44. Special Day (Patreon)

If I ever needed to hide a body, the hardest part would probably be deciding what to do with the feces.

Even that wouldn't be hard, per se. I'm sure there are a lot of things you could do that would work. Burying it, tossing it into a river… it dissolves easily, so as long as it's not still hanging around the scene of the crime I'm probably good to go. The stomach acid poses a similar issue, but less so. I can use Refresh to separate the edible components of a stomach from the hydrochloric acid and bicarbonate, and deal with the rest the way I do the poop.

Most everything else, of course, my body seems quite happy to eat.

Some bits are certainly much better than others. Feet are hard and largely tasteless, being mostly bone and not very marrow-rich bone at that. The liver, conversely, is delightful, soft and smooth and rich and just… I like it. I like it I like it I like it I hate how much I like it, it's from a human, a person, a thinking, feeling being but I love it, it just tastes so good.

I'm not sure how long it's been since I started eating, but I'm on my second corpse now so probably a good while. The now-freed crew eventually broke the door down and entered the cargo bay a while after the fighting stopped, but I just hissed at them until they left, half protective of my food and half worried about Sela. They almost certainly heard the pirates screaming about a Steel One. Thankfully, they back off and Sela doesn't try to kill them the moment they step in the room, instead having hidden itself behind some crates.

And so, without any more distractions, I just eat for a while. I just rip and tear and swallow and try not to think about how it really didn't feel different this time compared to when Sindri made me do it. I don't know if that means he didn't make me kill anyone after all or if it just means whatever he did stuck.

"Hannah?"

I ignore the voice at first. I don't really want to be the sort of thing that can understand or respond to voices right now. But the source of the voice steps closer and I have to tense up, preparing my body to hiss.

"Hannah," it repeats. "Hey. It's okay. We won."

I know. I was here. The voice takes my lack of response as a reason to take another step forwards, though, and I rear up a little. I'm absolutely drenched in blood.

"Hannah? Do you understand me?"

Yes. I do. As much as I'd like to, I can't turn off my own brain. I can't just wallow in this mindlessly the way my body so clearly wants to. I have to be here. Part of this horror. Part of myself.

The voice takes another step, and I hiss furiously. Everyone around me shudders.

"Hey. It's me. It's Helen," the voice says, as if I don't already know. Of course I know. How could I forget that I got more kills than the Chaos mage today?

She moves closer still and I hiss again, but she seems to have figured out I'm all bark and no bite. Like I could hurt her now, in the midst of a dissociative breakdown over all the people I've murdered. Closer and closer, she creeps my way, until finally she's close enough to touch. One last hiss, really more of a desperate beg, and she places her hand on top of my carapace, sticky with blood.

"Hey. It's okay. We saved them, Hannah. You did great."

The next noise out of my mouth isn't a hiss, but it's isn't words either. I can't cry, not in this body, so I just let out a despairing wail, a horrible, horrible sound that's the closest my body can make to a sob. Helen lifts me out of the corpse, pulling me into her arms as she continues patting me, whispering soothing nothings as I let out the sort of noises that lead people to invent legends about banshees.

"It gets easier, you know. With time."

That seems frightening, somehow. Do I want it to get easier?

Helen seems a little awkward as she holds and comforts me, but I'm not really in a state to care. I wrap my many legs around her, holding her back as I scream into her chest, bloody and ashamed and so, so empty. And then I wake up back in my bed, tears in my eyes, and I realize that I managed to cry myself to sleep in her arms.

I'm… pretty sure it's Wednesday. I guess I have to go to school.

For once, though, I just… lay in bed. Not moving, not even figuring out my limbs. I don't feel like myself. I don't feel… anything. It's only when I hear other people start to move around the house, my brother getting out of bed and getting into the shower, do I realize I've missed my opportunity to start my routine. That finally shakes me into motion, and I quietly extract myself from under the covers, use Refresh to substitute for whatever cleaning I was going to do for the day, and bundle up in my clothes. Heading downstairs, I glance towards the fridge, decide I'm not hungry, and just wander off to the bus stop early so I don't run into anyone who might want to talk to me.

And then I wait.

"Hey, Hannah."

I look up at the voice, and for a bare moment I let the slightest smile touch my face.

"Hey, Valerie."

She smiles. My big, tall goofball. My best friend, changing her name. Just looking at her makes the weight a little lighter, makes the world feel a little more real.

But only a little.

"...You doing okay?" Valerie asks.

I pause. Not because I need a moment to consider my answer, but just because I can't do anything quickly right now.

"No," I answer quietly. "I'm not."

He… I mean, she nods, her face shifting to concern.

"What happened?"

I twitch my extra limbs from where they hide in the fourth dimension.

"...Our boat was attacked by pirates," I answer quietly. "I killed thirteen of them."

