Chapter 6 – Bruises You Can't See
The humiliation didn't leave her skin. It clung. Like smoke after a fire, like gum in your hair, like something you couldn't scrub off no matter how hard you tried. Elara went through the rest of the school day pretending, but her chest felt like it had been cracked open and hollowed out.
People stared. Or maybe she only thought they did. That was the worst part—when you couldn't tell anymore if the looks were real or if they were stitched together from your paranoia. When someone whispered in the hall, her brain instantly screamed: they're laughing at you. When a group burst out laughing, she swore it was because Vivienne was telling the story of "Elara and the tragic turkey sandwich."
She hated herself for caring.
By the time the last bell rang, her friends were waiting at her locker.
Jessa, bouncing on her toes like she hadn't just watched Elara get gutted in public. "We should totally go to the arcade after school. Blow off steam, you know? Air hockey cures everything."
Maxine wiped Dorito dust on her jeans. She'd gone through three snack packs since lunch and was already digging for another. "I vote food court. Like, fries. Ice cream. Just carbs until I die."
Kyra leaned against the lockers, eyeliner smudged, one earbud dangling. "You two are idiots. She doesn't want fries. She wants a goddamn time machine."
That stung because it was true.
Elara shoved her books into her bag. "I just… I want to go home."
"Boo," Jessa groaned, dragging out the word. "You can't let Vivienne win! If you hide in your cave, she wins."
"She already won," Elara muttered before she could stop herself.
Silence. Even Maxine paused mid-crunch. Kyra looked away like she hadn't heard.
It was easier not to look at any of them. Easier to just slam the locker shut, sling her bag over her shoulder, and walk.
---
The bus ride was worse. Every seat seemed full of whispers, every laugh seemed like a dagger. Elara sat alone, pressed against the cold window, pretending to scroll her phone. The screen blurred. She kept refreshing her feed even though nothing changed.
Vivienne was two rows ahead, of course. Surrounded, as always. Her laugh rose above the others, perfectly pitched to carry.
"…and then she just sat there! Like a little stone statue! I swear she almost cried into her lunch—"
More laughter.
Elara yanked her hood up. She clenched her fists until her nails dug crescents into her palms.
She hated this bus. Hated this town. Hated her skin, her voice, her whole damn existence.
And then she glanced out the window.
Trees. The forest pressed close against the road, branches arching over like crooked ribs. And standing between them—no. Watching from them.
Him.
Rowan.
She caught a glimpse of his shape, tall, too still to be just another shadow. Eyes catching the dying sunlight like sparks. Watching. Always watching.
Her stomach twisted. Part fear, part… something else.
She blinked and the bus lurched forward, turning. The trees swallowed him.
Gone.
---
Home wasn't better.
Her dad was sprawled on the couch, mouth open, half-empty beer balanced on his stomach. The TV blasted reruns of a show that had laugh tracks louder than the jokes.
The smell of stale alcohol and burnt takeout clung to the air.
Elara stepped over an empty pizza box in the hall, slipping upstairs before he could wake and bark something like, "Don't slam the door," or "Did you fail another test?"
Her room was the only place that was hers. Posters tacked unevenly on the walls. A desk cluttered with notebooks, half-broken pens, and crumpled doodles. Her bed unmade, blanket cocoon waiting.
She dropped her bag and collapsed, face-first into the sheets.
Silence. Finally.
Except it wasn't really silence. Her brain wouldn't shut up.
They laughed. They'll never stop. You'll be a story by tomorrow. A meme. A joke. Why can't you just speak up? Why can't you be stronger?
She squeezed her eyes shut until the tears burned. She hated crying. It made her feel small. Weak. Exactly what Vivienne wanted her to be.
Downstairs, her dad coughed and turned in his sleep. The house creaked. Somewhere outside, a dog barked.
And then—another sound.
Not the normal ones. Not the hum of the fridge or the tick of the clock. This was softer. A scrape against bark. A shift of weight on leaves.
