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“Are you finished, Ms. West?”
I put my hands on my hips and tip my head back to try and keep it together. I let out a few breaths and fan my face with my hand to calm me down.
“Continue.” I have to tuck my lips back into my mouth because I keep getting flashbacks of this evening's events. I think I’m either high off the adrenaline of it all or the chili. It would appear it is quite potent. It could very well be that.
Lincoln continues to hold the ice pack against his crotch. “Repeat after me. I, Violet West.”
“I, Violet West,” I reply, placing my hand over my heart like I’m taking an oath on the witness stand.
“Do solemnly promise.”
“Do solemnly promise.”
“To always wash my hands and brush my teeth after consuming extra hot chili before giving Lincoln a blow job.”
“To always wash my hands and brush my teeth after consuming extra hot chili before giving Lincoln a blow job.” I have to cover my mouth with my tee shirt as more giggles threaten to take over.
“You are such a child.”
“You are such a child.”
“Oh, stop it.”
“Oh, stop it.”
He groans.
“Okay, I’m sorry.” I try to compose myself again. “Let’s just get in the car and go home. It’s been a long night.”
“You know, Ms. West, earlier this evening, I was thinking to myself about how you were slightly older than me and how I thought you were trying to destroy my dick. Mission accomplished. You fucking broke him, Violet. I dub thee ‘Dick Destroyer’ West.”
I walk toward him, roaring with laughter, and he continues to tell me off, grumbling about his broken dick and his bruised ego.
Between the laughter and his incessant moaning, I manage to coax him into the car.
I push the start button, and my sports engine purrs. Lincoln rests his head back against the head support. I know it’s been funny and all, but I do have to watch him tonight as he did suffer a minor head injury. The nurse gave me a leaflet which outlines all the symptoms that need emergent care and what to look out for.
I’m not sure I’m a very good nurse to be honest. I’m not very levelheaded when it comes to emergency situations of the human kind. Buildings, spreadsheets, and logistics? Yes. A giant Scotsman bleeding on my living room floor? Nope.
I wasn’t sure what to do first, put the dog away, call 911, cover him in a blanket, stop the bleeding, resuscitate him. Everything was swirling in my head and I couldn’t think straight.
I’ll never forget the cracking noise when he smacked his head on the coffee table or what followed after. Blood. So much blood. The vision of his vibrant poppy-red color spilling across my stark white marble still makes my stomach churn.
Before the paramedics arrived, I did at least think to cover him up. He was still wedged between the coffee table and the sofa so I couldn't move him. I tried but he was too heavy. So what could I do? I had to leave him there, unconscious on the floor, cover him up to hide his dick and press a towel to his head to stop the bleeding.
It’s a clean slice, but he bruises so easily and it turned purple and black in places instantly. The nurse said the redness and swelling around the edges of his cut should reduce over the next couple of days.
I feel so bad.
What a night.
“I’m so sorry, Lincoln.”
“You have so much making up to do,” he grumbles.
“I could kiss your dick again.”
He rolls his head my way as we stop at the traffic light and looks at me as if to say never again, but his eyes are warm and glint with mischief.
