Peter looks at me for a moment, and something in his eyes shifts. Like the joke finally runs out. No more sarcasm, no more stupid comments.
He's just here, waiting.
I feel my breath catch.
I want to say something. Anything, even one dumb sentence, but my throat locks up.
I just shake my head.
I stare in front of me, hands resting in my lap, and I can still feel the faint smell of blood and fear.
"I..." I start, but the word breaks apart in my mouth. It sounds ridiculous, too small for what I'm trying to say. Like I'm about to confess something that doesn't even belong in human language.
Peter doesn't look away. He doesn't interrupt. He doesn't laugh.
He just waits. Steady, quiet, the way he always did when I fell apart.
"Something happened to me," I say finally, so quietly it barely comes out. "Like... something actually happened. Not the way you'd expect. I don't even know how to explain it. I'm not... normal anymore, Pete."
Peter snorts, trying to lighten the mood but failing.
"Bro, you haven't been normal since fifth grade. You tried to convince me you were a werewolf and I believed you."
I shake my head.
"This isn't like that. This is real."
He stops. Fully stops.
"...Alright. Then what?"
My voice cracks. I swallow hard.
"I think I died."
Peter blinks.
Once.
Twice.
"Okay. That's... that's a pretty intense starter. Keep going."
My chest tightens.
"I tried to kill myself."
Peter freezes. Like the whole room just stopped breathing.
"Vex... why the fuck didn't you call me?"
"Because I didn't want anyone to stop me."
Pain flashes across his face, but he stays quiet, waiting.
My hands shake. I search for the right words, but all that comes out is:
"I'm... something else. Something bad, maybe. Or at least not human. And what scares me is... I'm not even as scared as I should be."
I laugh a tiny, dry laugh. More at myself than at him.
"And I know this is when you're supposed to say I'm crazy, or that I need sleep, or detox, or therapy, but... I need you to hear this."
I lift my eyes to him for the first time since he walked in.
"I need you. If you're not here, I'm not making it through this."
Peter doesn't blink. Doesn't joke. Doesn't look away.
Then he finally puts a hand on my shoulder. Steady, firm, without a single question.
"I'm here, Vex," he says quietly. "Whatever it is. Tell me everything. I've got you. Always."
And somehow that hits deeper than any blood or strength or transformation I've felt today.
Sometimes you just need someone there.
Peter sits back, watching me, bracing himself.
"You know... last night, I..." I hesitate.
It sounds like the start of a shitty horror movie.
But I go on.
"I was in the garage. Alone. Everything had been too much for days, but last night... it felt different. Heavy. Dark. Like someone put a blanket over my head and I couldn't breathe."
Peter nods slowly. Not breaking eye contact.
"And I just... broke. I went downstairs, found an old rope. You know the rest. I thought that was it. But something happened. I don't know if I actually died or what, but I woke up on the floor. Naked. And on the ceiling..."
I swallow.
"...my skin was hanging there."
Peter's face loses all color. Pure silence.
Then—
"Dude... that's the most fucked up thing I've ever heard."
"I know."
"Your real skin? Not... emo metaphor skin?"
"My real skin."
Peter drags both hands down his face.
"Holy shit. Amazing. Fantastic. Can't wait to hear the rest."
"I didn't understand anything. My body felt different, not just stronger, but wrong. Like my bones weren't mine. My muscles weren't mine. Everything was sharper. Colors, sounds, smells..everything."
Peter rubs his hands together, trying to stay grounded.
"When I saw myself in the mirror... my eyes weren't mine. I looked like some fucked up reptile. Everything hurt. The transformation... it was worse than anything I've ever felt. I thought I'd go insane. And then.."
I take a shaky breath.
"..the hunger hit."
I drag my hand down my face, ashamed of how much I'm shaking.
"I couldn't eat anything human. I threw up everything. Until I found raw meat in the freezer..."
Peter suddently rises his hand.
"Hold up. Raw like sushi? Or raw like... National Geographic lion documentary?"
"The lion one."
"...Epic. Totally fine. Not freaking out at all."
He's absolutely freaking out.
"And that... that was the first thing that made me feel alive. But even that... wasn't enough. The hunger never went away. It's in me, Pete. In every breath. And the worst part, some part of me likes it. Some part of me feels like it finally belongs."
Peter makes a sound between a laugh and a choke. Something breaks in his expression.
"Bro... are you like... some reptile-werewolf-vampire hybrid? Because that sounds kinda sick."
"I don't know what I am."
Peter searches my face. His expression shifts as he sees how hard I'm shaking.
"You want proof?" I whisper.
"Come outside with me. I'll show you."
He hesitates, but only for a second. Then nods.
Not because he believes me.
Because he can't let me do this alone.
We walk downstairs. The house is quiet, cold. The smell of earth drifts through the kitchen window.
I open the back door. Peter follows, breathing too fast.
I kneel on the ground, start digging. My nails scrape dirt, my hands tremble, but I don't stop. Peter watches, confused, tense.
Then I pull out the plastic bag I buried earlier.
Inside, my skin.
Cold. Wrinkled. Stuck together with bits of dry hair. One finger still wearing the ring I've had for years.
I drop it onto the grass in front of him.
Peter stares for a scond.
"Nope-nope-nope-fuck-"
Then steps back, stumbles, drops to his hands and knees.
His whole body shakes.
A dry gag escapes his throat.
Then he throws up. Shaking, like his body is trying to reject everything it just saw.
I kneel next to him, dirt on my fingers, and rest a hand on his shoulder.
Gentle. Because it's not just comfort, t's the last bridge between the world we had and the one that's here now.
I give him a tired, almost apologetic half-smile.
"Yeah, man... that was my first reaction too," I murmur. "Except I puked this black... sludge. Whatever the hell it was. If there's anything left in your stomach, let it out. This is as bad as it gets."
Peter shakes his head, spits into the grass, trying to breathe, trying to pull himself back into reality. When he finally looks up, there are tears in his eyes.
"Vex... this is too much," he whispers.
I just nod.
I start burying the skin again. Quietly. Automatically.
Like burying all those old versions of myself at the same time.
"You know, Pete," I say quietly as the dirt covers the plastic, "two days ago I wouldn't have believed any of this either. And now... it's the only thing that makes sense."
I push the last handful of earth into place and sit back, breathing in the cold night air.
Peter stands next to me, still shaking, still pale, but he doesn't leave.
And for the first time in a long time..
there's no pretending.
Only truth.
And a beginning neither of us can undo.