"Oh. Hannah…"

"I had to," I continue dully. "They destroyed our boat and captured us and put these explosive collars on my friends and the crew. I was hidden so I was the only one who… I had to. I had to kill them."

Tears start to fall down my cheeks again.

"Everyone said so. Helen insisted. I agreed with her. They were murderers and slavers and torturers and the Goddess even implied they were rapists. So why do I feel so… so broken?"

Bren—I mean, Valerie doesn't respond. She just stares at me, offering silent support with her presence.

"Should I feel good that I feel so bad?" I ask, wiping at my increasingly runny face. "Is it a virtue to feel like sh-shit for doing the right thing? I think some part of me is proud that I'm this miserable. Isn't that messed up? Like oh man, look at what a good fucking person I am for feeling bad!"

Valerie just opens her arms in a silent offer for a hug. I accept it, practically collapsing onto her as my sobs pick up. Awkwardly, hesitantly, she starts to stroke the back of my head. It reminds me of how Helen patted my carapace, but without the empty words of comfort. I cry and cry, until I finally hear the bus pull up behind me.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again," Valerie rumbles softly. "You probably shouldn't go to school today."

I break out of the hug, rubbing my face and using a subtle Refresh to clean my gloves. I grab her hand and defiantly walk towards the bus door.

"Come on," I mutter, and board despite her advice. We sit down together like we always do, and I try to let the familiar rumble of the bus calm me down and sink me back into my routine. I'm not sure it's successful, but I stop crying, at least. The bus arrives at school. I head to my first class, feeling the weight of the world grow ever so slightly heavier as my best friend and I go our separate ways.

Ida is in my first class of the day, though, and her bright grin is almost painful. She's chatting with some of her other… friends, maybe? But I guess maybe not. She waves at me as I walk in, and I shake my head at her. I'm not entirely sure why, or what I'm saying no to. I guess just the world in general. I collapse into my seat, pulling out the books and notes I'll need for class.

The back of my mind just keeps churning, however. Reminding myself of all the ways that, as much as I hated killing those people, I sort of liked it, too. Not the act of killing itself; the weightless slide of magical blade through flesh, if anything, feels like nothing at all. But that's the thing: it was so easy, in the moment. So natural. Like I was built for the purpose.

…Was I built for it?

"How are you not boiling to death in that?"

Some girl talks to me, but I ignore her. I'm aware it's hot out today. I don't want to explain that I don't feel it. The question, the paranoia, burns in my mind. Was I built? Was I made? What am I, exactly? I've been linked with my spider body for as long as I can remember, even as a young child. My spider body was presumably born inside the world tree, and no one other than the cultists seems to know what I am.

"Uh, hello? Are you listening?"

Shut up, of course I'm not listening. Anyway, what I do know is that everyone else who looked like me was supposedly also from another world. But I don't necessarily have any reason to believe the world they were from is Earth. If it was, any isekai victim powerful enough to do the kind of horrible garbage they did to the world tree would have surely messed up Earth pretty badly, or at the very least they'd have done something visible enough to make my magic situation less unique.

"Hey, Hannah! Earth to Hannah!"

"What," I finally snap.

"You're ignoring me. You shouldn't ignore people, it's rude."

I glance at her, glowering over my facemask. It's just the girl that sits next to me. She's attractive enough in her summer top, but I've never enjoyed a single conversation with her and I doubt that streak is going to stop now. The point I'm trying to get around to considering is that if the only people like me are isekai victims, and I'm the only isekai victim from Earth, and I've been hand-picked by the Goddess for whatever Her doubtlessly messed-up plan is, then it seems likely that She's had a hand in my life since the very beginning. It even seems possible that She designed my hyperspider body Herself, since it runs largely off of magic and She decides what magic I get, up to and including the Transmutation spells that ultimately decide my form.

She has crafted me, and She is in the process of crafting me, and there's nothing I can do about it. I am literally built for Her.

And She likes it when I kill.

I almost hear a purr of approval from my Goddess, but true to Her word She does not manifest in the company of the soulless. I take it as confirmation anyway.

"Uh, hello? Are you having a heat stroke or something?"

Extending my weaponized limb on my back through the fourth dimension, I realize I wouldn't even have to stand up to cut this girl's head off. I wouldn't even have to reveal my body. Just like with the trick I learned on the boat to only have the tips of my toes in normal space, I can extend part of my limb through 4D but bend it at the joints so that the far end pokes back into reality. Right above her neck.

It would be so easy. And my Goddess would be delighted beyond compare.

"God, fucking… never mind then. Weirdo."

The girl turns away, and I turn back to my notes, tucking my blade-limb back up against my body. Of course I'm not going to hurt her. That would be insane. But I have to wonder: did those that came before me feel this way? Is that why they caused so much destruction and death? Because it's how She made us? Because it's the natural result of what our magic is made for?

