After the third stitch is done, I apply a bandage to keep the wound covered.
“All done.”
“Thank you.”
Here we are once again. I’m inflicting pain upon her, and she’s taking it like a pro.
She truly is resilient.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Human again.
Sarah
I’m coughing and gasping for air.
My stomach pulsates with pain after taking a punch.
A gun fires once.
A loud thud and a painful moan follows.
An unfinished slur interrupted by another gunshot.
The whistling bullet is loud enough to wake me up.
I sit up on the bed, scared by the nightmare. “Easy,” Bruno says before I even realize where I am. He’s walking towards me. I’m trying to focus my eyes on him but for some reason, I can’t— I’m feeling a little drowsy. I embrace myself to shake the fear away. “Don’t touch the bandages,” he says as he prevents my hand from reaching my right arm.
Bandages?
I look at my right arm and there they are. Seeing them makes me remember: I got shot yesterday and Bruno gave me stitches. “Son of a bitch…” I whisper. Bruno chuckles turns back and walk towards the windows. Then, he moves the curtain out of the way with his gun to peek outside.
“We’re not safe here. As soon as the sun comes up, we’re moving,” he claims.
“Why am I not in pain right now?”
“That’s the opium in you, doing its job.”
“You drugged me?”
“Hardly. I just gave you enough to take the edge off your pain. I can hold it off if you prefer, but I advise against it.” This explains the drowsiness. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m starving, actually. But if this is not a safe place, then I guess I can wait.” I don’t want to risk getting shot again— I’m not that hungry or high.
He slowly moves his heavy legs from the window to the side table, picks up the phone, punches a few numbers in and says, “I got Andrew Jackson here asking about our deal,” after a few seconds he says, “sounds good,” and hangs up.
Fifteen minutes later, someone knocks on the door. He peeks from the side window, shifts the gun from his left to his right hand and hides it behind his back, then proceeds to open the door.
“There’s an ice machine in the back,” a female says.
“Good to know,” he replies and hands over a twenty-dollar bill he just pulled from his pocket. He grabs a pizza box with a paper bag on top. The door clicks shut and he engages the deadbolt. “Dinner’s here.”
Thank God.
“Who was that?” I ask.
“Oh, that? That’s just the receptionist fetching us dinner.” He smiles at me while taking the food out of the bag.
