In Memory Read Online Free Page B

through, as if it had been broken as the rest of him.
    “I’m sorry, Aerie. But I didn’t know where else I could go.”
    W anted to suggest the hospital, but the words wouldn’t come.
    He looked around nervously, swaying on the spot, “May I… May I come in?”
    I nodded, stepping back to let him in, my voice still fighting past the initial shock of seeing him.
    He stumbled in, tripping over the doorjamb and brushing past me. At his touch, my voice won its battle and I spoke, “What happened?” I asked, guiding him to the chair beside the closet.
    He was silent, then, “I can’t say.”
    This was almost as unnerving as his appearance. Who could have done this to him that could scare him so much that he wouldn’t reveal their identity? I bit my lip, steadying him on the chair, and he spoke again.
    “But you said you wanted to be a nursing aid, right…?” His huge eyes drilled into mine, “Would you… help me?”
    I’m not sure why but that made me want to cry.
    We managed to get to the bathroom (thank goodness there’s one on the first floor). I set him down on the toilet, shuffling to close the lid beforehand. K nelt down in front of him, examining the cuts on his hands and forearms.
    He still had the bandages from last week around his hand.
    Something about a few of the cuts was troubling. A few of the shallower ones were angled differently, and had already healed partially. I suspected these ones were self-inflicted.
    R eeled at this, why would he hurt himself if…?
    There was too much dried blood, dirt, and general grime to get a good look at the larger cuts, but it was easy enough to define them as defensive wounds.
    G uess the cuts on his neck and chest would be from the gap in his defence. It’s a wonder he’s alive at all, judging from how close a couple of them are to his arteries.
    “Noah…” I said softly, trying out his name, “Who attacked you?”
    He shook his head, looking away, tears burning in his eyes.
    “You have to tell me.” I took his hands in my own.
    He shook his head again, squeezing my hands as if her were trying to communicate to me through them. This contact coaxed a few tears to my eyes, damn my sensitivity.
    “How am I supposed to help you if I don’t know what’s wrong?” This applied less to his physical wounds and more the apparent mental trauma he was battling, it seemed.
    K ept shaking his head, closing his eyes tightly. A choked sob broke from his lips; he bowed his head and trembled.
    I swear, a part of my heart shattered upon seeing that.
    “Okay,” I managed, “Okay, Noah, you don’t have to tell me. Let’s just… get you cleaned up, okay?”
    He nodded, sniffed, and squeezed my hands again.
    “You should take a shower, and wash yourself off.”
    Another silent nod.
    R etrieved a towel from under the sink, placing it on the rim of the sink and motioned to the shower before leaving the bathroom and closing the door behind me.
    As the door clicked shut, tears fell from my eyes, completely unrestrained. It must be my overly sensitive empathy. A couple of my mother’s fortuneteller friends deemed it to be both my blessing and curse.
    My empathy, to feel exactly what any person who has skin contact with me feels. It happens more strongly for me whenever the person I’m touching is feeling particularly strong emotions.
    For Noah, it was pain. Unbearable pain that only seemed to be assuaged by crying my heart out. I leaned against the door, listening to the new sound of water hitting the bottom of the bathtub.
    O ccurred to me that it would not be appropriate for him to redress in his dirty clothes, so I hurried to the laundry room, which was across the hallway. Luckily, the dryer had finished a little while ago, so I selected one of my big cotton t-shirts and flannel pajama bottoms. As an afterthought, I also grabbed a clean pair of boxers, absentmindedly wiping my eyes on the stack of clothes a s I returned to the bathroom. K nocked on the door, “Noah,