Screw that. I might be Her prophet, but I'm not Her puppet. She can make my body into a monster, and heck, She can even make me kind of like it. But my choices are my own. I'm not going to become some murder-happy freak. There are times I might have to kill, sure. That's the reality of the awful world She made. But maybe I do feel a little proud of how I feel like shit after all.

Whatever keeps me sane, I guess.

I dig my talons into the gouges in my shoes and laugh at my own joke, chuckling all the way until class finally starts. Ida gives me a concerned look but I wave her off, my unexpected mirth quickly leaking to nothing as the class continues, leaving me tired and empty once again. I change for gym in a bathroom stall and line up silently next to Autumn so I can just turn my brain off and follow her lead for everything.

"Damnit Alma, stop that," Autumn hisses. Er, Jet hisses, presumably? Unless Alma has started talking in the third person.

"What's up?" I ask.

"It's… ugh. Don't freak out, okay?"

Freak out about what? A brief but sharp pain in my hand answers that question, and I suddenly realize that Autumn's tail just bit me, because her tail is just… hanging out in plain view! It wiggles happily, waving around like a greeting after having just nipped me for attention. It's longer and thicker than the last time I saw it, hanging out of Jet's bum and forcing her shorts down to expose her buttcrack a little. How the heck has she possibly gotten away with… oh, wait. Yeah.

Her Pneuma spell.

I shudder, but quickly remember Jet's request to not freak out and clamp down on any instincts to do more than that. Jet's tail is just… out in plain view, but nobody can notice it because of her magic.

"Isn't this super risky?" I hiss. "What if you two swap? Alma can't cast your spell, right?"

"That won't happen in the middle of gym class," Jet shrugs. "I tend to be pretty good at predicting when I'm about to give up control. And the problem is that our only other method of hiding this thing is a big poofy floor skirt, which would actually be way harder to hide in gym class, and wouldn’t even cover the damn thing while we're running or doing stretches."

The tail bumps into me, nuzzling the bottom of my hand repeatedly like a cat looking for scratches.

"...Plus Alma has been trying to do that since we saw you, and that probably wouldn't be good for the skirt either."

Uh. Huh. Somewhat stunned, I oblige, giving the tail its clearly-desired pats.

"So, um, this is Alma?" I ask.

"We think so? Kind of?" Jet shrugs. "I'm still not really conscious when Alma is fronting and she's not really conscious right now, but… we kinda remember stuff a bit better now, and swapping is a little less jarring, and the impressions we get from each other are a bit clearer, and… uh. I mean, look at her."

The tail rubs its rough scales against my whole arm as I nervously look around to ensure no one is actually noticing all this.

"That's clearly not me," Jet insists. "The tail seems to act like Alma when I'm fronting, and Alma says the tail seems to act like me while she's fronting, although neither of us knows each other that well, honestly. But most importantly, it responds to her name. Come on, Alma, knock it off."

The tail twists away from me and bares its teeth at Jet, then returns to trying to snuggle me.

"...See?" Jet whines.

"Well, your tail is cute, just like Alma," I agree, and the tail preens. Gosh, this is wild. It's already long enough to touch the floor, and it's thicker than my leg. "Are your other changes progressing this quickly?"

"I think I'm starting to grow fur on my shoulders," Jet scowls. "And I think I'm also starting to grow scales on my thighs. You're turning us into a real freak, Hannah."

I wince.

"...Sorry," I mutter.

"My fingertips really hurt today, so I'm expecting them to start bleeding any moment now," she continues. "The wings hurt like hell getting bound up, and speaking of bindings I'm pretty sure you are making our goddamn tits grow bigger, so fuck you for that too."

Aaaagh that's terrible and also hot, but mostly terrible.

"I'm really not doing this on purpose," I insist. "If I could undo this, I would."

"I keep trying to think of a way to turn this awful situation into an advantage," Jet grumbles. "But ultimately, being a freak just draws attention. It'll always draw attention. And Alma and I both hate attention."

I raise an eyebrow and glance down at where 'Alma' continues to nuzzle me.

"You're an exception," Jet warns, "because she's obsessed with you. You pushed your way into her shell and now you're stuck there with her. I'm just saying neither of us wants to be famous."

"Right, I get you," I nod. "Well, your magic will help with that, if nothing else."

"True enough," Jet nods. "It doesn't work on video recordings or cameras or anything, though."

I blink.

"Um. Then… you should probably put your skirt on?" I yelp.

Jet shakes her head.

"No, if I trip on it while we're running and fall, that would probably be obvious enough to get people to notice. Like when Alma nipped your hand. People can become immune on a case-by-case basis, I think, and it's based on… something. How directly it gets in someone's way or affects them, I think? So nobody cares that we're having this conversation right now because no one else is part of the conversation, but if I fall and get in somebody's way? That could be really bad. No one has cameras in here right now, I checked, so this is the safer option I think. It's totally a lose-lose, though. This is completely unsustainable for us, so we'll probably just have to start ditching gym and bribing our way to not failing."

