Emotionally Charged by S.A. Fenech

Author:S.A. Fenech
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: emotion based superpowers empathy, teen superheroes, young adult paranormal romance, superhuman hero adventure, superhero romance
Publisher: Fairies and Fantasy Pty Ltd
Published: 2019-08-21T16:00:00+00:00

Dean and I both moved slowly.

I jumped at every sound, expecting a gunshot or an empath to burst out from behind a corner and attack us.

Dean kept a steady pace but wobbled as he walked. He’d lost a fair bit of blood and must have felt woozy. I’d be woozy just from the pain with a hole in my arm like that. I offered my shoulder for support, and the second time I did, he accepted.

We only walked two blocks, to where a trailer park spread from the end of a cul-de-sac. Dean pulled out his keys and let us into a mid-sized trailer, permanently fixed in place like most others around it. The screen door rattled and inside, a man lay sprawled across the couch.

I stiffened and looked to Dean. He just shook his head, put a finger to his lips, and led me past a kitchenette piled in beer cans and a tiny bathroom to a room at the end. The man let out a gurgling snore as Dean closed the door behind us.

His room barely passed eight-by-eight feet in size, with a small bed, beanbag, and set of drawers taking up most of the space.

Dean scooped up an old towel from the floor and held it against his bleeding arm.

Boys. I frowned and snatched it off him. “Do you have any kind of first-aid kit? Bandages or something? Alcohol? At least something sanitary? If you won’t go to a doctor, we better clean that up properly ourselves.”

Dean left the room. He returned with a box of Band-Aids, scissors, a clean cotton dishcloth and a bottle of vodka with just a finger or two left in the bottom.

He handed them to me and shrugged, then sat on the side of the bed, looking extremely pale.

“Okay, we can work with this. Can you take your jacket and shirt off?”

Dean looked away, almost as though he was shy.

“I just mean, I might need to cut them off around your arm if you can’t.”

“No, I think I can manage.” He let out a slow hiss of air as he unzipped his hoodie and peeled it away from the wound. I helped him pull the sleeves free of his wrists, since he worked one-handed to undress. He inched his T-shirt off. It took him a while so I cut the dishcloth lengthways down the middle, and started working around in a zigzag line to turn one half into a long strip. I dropped the makeshift bandage on the bed and soaked the other half of the cloth in vodka.

Clenching my teeth against nausea, I bent forward to inspect Dean’s arm. A mixture of running, dried and coagulated blood created a gory horror-show. I dabbed around the mess on his bicep until I could see the bullet hole clearly. I leaned so close to Dean I felt his body heat radiating off him and his breath against my face, contrasting with the cool chill he gave me inside. The smell of blood mixed with the smoky-musk scent I noticed on him before.

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