“What the hell is this, Jesse?”

  Barrett’s hand closed around Jesse’s collar before he fully realized he’d moved. He hauled him close, the music and laughter of the party blurring into a dull roar behind his ears. His heart hammered so hard it felt like it might split his ribs, heat flooding his face, his vision narrowing.

  “Yo—hey, relax,” Jesse stammered, palms up. “It was just a joke, man.”

  “I’m not laughing,” Barrett said. His voice shook despite his effort to steady it.

  “I told you this wasn’t cool,” Becky cut in, eyes wide with alarm as she stepped closer. “You took it too far.”

  Barrett barely heard her. His grip tightened. He suddenly became aware of the silence spreading around them as conversations died and bodies turned. Across the room, the same card players from earlier stared openly now, their expressions caught somewhere between curiosity and judgment.

  The realization landed heavy in his gut.

  Still just a loser.

  Maybe worse.

  His chest drew tight, breath suddenly shallow, as something old and bitter coiled inside him. He recognized the feeling immediately—the familiar twist of shame and anger, the quiet certainty that no matter where he went or how hard he tried, it always ended the same way.

  This always happened.

  Every time he reached for something like belonging or connection, it slipped through his fingers and left him standing alone, exposed. Like his presence spoiled the room. Like there was something wrong with him at a cellular level. A defect the rest of humanity instinctively recoiled from.

  An infection.

  Frat brothers closed in like white blood cells to eliminate the threat.

  Why does this keep happening?

  “Hey—back the hell up.”

  A bigger frat brother was moving toward him now, shoulders squared, eyes hard. He carried the easy arrogance of someone who knew there was an army behind him.

  Barrett inhaled slowly and released Jesse’s collar, lifting his hands in a mock gesture of peace. His pulse still thundered in his ears.

  People were staring now as if a sentence had already been handed down. Some faces twisted with thinly veiled pity. Others didn’t bother hiding their disgust. Becky had gone pale, eyes wide. Jesse wasn’t smiling anymore. Whatever mask he’d worn had slipped.

  “I think you need to leave,” Jesse said. His voice was flat. Final. Not a request.

  Barrett didn’t look at him.

  “I’m not interested in what you think,” he replied calmly.

  He closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath, deep enough to steady the tremor in his chest. In that moment, he felt it clearly. The edge. An abyss yawning open beneath him, bottomless and familiar. Darkness. Pain. Rage.

  He was already falling.

  Something inside him cracked clean through.

  A low chuckle slipped from his throat, empty of humor, sharp as broken glass.

  Fine.

  If this was how the world saw him, then why keep pretending otherwise? Wild animals didn’t apologize. Diseases didn’t beg for acceptance. They survived by tearing everything else down.

  Maybe that was his role.

  A destroyer.

  “What’s so funny, you freak?” the bigger guy sneered, stepping closer.

  Barrett’s eyes opened.

  And there was nothing human left in them.

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  He swung.

  The punch missed—intentionally—but the momentum carried him forward, his body already turning. His elbow snapped around, hard and precise, slamming into the man’s face with a wet, satisfying crunch.

  The room exploded. Some people screamed and bolted for the exits. Others stayed put, phones already raised, hungry to capture the chaos.

  “Get him!”

  The word snapped the room in half.

  Barrett moved before the sound had finished echoing, folding into the chaos like it had been waiting for him. Elbows drove into faces. Knees found lower, more sensitive areas. He stayed compact, brutal, efficient—no wild swings, no wasted motion. He wasn’t trying to win clean. He was trying to survive long enough to hurt them.

  Fists slammed into his back. Boots clipped his legs. Most of it was sloppy, panicked, but some of it landed hard, rattling bone and teeth. The fight lost shape almost instantly.

  Barrett never stopped moving, denying them the chance to organize, turning their numbers into chaos instead of strength.

  His hands clawed. His teeth bit. Someone screamed. Furniture overturned as people slammed together in a blur of sweat and rage. It wasn’t a brawl anymore. It was something feral, something ugly and ancient.

  A fury had been unleashed.

  Not everyone could stomach it.

  Enough could.

  And the numbers weren’t on his side.

  The freaks hadn’t joined in. They weren’t his army, and he wasn’t their Spartacus.