Bribing? She can do that? You know what, yeah, I can believe it. The gym teacher seems like the kind of guy that would accept bribes from an eighteen-year-old girl.

"Well, what about you?" Jet asks, a sad 'Alma' regretfully pulling away from me as we start to jog. "Grow any more limbs lately?"

"Not yet, but I am due for two more," I sigh.

"Of course you are. How about over treeside? Any news?"

I flinch and nearly stumble. Ugh, I can't believe I almost forgot about that for a moment.

"...We got attacked by pirates and I killed thirteen people."

Jet's eyebrows raise. She's quiet for a while, and we complete a lap or two in stressful silence.

"Did they deserve it?" she eventually asks.

"Huh?" I say dumbly.

"Did they deserve to die," she clarifies. "The pirates."

"I don't know," I shrug. "Maybe. I think so. They were pretty awful. But can people really 'deserve to die?' There's a reason so many places don't have capital punishment."

"Yeah, but there's a reason a lot of places do," Jet grunts. "Besides, it's a different situation. Capital punishment is killing someone who has already been captured, detained, and rendered unable to harm anyone. Is that what you did?"

"Well, no," I mumble. "Sorry. I'm just a loser that keeps pointlessly agonizing about it."

"Well don't worry, I'm not going to tell you to stop doing that," Jet shrugs. "There are some people I might kill if I thought I could get away with it, but I'm not going to fool myself into thinking I'm not fucked up in the head for feeling that way. I honestly don't know how much agonizing is too much agonizing anyway. Alma overthinks everything and I'm probably a little too reckless, and it feels like neither approach is all that desirable. Maybe talk to your therapist?"

"You want me to tell my therapist about how my kill count has recently gone from four to seventeen," I say flatly. "How exactly am I going to explain that without sounding insane or showing her my monster bits?"

"I mean, you could just show her your monster bits."

"Really?" I answer. "You seriously think that wouldn't go badly?"

"I mean, I'm probably going to show ours."

Jet's tail immediately whips around and nips her on the leg.

"Ow! Fuck you, Alma, we should. You know we gotta talk about this shit. This is beyond fucked up."

Ah. Yes. I mean, I suppose the nonconsensual body modification I've accidentally been performing on my girlfriend and her headmate is definitely therapy-worthy.

"Honestly, I'm surprised that Alma actually wants to date me," I mutter. "Or that you even still talk to me."

Jet shoots me a very nonplussed look.

"Any port in a storm, Hannah."

I flinch. I guess that explains it. We don't talk much for the rest of gym class, but that's fine by me because I've managed to sink back into a depressed, dissociative funk like I deserve. Gym eventually ends, my next class passes, and then lunch finally happens after third period. I find myself in the library entirely by force of habit, and Autumn approaches me again. This time, though, she's dressed up to the nines, with a bulky hoodie, a winter hat, and a thick, poofy floor skirt that my spatial sense knows is hiding her tail, which is wrapped protectively around one leg.

As she approaches, the tail snarls silently in my direction while Autumn herself smiles. So I guess that means…

"Hey, Alma," I nod, making sure to say her name quietly so no one can overhear.

"Hi," Alma nods. "Um, are you doing okay? Jet wrote that you were feeling pretty bad."

"Why are you dating a murderer who’s actively ruining your life?" I ask, the words just sort of falling helplessly out of my mouth.

Her eyes go wide, and she seems stunned for a moment before concern takes over.

"Oh, Hannah, no!" she reassures me, quickly escorting me to a table and making me sit down. "No, no, no, you're not a murderer! Why would you think that?"

"You know why I think that!" I insist, tired of explaining. Though I guess it's my own fault for bringing it up this time. "I killed even more people last night."

"I know you wouldn't do that unless you absolutely had to," Alma insists.

"Why does that matter?" I moan. "And… no, more importantly, do you know that? All you know about me is that I'm a freak that can't control herself and is making you suffer all the consequences of that. I'm literally turning you into a monster, Alma!"

"And I already told you, it's fine," she insists, a wide smile plastered on her face. "It's fine, I promise. You're not ruining anything. I was a shut-in loser living in fantasy novels, and now I get magic in real life! It's awesome. How can you ruin my life when you're the one giving it meaning for the first time?"

"Wh… what? Alma, that's—"

"No, Hannah, I'm serious," Alma insists, cutting me off. "Did you really think I was going to accomplish anything? I had nothing. I was nothing. But now I get to do something incredible. With you! It's like we're in a Neil Gaiman novel, it's everything I could have ever wanted. And it's all because you reached out to me. You put in all that effort to get to know me, and even though I was so rude to you, you still wanted me. You still want me around, right?"

