Page 167 of Unravelling The Beast

When I get inside the car, I place my forehead on the steering wheel in front of me, realizing what the fuck I've done, and my body feels as if it's about to burst with grief and sorrow. I let out a loud roar as I raise my fist and deliver a strong punch to the dashboard, tears pouring from my eyes—the tears I've been holding in for the last three fucking years.

How could I be so cruel to her? How could I kill her? Why did I fucking kill her? I murdered the only person I've ever truly loved, the mother of my child. He'll never, ever forgive me for this! I'll never, ever forgive myself.

I sit back and start the car after some time of crying in solitude.

As I pull up outside my house, I turn off the engine and stare at the mansion where I killed my fucking wife, and no matter how hard I try, I can't remember a fucking thing about that day. I wipe my wet face with my bloodied shirt before opening the door and walking to the front door.

I see Jasper standing in the foyer as soon as I enter, so I kick the door shut behind me, avoiding eye contact.

He speaks to me as I pass by.

"Thank fuck you're here, bro; I was getting worried."

I walk by him and into the kitchen, hearing him close behind me. I lean down to retrieve a bottle of Bourbon from the cupboard before opening it and throwing my head back as I pour the amber liquid down the back of my throat as he speaks behind me.

"Is it done?"

As I get my breath, I strike the bottle down on the counter, the booze burning my insides, making me warm and numb as I answer coldly.

"Yes."

I give him the side eye while he remains mute, and I continue.

"You can fucking go now."

"Are you sure you're alright, brother?"

I raise the bottle of Bourbon and glance back at him.

“I fucking will be.”

He gives a slightly hesitant nod and then turns to go as he speaks.

"Speak soon, bro. If you need me, just call me."

I glance down at the bottle, ignoring him, and as the front door closes, I lift the bottle and proceed to pour it down my throat.

After a while of leaning over the counter and drinking, I start to feel as numb as I was hoping for, and my legs feel wavy. I set the practically empty bottle on the counter, then stand up straight before turning around and walking up the stairs.

My eyes blur as I stagger across the hallway towards my bedroom, the alcohol zipping through my veins and tears continuously welling up in my eyes.

When I reach my slightly open door, I push on it with my hand and tumble forward to find Wren sleeping on my bed in just a towel and damp hair, seemingly from a shower or some shit. I stand at the foot of the bed, staring at her while my body sways back and forth, thinking about how she deserves more than the horrible, murderous piece of shit that I am. They all do.

I move slowly over to my arm's room door and quietly push on it, trying not to make a sound, before glancing back at her one more time and entering.

As soon as I step inside, I grab a gun and fall against a wall, sliding down it until I'm sitting on the floor with my knees raised. For a while, I rest my forearms on my knees, head lowered, lost in my own dark, deep thoughts, trapped in the deepest depths of what's left of my fractured, tortured soul.

I gaze down at my gun in my hand, staring at it for a moment before checking the bullets inside. When I notice there is only one bullet, I cock it back and insert the barrel into my mouth, my head resting against the wall behind me.

Tears flow from my eyes as memories of Bridget, Wren, and Cree rushthrough my frenzied mind, almost preventing me from doing this, but I know it's for the best. In this fucking world, I'm not good for anyone; all I do is cause hurt; that’s all I’m made for.

I take deep breaths around the gun in my mouth and squeeze my wet eyes shut, preparing to pull the trigger.

""Arlo!?”

When I hear her voice, I immediately open my eyes and gaze up at her in the doorway.

Her broad eyes scan me as she attempts to figure out what the fuck is going on, causing me to hesitate.

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