Page 24

Writing, specifically poetry, used to be a haven for him, an outlet for whatever he was feeling at the time, and something he’d been doing since he was a kid.

Ethan smiled as he thought about showing his parents his drafts when he was younger. His Dad had always been his biggest supporter and the first one he’d ran to, anxious to show off what he’d written. His Mom, on the other hand, had always told him to “focus on other areas, like sports.”

Ethan sighed and pressed his eyes shut. Things were just…different now.

Maybe he’d write tomorrow.

Yes, tomorrow for sure.

Ethan’s eyes opened as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out and groaned at the screen.

Mom Missed Call, the notification read. That was twice now. For a moment, he felt guilty, but he also didn’t have the energy to play the game with her tonight.

The conversation would start fine, How's Seattle? You okay? But it would quickly turn into an interrogation on his mental health. You know you can talk to us, Ethan. We’re here, Ethan.

That was going to be a hard pass for him.

Easier to be alone, he thought.

Rolling over onto his side, Ethan groaned. Teddy’s tail spilled off the couch above him, lazily flicking back and forth.

Maybe Joyce was right. Maybe he was just scared.

Walls weren’t always bad. Sometimes walls were better, safer, and much less terrifying than getting close to someone just to lose them.

Teddy climbed down, curling herself on his chest, the soft vibration of her purr grounding. Ethan figured it was just her way of telling him he wasn't completely alone, at least.

Ethan closed his eyes as he stroked Teddy’s back. Outside, the slow drizzle of rain began again, softly pattering against the window. Sleep slowly took him under as Joyce’s words lingered in his mind.

You deserve more than this.

And maybe he did. Maybe someday.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he was just…tired.

Bass from the club pulsed throughout my body, almost enough to distract me from the ache of hunger. Only a few weeks had passed since I’d been brought back to life from the deal with Layne, but this was the first time I’d been somewhere this public.

I looked around the club, watching as people basked in the night’s euphoria, blissfully unaware of a world outside their own. That had been me at one point, too—a feeling I missed.

Dismissing the thoughts, I brought my attention back to what I was here for: survival. The hunger had been clawing at my insides for the last hour, dragging me up from the depths of my aquatic prison like a fish on a hook.

I knew it wouldn't be long before it would become all-consuming, and the only thoughts I would have would be to feed. I’d learned that it was best to satiate my hunger early on, before things got too bad. Otherwise, I’d get sloppy, and getting caught would only make my life infinitely more difficult than it already was.

Moving through the sea of people, I made my way to the quiet of the bathroom where the music’s buzz died to a low hum behind the closed door. Luckily, this was a single-use, so I was afforded a luxury I hadn't gotten in a while—a mirror.

I stared at the woman looking back at me in the reflection, taken aback by my appearance. It was a strange feeling to see how different I looked now, while still seeing glimmers of the girl I used to be.

Layne had been right, even though I hated to admit that. I did look better than before.

My short brown hair was gone, replaced with long flowing locks, black as night, spilling over my shoulders. It gleamed with an ethereal vibrancy, reminding me of Layne's shadows.

He always seems to find a way to creep inside my head, doesn’t he? I thought.

It wasn't just my hair, though. All of my features were sharper, deadlier, than before—almost regal, like a queen from those old mythological paintings in the Seattle Art Museum.

There was just something extra about me now that I felt radiating off of me. My brown eyes were gone, and the icy-blue eyes that gleamed back at me in the mirror put me in a daze. For a moment, I felt myself lost in my own gaze—pulling myself in.