Tangled in silver fangs

ELSA McKINLEY I saw them… naked.. The thing about betrayal is, it never comes from someone you hate. It comes from the person you’d bet your last breath on — the one you thought would guard your heart like it was theirs. And when it hits you… it’s not like a punch. No. It’s quieter. Slower. It’s like drowning in your own blood. That’s what it felt like, anyway. “Never trust a best friend,” my mother had once told me when I told her about Madison. “You speak like you know Madison,” I responded casually. “Never trust a best friend,” she repeated and walked away. I should have listened to her… I should have noticed something was wrong. I should have listened to the weird silence in the house, the way the air inside Ethan’s home felt... still. Off, like a graveyard wrapped in a mansion. But no, I was too busy smiling like an i***t, carrying a stupid paper bag of his favorite snacks and my sketchbook, because he said the most confusing thing to me yesterday: “Come by tomorrow. Let’s talk. Just you and me, Elsa. I miss you.” “I don't think I can make it,” I had told him. “You can, and you will, Elsa. You always do,” he said. “Okay, I'll come,” I had responded, sounding subdued. I know. I know how dumb that sounds now. But you don’t understand. It was Ethan Silvershadow. And when Ethan… Mr. Alpha of Silverfang High, Mr. Brooding Mystery Eyes… looked at you and said something with that sharp little smirk, it became a kind of spell. And I wanted to believe him. Even after weeks of him being distant, of Madison hanging around like perfume you couldn’t wash off, I still wanted to believe he missed me. So I came. I even bought his favorite snack… those ridiculous spicy jerky sticks he always said made him “feel human.” The irony would kill me if I wasn’t already choking on it. I had my sketchbook too, just in case the conversation got awkward and I needed to hide behind my art like I always did. The plan was simple: walk in, talk, maybe cry a little, maybe kiss, and then finally understand what was happening between us. But I wasn’t expecting the house to be that quiet. Ethan didn't do quiet for company. He always played music… some indie punk band, or weird lo-fi wolf howl remixes I never understood. But that evening? Silence was the music. No footsteps. Just that eerie stillness, like the house was holding its breath. I should have suspected something was off, but I didn't… I let myself in. The front door was always open for me. I kicked off my shoes in the entryway, my socks damp from the October rain, and called out, “Ethan?” No answer. I remember hugging the paper bag closer to my chest like it could protect me. I crept deeper inside. The kitchen was empty, the TV was off, and I could hear this faint… thump thump, like something was hitting a wall, rhythmically. Laughter followed it. A woman’s laugh. I knew that laugh. No. No, no. My brain tried to deny it, twisting the sound into something innocent. Maybe the TV was on upstairs. Maybe he had company. Maybe… just maybe… The second laugh was unmistakable. Madison. My best friend. My ride-or-die. The girl who used to sleep over on Friday nights and call my mom "Auntie" just to be cute. And she was upstairs, probably screwing my man… or letting him screw her. I don’t even remember climbing the steps. I just remember the tremble in my legs and how heavy the paper bag felt all of a sudden. My fingers had gone numb. My heartbeat was loud in my ears, and still I walked. His bedroom door was cracked open, like he was expecting me to show up. The sound of skin. Of lips. Of low, breathy moans. God, it was like someone shoved my soul through a shredder. I pushed the door open. And there they were. Ethan and Madison, naked. Tangled in his black silk sheets, her legs around his waist, her hands gripping his back like he was some prize she had just claimed. They both turned their heads in unison. Madison gasped, but not in guilt… in irritation. Her hair was messy, her lipstick smeared, but her eyes met mine like I was the one intruding. And Ethan? He didn’t flinch. He didn’t move. He just leaned back, wiped sweat from his forehead, and stared at me like I was… a thing. An interruption. “Oh,” he said. Just that. Oh. My voice cracked. “What the hell is this?” Madison pulled the sheets up lazily, smirking. “What does it look like, Els?” Her voice. That tone made it look like I was pathetic for asking. And Ethan… Ethan just shrugged. “You’re just human,” he said, like he was discussing the weather. “It was bound to happen eventually. You should be happy it was with your best friend.” The words didn’t register at first. Just human. Not “I’m sorry.” Not “It was a mistake.” Not even “It didn’t mean anything.” Just human… Like that explained everything… Like that justified everything. I dropped the paper bag. The jerky sticks tumbled out, one of them splitting on the floor like my chest had. My sketchbook slipped from my fingers too, landing open-faced on the hardwood… a page with Ethan’s face half-finished in graphite. I’d been drawing him just last night. “You hurt me,” I said to Madison. “No, I didn't! I was only helping you protect what's yours,” she said. She sounded so confident. I swear, I'd have killed her if I could. “I hate you!” I let out. Madison smirked as she pulled the sheets up lazily over her chest, her eyes unapologetic. “Well... now I know.” My throat tightened. “How could you?” She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The answer was all over her smuggling face. I turned to Ethan, silently begging, not for him to undo what he’d done, but to feel something. Regret. Guilt. Anything. He just stared at me with that blank, ice-cold expression and said, “You were never going to survive in this world, Elsa. I just stopped pretending you belonged in it.”