Page 103 of Awakening the Beast
“You’re sick!” Wren cuts through the air, her words heavy with disgust. “You’ve put him through hell, for what? Money? Power? A control that you never even fucking had, because the man you and his father built was so much more powerful than either of you! Not even Charles could control him.”
I feel my brows pinch, confusion setting in as Wren’s intensity hits me like a wrecking ball. I can hear the hurt and passion in her voice, a fusion of pain and rage that’s breaking through her usual calm demeanour.
“That’s why you did it, isn’t it, Carmella?” Wren spits, and I hear the tears threatening to fall in her voice. “That’s why you and Charles kept taking everything away from him—because you knew you couldn’t control the monster you tried to create!”
I feel my jaw tighten, my hand gripping the gun as I stand just beyond their sight, trying to process what I’m hearing. Wren’s hurt is unravelling something inside of me. Something I’ve never let myself see. I fucking hate seeing or hearing her upset.
“Well, it was all for nothing. You fucked up,” Wren says, her tone breaking at the edges, “I’m not going to let this continue. He’s not going to let this continue. Especially when I show him this. Your evil, manipulative ways end here.”
I walk forward, stepping fully into view, and the scene before me freezes everything in its place. My mom, standing across the room, has her gun aimed directly at Wren. On the opposite side, Wren, Vivienne, Hazel, and Jasper all have their guns aimed right back at her. A half-packed suitcase sits open on the floor between them, betraying my mom’s silent plan to do a runner.
As I slowly move further into the room, everyone turns to look at me, now quiet. My gun dangles dangerously at my side, relaxed but present and they all take a step back, clearing me a path. My gaze stays locked onto my mom, whose face has gone pale from my appearance—paler than I’ve ever seen it before.
When I stop, I turn my head, sharply side-eyeing Wren behind me and the movement causes my mom to flinch, her grip tightening on her gun.
“Show me fucking what?” I ask, my voice disturbingly calm, yet filled with threat before my eyes swing back to my mom’s.
Wren doesn’t hesitate and steps forward, her fingers trembling as she opens a laptop and sets it down on the bed in front of me. But before I can even glance at the screen, my mom's desperation ignites. She suddenly aims her gun at the laptop, ready to destroy whatever evidence it holds.
Before she can even pull the trigger, Hazel moves faster—letting off a single shot that hits my mom square in the hand. Her gun falls from her grasp as she howls in pain, clutching her wounded hand, blood pissing out of it, missing a few fingers.
Jasper rushes forward, snatching the gun from the floor before retreating behind me once more. My mom stumbles back, her face twisted with rage and shock, breathing heavily through gritted teeth. My focus calmly moves to the laptop as I wait for Wren to show me whatever the fuck it is that has led to this moment—the moment that will either break everything or burn it to the ground.
The room falls silent except for my mom’s heavy breathing, and I tap my finger impatiently against my gun, every part of me coiled and ready. I stare at my mom again, head cocked to the side, trying to piece together what could possibly be on this laptop that has her so fucking rattled.
Then, the footage starts playing.
What I see next causes a shiver to slither through me, my stern expression collapsing. My body stiffens, then I begin to fade out, my mind drifting with each passing second of the footage, sinking further into the horror it shows.
In the video, I’m in my yard—gun in hand. My steps are fast, storming toward Bridge as she’s doing the gardening, unawareof what’s coming. She spots me at the last moment, her face full of confusion as I get closer. We start arguing, her hands rising defensively.
But then… I grab her wrist. The force, the aggression I see in myself, is something I had never shown her before. Something I don’t even remember being capable of around her. My breath lodges in my throat as the image of my angered face stares back at me from the screen. I see the temper I always tried to hide, the rage that everyone has always warned me about, but I swore I could always control it around her. For her.
My eyes mist over, and I feel the weight of everything soaking into me. I watch myself, my grip tight on her wrist, the gun still in my hand and how she pleads with me with fear in her eyes. I try to swallow, but my throat’s bone dry, my Adam’s apple bobbing painfully.
But it’s all fucking there. In the footage. Undeniable.
I drag her small frame through the yard toward the house, but her struggle is clear. It’s like a fucking movie and I’m the main character, a film I’m seeing for the very first time, not knowing what’s going to happen next. Like a memory that I’ve never been able to remember or process. I can see myself, but it’s like I was never fucking there.
As the footage continues, my chest tightens and just when I think it’s the same footage Wren had seen before on my TV by the hacker—me storming into the yard then the footage cut out—the camera suddenly switches angles. It cuts to the foyer, and I see myself again, dragging Bridge inside, her socks slipping across the black floor.
A tear breaks free from my wide eyes, sliding down my cheek, but I hardly notice. I'm too lost in the unfolding nightmare. This is how she last saw me? Out of my fucking mind and violent?
Bridge suddenly pulls free from my grip, the strength in her shocking me. She smacks me hard across the face, screaming at me, pointing toward the front door.
She wants me to leave.
She’s fucking furious, terrified—because of me.
My gun hangs limply at my side, and I sway, barely holding myself upright, but I don’t retaliate to what she did. I stand there, motionless, listening to her shout at me. A few seconds pass, feeling like an eternity, then finally, I turn, my steps sluggish as I make my way toward the front door, seemingly doing as I'm told.
I blink, trying to process it all, trying to understand how this all played out in reality. The footage changes again. Now, I’m outside the front, stumbling down the path. My dad and Cash are following closely behind, my dad yelling at me, his face red and angry, his hands gesturing wildly that I go back inside.
But I ignore him. I get into a car without a second glance, out of my mind on drugs. Cash follows suit, and after a moment, we all drive off, which confuses me.
I stare blankly at the screen, waiting, waiting, then it switches for the last time. It’s now dark and a car is pulling up outside my mansion some hours later. The glare on the camera from the moonlight doesn’t show me who it is at first as they get out and trail up the long path toward the door. As they enter the house, my heart drums against my ribs.
Time slows to a crawl as my eyes stay glued to the grainy footage. Wren fast-forwards, and I count the minutes ticking by. Fifteen minutes later, the video resumes, showing someone stepping out of my house and they pause halfway down the path, pulling out a cigarette.
