Chapter 13 #2
I walk through the room slowly. “I guess there are some good memories here. From when I was little,” I say.
“But they’re so faint I’m not even sure they’re real.
And too much has happened since then. She…
hurt me so much in this house, Rus. N-not just what I told you.
Other things. Little things. And she…” Exhaling sharply, I fight to keep a grip on my emotions.
I don’t want to shed any more tears over this. It’s not worth it. She’s not worth it.
Rus touches my hand again, whispering a soft, “Wren…”
I clear my throat and face him, even as tears slowly push their way out, despite my best efforts.
“I told her I’d tell someone if she didn’t stop.
If we didn’t end…it. I just couldn’t take it anymore.
She…she asked me what I thought people would believe.
The story of an alpha son, unable to stop himself from controlling his urges when his omega mother was in heat, or my version of the truth.
” My voice quivers at the end. The paralyzing sense of unfairness and helplessness echoes through me like it did back then.
Her eyes gaze at me in the memory, steady and sure and spiteful.
Back then, I could imagine so clearly the looks of disgust people would give me. I knew she was right.
After all, what mother would’ve done such a thing? Not the quiet Mrs. Compton, who always smiled in front of strangers. Whose house was always tidy, who took care of her boy all by herself, who prayed as she should and never swore…
She was never a social butterfly, even before I left, but she never would’ve given anyone an excuse to say anything bad about her. And how could I have been forced to do it? Surely, I would’ve just pushed her away. After all, I was taller than she was by the time I turned thirteen.
No one would’ve understood what I felt. What I went through.
They would’ve seen a disturbed young boy, a son marked by the suicide of his father, who decided to rape his mother, driven by a twisted instinct of an alpha needing to take care of an omega.
My dad was gone, and it wouldn’t have been the first time I’d heard of alphas taking over the omegas of their late siblings to ‘keep the family together’.
No one would’ve believed me. So I gave up hope…and left.
I ran away and never looked back.
The tender kiss Rus places at the side of my neck pulls me out of my head. I shiver, huff out a shaky breath, and quickly wipe off my tears.
“You did all you could at the time, you hear? It does you no good to judge your past self, sugar. You were a kid. He don’t deserve that. And neither do you.”
I snort, desperately trying to stop my nose from running. I must look disgusting. “Y-Yeah, I know. It’s just— There’s nothing b-but pain in this house. I thought about keeping it, but I can’t.”
Why am I even saying this? The words just come out, as if I’m apologizing to him. Apologizing for what? For not staying here with him?
My mind spins. It aches.
“Then I want nothin’ from here,” he says firmly, and this unusually serious expression takes over his face. My insides feel all mushy, hearing him say that. I blink up at him, still rubbing my eyes to make the tears stop.
It’s almost as if Rus is giving me permission to let it go. Like he’s confirming my reasons are valid, and my pain is great enough to warrant this.
I know how much people around here hate throwing things away. Being wasteful in any way is practically a sin. Everything should always be repurposed, gifted, or repaired. That must be why I feel so guilty. Some of the ways of this place had stuck with me, I suppose.
Rus studies me intently while I slowly calm down. He’s probably worried I’ll freak out again. I can’t blame him, though I had hoped I’d be able to keep it together.
Once my breathing finally evens out and I flash him a semi-genuine smile, his whole aura changes.
He takes a deep breath and steps away from me.
“You know what? Screw this house and everythin’ in it,” he proclaims, his firm voice filling the room.
I watch as he looks around for something until he homes in on the tall, narrow side table under the entrance mirror.
Without hesitation, Rus grabs at it and hurls it to the floor.
I jump back with a gasp and give him a wide-eyed look.
“You deserve a release. Don’t you?”
He walks up to the kitchen and opens one of the cabinets. Not like a normal person would—in a way that makes the door slam into the sides and nearly come off the hinges.
“You deserve to feel more than pain and sadness,” Rus continues while I watch breathlessly.
Breaking away from his fiery gaze, he looks into the cabinet briefly and grabs a cup.
There’s something dangerous dancing behind his eyes as he turns to me with it.
He raises his brows, almost as if he’s asking my permission for… what exactly?
I’m still not entirely sure what he is trying to do, but my pulse speeds up with anticipation and I nod.
