Unwrapped

 

Chapter 4: The Enabler


“What is this place?” Caius muttered, sniffing the air with a grimace. “Smells like poison.”

“Why do you know what poison smells like?” Lirael asked, shooting him a suspicious glare.

He returned her look with one of incredulity. “Can you not feel the sting in the air? It’s burning my eyes. Doesn’t take a genius,”

Lirael flared her nostrils dramatically, inhaling deeply, only to gag and nearly choke on the acrid air. Before anyone could respond, Thorne’s gaze dropped to my miniskirt. His hand flew to his mouth as he exclaimed, “Your perfume!”

I looked down sharply, my heart sinking. The bottle in my pocket was leaking, but instead of pooling on the ground, the liquid evaporated into the air, transforming into thick, cloudy pink smoke. I froze, staring at the bottle as if it were a venomous creature. With a yelp, I hurled it far from us, but the stinging sensation in my eyes lingered. We pressed forward despite the discomfort, driven by a shared urgency to escape this nightmare.

“What do you think you’re being punished for?” Lirael asked casually as she caught up to me.

I hesitated, my steps faltering. “A lot of things. But honestly, I have no idea what I’m being hammered for in this place,”

The moment we moved further, the surroundings dissolved into darkness, leaving us disoriented. The void was suffocating, and I felt as though I could fall off an unseen edge at any moment. My reflection stared back at me from the polished, black-tiled floor, unnerving in its clarity.

We walked endlessly, the silence amplifying my unease. Frustrated, I groaned and came to a halt. “I’m not a saint, so this is ridiculous. What’s going on?” I huffed, tension tightening every word.

The others appeared equally lost in thought, but before I could decipher their expressions, they began to dissolve, evaporating into the air like my perfume. A smirk tugged at my lips as I wiped away the sweat dripping down my temple. “Now we’re getting somewhere,”

The scene shifted abruptly. A girl in a school uniform appeared, clutching her bag as though it were a lifeline. Her gaze remained fixed on the floor, her posture radiating vulnerability. A group of girls materialised before her—elegant, polished, and draped in designer accessories. Their makeup was flawless, exuding an air of superiority that screamed, There’s no Barbie better than me.

Horror prickled through me as I realised I was there too, standing with them, my eyes avoiding the girl’s desperate gaze.

“Seriously?” I muttered, recoiling in disbelief.

The scene dissolved until only the girl remained, her image growing sharper and more vivid. Suddenly, I was consumed by her emotions—her pounding heart, the weight of her social anxiety, the crushing silence where words refused to surface. A surge of betrayal and anguish coursed through me, and I found myself brimming with an almost uncontrollable urge to slap the version of myself standing across from her.

Questions churned in my mind, tangling with frustration and despair. Tears threatened to spill as I fought to keep myself composed. Look at me, Sel. Just meet my gaze, I pleaded internally. Tell me this is some cruel prank, that you didn’t mean to abandon me like this.

The pain finally subsided, leaving me hollow. In its wake, a tidal wave of humiliation and regret crashed over me, each wave dragging me deeper into the suffocating realisation of my own guilt.

I drew in ragged breaths, desperate to steady my trembling frame. The air around me felt heavy, suffocating, as if the weight of my guilt had manifested into a physical force pressing against my chest. The scene dissolved into the void, only for her to reappear moments later. This time, she was a grotesque vision of her broken and battered state from the accident—the moment she was struck by the bus.

Where her left eye should have been, there was only a gaping, hollow void that revealed the endless darkness beyond. Her lower body was unrecognisable, a twisted amalgamation of flesh and bone, mangled into a horrifying mush. The sight made my stomach churn, and I wrenched my gaze away, panting as nausea clawed at the back of my throat.

With each step she took, an ear-piercing screech of agony echoed in my mind, sharp and relentless, like nails dragged across a chalkboard. The sound burrowed into my skull, creating a dull, pulsating ache that made it hard to think. Her ghostly figure advanced until she stood directly in front of me, her presence oppressive and unyielding.