Her window overlooked the edge of the trees.
She sat up, heart in her throat.
And there he was again.
Rowan.
Standing at the tree line like a statue carved out of shadow. His eyes glowed faintly in the dark, catching the moonlight. He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just watched.
Elara's breath hitched. Her hand twitched toward the curtain, half-ready to slam it shut. But she didn't.
She couldn't.
Because some part of her—the part she hated admitting existed—felt… safer with him there.
Like maybe the forest was dangerous, but it was her danger.
She didn't know him. Didn't even know if he was real or just her exhausted brain playing tricks. But she knew one thing: he wasn't laughing at her.
And that was enough to keep her staring until her eyelids drooped and the world slipped into darkness.
---
The next morning hit like a slap.
Elara dragged herself out of bed, hair sticking up, eyes gritty. Her alarm had screamed three times before she smacked it silent.
Downstairs, her dad was gone. Probably at work. Or the bar. Or both.
She grabbed a bruised apple from the counter, shoved it into her bag, and left.
The walk to the bus stop felt colder than usual. Her breath puffed in little clouds. The sky was the color of dirty dishwater, heavy with the promise of rain.
Maxine was already there, munching on a chocolate croissant she probably picked up from the gas station. Jessa bounced in place, earbuds dangling, humming off-key. Kyra leaned against the stop sign, hoodie up, cigarette behind her ear.
"You look like death," Jessa said cheerfully.
"Thanks," Elara muttered.
"Seriously, though," Maxine added, mouth full, "don't let her get to you. Vivienne's just… evil Barbie. With extensions."
Kyra scoffed. "Extensions or not, she still rules the food chain. And we're algae."
"Algae's important!" Jessa chirped. "Photosynthesis and all that."
Elara almost smiled. Almost.
The bus screeched to a stop, doors yawning open. She climbed aboard, stomach sinking as she saw Vivienne already in her usual spot, whispering, laughing. Her eyes flicked up, catching Elara's. That smile again. Slow. Sharp.
The day hadn't even started and already Elara felt like throwing up.
---
Classes blurred together. Mr. Caldwell droned about World War II. Mr. Jones in math slapped the board with his marker so hard it squeaked. Mrs. Halloway in English forced them to read Romeo and Juliet out loud, which was basically public humiliation in iambic pentameter.
Vivienne kept finding ways to dig at her. A whispered "freak." A fake cough timed perfectly during Elara's turn to read. A note passed that landed on her desk by "accident," scrawled with: do wolves eat sandwiches or just losers?
Elara crumpled it under the desk, throat tight.
Her friends tried to distract her, but even they had their limits.
At lunch, Maxine nearly got into it with Vivienne's second-in-command after she called her "snack bar" again. Jessa tried to turn it into a joke but ended up spilling soda down her shirt. Kyra just walked out, muttering something about not babysitting "this circus."
And Elara sat there, in the middle of it all, wishing she could unzip her skin and crawl out of it.
---
Rowan's POV. Brief.
From the trees, Rowan watched.
He wasn't supposed to. He told himself every morning that this would be the last day, that he'd turn away, forget the girl with the too-big hoodie and the eyes that never quite met anyone else's.
But then he'd hear her heartbeat from across the field. Too fast. Too sharp. Fear and pain rolled off her like smoke.
And his wolf snarled, restless.
The others didn't matter. Their laughter, their cruel games—they were gnats. But the girl? The girl was a spark.
He didn't know why yet. But he knew this: sparks grew into fires.
---
That night, Elara dreamt of wolves.
Teeth. Eyes in the dark. A shadow moving closer, closer, until it wasn't a shadow at all but a boy. A boy with eyes like wildfire.
She woke tangled in her sheets, heart hammering.
And outside her window, the trees whispered.
But she wasn't sure if it was the wind—or if something had been there, watching again.
---