The scratching has stopped completely. The house is silent in a way that feels heavy and expectant, like it’s holding its breath. Even the mouse doll seems to be waiting. It’s sitting there, watching me from its perch on my dresser with those black button eyes.
I know what it’s waiting for. What they’re all waiting for.
But I’m not ready. Not yet.
School feels different as soon as I walk through the doors. The hallways seem narrower, the lighting too harsh. Every sound is amplified - lockers slamming, shoes squeaking on linoleum, the constant buzz of teenage conversation.
And the smells. God, the smells are overwhelming. Cheap perfume, hair spray, and the lingering scent of cafeteria food. But underneath it all, something else. Something warm, alive and vulnerable.
Fear.
They can sense that something’s wrong with me, even if they can’t pinpoint what. I catch them staring when they think I’m not looking, whispering in corners, giving me a wider berth than usual.
Good. Let them be afraid.
First period passes in a blur. I can barely focus on what Mrs. Patterson is saying about World War II because I’m too distracted by the sound of Emma’s breathing three seats away. Fast little puffs that make something deep in my chest rumble with satisfaction.
She’s scared of me. They all are.
By lunch, the makeup is starting to wear off. I can see people doing double-takes when they look at me, their expressions shifting from confusion to something that looks almost like horror.
I’m sitting at my usual table, picking at a sandwich I have no intention of eating, when Kass approaches. Stupid Kass with her perfect skin, her perfect life, and her complete inability to read a room.
“Briar?” Her voice is tentative, careful. “Are you...okay? You look really…”
“Really what?” I look up at her, and she takes an involuntary step backward. Good.
“I just... your face looks different. And your hair...” She trails off, staring at my ears with wide, frightened eyes.
My ears. Shit. My curls must have flattened, revealing how pointed they’ve become, how much larger and more prominent.
“My hair looks fine,” I snap, but even as I say it, I can feel how wrong the words sound. My voice is different too; sharper, with an odd clicking quality that makes several people at nearby tables look over.
“Maybe you should go to the nurse,” Kass suggests, and there’s genuine concern in her voice. Genuine care for someone who’s been nothing but cruel to her.
It makes me want to rip her throat out.
“Maybe,” I say, standing slowly, “you should mind your own fucking business.”
The cafeteria has gone quiet. Everyone is staring now, phones probably already recording. But I don’t care. Let them watch. Let them see what their perfect Briar Hartley really is underneath all the makeup and designer clothes.
“I was just trying to help,” Kass whispers, tears starting to form in her eyes.
Help. Like I need help from someone so pathetically weak. Like I need anything from any of these soft, useless humans who’ve never had to fight for anything in their comfortable little lives.
The rage builds in my chest, hot and hungry and demanding release.
“Help?” I laugh, and the sound that comes out is nothing human. It’s high-pitched and scratchy, and makes everyone within earshot flinch. “You think I need help from you? You think you’re better than me?”
I take a step closer, and now I can really smell her. The flowery perfume, the cherry lip gloss, but underneath it all something warm and alive and absolutely terrified.
She smells like prey.
“You want to know what I think?” I lean in close, close enough that she can see the sharp points of my teeth, the way my eyes have gone completely black. “I think you’re nothing. I think you’re weak, pathetic and forgettable, and the only reason anyone even knows your name is because I let them.”
Tears are streaming down her face now, and the sight of them sends a thrill of pure satisfaction through my veins. This is what I was made for. This is what I’m good at.
Breaking things. Hurting them. Making them cry.
