—

I wake up naked in the distillery. Ian’s shirt is crumpled up beside me, ripped and stained. I put it on backward. My ass is out, but what can I do?

I gather up my phone and keys and stagger down the path to my car.

When I get to Scarlett’s, there’s another car in the driveway. A guest.

“Great,” I say.

As soon as I speak, the scratch of my throat calls up the vomit. I hold it in until I’m inside. I barely get into the downstairs bathroom before it happens. What is truly the most revolting and exhausting experience of my life.

I fall asleep with my head on the toilet seat. When I come to, I hear hushed voices in the kitchen.

Scarlett’s. And Matty’s.

I crawl over and press my ear to the door to listen.

I can’t make out anything they’re saying. My head throbs. I’m too queasy to move, so I don’t. I close my eyes and fall asleep again.

When I come to the second time, I don’t hear any voices. I reach up and twist the knob, opening the door a crack so I can peek out to see if the coast is clear.

It is.

I stumble upstairs and take a shower, vomit some more, then nap. I remember to plug my phone in before I pass out.

It’s charged when I get up however many hours later. I slept all day. It’s dark out.

I take a palmful of Advil and venture downstairs, where I find Scarlett alone on the couch.

“Sleeping Beauty,” she says.

“Wrong fairy tale. Move over,” I say, squeezing next to her.

“I was worried about you.”

“Sure,” I say, pulling up the video on my phone.

“What’s this?”

“I haven’t watched it yet.”

I probably should have, just to confirm that I got it. But I don’t want to see it. I don’t need to.

She does.

I hand her the phone and hit play.

I watch her watch.

“What is this?” she asks, looking up at me. She’s horrified.

“I think there’s probably a while where I’m just standing there. Here, let me fast-forward.”

I take the phone and drag to the point where I fumble the chicken.

“This is so fucked, Rory. I don’t want to watch this.”

“Please.”

She returns her eyes to the screen at the sound.

The hideous sound of my new nails coming in.

She squints.

The screaming starts.

Her eyes go wide. She inhales sharply.

There’s the ripping, gasping, gurgling, fizzing. Bones snapping. The teeth. I can hear the teeth coming in.

Then the howling. Clear and sad and eerily beautiful.

She drops the phone. It bounces off the coffee table onto the floor.

“Oh, good. That’s my new phone.”

A few minutes pass with nothing but Scarlett’s quivering breath.

“Did you see it?” I ask.

She nods.

“Me in all my wolf-ness?”

“I can’t breathe,” she says. She tilts her head back. “I can’t breathe.”