Page 34 of Secrets in Salem: Part One

I give Micah a questioning glance, but he looks completely unfazed, watching me with the same concern as before. Can he not feel the same thing? Is it just me? What the hell is happening?

He tugs on my hand, drawing my attention back to him, and I begin to move, my feet shuffling like they've gained a mind of their own.

"I'll order food," Aleric says in a near whisper, heading toward the small kitchen and opening a drawer before pulling out a small stack of take out menus. Micah continues to pull me along behind him as he navigates the modest but bare apartment. I follow behind him like a mindless zombie, though my mind seems to be working a little better than it had before I was carried into the building. It's still not in any state to dissect the events of the night, so I block everything and follow behind the man I only met today. Or was it yesterday? At this point, I don't even know.

Micah leads me to the bathroom, opening the door and stepping inside with my hand still clutched in his. He leads me to the shower, releasing me when I'm standing beside the frosted glass of the shower door.

As soon as he releases my hand, he putters around the bathroom, opening and closing cabinets. He gathers soaps, shampoos, and everything it will take to remove the grime from my hair and body before depositing them on the ledge inside the shower. He then walks out of the room, quickly returning with two blue towels that still have the store tags attached to them.

Tearing the tags off the towels, he hooks them over the silver rack, the larger one of the two folded neatly as he tucks it in the slats of the holder. As soon as he's done, he turns to face me with a small smile. He gestures toward the shower, coming close to where I stand, and leans in to turn on the water. He moves back and holds his hand up, all five of his fingers splayed open.

"Five? Wait five minutes?" I guess, my voice coming out croaky and dry.

Micah nods, his smile growing and his dimples poking out enough to become visible. With his thumb, he gestures to the door behind him. He makes to leave, but my hand darts out to stop him. My fingers graze his bare arm, and he stops instantly, his eyes going to the small touch then up to my face.

Before I lose my courage, I whisper, "Thank you. I don't know what's happening right now, but thank you for helping me."

His gaze grows soft and understanding, and he nods with a smile that looks a little sad. His free hand rises, and he places it gently on top of mine, his thumb grazing the cuts that mark my skin with a careful caress.

I clear my throat, and he taps my hand before releasing it. Disconnecting mine from his arm, I allow him to leave with one last smile. Micah closes the door with a soft click, and I find myself alone for the first time since falling asleep.

With the silence of the bathroom, a sudden overwhelming sense of loneliness creeps up on me. The emotions I've suppressed since I came to finally force their way to the forefront of my mind, niggling and niggling at my resolve until they’re all I can focus on. A sob hiccups from between my clenched teeth, and a hollow pit forms in the depths of my stomach.

Tearing the remains of my clothing from my blackened skin, I throw them in the garbage can near the door and slowly climb into the shower. I tug the hair tie from my ruined braid and place it around my wrist, doing my best to untangle the strands. The hot water pours over my head and body, washing away a layer of filth that slides from my skin and swirls down the drain.

When I spot the splashes of red before they fade away, my eyes go to my hands and I frantically raise them to sit beneath the spray of the shower. They're covered in blood, the dark color turning pink under the water before trailing down my dirt-covered body and vanishing down the drain.

Seeing the blood on my hands more literally than before breaks the last strings of control I have on my emotions, and I completely break down. I sink to the floor of the shower and wrap my arms around my legs, clutching them tightly to my chest as the hot water coats my body, removing all evidence of tonight. Another sob breaks free, the tears finally falling and mixing with the water as they trail down my cheeks.

In the shower of this apartment that belongs to three strangers I only met today, I lose myself to the horror of this evening. Disgust, terror, and panic grip me tightly in their clutches as my mind tries to grapple with the idea that I've done something terrible. That I'm changing into something awful.

That I'm nothing more than amonster.

Chapter 18

Willow

I stay underthe spray of the shower for quite some time, long enough for the incessant spray to wash away most of what had coated my pale skin. On the shower floor, I cry out my distress until the tears fade and my eyes are sore.

Once I regain what little composure I can manage, I shower away the remaining mess that's clinging to me for all it's worth. I scrub and scrub, turning my skin pink with how harshly I’m washing myself, followed by shampooing my hair three times just to make sure it's clean. I’m only half-embarrassed that I've used so much of the products Micah gave to me. I’ll replace them when I can think about things like that again.

As soon as I feel like I'm no longer caked in the aftermath of the chaos that happened only a short while ago, I stand under the shower a little longer. I drag my wet hands over my face, rubbing my tired eyes until black spots dance under my eyelids.

There's a knock on the door, and I damn near jump out of my own skin. I drop my hand to the shower handle, switching it off before turning my head toward the noise. Muffled but loud enough to hear, Bishop's rumbling voice calls, "Willow? Are you okay? You've been in there for an hour and a half. I just wanted to check on you."

I climb out of the shower, wrapping myself in the soft towel before tiptoeing to the door. Opening it slightly, I call back, "I'm fine. I don't have any clothes to wear though. The ones I was wearing are... you know. They’re ruined."

"Shit. Of course. Sorry. I'll get you something to wear," he tells me. There's a pause, and just when I think he's about to walk away, he quietly asks, "Are you sure you're okay?"

My chest warms at his concern, but worry niggles at me. What can I possibly say? Obviously, I'm not okay, but I can't very well tell him 'I think I murdered four men in my own home and destroyed the entire place because I'm sure I turned into something unnatural that isn't even possible.' I feel crazy enough as it is. I don't need his confirmation that my mind is no longer sane.

"I'll be okay. Thank you, Bishop," I respond just as quietly, resting my head against the white door.

There's another brief pause before I hear him walk away from the room. I stay where I am, feeling sore and done with this day. Exhaustion sweeps over me like a tidal wave, my body feeling run down down to my very bones. My eyes close slowly, the sting easing a little with the rest I provide them.

Another knock at the door startles me enough that I flinch. Through the door, Bishop says, "They're going to be too big for you, but I got you one of my shirts and a pair of Aleric's sweatpants and boxer shorts. He's leaner than me, so they won't fall off you like mine would."

He opens the door wide enough for his hand to push through with the clothing gripped in his fist. I take them from him, my fingers brushing his, and say, "Thank you. I appreciate it."

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