Page 33 of Secrets in Salem: Part One

"Are you okay?" The deep baritone of Bishop's voice reaches me as if in slow motion, his words dragged out by my slow mind trying to comprehend what he just said.

"I'm going to be sick," I say a little louder. My voice is scratchy and rough, but it seems to be enough since I feel a sudden jolt and hear Aleric growling, "Pull over. She's going to throw up."

A door opens, a breeze filtering into the car I've only just realized I'm sitting in. Aleric is right beside me in a blink, unhooking my seatbelt and pulling me out of the car just as I start retching.

I push out of his arms and fall to my knees, dry heaving since I already emptied the contents of my stomach earlier. The heaving repeats until my abdomen clenches painfully and my throat becomes dry and sore.

Clutching my waist, arms wrapped around my middle as tightly as I can manage, I brokenly ask, "What the hell is happening to me?"

A hand reaches out and smooths my black hair from my face, and I flick my eyes up only to meet a set of pretty blues. Micah's hair is slicked back and out of his eyes, but his face holds a gentle kindness I don't deserve. It immediately brings tears to my eyes, and I'm forced to blink them away before they spill.

"We'll explain when we get you home. Can you get up, or do you need help?" Aleric asks, hovering above me while Micah brushes a hand over my back in soothing motions. His hand is warm,toowarm, and it's comforting enough that it distracts me for a brief moment.

I try to stand, Micah following my movements steadily, but I'm too shaky to balance properly, tilting into him before I can even stand upright without help. I face Aleric and shake my head. He and Micah share a look, and I feel Micah nodding, his chin brushing the crown of my head as he does.

Using Micah’s solid frame to hold myself upright, I lift my other arm as an invitation for Aleric to help me. I don't face him, but he hooks his arms around me and lifts me effortlessly, barely jostling me before placing me back in the car.

Bishop turns in his seat, worry filling his cinnamon-colored eyes. "Are you okay, Low?"

Concern laces his words, notching the guilt I'm feeling up another peg. He reaches over to clasp a warm hand on my knee, squeezing gently.

Nodding, I look away, staring out the window, and he squeezes my knee once more before turning around. The door opens and shuts, and I drop my head to the window before Bishop pulls away and drives the remainder of the distance to wherever they live.

And then it occurs to me that Micah, the man I met this morning, knows the men who helped me this evening. That's too big of a coincidence to be anactualcoincidence.How do they all know each other? And what could have possibly brought them to Salem?

The drive passes in silence, not even the radio playing as we wind through streets until we reach an apartment complex. It's a decent area, nothing like the apartments on the other side of town where there are wannabe gangs and thieves. The buildings are clean and looked after, with zero broken windows and manicured greenery surrounding each of them.

Bishop parks the car and climbs out, walking around the front and stopping at my door, opening it wide for me to get out. I slide my legs around and make to stand, only to fall into Bishop's chest, once again unable to hold my own weight while my body continues to tremble. The cold air rushes me, cooling my skin and sending a shiver down my spine that causes me to remember my clothes are ruined and I'm barely decent. I definitely should not be out in the freezing cold in a pair of burnt shorts and a shirt that's only just covering my chest.

"I'm going to carry you, okay? You're shivering, and you need to get inside," Bishop tells me with a tender voice and kind eyes. Nodding once more, unable to find my voice, he swoops me up in his muscular arms and I cry out, painfully aware of the aches that cover every cell and atom that creates me.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry. I didn't know you were in pain," Bishop apologizes, wincing when I cry out as he tries to adjust me in his arms. I wrap my arm around his neck and lean my head against his shoulder, breathing in and out deeply while the pain fades. His arms tighten around my back, gentle enough to hug me tighter to his body but not enough for the pain to increase.

As carefully as he can, Bishop carries me to one of the nicest apartment buildings on the block. Micah walks ahead of us, opening the door and allowing Bishop to walk past him without so much as jostling me.

Aleric hangs back, quietly trailing behind us. The silence stretches on as we make our way up two sets of stairs until we stop in front of what I assume must be their apartment. The quiet stretches further still when Micah unlocks the door and lets us all inside.

"I'm going to put you down on the couch, okay?" Bishop asks, his deep baritone vibrating under my cheek where it lays on his shoulder.

Weakly, I nod. It's enough to convey my agreement, and I'm slowly placed on the soft cushion of the couch. Looking down, I notice the material is a soft cream color, whereas I'm covered in dirt and ash and other things my mind can't cope with acknowledging right now.

I begin to stand again, muttering, "I'm dirtying your couch."

Obviously, there are worse things to be concerned with right now, but the thought of staining a stranger’s couch with the remnants of tonight doesn't sit well with me. It seems enough things have already been ruined for one day. If I can prevent ruining another, then I'll do so, even if it’s completely stupid.

"You're fine. We can replace it," Bishop says, hovering next to me as though he's warring with himself over whether he should come help me up or place me back on the couch.

Shaking my head, tears fill my eyes. In a choked whisper, I say, "It's getting dirty. There'sblood... and... I'm going to stain it."

Doing my best to blink away the tears that are swimming precariously on the edge of my eyelashes, I pull myself up until I'm standing, biting my lip to stop the cry of pain from slipping out. My matted hair hangs limply around me, a sheet of dirty locks dangling around my face like a curtain that blocks me from the rest of the world.

Just as I successfully rid myself of my tears, my gaze meets a set of concerned eyes, Micah's blue-flecked irises deep enough for me to drown in. He doesn't say a word, his worried gaze watching my face carefully.

Then he holds out his hand for me to take.

My eyes drop to his outstretched palm and back up again. He nods slightly, his black hair falling in front of his eyes when he gestures to his hand, so... I take it. I don't know what makes me do it, but deep inside the cavern of my chest, I know that I'm safe here. These men won’t hurt me. I’m protected. How could I possibly be so sure about that?

An overwhelming sense of security washes over my body the moment the soft flesh of my dirty palm meets his larger hand. My racing thoughts settle when he closes his long fingers around mine, a strange sort of calm washing through my mind. It's an odd feeling, but I can suddenly breathe my first intake of air that doesn't feel as though it's going to choke me. Though the anxiety from tonight remains, I don't feel my mind conducting a battle between reality and make believe.

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