She stared down at me with her one remaining eye, its expression unreadable yet suffused with an eerie stillness that sent shivers down my spine. “Why didn’t you help me?” Her voice was devoid of emotion, chilling in its calmness. “Was it so hard to speak up?”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry as sandpaper. Closing my eyes tightly, I braced myself for an impact—a slap, a shove, something—but nothing came. Tentatively, I opened one eye, my gaze darting around as I tried to avoid hers, my mind scrambling for answers, for clarity.

“Are you...expecting an answer?” My voice came out shaky, barely audible.

Her expression twisted in an instant, and before I could react, an unseen force gripped me like iron chains. My body was wrenched off the ground, hurtling through the air before slamming into an unyielding wall. The impact rattled through me, sharp and jarring, forcing a scream from my throat as pain rippled across every nerve in my body.

“THAT’S NOT THE CORRECT ANSWER!” she roared, her voice reverberating like a thunderclap in the cavernous space.

Groaning, I slid down the cool, smooth wall, collapsing onto the hard, black-tiled floor. The crack left in the wall was shaped like my body, and shards of broken tile scattered around me like jagged reminders of my failure.

“I’m sorry!” I croaked, my voice hoarse and strained, the words tumbling out in desperation. “I’m sorry, okay!? I... I should’ve known better!”

I hadn’t realised until then that tears were streaming down my face, hot and unrelenting. The salty tracks blurred my vision, but before I could process the depth of my remorse, Caius appeared out of the shadows.

“You think saying sorry will fix anything?” he sneered, his voice laced with contempt.

Lirael’s laughter followed, sharp and biting. “You’re just like every spoiled rich brat out there.”

“So, I was mistaken to expect better from you,” Nyx’s voice added, cold and cutting. The finality in their tone made my stomach drop.

Something shifted in me. Nyx wouldn’t say that to my face—at least, not like this. The realisation hit me like a splash of icy water: they weren’t actually here. This was manipulation, a cruel trick designed to break me. I exhaled shakily, the breath I hadn’t realised I was holding escaping in a tremor.

Yet despite knowing this, shame still clawed at me, raw and unrelenting. Why do I care what they think of me? Why does it matter if they see me like this? My thoughts betrayed me, exposing my fragile pride.

“See!? You’ll never change!” the girl bellowed, her voice a searing accusation that pierced through my feeble defences. It was as if she could read my mind, sense the insecurities I was trying so desperately to bury.

The scene shifted abruptly, throwing me into a memory I had long since buried. There I was, standing among the others, laughing cruelly at her. My finger pointed in mockery, my laughter blending seamlessly with theirs.

My head throbbed violently, the screeching in my mind reaching a fever pitch. It felt like my skull was splitting open, the agony dragging me to the brink of collapse.

“You were supposed to be better,” the girl whispered, her voice trembling with betrayal. Black tears streaked down her face, cascading from her one good eye like liquid shadows.

Suddenly, the laughter shifted, turning on me. The group that had once stood by my side now mocked me with the same venom I had inflicted.

“Pick-me,” one of them spat, the word dripping with disdain.

“How does it feel to be the one standing out now? Did you feel amazing when you accused her of something she didn’t do to save your own ass?” another sneered, their tone filled with malice.

The weight of their scorn pressed down on me, suffocating and inescapable. I wanted to scream, to beg for it to stop, but my voice refused to obey. All I could do was endure, the guilt and humiliation crashing over me like an unrelenting tide.

Minutes dragged on, each second agonizingly slow, before the scene shifted again. This time, we were in a school hallway. Elliot stood at the center of a jeering crowd, her presence drowning in the cacophony of laughter and the glare of phone screens raised to record her humiliation. As I glanced around, I realised I was once again in my original position—standing beside the very group tormenting her.