"I… Alma, of course I want you around," I sputter.

"Then you're worrying over nothing!" she concludes happily. "Seriously, it's fine. I know your life is super stressful, so please please please don't let me be part of that stress, okay? You don't have to worry about me. In fact, do you wanna go out and do something this Sunday? Would that help, or would that be a burden? Really, whatever you want."

I fishmouth a bit, feeling a little flummoxed, but manage to catch up to the conversation a bit.

"I guess we have only gone on the one date," I manage. I need to find a way to unwind a little or I'll explode, and I can't deny that going on a date with a pretty girl will probably help. "Um… Saturday would be better, but I could make Sunday work."

"Oh, I can do Sa—" Alma winces and cuts herself off as her tail suddenly constricts painfully around her leg. "U-um, actually now that I think about it, Jet usually has a thing on Saturday, so, um, if you can make Sunday work that would be great?"

"Sure," I nod. "Um, where do you wanna go?"

We spend the rest of lunch planning our date, which I look forward to barring any apocalyptic events. It's nice. Alma keeps me distracted, which I'm pretty sure she's doing on purpose, but it's probably what I need right now anyway. I'm spiraling hard, and I just need this day to end so that I can distance myself a bit more from everything that's happened. Far too soon, however, lunch ends and I'm stuck in class with nothing but my own thoughts. By the time I get on the bus home with Valerie, I've just gone totally nonverbal. I spend the whole ride just leaning silently against her arm and trying not to cry.

At least work will distract me. Or give me my first Earthside murder. Or both I guess. I go straight from the bus to our garage and take my dad's car to work, hating myself for how thankful I am that he got COVID and thus I can just use his car instead of having to let him chauffeur me. Fuck this. Fuck everything. Fuck you, Goddess!

A pressure nearly crushes me right before I start the car, amused yet warning. My Goddess is oh so flattered I would think of Her that way, but as we both know, my body wouldn't be able to handle Her. Maybe after I've served my purpose, if I'm still interested?

And then She releases me, laughing as pain blooms all over my fractured body. I sob and sob, whispering terrified apologies and I-didn't-mean-its and a thousand other things I'm not sure if I really feel. I hate Her, but it's such a pointless, useless hatred. Like getting hit by a tornado and deciding to hate the air. It hurts no one but myself.

Tears still streaming down my cheeks, I pull out of the driveway, doing my best to get myself under control before I pull into the parking lot at work and Refresh myself into respectability. I'm still sore from Her touch, but what's a little pain in the face of what I've done anyway? Holy shit I'm so not ready for work. This is going to be such a disaster. I walk in for my shift anyway, because that's all I've ever known how to do.

"Hey, Hannah!" my boss greets me. "There are cupcakes in the back!"

Cupcakes? Who cares. I can't eat cupcakes.

"Hey boss," I manage. "Any chance I could work back of house tonight?"

He spends a moment registering my empty voice and dead expression and visibly decides that yes, I'm probably better off kept away from customers tonight. Or 'patrons,' as I guess we're supposed to call them.

"Sure, Hannah," he nods, shooting me a quick grin. "We can make that work."

I try and miserably fail to smile back before stashing my backpack and drowning myself in busywork. Look at the order screen, make the food. Look at the order screen, make the food. Nothing on the order screen? Start to clean. Order screen beeps. Make the food. The sickly-sweet comfort of mindlessness is my only companion for the next few hours.

"So like, whose birthday is it?" a co-worker idly comments, munching on a cupcake.

"No eating in the kitchen," I mutter back automatically. It's a health code violation. He rolls his eyes, shoves the rest of the cupcake into his mouth all at once, and throws the wrapper away.

"For real though, whose birthday is it?" he asks, crumbs spraying from his mouth and contaminating some of the food. I feel an eyelid twitch and use a subtle Refresh to make everything a little less disgusting. I feel awful for anyone who eats at this restaurant while I'm not here.

"I mean, it's not mine," a front-of-house worker comments. "It's not Dave's, and it's not yours, so… wait. Yo! Hannah, is it your birthday?"

I blink. Is it my… wait. Yeah. It is my birthday. I totally forgot.

"Ooh, no response! That means it's totally her birthday!"

Crap. No. Don't… I don't want this.

"You sure? Hannah doesn't respond to most things."

That's because I want to pretend they aren't there.

"Nah, she'd at least deny it if it wasn't."

I don't want to add lying to my list of sins for the day. Is that so wrong? Just stop. Drop it. Leave me alone.

"Well, thanks for the cupcakes, Hannah! Happy birthday!"

Stop.

"Yeah, happy—"

"Stop," I hiss, the sound scraping against the bones of everyone in the room. My co-workers flinch and go silent, and I don't even have the mental wherewithal to be embarrassed about it.

