Chapter 8 Unravelling
Ican’t stop sweating.
It’s not normal sweat either—it’s this thick, musky smell that clings to my clothes no matter how much perfume I spray. I catch Kass wrinkling her nose as I slide into my seat in first period, and something cold and sharp twists in my stomach.
“You okay, Briar?” she asks, leaning away slightly. “You seem... off today.”
Off. The word hits like a slap. I force my lips into that perfect smile, the one that’s disarmed teachers and charmed boys since I was little. But even as I do it, I can feel something wrong with my face, like the muscles aren’t quite connecting right.
“I’m perfect,” I say, but my voice sounds strange. Sharper. “Maybe you should worry about your own problems. Like that disaster you call an outfit.”
Kass’s face crumples slightly, but she doesn’t back down. “Seriously, Briar. You’ve been acting weird all week. And you smell like…”
“Like what?” The words come out as a snarl. Too loud. Far too fucking loud. Several heads turn our way, and I see concern flickering in all their eyes. Not admiration. Not fear of my social power. Actual concern, like I’m some kind of sick and wounded animal.
The thought sends rage shooting through my veins.
“Nothing,” Kass mumbles, but she’s studying my face with this horrible, pitying expression. “Maybe you should go to the nurse?”
Go to the nurse? Like I’m some pathetic weakling who needs help. Like I’m not Briar fucking Hartley, the girl who runs this entire school.
But even as the fury builds, I can feel the scratching starting again. Faint at first, then growing louder. Coming from inside the walls; no, inside my head. God, I can’t tell anymore.
I dig my nails into my palms, trying to focus, but all I want to do is scratch. Scratch until the itching stops, scratch until the burning under my skin goes away.
“I don’t need a nurse,” I snap. “I need you to mind your own business before I give you something real to worry about.”
But Kass isn’t backing down this time. She’s looking at me like she’s seeing something she’s never seen before, and I hate it. Hate the way her eyes are wide with something that looks almost like... fear?
No. Not fear of my power. Fear of me. Of what I’m becoming.
The scratching gets louder.
“Briar.” Her voice is gentle now, like she’s talking to a wounded animal. “Maybe we should...”
“Should what?” I lean forward, and I swear I can smell her, really smell her. The flowery shampoo, the cheap vanilla body spray, but underneath it something else. Something warm, alive and vulnerable. “Should help poor little Briar? Is that what you think?”
I’m standing now, though I don’t remember getting up. The entire classroom has gone quiet, all eyes on us. Mrs. Patterson has stopped mid-sentence at the front of the room.
“I think,” I say, my voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carries to every corner of the room, “that you should be very, very careful about what you say next.”
Kass’s breathing has quickened. I can hear it, fast little puffs of air that make something deep in my chest purr with satisfaction. She looks like a cornered rabbit, all wide eyes and trembling lips.
Perfect.
“Because the last person who crossed me…” I continue, taking a step closer, “ended up with photos of her drunk and half-naked spread all over social media. Remember Maya? Remember how she cried when she found out everyone had seen her getting her hair all shaved off?”
Kass goes pale. “Briar, you said that was—”
“A joke?” I laugh, and the sound that comes out is nothing like my usual musical giggle. It’s sharp and harsh, and makes several people flinch. “There are no jokes, Kass. There’s just what happens to people who forget their place.”
“Miss Hartley.” Mrs. Patterson’s voice cuts through the tension. “That’s enough. Office. Now.”
I turn to look at her, and for just a moment, I see myself reflected in her glasses. My hair is wild, sticking to my forehead with sweat. My eyes look too bright, almost feverish. And there’s something around my jawline, something that looks almost like…
No. It’s just a shadow. Just the lighting.
“Of course, Mrs. Patterson,” I say sweetly. “Though I think you might want to check Kass for hearing problems. She seems to be having trouble understanding simple conversations.”
I gather my things slowly, deliberately. Every movement is calculated to show that I’m not being dismissed, that I’m choosing to leave.
But even as I do it, I can feel their eyes on me. Not with the usual mixture of envy and admiration.
With concern. With confusion.
With something that looks almost like pity.
The scratching follows me down the hallway.
By lunch, the whispers have started.
I can hear them even when they think they’re being quiet, even when they’re three tables away. It’s like my hearing has been turned up to eleven, catching every hushed conversation, every worried murmur.
“...acting really weird lately...”
“...smells like wet dog or something...”
“...did you see her face? Did you see her makeup? It looked almost...”
I slam my water bottle down hard enough to make the entire table jump. The conversations around me die instantly, but I can still feel them watching. Always watching.
“Problem?” I ask the general vicinity, my voice honey-sweet and razor-sharp.
Nobody answers. They’re all suddenly very interested in their food.
But I can smell their fear now; sharp, acrid and delicious. It mingles with the scratching sounds that seem to be coming from everywhere; the walls, the ceiling, inside my own fucking skull.
My phone buzzes. A text from Mom.
‘Got a call from school. Everything okay, sweetheart? Dad and I are worried.’
Worried. They’re all worried. Like I’m some kind of problem that needs to be solved instead of the perfect daughter they’ve always bragged about.
I type back quickly: ’Everything’s fine. Just dealing with jealous classmates as usual.’
But even as I send it, I catch sight of my reflection in the black screen of my phone. For just a second, my face looks... wrong. The proportions slightly off, the features too sharp.
I blink hard, and it’s normal again.
Calm. Be fucking calm.
I am not weak. I am not pathetic. I own this entire fucking school. I own every single one of these people sat here, gawping.
I snatch at my drink, letting out what should be a snarl, only it sounds far more like a hiss. I storm out, barely making it to the door before the entire place explodes with chatter.
By the time I get home, I’m practically vibrating with rage and frustration.
“Honey?” Mom calls from the kitchen as I slam the front door. “How was school?”
“Fine,” I snap, taking the stairs two at a time.
“The school called,” Dad’s voice follows me up. “They’re concerned about…”
“About nothing,” I cut him off. “People are just jealous because I’m better than them.”
I reach my room and slam the door behind me, leaning against it as the scratching sounds surge and fade like waves. The house feels different somehow. Alive. Like something is moving inside the walls.
Moving toward me.
I walk to my dresser and stare at my reflection in the mirror. For a long moment, everything looks normal. Perfect Briar with her perfect blonde hair, perfect skin, and perfect fucking life.
But then I lean closer.
There. Along my jawline, I can see it, the faintest hint of something that definitely wasn’t there this morning.
Not quite fur, but not quite skin either.
Like the finest down, barely visible unless you know what to look for.
And my teeth. When did they get so sharp?
I back away from the mirror, my heart hammering. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. I’m Briar Hartley. I’m perfect. I’m in control.
But the scratching is getting louder, more urgent, and I can hear something else now. Something that sounds almost like... calling.
My feet carry me to the closet without conscious thought, and there my mouse doll sits, waiting.
I reach for it with trembling hands, and the moment my fingers touch the worn fabric, the scratching stops.
The silence is somehow worse than the noise.
I hold the doll close to my chest and sink down onto my bed, staring at my reflection in the darkened window. The girl looking back at me has wild hair and bright, feverish eyes. Her jawline is soft with something that might be fur in the right light.
She doesn’t look like a queen anymore.
She looks like prey.