Page 43 of Secrets in Salem: Part One

There's a pause while each brother looks at me with a mixture of worry, pride, defeat, and more worry. There’s something else I don’t understand, but now isn’t the time to broach that topic. Not when there’s a dark cloud looming over our heads that needs to be addressed. Preferably before I lose it entirely.

Micah pulls my attention to him, picking at my tattered shirt.

"He's saying you should probably change and shower first. A lot of your skin burned away, and you bled through what remained of your clothes, "Aleric tries to explain, wincing a little afterward.

"There are so many questions that come with that entire poorly executed explanation," I croak, staring at him like he's an alien who spoke some form of language I don't understand.

Bishop walks closer to the bed and softly says, "We will explain as much as we can. Micah is right, though. You should have a shower and take a minute to stabilize yourself."

I look down and see my clothes are far more ruined now than when I only had splotches of ink over them. They're blackened and charred, barely hanging onto my grubby body. I'm really getting tired of being in this position, where my clothes are burnt to ruins and I'm covered in grime, soot, and blood.

Nodding, I make to move out of the bed, flipping the comforter off me. The sight that greets me has my hand slapping over my mouth to stop the sudden bile that suddenly surges up from my stomach from leaving my mouth.

My legs are blistered, raw, and looking truly grotesque. I don't feel the pain, but I can see with my very own eyes how bad the damage is. Why can't I feel it? Why am I not screaming out in agony right now?

"They're healing. Your arms and face took the brunt of the damage, so it's taken a little longer for the rest of your body to heal, but they're getting there," Bishop tells me, as if this is completely normal and healing quickly is something that shouldn't be questioned.

Clearing my throat once more, I comment, "More questions. But Idoneed a shower. Is it going to hurt if I get them wet?"

I gesture at my legs, cringing when my eyes roam over the peeled back skin and disgusting blisters that look on the verge of popping. I look away quickly, my stomach churning and the bile pushing its way further up my throat.

Micah draws my face to his and shakes his head slowly. Okay, so they won't hurt. That's nice to know, I guess. I nod and say, "Okay. I'll shower. I'll need to borrow some clothes again, though. I left my bag at my studio."

Suddenly, my duffle is being lifted in front of my face. Aleric jiggles the bag and says, "Now you can't ruin our clothes when another accident happens, because as sure as I am about my next breath, I know there will be another accident."

If I wasn't so grateful that he was considerate enough to grab my bag, I'd want to punch him in the throat. As it is, I'm too weak and feeling a little more friendlier toward him than when he came to my studio.

"Sorry about your clothes. Your jacket should still be safe though. I put it in the small closet," I reply, looking away from him and trying to pull my legs over the side of the bed. Micah moves back and holds his hands out for me to take. I'm quick to do so, grasping his hands tightly in mine.

As soon as I'm standing, my legs wobble and I'm almost sent plummeting to the floor before Micah moves fast enough to grab me. Breathless from the almost fall and the proximity to Micah, I pant, "Thanks."

He nods quickly and helps me stand until I'm steady.

"Think you'll be able to shower by yourself? You can't feel the pain, but your legs are close enough to being useless right now while they heal," Bishop comments, eyeing my nauseating-looking legs with tattered sweatpants only just hanging on by the threads.

Micah signs something, too fast for me to really see the gestures his hand makes. Not that it would make much of a difference if I did see it since I don't understand sign language. He turns to face me, points at himself, and nods.

Throwing a guess out there, I say, "You'll help me?"

Micah nods, gesturing for me to hold onto him. I pause briefly, unsure if I'm comfortable with having a helping hand in the shower. However, my legs aren't exactly up to supporting my weight right now, so I suppose I don't have much of a choice.

I hold my arm out, and Micah gently hooks it around his neck. His arm wraps around my lower back, holding most of my weight off my legs.

"Alright. I'll go make something to eat since you skipped out on us before we had a chance to explain anything or feed you. Bishop will get your duffle and leave it in here," Aleric comments, placing the bag on the bed with more care than a duffle bag really needs. He then surprises me by pulling my cell out of his back pocket and placing it on the bedside table. "Answer the best friend when you're out of the shower. He's blowing your phone up about coffee and construction workers."

Despite all the madness, Adam manages to make me snort with laughter without realizing it. It starts a chain of events, my snort turning into a full out belly laugh to the point that I'm forced to lean on Micah further while tears prick my eyes from the force.

Once I'm done, I wipe at my face, finding Micah grinning down at me, Bishop hiding a smile behind his hand, and Aleric watching me with amused concern. I shake my head and try to wipe the smile from my face, mumbling, "I'll call him when I'm done. Thanks."

Aleric nods then follows it up with an exit from the room. Bishop walks around the bed, gesturing to my bag before asking, "May I?"

I nod at him, clinging to Micah a little tighter when I stumble a fraction. He draws me closer and begins to guide me out of the room. Just before we reach the door, Bishop calls, "I'll get some fresh clothes out for you and leave them on the bed."

"Okay. Thank you," I reply, allowing Micah to lead me out of the room and down the hallway to the bathroom I've used once already. Only last time I didn't have company.

Micah walks me to the closed toilet, gently setting me before puttering around the bathroom. He switches the shower on then gathers soaps and shampoos along with a comb, sponge, and towels. I sit on the toilet seat, watching as he moves around the room with ease, placing things on the edge of the bath and hooking the towels over the rack.

He crouches in front of me when the shower begins to heat up and pulls a cell out of his pocket. He types something, his fingers smoothly moving across the screen, before turning it toward me to read.

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