(PARASYTE X WORM) CHAPTER TWO

Taylor woke with the vague, lingering sense that something had happened.

It clung to her in the way half-remembered dreams did, indistinct and difficult to grasp, slipping further away the more she tried to focus on it. There had been pain, she thought, and movement—something wrong, something that had set her heart racing—but when she tried to pin it down, the details refused to become anything resembling coherent. What remained instead was a dull impression, like the echo of a thought she had already forgotten.

So she lay there for a while, staring up at the ceiling.

Nothing felt out of place.

Her arm, when she finally lifted it into view, showed no sign of injury beyond a slight redness that could have come from anything. There was no swelling, no lingering ache beyond the kind that followed restless sleep, and no indication that anything had burrowed beneath her skin.

The memory of it, if it had been a memory, felt increasingly distant.

A dream, then.

The conclusion came easily, less because she believed it and more because it was the simplest explanation available, and therefore the most convenient. She had been tired, stressed, and already on edge. It made sense that her mind would conjure something unpleasant, something vivid enough to linger even after she woke.

Taylor let out a slow breath and pushed herself upright, the motion heavier than it should have been.

School.

Another day of the same routines, the same careful navigation of spaces that never quite felt safe no matter how much effort she put into avoiding attention. Another day of watching for the trio, of anticipating where they might be, what they might do, and how she might minimize the impact when avoidance inevitably failed.

Strangely, there was a part of her that felt almost relieved at the thought.

It was a bitter sort of relief, one that sat uneasily alongside everything else, but it was there all the same. Compared to the vague, lingering unease of whatever she had experienced the day before, the predictability of school held a certain appeal. There was something to be said for knowing what to expect, even when what you expected was unpleasant.

At least it was real.

At least it made sense.

The day passed slowly.

By the time lunch came and went, Taylor had settled back into the familiar rhythm of avoidance, slipping through hallways with her head down and her attention split between where she was going and who might be watching. The trio made their presence known in small ways—laughter that carried a little too far, glances that lingered a second too long—but they did not approach her directly.

That, more than anything, put her on edge.

It was the waiting that made it worse, the uncertainty of when they would decide to act and of what form it would take when they did. There was a tension to it that sat just beneath the surface of everything else, refusing to resolve.

By the time the last free period arrived, it had built into something she could no longer ignore.

Taylor found herself moving more quickly than usual, her steps carrying her down a hallway she knew well enough to navigate without thinking, and her attention fixed on the spaces behind her rather than the ones ahead.

She heard them before she saw them.

Footsteps, louder than necessary, accompanied by voices that did not bother to lower themselves as they approached. There was a certain energy to it, an intentional lack of subtlety that made their intentions clear without the need for words.

Her stomach dropped.

Taylor did not look back.

Instead, she quickened her pace, her steps lengthening as she turned the next corner, her mind already working through what little options she had. There were fewer people here, the hallway quieter than the ones she had left behind, the distance to the nearest classroom just a little too far to reach comfortably before they closed in.

The footsteps followed.

Closer now.

Faster too.

A voice called out behind her, something mocking, something meant to provoke a reaction she had long since learned not to give. She ignored it, focusing instead on the path ahead, on the next turn, the next possible exit, the next chance to put distance between herself and what she knew was coming.

It wasn’t enough.

They were faster.

Of course they were.

Track and football. She knew that much, had seen them often enough in passing to recognize the way they moved when they chose to. What little advantage she might have gained from her head start vanished quickly, eaten away by the difference in speed until the sound of their footsteps pressed in from behind with an inevitability she could not escape.

The alley appeared almost by accident.

A narrow space between buildings, partially obscured from the main path, offering the illusion of escape in the absence of better options. Taylor turned into it without slowing, her breath already coming faster as she pushed herself forward, though even as she did, she was aware of the mistake.

There was nowhere to go.

The space narrowed quickly, the path ending in a wall with no handholds, no gaps, and no possibility of climbing her way out. She slowed, then stopped, turning back just as the first of them reached the entrance, blocking the way she had come.

More followed.

They spread out without much coordination, though they did not need it, their numbers alone enough to close off any avenue of escape.

Taylor’s gaze moved between them, her thoughts racing almost disconnectedly from the rest of her, searching for something—anything—that might give her a way out.

Then she saw what they were holding: tape and feathers.

The realization settled heavily.

Of course.

Something messy and humiliating, easy enough to record, share, and turn into something that would follow her even when she wasn’t here.

Her shoulders tightened as the last of the fight drained out of her.

She had hoped—once, a long time ago—that someone might step in at moments like this, that there would be some interruption, some outside force that would shift the outcome in her favor.

It had never happened, so there was no reason to expect it now.

Taylor let out a slow breath and closed her eyes.

If she did not look at them, if she did not react, if she simply endured it, then it would end more quickly. That had been her experience, such as it was. Resistance prolonged things. Reaction encouraged it.

Better to get it over with.

She waited.

Seconds passed.

Then more.

She braced herself for the first touch, for the pull of tape against her skin, and for the feel of hands that would not be gentle.

It did not come.

Instead, there was a sound, a sudden shout that made her flinch despite herself. It was followed by another, and then several more, voices overlapping in confusion and something closer to fear.

Footsteps shifted. This time, they were moving away. 

There was a sudden urgency to it too, one that did not stop even as something clattered against the ground, followed by the hurried scrape of movement as one of them stumbled in their haste to retreat.

Taylor’s eyes opened.

The alley was empty, and on the ground, scattered haphazardly, lay what they had brought with them: rolls of tape, a bag of feathers, partially torn open, and a phone, its screen still lit.

For a moment, she remained where she was, her back still pressed against the wall. Her mind struggled to catch up, to make sense of what she was seeing in a way that aligned with her expectations, with everything she had learned to anticipate from situations like this.

It did not.

They had left.

She had not done anything. No one had stepped in, not that she could see. The boys had simply… run.

Taylor pushed herself away from the wall slowly, her movements cautious, as though the sudden absence of danger might prove temporary if she moved too quickly. Her gaze swept the alley once more, searching for something she might have missed, some indication of what had caused them to react the way they had.

There was nothing.

No one.

Only the quiet and the remnants of what they had planned.

A frown creased her brow as she stepped forward, her attention lingering on the discarded items for a moment longer before she looked away.

It did not make sense, but it did not matter.

Relief welled within her more easily than understanding. Whatever had happened, whatever had caused them to abandon what they had planned, the outcome remained the same.

She had been spared.

That was enough.

Taylor exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders as she turned toward the alley’s entrance. The thought of returning to school, of stepping back into that environment as though nothing had happened, held little appeal.

She had enough excitement for the day.