Chapter 6
Sandra
I didn't have time to take off my clothes. My small form emerges, tangled up in my garments, and I need to escape through the collar of my shirt, fighting against the growing nausea.
My stomach churns and writhes in spasms, taking me back to the first times I shifted as a child.
Like those times, I struggle to breathe, trying to endure the internal turmoil that takes hold of me.
It's not just the body, it's the mind, it's the panic, all at once.
The violent change and the lack of control.
I haven't felt this way in years, sick after the transformation.
But today... it's different.
I am that child again, with no control over my own body, forced to face something I cannot avoid.
The weight of the past consumes me.
I remember the first time it happened. The fear in my parents' eyes, the fever that left me on the brink of death, the silent rejection that came afterwards. I was discarded as a mistake, a freak, left to be raised by my grandmother.
She took me in and knew how to care for someone like me, even though she wasn't supernatural.
Years later, I learned the gene hadn’t appeared out of nowhere. It came from her mother, my great-grandmother—hidden, dormant, skipping two generations before emerging in me.
My thoughts cloud when the first jet of bile comes out of me, the vomit mixing with the milk spilled on the floor, a horrifying mess that only makes me want to vomit again, even though I have nothing left to bring up.
When the nausea begins to subside, a fragile relief takes hold of me.
My dirty paws bother me, as does the bad taste in my mouth. I wrinkle my snout in disgust and take a few faltering steps towards the bathroom. I'm desperate for a shower and to brush my teeth before I can finally sleep.
I reach the bathroom door and, with an effort, try to shift myself back.
Nothing happens.
There is a strange blockage, an intense pressure in my chest.
My heart races, beating irregularly, and my black fur bristles, causing my feline body to arch involuntarily.
What's happening?
A desperate meow escapes my throat, more by instinct than by choice.
I try again, concentrating hard, searching for the point where my essence accumulates, the centre of strength where the power of transformation is concentrated. That is where I normally feel the movement, the sliding of change.
Again, nothing happens.
It's as if I'm locked out, trying to break through, but the block persists, rigid and relentless.
I can only peek through the keyhole, feeling my power on the other side, just a tiny beam passing through the hole.
It's so small that I can hardly feel it, but it's enough to know that it still exists within me. I just can't access it.
I must be cursed!
The words explode in my mind, hot and furious. My paws dig into the floor, and my claws slide across the floorboards, scratching the surface as reality hits me hard.
No.
No.
No.
I must just be too exhausted, too weak to control my transformation back. I need to sleep. That's it... I just need to rest, recharge my batteries, and everything will return to normal.
The acrid smell of vomit permeates the small flat, a poignant reminder of the mess sprawled across the kitchen floor. There's nothing I can do in this form. At least the window is partially open, allowing fresh air to enter and carry away some of the unpleasant odour.
Gathering what little strength I have left, I stagger back to the kitchen and jump onto the sink.
With effort, I turn the tap with my paws, and when the water starts to run, I wash them.
Then I tilt my snout and swallow hastily, letting the liquid clean my throat and relieve the bitter taste on my tongue.
I drink until I can't take it anymore, trying to fool my empty stomach for a few more hours.
I turn off the tap and jump back onto the floor, walking to the mattress, letting my exhaustion guide me. I curl up between the sheet and the pillow, adjusting my small body to the space.
As soon as I close my eyes, exhaustion envelops me completely, plunging me into a deep, dreamless sleep.
A single thought lingers, faintly, before everything disappears:
Tomorrow, everything will be alright.
***
I wake up with a start to the sharp, insistent sound of knocking on the door. My heart is already racing before I even hear the landlord's deep, impatient voice:
"I know you're in there, Sandra. The deadline to settle your debt has passed."
My mouth opens automatically to respond, but the sound that comes out is a high-pitched, desperate meow. My body freezes. Reality hits me like an icy blow, and the memory of the previous night comes back with full force. I'm still trapped.
I'm just a cat.
Anxiety rises like a tidal wave, flooding every part of me. I try to breathe, but my lungs burn as I hyperventilate. My fur is bristling, my claws pierce the sheet, and fear flows like an uncontrollable river through my system.
"Shift," I command myself, trying to channel what I feel from my essence. I close my eyes and concentrate, but all I find is that same lock, allowing only a shred of power to pass through. Frustrated, I spin around in my own body, my mind in chaos as despair takes over.
"Consider yourself officially notified. You have thirty days to vacate the property." The landlord's muffled voice comes through the door, cold and impersonal, as he slides the eviction notice under it.
My head spins, searching for a solution.
Luther... He can help me. He's seen me in my feline form, he knows what I am. When he sees that I can't return to my form, he'll connect the dots and go after that witch to break the curse.
If I can make a call, even without saying anything, maybe he'll realise something's wrong and come to see me before we agreed.
But where is my mobile phone?
I look around, trying to remember. Then my eyes fall on the pile of clothes lying near the vomit and milk in the kitchen. With a leap, I approach, rummaging through the clothes until I find my mobile phone in the pocket of the trousers I wore the night before.
I grab the device with my teeth and, with difficulty, carry it to the mattress. I place it there, screen facing up, and try to use my paw to unlock it. The first attempt is a disaster, but I try carefully and finally it works.
I take a deep breath and press the call icon. The contact list appears, but the names are too small and too close together for me to click on them. My heart sinks when I accidentally call Lucy during one of my failed attempts, but I manage to cancel the call on the first ring.
Damn it!
I look at the clock in the corner of the screen.
It's already past four in the afternoon.
The physical and mental exhaustion from the previous night knocked me out, and I slept longer than usual.
I could wait until Luther showed up to give me a lift, if my stomach weren't twisting with hunger and the weakness weren't so overwhelming.
I need to eat. I need help. I need to get back to normal.
My mobile phone starts to vibrate, and my heart leaps with hope.
Luther!
But it's not Luther. It's Lucy.
The screen displays a video call, and the sight of her name makes my chest ache. A cry escapes me. Lucy doesn't know who I really am.
She has no idea that I'm a shapeshifter, that I'm different.
I never told her because I couldn't bear to lose her. I didn't want her to see me as a freak, the way my parents did.
The call ends, leaving me staring at the dark screen.
What do I do now?
My gaze returns to the partially open window.
Without hesitation, I jump off the mattress and run to the window. I won't just stand here waiting. I'm going to find him at his house.