The realisation struck me like a blow, and I gasped, the name slipping from my lips: “Elliot...” I clamped a hand over my mouth as her gaze locked onto mine, her eyes piercing through the chaos with a haunting intensity. Above us, the clock on the wall wasn’t a clock but a timer, its hands spinning unnaturally fast, blurring into a frenzied spiral.

When I tore my eyes away from the timer and back to Elliot, the scene reset. She was now sprawled on the ground, blood seeping from the corner of her mouth as her body quivered. My breath quickened, coming in short, sharp gasps, and the world around me dissolved into a singular, deafening buzz. Everything—every sound, every movement—blurred together in a sickening whirlwind.

The clock’s hands spun faster, the numbers indecipherable, as the scene reset once more. Elliot’s body was now marred with purple bruises and a swollen, blackened eye. I staggered back, trembling, my hands flying to my ears to block out the roaring laughter of the crowd.

“I don’t know what to do...” The words escaped me as little more than a whisper, choking over the lump in my throat. My voice cracked, raw with desperation. Again, the scene reset. This time, Elliot’s eyes were fluttering shut, her consciousness slipping away, yet her gaze remained fixed on me, silently accusing.

“STOP!” I screamed, my voice tearing through the noise, every ounce of my being straining against the torment. Ignoring the searing pain in my throat, I screamed again, louder this time: “STOP IT! ALL OF IT!”

The crowd stilled. One by one, their gazes turned to me, the air heavy with judgment. Elliot lay motionless on the ground, her fragile form a haunting reminder of my failure. My body shook uncontrollably, as fragile as a stray cat braving a harsh winter night.

“You... all... need to stop,” I said, forcing my voice to steady, attempting to project authority I didn’t feel.

A girl from the group stepped forward, her tall frame looming over me. She had a piercing in her lip and hair dyed an icy blue, strands of it falling over her sneering face. “Oh, yeah? And why should we listen to you?” she taunted, her voice laced with mockery.

Before I could respond, she shoved me hard, and I skidded across the filthy tiled floor, the impact rattling my bones. The crowd closed in, their phones raised once more, their smirks hungry for entertainment.

“I thought you were one of us, Selene,” she said, crouching down to meet my eyes, her voice dripping with condescension. “Guess not.”

Her punch came out of nowhere, a sharp jab to my face. Though not particularly strong, it caught me off guard, and my vision doubled for a moment as I struggled to regain focus. The crowd erupted into their obnoxious cheering again, their voices grating against my ears.

So this is where my fear of crowds began?

Anger surged through me, drowning out my fear. Without thinking, I grabbed her by the hair and slammed her against a locker. The metallic clang echoed through the hallway, followed by a collective gasp from the onlookers.

“You little—” she snarled, her eyes wild with fury. Her next punch landed squarely on my nose, and I felt the warm trickle of blood begin to flow. I didn’t care. Swiping the blood away with the back of my hand, I prepared to strike again, but before I could land the blow, the scene shifted abruptly.

I stumbled forward, punching empty air, my surroundings morphing into the dark, endless room from before. My breaths came in ragged gasps as I looked around, disoriented.

There, a few feet away, stood a version of myself, clutching the perfume bottle. Her expression was unreadable, yet her presence was commanding. She was glowing a soft silver.  Gathering what little strength I had left, I approached her, my steps unsteady. Without hesitation, I took the bottle from her hand and studied it for a long moment.

Setting my jaw, I sprayed the perfume directly onto her, holding it to my other version’s face until the bottle was completely empty. She dissolved into a puddle, which evaporated into nothingness.

I exhaled deeply, bracing myself as I made my way back to the hallway. The others were waiting for me there.

“Sorry, we couldn’t help. The door wouldn’t let us through,” Caius muttered, his voice low with regret. Thorne nodded beside him, his expression apologetic. Lirael grimaced at the sight of my bloodied nose.

Shaking my head, I dismissed their concerns. “This was a battle you couldn’t help with, even if you tried.”

I hesitated before adding, “By the way, the girl’s name is Elliot.”