  Arms wrapped around him from behind. Weight crashed into his side. Barrett staggered, then went down as the floor rushed up to meet him. Bodies piled on top, crushing, smothering. The air was ripped from his lungs in a dry, useless gasp.

  Boots came next.

  Each kick hammered the world further out of focus. Sound dulled. Light smeared. Pain blurred into a single, roaring presence that swallowed everything else.

  Through swollen, half-shut eyes, he looked up once more.

  Becky stood at the edge of the circle, staring at him like he was something diseased that should’ve been put down earlier.

  Jesse was there too. Bleeding. Furious. Hate carved deep into his face. Barrett had hurt him. That much was clear, but it wasn’t enough. Not even close. The debt still burned, unpaid and festering.

  Barrett spat blood across the floor and grinned anyway.

  He was beaten.

  But he wasn’t broken.

  “You’re a freak!” Jesse snarled, stepping closer. Something raw flickered in his eyes, not just anger, but fear. Barrett had cracked something open in him, stripped away a comfort he hadn’t even known he lived with. From that night on, Jesse would never feel safe in a crowded room again. Never sit with his back to a doorway.

  Barrett dragged in a ragged breath, lips splitting wider in a ruined smile.

  “I’m something.”

  The final kick caught him square in the head.

  And the world went dark.

  —

  “Barrett.”

  The voice drifted in from far away, thin as smoke.

  “Barrett…wake up.”

  His eyelids fluttered.

  “Mom?”

  The word slipped out before he could stop it. It was small and fragile, almost desperate.

  “Mom?” he tried again, louder now, panic edging into his voice.

  There was nothing.

  No light, shapes, or shadows even. Just endless, suffocating black.

  His eyes were open. He knew they were. He could feel the sting of air against them, the faint ache behind his sockets, but still, there was nothing to see.

  “Mom,” he whispered, throat tightening. “Where are you?”

  Silence stretched, long enough for dread to coil in his chest.

  Then—

  “You’re finally awake.”

  It was a woman’s voice, unfamiliar. Young. Soft. There was relief in it, genuine and unguarded, as though she’d been waiting for this moment.

  “Where…” His tongue felt thick, his mouth dry. “Where am I?”

  A light laugh answered him, warm despite the situation. “You’re at my house, silly.”

  Her tone was cheerful now, almost teasing, as if trying to coax him back from the edge.

  Barrett tried to push himself upright.

  Pain exploded through him.

  It wasn’t localized. It was everywhere. Fire racing through his veins, needles under his skin. His body rebelled violently, and a strangled sound tore from his throat as tears spilled freely down his temples.

  “Hey—hey, don’t do that,” the woman said quickly. “Easy. You took a lot of bites. That venom is…really bad.”

  Barrett squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. Blinked. Rubbed at them with shaking fingers.

  Still nothing.

  “I—I can’t see,” he said, the words hollow and terrified as they left his mouth.

  For a moment, she didn’t answer.

  That pause was worse than any pain.

  “It’s a symptom,” she said finally, her voice quieter now, stripped of its earlier brightness. “Too much venom in your system.”

  His heart began to race.

  “How long?” he asked immediately.

  No answer.

  His breathing grew shallow. “How long will I be like this?”

  “I…” She hesitated, and when she spoke again, there was no hiding the sorrow. “I’m really sorry.”

  Something cool and damp brushed his forehead—a cloth, wrung out with care. The simple gesture cracked something open inside him.

  Barrett drew in a shaky breath. Then another. It wasn’t enough.

  Blind.

  The word echoed in his mind, monstrous and absolute. Blind meant helpless. Blind meant useless. No fighting. No protecting. No checking out hotties. No being who he was supposed to be.

  Panic surged hard and fast.

  “Hey, hey,” she said, grounding him. “Please. Try to relax. I’ll take care of you. You’re safe here. I promise.”

  Her voice stayed steady, kind in a way that didn’t demand anything from him.

  Barrett wiped at his eyes, but the tears kept slipping through his fingers. Somewhere in the fog of fear and pain, a strange, uninvited thought drifted up—her voice was young, gentle, maybe even beautiful. Under different circumstances, he might have found comfort in it.

  But not now.

  Right now, he just wanted the world back.

  Exhaustion pulled at him, heavy and irresistible. The panic dulled, edges softening as sleep crept in once more.

  The darkness didn’t feel quite as terrifying this time.

  And slowly, despite himself, Barrett drifted under again.