Rus throws the cup against the wall to our right.
And I finally feel it. The thing I suspect he wants me to feel. Right after the initial shock and discomfort that everybody gets when something fragile breaks, there comes this jolt of elation darting through my veins. Relief in its purest, most savage form.
He’s right.
Fuck this place.
I can’t burn it down or wreck it completely, but I can do this. I’ve already taken anything that had any semblance of meaning out of here. All that’s left is…burden.
So I walk to the cabinet and grab that stupid red mug she would always drink her morning tea from. I hold it in my hand for a moment, taking stock of it and the memories it holds, before I pivot and smash it against the wall too.
Some sort of high-pitched, excited sound comes out of me, and my entire body quivers.
This…feels good. Fuck me, it feels great!
I look at Rus, who’s already smiling ear to ear. He wiggles his brows in encouragement.
My fingers tingle with anticipation. What else, what else? I open one of the drawers, hoping to find something to grab, but— Screw it! The drawer will do.
I yank on the handle, and the whole thing flies out.
Cutlery goes all over the floor, clanging like a symphony to the crazed rhythm of my heart.
Laughing at the absolute ecstasy coursing through me, I open another cabinet.
This time, I’m aiming for the plates she would serve our dinners on.
The ones inherited from her grandmother. Fuck those, too.
I smash a plate. Then another.
Overjoyed by the beautiful, glorious cacophony the ceramic makes as it shatters, I hand one to Rus so that he gets his fill. He accepts and throws it with the same liberating, wild bravado, letting out a chuckle after.
Ah! That stupid picture!
Energy surges through me as I rush to the living room.
This painting has been above the fireplace for as long as I can remember.
An ordinary poppy field that she drew when she was in school.
She was always ridiculously proud of it.
Framed it and everything. I mean, it’s a fucking picture she painted when she was like twelve!
I stand in front of it, glimpsing my reflection in the glass.
“Fuck you,” I murmur and grab it off the wall to hurl it to the floor. The glass shatters, and the frame does too—underneath my foot as I stomp on it again and again and again.
This time, the tears rolling down my cheeks aren’t filled with fear or pain.
It feels as if I’m shedding a layer of gunk and filth and grime that’s been clinging to me for so long that I stopped paying attention to how much it slows me down. I forgot how light I can feel without it. How I should feel.
We wreck the entire house, Rus and I. Upturning furniture, throwing stuff around, splintering wood, and cracking broken glass under our boots.
Once there’s enough chaos and destruction, I back away against a wall, panting as I try to catch my breath. My eyes blur with tears, and my lip quivers, but I feel almost as good as when I had my first high.
I survey the carnage, letting it really sink in, before closing my eyes with an uncontrollable, intense whimper that comes from somewhere deep within.
It’s over.
I’ve done it.
It’s truly, completely over…
Rus embraces me, his firm chest pressing into me and his arms sliding down to the small of my back. I lean into him, wishing we could stay like this forever. Wishing he’d always be there when I need it.
“I’m proud of you,” he whispers, fingers trailing through my hair.
Something tugs at me. A horrible sensation.
Fuck…I guess there is one more thing. One room we haven’t touched. I never opened that door, so Rus never went in, either. Her bedroom.
“There’s something else.”
He moves away. “What?”
I look toward that door, and he turns in the same direction.
Swallowing hard, I move past Rus, approaching it slowly.
“This was her bedroom. It was where…she’d usually stay when it was her heat.
” My own voice is emotionless and quiet in my ears.
It sounds like I’m talking about someone else. Maybe because I wish I were.
Rus has an uneasy expression on his face. “You don’t have to force yourself to—”
“I want to,” I say. “I have to.”
I push it and quickly let go of the handle. The door swings open on a creaking hinge. Her faint scent of peonies drifts out, making me shudder.
She’s gone. She is never coming back.
This is nothing but her ghost. That’s all there’s left.
I’ve been away for so many years, and yet barely anything has changed.
It all looks the same, only dustier and more ragged.
The floral wallpaper on the walls is faded and peeling in places, and the fabric on the headboard is stained a little, but other than that…
it’s like I’m back in the time before I left.
“It’s just a room,” Rus says next to me, grounding me.