Page 102 of Awakening the Beast
We softly walk down the hallway and the further we get to the back of the house, the more I hear her voice, and I slow down. Closing the distance to a nearby room on the right, I pause.
“Of course Arlo knows, Sara…” Carmella says on the phone.
I peek around the doorway, spotting her right away with her back to me, packing a suitcase.
“Tell Cree I will be there soon.”
My blood boils, the realization that she thinks she can take Cree from us buzzing through my veins and without thinking, I rush into the room, gun aimed forward.
She immediately spins, her gun aiming toward us, taking steps backward and we slow down. All our guns aim at her and her eyes flash between every single one of us, until they land on Vivenne.
“Well, isn’t this an unpleasant surprise,” she says with displeasure. “Whatever she said is a lie.”
I scoff, “I know everything Carmella. I know what the fuck you’ve done.”
She shrugs, “I’ve done nothing but been a mom to a boy that she gave away and didn’t want.”
“You call yourself a mother?” I spit, my anger making my hands shake. “You were never deserving of such a title.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about Wren.” She says with her chin raised. “You’ve got this all wrong. I saved him.”
“Saved him?” I scoff. “I found the key Carmella. I found the adoption papers and the USB stick. I found every dirty little fucking lie.”
As I drive, my mind drifts aimlessly, much like the car beneath me. The cigarette between my fingers burns slowly, smoke twisting lazily around me as my fingers tap impatiently on the steering wheel. I’m not even sure where I’m heading. I’m just… fucking moving. The weight of everything that’s been said, everything that’s been revealed, crushes me. What do I even believe anymore? What’s the fucking truth, and what’s just another layer of bullshit wrapped in betrayal?
At first, I didn’t believe a word of it. Vivienne—this weird-ass stranger—felt like a walking, talking lie, trying to worm her way into Wren’s mind, turning her against my mom. It seemed like she was just another player in this twisted game, someone out to stir up more fucking mess. And honestly, it wasn’t even the paperwork that swayed me.
It was Brazil. It was when she mentioned his name. No one knew his name, not even Wren.
When she described how I was found there, nearly dead, by some guy who just so happened to show up at the right moment, something clicked. It was too perfectly timed. And how the fuck was this guy, someone who was poor as hell, able to afford thedoctors, the meds, all the shit he used to bring me back to life? I never thought about it, because my mind was locked on one thing—getting back to my family. But looking back now? He wasn’t just some random fucking saviour. A guardian angel. There was more to it. Vivienne might actually be telling the truth.
But why? Why the hell is all this happening?
I feel... exhausted. Fucking done. The endless lies, the levels of deceit, the tangled web of revenge and manipulation—it’s draining the fucking life out of me. Every time I feel like I am getting back on top, finding good in life, something or someone has to pull me the fuck back down to their pitiful level.
And now, now I have to confront the one person who’s been there my whole life. The woman who raised me, who I thought was my mother. I have to look her in the eyes, knowing there’s a chance she tried to murder Wren and my unborn child. Knowing she might have orchestrated everything—every disloyalty, every trauma infused heartache—to make sure I was left standing alone in this world with only her to rely on.
The thought makes my chest hurt, my grip on the steering wheel tightening until my knuckles go white. How many times has she set me the fuck up, pushed me closer to the edge, and smiled while doing it?
I flick the cigarette out of the window, watching the ember burn out in the dark, just like the fire inside me feels like it’s slowly fading. But not yet. Not completely. I still have to face her.
It’s no secret me and my mom are different from the usual mother and son relationship. She’s different. She’s cold,calculated, but I thought I matched that vibe, more hers than my fathers, yet throughout my life, despite the times I wondered why she was the way she was, why she wasn’t a normal fucking mom who showed love toward me in even at least small doses like she did the same waySara, I never questioned if she was my actual mom. It’s just not something anyone would fucking think about.
Maybe it's because it’s all I’ve ever known. It’s what I was raised in, born into. From day one, I was molded to be the beast I am today, whether I fucking liked it or not. But I relished in the feeling and decided to become what I am regardless. There was never any escaping it—this life, this mess. I’ve been nothing but a pawn in everyone’s twisted fucking game, moved around without even knowing it. And now I’m left wondering: what the fuck else don’t I know? What else have they kept from me while I stood there, blindly loyal to “family” who were secretly shitting on me in the background?
My grip tightens on the steering wheel again as the anger boils over, turning into something darker, something dangerous. My teeth grind as I feel the rage rising, settling deep in my chest like a ticking fucking bomb, wanting, needing to explode. Without even realizing it, I jerk the wheel to the left, making a sharp turn.
I know where I’m going. Straight to my mom’s mansion. There’s only one way to get the fucking truth now, and that’s by confronting her. Facing that lying cunt head-on. No more questions, no more guessing. Just the full, ugly truth from the woman who’s been at the center of it all.
I pull up outside with a screech, my tires protesting against the tarmac as my car grinds to a stop. My whole body is buzzing with untameable rage, every muscle tensing as I swing the door open and step out into the night without even closing it behind me. I don't care. All I fucking care about is what I’m about to do.
I rip my gun from the back of my pants, cocking it back as I charge forward in a blind rage. My mind is a storm of fury, barely noticing the cars parked nearby, barely aware of anything but the screaming in my head. I storm up the stairs, skipping steps, pounding like a beat of violence.
But then I hear it—raised voices from down the hall. Instinctively, I slow down, my anger sharpening into focus.
“You were never supposed to be with him. No one was. He was mine!” I hear my mother’s voice, seething with bitterness.
I freeze, hovering at the threshold, staying out of sight.
