Saving Della Ray

“Sorry. I ran out of ideas.”

I gave him a hard look, then turned my gaze towards the hallway. “Where’s your room?” I asked.

He led the way.

Della Ray

His room was in the same state as the rest of the apartment. A massive bed sat in the center, and little to no personal belongings except the pile of clothes I found strapped over the imposing leather armchair by the corner. The words left my lips before I could think it through, “You must not stay here a lot.”

“I don’t,” he replied. “Only when I need to get away … like today.” He seemed to struggle to get his black t-shirt off. One sleeve had already been cut off, but his face looked severely contorted with pain and frustration when he tried to take it off.

I walked over to him. “The top is ruined, anyway. Why don’t we just cut it off you?”

He nodded. “I think there’s a pair of scissors, or at the very least, a knife in the kitchen. Wait here and I’ll go get it.”

“No, I’ll get it. You wait here. Actually, sit down. You’ve gone a funny color.”

“Next to the dishwasher. Third drawer on the left.”

I ran to the kitchen, found a knife where he said it would be, then I hurried back to his bedroom.

He still sat on the bed and looked up tiredly at my arrival. “I never thought I’d be so glad to see a woman with a knife,” he commented, his lips twisting with wry amusement.

“I wouldn’t be so glad, if I were you,” I retorted tartly. “I’ve been known to slip and cut things I shouldn’t.”

He chuckled, but didn’t say anything.

When I stood in front of him, I asked, “Ready?”

“Do your worst.”

As carefully as I could I cut the material, then gently pulled it upward. Just as I had it over the crown of his head, the stretchy t-shirt snapped from my grasp and slapped against his bandaged arm. He barely winced, but I knew I was making him suffer much more than he was letting on.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologized. I felt overcome with remorse and a very strong feeling of inadequacy, but it was too late to back out. Eventually, I got the t-shirt off his head and only then realized how close to each other we were when his face resurfaced again.

He stared into my eyes, and faltered. In the heat of the moment, he forgot his condition and grabbed me with his bandaged arm. The resulting agony was instant.

There were no apologies that would suffice, so I got my shit together and helped him into bed. Just as the bell rang … I turned towards it.

“Don’t leave,” he begged, his eyes suddenly desperate.

“I won’t,” I joked lightly. “Especially since the pizza has arrived.”

His eyes widened. “Oh, shit. I forgot that I ordered pizza.”

He began to rise, but I wasn’t having it. With my hand across his shoulder, I gently pushed him down and shook my head. “Don’t get up. I’ll go and get it.”

Even in his condition, he was powerful enough to brush me aside. “No, it could be anyone.”

“Oh, is that bad? Are you expecting someone other than the delivery guy?”

He lifted his pillow then and underneath it was a black pistol.

A gasp escaped before my hand could fly up to slap my mouth shut.

“No one pleasant,” he responded. “Just wait here.” He was out of the room before I could figure out what to say.

When he returned, it was with our boxes of pizza. He put them at the bottom of the bed and lay down on the pillow. His naked torso was now on full display and I couldn’t take my eyes off the inked, sculpted, tanned body that I had imagined more times than I could recall.

“Eat something,” he invited.

My voice came silky smooth and breathless as I replied, “Later, I’m not very hungry right now. What about you?”

He shook his head.

I couldn’t stop watching him. He was so beautiful when he was in this state. But when he suddenly opened his eyes and caught me staring hungrily at him, I quickly looked away in embarrassment.

“It can’t be very comfortable sitting at the edge of the bed,” he murmured.

“Oh, I’m fine,” I said, but the look he gave me was a wordless plea. I couldn’t resist. I laid down on the grey striped comforter and placed both my hands on my stomach.

“I still can’t believe you came,” he said, as he turned his head to watch me.

“Neither can I.”

“Are you regretting it now?”

“Well … there’s the pizza,” I joked. “What’s there to regret?”

He went silent after that.

I was too aware of him to even turn to steal a glance. “Tell me about the kid,” I said softly.

“Yeah, he was a good kid. He took a bullet he didn’t deserve,” he said, his eyes staring unseeingly at the ceiling. “I was going to take him aside and beat some sense into him, so that he would get the fuck out of the club, but I never got around to it.” He shut his eyes.