Daisy has been a stripper all of her life against her wishes. With an annoyingly genius brother to take care of, she is ready to do whatever it takes to give him the life he deserves and he wants the same for her. He goes to the point of credit card...
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DAISY
We pushed in through the door together and I'm helping him sit on the couch. The back of his shirt pooling with blood.
He groans in pain and I try to convince him, "Let me call an ambulance." He shakes his head, "No ambulance."
"Let me do something! You're shot for fucks sake!"
His eyes open and he stares me down, "Daisy, you're gonna get the bullet out."
"Fuck no!"
"Daisy, you're gonna do it."
"I can't! I don't know how."
"I'll walk you through it. I can't reach back there. You have to do it."
I go on my knees in front of him, "Let's call the ambulance. Please." He grabs my face, his hands caked with his own blood, and kisses between my brow as if to calm me down, "You're gonna help. Okay, baby? You're gonna help me." He wipes the stray tears and kisses my temple, right on the healing bruise, "Get the medical kit from my office. Go." He lets me go and I am up and running, to his office. I barge in and check one of the drawers against the wall as soon as I enter. I go frenzy. I check every drawer like crazy until I hear him, "Second draw. Left." I pull the draw and there it was. Before I'm running back to him, I spot the whiskey bottle right on the side table of the couch. I grab for it and I'm running back to him.
Putting the medical kit down on his side, he stares at the whiskey bottle in my hands with a question look and looks up at me. I pull the cap and take a large gulp. So many question run in his eyes but I grab his jaw and make him drink some of it too. He goes for it without question. Gulping down four sips easily. When I pull away the bottle, I clean his lips with the back of my hand and tie my hair up, taking off his jacket. I don't give a fuck if my nipples are there to surprise him. He can have it as a distraction.
And I stand corrected.
I take a deep breath, "Okay. What now?" He says one word, "Scissors." I run to the kitchen to get the scissors and come back. I take off my shoes so running would be easier.
"Now what?"
"Cut the shirt open from the back."
I cut at the back of the neck but I rip through the entire shirt and pull it down his arms. He's panting, "I think I'm gonna be sick." I grab his jaw and make him drink more whiskey. He silently appreciates that. He pull his mouth away, "Don't get me drunk. We have a long way to go." I nod and listen to his next instructions, "How far is the bullet in?"
"I don't-" my eyes go wide, "You want me to feel it?" He nods. I yell, "Fuck!" And he lays on his stomach, making it easier for me. I whimper as I push my finger inside the bullet wound, grunting and groaning. He bites down on the fabric of his cut-up shirt to hold in a yell. I pull out, "One- maybe two centimeters." He nods, "Pull it out." I cry, "I can't do that!" He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me closer, until I sit on the couch and he lays his head on my lap, "Do it for me, Daisy."