"Don't celebrate me," I tell them. I don't deserve it.

They make no move to respond, so I get back to work. No one tries to talk to me for the rest of the shift, which is just the way I like it. Bad for my promotion chances, though. If there's one advantage to how messed up my life is right now, it's that it's been driving me to avoid all contact with my family. If not for that, I would have blurted out that I was a potential manager candidate the day my boss told me, just to soak in the bit of praise I would scrape up from saying so. But every day after that, my mom would pester me about how the promotion was going, and I'd have to dread going home and lying about how badly I messed it up today. This was a primo social-clout-gathering opportunity, and I royally screwed it.

I'd never be able to tell her that. The consequences of lying are always so much less than the consequences of being less than perfect.

…Not that there are real consequences to either. It's just a conversation from a pushy, disappointed woman either way. Something any normal person would probably be able to handle. Something I should be able to handle. I guess I just can't because I'm not good enough.

I successfully fail to murder anyone before my shift ends, and before I know it I'm driving home. I can't believe it's my birthday. I can't believe I'm eighteen. I guess I'll be tried as an adult when things inevitably go tits up! Oh boy! Although, I guess the cops would have a real tough time catching me, because I'm pretty sure I can just go…

I move one arm into 4D space, and immediately my glove falls to the floor of the car as my sleeve drops limp. Ah. Right. I can't bring stuff with me, and that includes clothes. I return my arm to normal space, filling the sleeve back in from shoulder down like I'm extending a tube of chapstick, and retrieve my glove at the next stoplight. Still, it's nice to have confirmation that all my new tricks still work in this body. 4D space feels a lot different over here, though. Way colder, and the air is a lot thinner. …Assuming there's air at all, actually. I'm not sure, and I'm not gonna stick my head through to find out while I'm driving.

Far too soon, I pull into my driveway. At least the downstairs lights are off, so everyone is probably getting ready for bed and I should be able to sneak up to my room without much trouble. I quietly get out of the car and open the garage door, and my spatial sense warns me just a second too late.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HANNAH!"

My whole family is there, my parents sitting at the dining room table as my brother flings on the lights. My mom even blows one of those party horns where you blow into them and they unfurl? And they are all wearing those dollar store cone-shaped birthday hats!?

"Surprise!" my mother cheers, looking oh-so-pleased with herself. "Welcome home, sweetie!"

No. Why this? I don't want this.

"I… I've kind of had a long day, so—"

"Then, sit down!" my mother insists. "Take a load off. Relax! It's your special day!"

The least relaxing thing I can imagine is thinking about how 'special' I am, but my legs find themselves moving over to the seat that's obviously mine, judging by the pink streamers that say 'birthday girl' on them. I wordlessly deposit myself on the throne of my fate.

"I'll go get the cake!" my mother cheers happily, rushing off to another room so she can presumably light the candles without me watching. The theatrics of carrying them into the dining room already lit was always important to her.

"Happy birthday, Hannahgator," my dad says, nodding at me and giving me a much more reserved smile.

It's really, really not, so I ignore that and ask: "How are you feeling, dad?"

"Oh, I'm on the up-and-up," he assures me. "Lungs are feeling better, sore throat's letting up, and I can probably even taste some of this cake!"

"That's great," I say, the words feeling empty. I'm mostly just glad I don't have to pull the virus out of him myself.

"Okay, everybody!" my mother announces. "Ready? Happy birthday to you, happy birthday tooooo you!"

She coerces the family into singing as she approaches the dining room table with her flaming cake, leaving me to watch in numb discomfort. Eighteen candles. Lemon cake, judging by the color. I used to really like lemon cake.

"Happy biiiirthday dear Haaaanah, happy birthday to you!" the family finishes, and the cake I can't eat is placed before me as the centerpiece to the party I don't want.

"Okay! Blow out the candles!" my mother says, talking to me like I'm five years old. "Be careful now!"

I can't do that with a facemask on and there's no way she doesn't know that. You know what? Screw it. If she wants to be all performative and dramatic about this, two can play at that game. I lift up one hand, snap my fingers, and silently Refresh all the oxygen away from the flames. Instantly, they all wink out.

My family stares.

"Woah," my brother whispers. "That was cool as heck."

"I never asked for a party," I remind them. "Or a cake."

"...Well, ah, that's why it's a surprise party," my mother says, a smile returning to her face. "Your father and I worked hard on this for you."

"Is it for me? It doesn't feel like it's for me. It feels like you're just doing this because you want to."

It takes the full beat of silence that follows to realize my mother's indignant expression is due to the fact that I actually said that out loud. Crap. Big mistake on my part. This is going to ruin the whole week.

