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“Oh my god, it hurts.” Delilah cringes. “Hold my hand.” She sobs, her eyes closed and arm outstretched, palm up.
“You’re shittin’ me?” She can’t be serious, what is she, five?
Her eyes open, staring right at me.
“I have a needle in my face, hold my fucking hand!” she grits through her teeth, brows furrowed.
Blowing out an exhausted breath, I sit on the bed and grasp her palm. It’s sweaty, she is nervous. She laces her fingers with mine and blows out a trembling breath. Something inside of me wants to place her in between my legs and hold her, tell her it’s going to be alright.
“Can you feel this?” the doctor asks, poking her face with a needle.
“What?” she mutters, eyes still closed.
“Perfect,” Dr. Aleck whispers and continues to work.
Thirty minutes later, the doctor stands, and Delilah lays her head down on the pillow. My hand is numb and turning purple from her squeezing it so hard, I pry her fingers from mine and stand.
“It will be swollen up tomorrow, so here’s a script for some meds. I’d get them as soon as you can for the pain and swelling. I don’t have much on me but I gave her a shot that’ll help for a few hours.” He hands me a piece of paper with writing on it, the prescription.
“Thank you. It’s really appreciated.” I try my best to be sincere.
Pulling my wallet out, I thumb a hundred out of the folds.
“No, that’s not necessary—”
“Take it!” I slip it inside his robe, feeling like I’m tipping a stripper. He sighs, looking to the left, probably feeling like a hooker rather than a doctor right now.
I can’t help but laugh, and he smiles in return.
“Right, well I have an early flight, so I’m going to go back to my room.” He gestures toward the door and I tense. What if he calls the police? I should keep him in here until we leave in the morning.
“I don’t think I can let you go at all, man.” I shake my head. I can’t take the risk.
“I’m not going to say anything. Like I said before, if you would have just knocked on my door and told me about your friend, I would have helped for free. I’m going to join the Doctors Without Borders in the Navajo Nation. I was born to help,” he explains further, making me feel like a total shit head.
Placing my gun in the back of my jeans, I give a curt nod.
“That’s awesome of you. Really, it’s gotta be cool to help people who won’t take it for granted.”
Walking to the door, his hand on the knob, he looks at me with a perfect white smile.
“That’s why I do it.”
After he leaves, I shut the door and lock it. Coming back into the room, Delilah is knocked out. Walking to her side of the bed, I inspect the doctor’s work on her cheek. Little black stitches snake in and out of her perfect skin. It’s red and swollen and looks painful. Lifting the script in my hand, I look it over. I can’t get this filled, it will leave a trail of where Delilah’s been. I’m going to have to find something else for her.
But what?
11
Delilah
Intense throbbing in my cheek wakes me from my slumber. Moaning, I scratch my face where the pain is radiating, my nail catching on some string sticking out of my skin. Hissing, I jerk my hand away and sit up, my whole body aching. I pat my swollen cheek with my fingertips, making sure to be gentle this time and remember that there’re stitches. Jesus, it fucking hurts and itches more than anything. Swinging the blankets off me, my feet hitting the carpet, I head to the bathroom, the cold tile sending a wave of goose bumps up my legs and spine. Flipping the light on, I examine myself in the mirror.
Holy shit.
It looks horrid. I look like one of those dolls you see in a scary movie with stitches in its face to keep the cotton in. I wonder how bad this is going to scar.
Turning on the faucet, both my hands on the counter, I hang my head. I can’t believe how everything unfolded last night. Shit escalated so quickly. I lost my car, my things, my job. Why did Fallen Gods do that to me?
The door suddenly jerks open and my head whips to the side, finding Big Chief. He looks at me with furrowed brows. No shirt, he’s just in his briefs.
“You okay?” he asks, his tone extra growly this morning from sleep.
I glance back at the mirror.
“If looking like the man Two-Face from Batman is okay, then yes, I’m fine.”
He does that crooked smile thing, making my stomach knot. I hate how good-looking he is even in the morning. Stepping up behind me, he reaches over my shoulders and grabs my chin with both of his hands. They’re calloused and smell like him, like some leather cowboy.
