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“So, you’ve always been able to heal?” Oz asks, drawing my attention back to him.
“I’m not sure about when I was a baby. I mean, I was born with the gift, but I don’t know how strongly it manifested. My first real memory of healing someone was when I was around five. I was at the park, and a boy was playing on the slide,” I tell them, thinking back to that day. It’s not the clearest of memories anymore. The details have faded over time like an old photo, but the feelings I remember all too well.
The screaming. The pain. It was instinctual that I help him.
“He fell off the slide and landed on his arm funny, snapping it like a twig. I reached out to comfort him, and before I knew it, his arm was better, and I was waking up in the back of the car. We left that night, taking with us only what we could fit in the trunk. I remember the look in my mother’s eyes. An odd mix of pride and sadness. It took me a long time to understand why. I did a good thing,the right thing,but from that day forward, my life as I knew it was over.
“After that, we never stayed in one place for long. It was hard for me if someone was sick or injured. It plagued me, ate away at me until the compulsion became so strong, I had no choice but to help.”
“But helping people put a target on your back,” Zig says.
I nod. “As I got older, I figured out how to fight the pull to heal. I still feel it, but I can fight off the urge now and heal at will. I know that sounds selfish, but you have to understand there were times when I would heal someone and then pass out.” I blow out a stuttering breath.
“You were left vulnerable,” Oz states.
“Yeah.” I pick at my chipped nail and avoid looking into his eyes, not wanting to talk about those times at all.
“That’s fucked up, Salem. I know it’s not much, but I can tell you that will never happen with us.”
The fact that I’ve woken up twice after healing them, and they’ve been looking over me while I slept, keeping me safe, speaks volumes.
“I’m getting that,” I whisper, giving them a wobbly smile.
“Can I ask you a question?” Oz asks me softly.
“Sure?”
“You said you can’t heal yourself. Do you mean after you’ve healed someone because you’re too drained? Or at all?”
“At all. My gift doesn’t work on me. It’s not all bad, though. I don’t get sick, like ever.”
“That’s why you didn’t want the antibiotics,” Zig murmurs in my ear.
I nod. “I still promise to tell you if that changes, but I’ve never even had a cold.”
“That’s good. Really good.”
“I also heal quickly. Not quickly, like if I could use my gift, but this cut on my arm will be gone by tomorrow. If I hadn’t been in this crash and given myself a few new ones, you’d probably have noticed the bruises from when you found me are gone too.”
“Bruises?” Oz questions.
“Nothing too bad. Mostly my arm from being grabbed.”
Zig tenses beneath me, so without even thinking, I place my hand over his and rub my thumb over his skin. “Can I ask you something now?”
“You can ask us anything you want,” Oz answers immediately.
“How are we going to get out of here?”
CHAPTERSEVEN
Oz
“Well, first things first. We need to take stock of the supplies we have.”
“We also need to scout the area. See if there is anything close by that could potentially cause us any issues,” Zig adds, looking at me while trying not to give anything away.
“Like what?” Salem looks between my brother and me.
