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“I… I can’t.” My hands shook. I knew that if I started poking the wounds, this handsome man would die in a few minutes.
He took the gun and pointed it at me.
“Does it help if you don’t have any choice? If you don’t remove the bullets, I’ll shoot you.”
“Fuck you!”
His eyes burned a hole into my soul as our gaze met. “Hate me, but do it already.”
“It’s your funeral, mister.”
I fixed the position of the candle on the table and picked one of the holes in his abdominal area that looked like it was bleeding less. I was playing Russian roulette with his life.
“Here it goes,” I whispered and caught his gaze.
Damn, I hope I don’t kill him. Even though I felt cold, my naked feet stuck to the linoleum, and my palms were sweaty.
“Stay still, okay?”
He nodded.
He moaned as I stuck the knife in it but didn’t buckle. I was impressed by his strength and the fact that he had not passed out yet.
The tip of the knife hit the bullet, and I was able to dig it out. He was right. It was silver.
My hands were now covered in his blood. I held the bullet between my fingers. The vodka was next to me, so I took a swing. My bloody handprint was proof of my illicit activities. Then I dripped some more into the hole.
“I should burn the wound. I don’t have surgical thread to sew this.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
He exhaled, his stare feverish and his eyes half closed. Shock, I kept repeating to myself. I’ll call 911 and ask them to get him when he goes into shock. This nightmare would end.
The man opened his eyes, and it felt as if he knew what crossed my mind. My own eyes darted toward the gun he left on the chair. It was out of reach.
“Three more,” I said.
“You are doing good. Don’t worry. I don’t have any diseases you could catch.”
I saw a hint of mischief in his eyes.
“This is not sanitary. You need to go to a hospital.”
“No. Please, just get them out.”
The pain made him shiver. I dribbled some more Vodka over his beautiful skin.
The next bullet was lodged between his ribs and was impossible to reach with the knife. Blood gushed around the wound as I tried to dig it out.
“It’s lodged in there. I can’t reach it.” I had to catch my breath. This was hard work, and sweat dribbled between my eyebrows.
“Use your fingers,” said the man who should be in shock and unconscious, but instead looked straight into my eyes.
“Are you sure?” Hesitation filled my voice and my chest. This was something intimate. I was about to stick my hands into a stranger’s chest and remove a bullet. The warmth of his skin surrounded my bare hand . There was soon much blood all over, and yet he was still talking to me.
“It’s close to my heart. Please, take it out.” He again pointed the pistol at me. I felt the Mac and cheese rising inside my stomach.
“Stop pointing that thing towards me if you don’t want me to vomit all over you.”
