Page 32 of The Ripper

~ Oh, so now you’re awake. Just peachy.

I shook my head and snapped my hand away before going through with my plan, then clumsily pulled the T-shirt over her head, surprised I didn’t wake her up. While I was tempted to leave her naked, I wasn’t suicidal, and judging by how she broke those roses with Justin’s face, I was sure she would attempt at my life if she were to wake up only wearing panties.

Why was it that every time I saw her felt like the first?

~ Because you’re stupid and you forget things?

After I covered her with a soft blanket and pressed a feather-like kiss on her forehead, which I could not stop myself from doing, I finally went into the bathroom to clean up my bullet wound.

When I took off my shirt, I felt like I was going to puke from the pain. Shit, I hadn’t been shot in so long that I forgot how awful it was. I’d hoped it was just a graze, but I wasn’t so lucky.

Satan had a seriously fucked-up sense of humor. There was a doctor a few feet away from me and I had to remove a bullet by myself.

I didn’t mind, since I would take every bullet, every knife slash, every single burn in the world, if that meant she was safe and unharmed.

I grinned at the thought of another tattoo as I walked to the kitchen and took a bottle of vodka back to the bathroom with me. After taking a few heavy swigs, I poured a substantial amount over the wound, gritting my teeth as the burning sensation spread through my arm.

The alcohol flowed down my chest along with the blood, spilling onto the floor as I opened the first aid kit.

I took out bandages, a scalpel, a fucking pair of long tweezers that looked like a claw or whatever it was called, and everything else I needed, but I was overcome with dizziness, and my hands trembled on the box as I lost my balance for a moment.

~ You can do this. You did it before. Stop being such a pussy.

I dropped the box on the floor.

“Fucking hell,” I cursed, and bent down to pick up the utensils.

After spreading them out on the bathroom counter and sterilizing them, I took another long swig from the bottle, then shook my head and slapped my face to stay awake as the blood loss clouded my vision.

A warm hand gently grabbed my shoulder, and I froze for a second before turning around to see an angel who was reluctantly smiling up at me.

“Need a hand with that?” she asked, and I uncontrollably nodded as my lips slightly parted in awe, entranced by the gentle look in her eyes, and the spark of fear that burned beneath it. “Can you lie down on your back for me, G?”

I laughed like an idiot at what she called me, but she didn’t give me a second glance as she washed her hands thoroughly, up to her elbows, then inspected the tools I previously laid out.

I lay down on the bathroom rug, feeling even dizzier than when I was standing, but I did my best to stay awake while she pulled on a pair of rubber gloves.

“Do you have any rubbing alcohol?” she asked, and I shook my head and pointed at the vodka bottle.

She giggled as she took the bottle in her hand and poured some onto a piece of gauze.

At that moment, when Arella dropped down to her knees next to me and began to slowly dab at the wound, her eyebrows drawn together, that lower lip clamped between her teeth, I knew there would never be another.

She seemed completely detached from all the blood, unaffected by the fact that she was cleaning up a bullet hole, and I was dumbstruck.

~ She’s a fucking surgeon, you moron.

“You’ll live, tough guy,” she said, sounding like she was mocking me a little. “It isn’t very deep, and it doesn’t look like it hit the bone. I’m going to make a small incision so I can reach the bullet, ok?”

She sounded calm, clinical even, as though her emotions played no part in her work, but I knew for a fact they did.

“Do what you have to, beautiful,” I answered, my eyes fixed on her face, and no matter how much she tried to hide any emotion, I saw the way she licked her bottom lip after hearing my voice.

That flicker of emotion was gone when the blade cut into my flesh, and I could have sworn I saw white stars dancing in front of my eyes, even if I knew the cut wasn’t even an inch long.

Is that how my victims felt when I carved them, or was it just the torture of her being the one holding the blade?

I struggled to sit still and let her work, gulping when she picked up that tweezer-looking thing, and it didn’t take long for her to pull out the bullet, tossing it into the sink, a clang echoing in the bathroom.

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