I shrug. “It’s easy to get stuck on how. Doesn’t really matter, though.”
She has tears in her eyes. “It looks so painful.”
“I’m not trying to upset you, Scarlett. I just needed you to believe me.”
“I am upset,” she says, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “How could I not be upset? This is deeply upsetting!”
“It’s not your problem. It’s mine.”
“You’re my sister. How is it not my problem?”
“Because it doesn’t happen to you,” I say. It comes out meaner than I intend it to.
“I don’t know what to do now,” she says.
“Me either.”
I let her cry on the other side of the couch. I don’t comfort her because I shouldn’t have to comfort her. It’s my bad thing. My rotten thing. My burden.
“Scarlett?”
“I have a headache,” she says, standing. “I’m going to bed.”
“What?” I ask, calling after her as she hurries up the stairs. “Scarlett? Scarlett, wait.”
I hear her door shut. I hear it lock.
I thought if she knew, I would feel less alone. But I feel even more alone now. Because I am alone. I’m alone in this.
I pick up my phone.
I watch the video.
I watch myself waiting at twilight in a dirty, abandoned building. I handcuff myself to a pipe.
I wonder if when Scarlett watched the video, she saw me or if she saw herself. Maybe we don’t ever really see each other, just a confused reflection.
The chicken spills, and I lunge after it. The handcuff breaks my wrist. My hand goes limp. I don’t even notice.
I’m salivating, spitting, foaming at the mouth.
The scene grows dim, and soon I’m screaming.
It’s all worse than I could have imagined. The cruel expansion of my shoulders, the broadening of my back. My skin disappearing, replaced by coarse gray fur. The rising knolls of spine.
I stop the video.
I failed. I couldn’t control myself. It might not even be possible.
What the hell do I do now?
—
The woods are dark. There’s a second set of footsteps. There’s someone behind me. Following me.
I’m wearing the same clothes I was the night of the attack, but I’m little. I’m young again.
I move faster.