Except… does it really matter? It's like Alma said: I can't ruin a life that already has nothing. And like, y'know, that feels like a horrible thing to believe and generally a really concerning statement for a person to have made, but right now? It's weirdly empowering. Maybe I can just speak my mind for once. Maybe I should. It's my damn birthday, after all.

"Hannah," my mom says, disappointment oozing from her voice, "I did not raise you to be this rude. You refused to talk to us. You refused to say anything you did or didn't want. So we worked hard and we did our best with what we knew. Of course it's not going to be perfect."

"You never asked me about any of this!" I accuse.

"You never gave us the chance! Every day you come home and lock yourself in your room, refuse to eat dinner with us, refuse to even look at us, and then you're out the door the next morning without ever saying a word!"

"So what, your solution is to corner me on my own birthday?" I sneer. "Trap me at some party where you can yell at me if I don't conform to every last law of politeness?"

"I just wanted to do something nice for you!" my mother shouts back. "I wanted to give you cake and presents! I never imagined that I would be treated like I'm beating you every night just for giving you a birthday party!"

I grit my teeth, fury bubbling inside me but not finding an outlet. She always does this. Always makes me feel like an idiot, like an asshole. I don't know what to say. I never know what to say. I don't know why I bother.

Because I am the asshole, aren't I? She's right. She did all of this for me and I'm acting petulant about it. I just feel so small and helpless whenever I'm around her. She's right because she's always right and I never should have said anything in the first place.

"Sorry," I mumble.

"I should hope you are!" she presses. "With an attitude like that I've half a mind not to give you your presents."

"Honey…" my dad says, uselessly trying to calm her down.

"I'm sorry," I repeat.

"Can we eat the cake?" my brother asks.

My mother lets out an annoyed huff and nods.

"Yes. Okay. Let's cut the cake."

She takes the candles out and starts cutting the cake as my dad leans a little closer to me.

"So, uh, how'd you do that candle thing?" he asks quietly. "That was pretty neat."

I'd considered telling my family about my secrets today, but I am way, way too tired for that. I'm also too tired to lie, but that shouldn't matter.

"I used magic granted to me by an evil Goddess from another dimension," I tell him flatly.

He snorts good-naturedly and sits up straight again as my mother glares at him for whispering at the dinner table. The cake slices are served, and I make no move to eat mine as the rest of my family digs in.

"Hannah, are you going to eat your cake?" my mother prods.

"No," I answer. "I can't. It messes up my stomach. I think I'm developing a gluten intolerance."

She stares at me for a moment.

"You haven't been eating pancakes lately," she states, connecting the dots.

"Yes," I say, because I'm expected to say something.

She nods, accepting the excuse, and finishes her cake. I feel horrifically proud for satisfying whatever arcane requirements just caused her to drop the topic. I just have to get through this. I have to survive this party without making any more mistakes. Like talking back, or crying.

My mother does deign to give me presents, despite her earlier threat. If anything, though, seeing them just makes me feel worse. There are a few basic clothes, all long-sleeved and actually the sort of stuff that I can wear. Stuff that mom chose by actually paying attention to my current dress choices. And then she gives me an entire laptop, cementing my entitled bitch status for good.

It's for college, she says, since most college students take notes and do their work on a laptop. It's not very fancy, but it's not cheap either, And everything she rattles off about the ways it can help me at school just makes my heart sink deeper and deeper. All this, and somehow I still resent her. I'm still mad. I can't think of this as a nice gesture; I just feel frustrated and empty and aimless and awful. I'm the worst daughter in the world.

Valerie's parents abusively neglect her. Jet has implied some super concerning things about her family situation. Kagiso's whole family is dead. Basically everyone I know has actual family problems, and I'm sitting here feeling like crap and not being able to love a woman who spends her free time making me cake and buying me expensive electronics. I'm scum, and every second I'm here just reinforces that further and further.

By the end of the party my hands are shaking. I'm on the verge of tears and I don't know how to handle this any longer. Can normal people do this? Can they spend time with their family and feel happy and grateful instead of alien and stressed enough to vomit? Can they engage in a conversation about their brother's sports or their mother's job without experiencing a profound dissociation? Is everyone faking it like me? Is everyone always in this much pain? If so, why do we keep doing it? If not, why can't I just be normal? Why can't I handle even something this small?

I'm lucky the party started so late, because everyone starts saying their good-nights before I explode. I made sure to give my mother the required five thank-yous over the course of the event (and I know that she counts) so I'm free to leave without too much extra vitriol, but I know she won't forget or forgive the things I've said tonight. And I guess I don't deserve forgiveness. I collapse into my bed when I make it upstairs, almost falling asleep crying just as hard as when I woke up, but I'm kept awake by a ding from my phone.

Oh. I've missed a group text.

oh fuk i forgot this morning but happy b. day hannah banana, Ida sends.

Wait, it's Hannah's birthday!? Oh gosh! Happy birthday, Hannah! Is Autumn's response.

