’t even know about. But the hope that slowly fades from these people’s eyes every time they come in, isn’t worth it anymore. Is it? I could have been a Narcotics BB or a Piercing BB, but no. I had to care about people. 

Pay In Part or Pay In Full. What a piece of shit I am for coming up with such a saying. Either give parts of yourself to me and I’ll give you the medicine you need or become a slave to society. What a lose-lose situation.

Apparently, I was in my thoughts longer than I realized. When I come too, she's sitting there with her head on her knees. The only thing I can think to do is to rub her back. Surprisingly, she lets me. 

“Work for me.” What the hell am I saying?

“I’m sorry,” she says as she looks at me. “What did you say?”

“I said, ‘work for me.’ You’ll get all the medicine your brother needs and I get some assistance,” Curse my caring nature. “I mean, it’s pretty illegal, and you’ll have to explain where the body parts are coming from, but what do you say?”

“...When do I start?”