Page 104 of Awakening the Beast
I squint, my mind trying to piece together the blurred figure. Is it me? Is that fucking me? But then Wren pauses the footage, zooming in as the cigarette flares to life by a lighter and my heart beat stops dead in my chest.
It’s not me.
It’s my fucking dad.
The realization hits me like a sledgehammer and my angry, tear-filled eyes flash toward my mom, who’s standing there, frail and shaking. Rage, unlike anything I’ve ever felt, floods my veins and everything else blurs into the background
“Arlo, I can explain!” she cries, holding her hands up in surrender, tears streaming down her face.
But her sobs have no effect on me. I don’t fucking need explanations. Everything goes black and my mind spins wildly, flashing through every lie, every betrayal that’s poisoned my goddamn fucking life and Cree’s. It's like I’m fucking drowning in it—deceit crawling up my throat, choking me.
My hands tremble uncontrollably, and suddenly—
BANG!
A gunshot reverberates through the room, deafening against the eerie silence. My hand shakes violently around the trigger, smoke still swirling from the barrel. I stand there, frozen,hyperventilating as I stare wide-eyed at the lifeless form of my mother. My bullet lodged in her forehead drips crimson, her eyes still open with shock. Until finally, she collapses, her body hitting the floor with a hollow, final thud.
The room is spiraling, my vision clouding as every horrifying thought I’ve ever had about that night crashes over me. All the fucking grief, the guilt, the endless agony—it wasn’t me. I didn’t kill Bridge. I didn’t kill Cree’s mom. I didn’t rip my own fucking family apart. But I was made to believe I did. The cruelty of it is beyond anything I’ve ever seen, ever felt. It’s as if every inch of my soul has been torn apart by a lie I’ve carried for too long.
My gun is still aimed forward, but I’m frozen, paralyzed by the weight of what I’ve just saw, what I just did. Tears stream from my eyes, but I’m hardly aware of them or register Wren stepping beside me.
“Arlo?” she whispers softly, her eyes trying to search mine.
But I can’t answer. I can’t say anything. I can’t do fucking anything. My body is shaking uncontrollably, and I feel like I’m about to detonate. My mom’s murder is not enough. I feel like burning this entire shitty fucking city down to the ground along with her.
The gun slips from my grasp, clattering to the floor with a heavy thump. And then, I turn quickly. Without a word, without a glance at anyone, I walk away, my legs moving on their own. I leave the room, the house, and the fucking madness behind me.
After some hours alone, cruising in my car, I tried to clear my thoughts before going home to Wren. My mind is still a mess and although I thought having time alone would clear it, there’s only one real clarity.
I need her.I always fucking do.
Stopping outside my mansion, I cut the engine of my Mustang and look out the tinted window beside me. I stare at my home, my life, knowing this is where I belong, not on some mindless fucking drive, heading nowhere but deeper into my own self-pity.
I push open the door, step out and walk straight inside. It’s dark as I glance around, softly closing the door behind me, but it’s late. As I kick my shoes off, I aim to head upstairs, thinking everyone’s in bed, but a dim light in the living room catches my attention. I halt before turning, slowly walking toward it.
As soon as I enter, I notice a few candles burning, the fireplace roaring with blistering flames, the setting, cozy and warm. Wren catches my eye, sitting on the edge of the couch, her head down, cradled in her palms. I swallow hard, watching her carefully. I’ve probably driven her into fucking madness by just walking awaylike that. Especially when the last time she saw me that fucked up I had a gun in my mouth, about to end my life.
I slide my hands in my pants pockets and as if she senses my presence, she lifts her head slowly. When our eyes collide, she leaps to her feet, fumbling with the hem of her nightdress, fidgeting nervous, like she doesn’t know whether to come closer or keep her distance, but she seems desperate to be near me.
With my feet rooted to the floor, I gaze at her expressionlessly, the firelight casting shadows across the room, dancing over the tension between us. Her eyes are rimmed red, unshed tears glistening in the dim light. She’s been worried sick. I can fucking see it. I can fucking feel it. The depth of her worry stares back at me, raw and real.
After some time of brutal silence, I pull one of my hands out of my pants pocket, lifting it to my face and I rub the side of my jaw, my eyes low. Then, they return to her, and I crook my finger for her to come to me. Like a flash of light, she dashes toward me, almost giddy in her steps.
As soon as she is close, she leaps up, wrapping around me like a fucking blanket and I catch her, our lips crashing together like a magnetic pull. My hands move roughly up the back of her thighs that are clenched around my waist before giving her bare asscheeks a tight squeeze. She mulls my mouth with a ferocity that makes me dick solid in an instant.
I can feel it pouring out of her, she thought she did something wrong, but she couldn’t be further from the fucking truth.
I walk with her until I’m at the couch, taking a seat and she stays clinged to me. I slump back, pulling her tighter against me,my palms roaming all over her soft nakedness beneath the thin, silk material.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I only kept it from you because I just wanted to be sure…” she murmurs into my mouth, eyes frantically searching mine.
I surge forward quickly, taking her hair and pulling it back causing her to gasp. My lips trial up her throat, gentle yet commanding and when I get to her jaw, I pause.
“You don’t get to keep saying sorry for continuously saving me from myself, Wren,” I growl lowly.
Her breath slows to a halt, and I grab her throat, my other hand still in her hair, making her look at me, our lips now touching.
“Do you understand me?”