I'm not sure she wants to bring attention to it, Brendan posts. Er. Valerie posts. I guess she's still Brendan in my phone.

ah i see we r doin the low self esteem thing, Ida says. sorry hannah but no takebacks i still want u to be happy. dumbass.

I manage to snort out some dry amusement. Oh, Ida.

I have had an absolutely horrible day and I just kind of want to forget about it, I send. Thank you, though.

did ur party suck, Ida sends back half a minute later. damn i should have crashed ur party huh. my bad.

You certainly couldn't have made it worse, I type out.

oh yeah what happened

I didn't even want a party in the first place. My mom just threw a whole surprise event the moment I got home from work and then I acted like an asshole about it.

o shit u swore this really was a bad day huh

how'd u act like an asshole at ur own party. its like. ur party. are u not allowed 2 be at least a lil bit of a bitch.

do i have 2 beat up ur mom

Please don't, I finally respond after her three rapid-fire messages. It was my fault. I just got mad because I was exhausted and I didn't want the party and couldn't eat the cake and didn't ask for any of this and she said she was doing her best because I refuse to talk to her, which is totally true. She worked really hard on everything and I just kind of exploded at her because she was trying to be nice and I'm the worst. That's all there is to it.

There's a pause before Ida responds this time.

hmm yes i see, she sends first.

so to clarify

u don't wanna talk to her about things, right?

ur not talking to her on purpose

I mean, yeah, I confirm. I've been avoiding my family for a while.

ok ok i see. yes. hmm. and is this just cuz of the monster stuff?

It's partially the monster stuff? I answer. But I don't really like being around my mom in general, even though she only ever tries to help me. Because, as mentioned, I'm the worst.

Another pause.

hey hannah just checking but like. when u were arguing with her, did ur mom ever actually acknowledge or address any of the things u were mad about. or did she just tell u how all those things were ur fault and not hers.

I tense, almost thinking back at the conversation but not really wanting to. It doesn't matter anyway, because…

They are my fault, though? I tell Ida. She has been trying to engage with me, I just don't let her.

well yeah no shit hannah i wouldn't fuckin let someone who refuses to compromise or empathize or acknowledge their own faults engage with me either

I don't like this. I don't like where this is going and I don't know why.

She's my mom, though, I remind her. She's taken care of me my whole life. Good care of me. It would be absurd to complain about her after everything she's done for me.

hey hannah im apparently about to blow ur mine but did u know that people can do good things and also bad ones

I pinch the bridge of my nose for a bit before answering.

…Yes, I answer.

well ther u go then. u can have a mom that loves and cares for u and buys u things and doesn't neglect u and tries her best and she can still traumatize ur ass just by being kinda shitty in specific ways. thems the breaks.

I'm not 'traumatized' by her, I insist. That would be absurd.

hannah ur crying because ur mom threw u a birthday party. ur ass is so fuckin traumatized.

I… I mean. I guess… no. No way, that's… my mom isn't that bad!

Last night I killed thirteen people and ate two others, I tell her. That kinda fucked me up. I'm pretty sure it was just a bad day for me.

oh dont u worry hannah, ur trauma can be deep and multitudinous. like the fractal symmetry of a snowflake. or the infinite hues of the rainbow. or my impossibly excellent tits. there is always something more to discover, waiting to be grasped by ur own two hands.

Aaaaand she's started flirting now. Or making a joke. One or the other. Either way it's inappropriate.

Okay Ida, dial it back, I insist. My actual girlfriend is in this group chat.

yo she can grab my tits too i dont care. this perfect pair was made for free lovin

Ida… I whine.

dont ida me im being reassuring. im saying ur girlfriend doesnt have to worry bc cheating is cringe and threesomes are based. or foursomes. u in, basketball star?

Oh my Goddess.

wow u even say that over text

Weren't you literally bragging the other day about how you got someone to cheat on their girlfriend with you?

totally different situation, Ida insists. gotta use cringe to fight cringe. i actually like u so no worries.

I'm flattered, I answer glibly.

yeah u should be, Ida responds firmly. i dont actually like all that many ppl u know. like actually actually, no bamboozle.

I sigh, unable to stop a smile from creeping up my face, my tears drying out of their own accord.

Yeah, I know, I say. Thank you, Ida.

ur welcome, hannah. think about that mom stuff. seriously.

I did think about it! I insist.

i will slap u

Ida, I'm serious!

bitch u think im not?

I chuckle. No, I guess I don't. Ida is somehow always serious, especially when she's being irreverent. We exchange a few more messages to whittle the time away, but my body's protests come swiftly. I need sleep, and while I'm dreading what will happen when it comes, I know I at least have friends in both worlds to help me deal with whatever might come.

I try to forget everything that happened today, and pass my way into sleep.