Page 23 of Outcast
Not bothering with niceties, I flung the door open, spit flying from my mouth as I bellowed, “Where the fuck are you? Jameson, you piece of shit!”
Furiously glancing around, my breathing was now rapid and shallow as my blood boiled, and my wolf demanded blood in retribution for his actions. Even in this haze of rage, I questioned how my wolf could think about going against the wolf that should have been our alpha.
Maybe Kira was the real alpha. I hadn't forgotten about the mysterious glow to her fur, nor the crescent mark on her head. There was something unique about her, beyond the fact that everyone had thought she was a human this whole time, which still baffled me.
When I received no response from Jameson, I stormed past his foyer and living room, both littered with bottles of empty alcohol and dirty dishes. It was repulsive and really showed me the extent of how poor his mental health had been recently. He was normally extremely tidy—annoyingly so when he unconsciously organized my home.
Kicking bottles out of my path, they skittered across the floor and down the hallway that led towards his bedroom. Maya’s old paintings, normally proudly displayed on his walls, were all slashed through and either hung by one nail on the wall or lay on the ground.
What the fuck?
Some of my anger bled out of me at the sight, replaced by an alarm that worked like an electric shock to my system, stalling me in my tracks to survey the damage.
"Dammit," I muttered beneath my breath as I bent over to collect the fallen art, gathering the pieces in my arms before bringing the tattered remains to his dining room table. It would destroy him all over again when he saw what he had done to one of his few remaining ties to his mom.
Taking a moment to breathe deeply, I dragged my hands over my face, rubbing the skin roughly, before releasing my pent up anger. I wouldn't beat the shit out of Jameson, but I would make it known that his behavior wasn't acceptable and that I wouldn't hang around to pick up the pieces for him when he dug his head out of his ass and realized the mess he had made out of his mate bond.
He was on his own to repair that damage.
Making the trek down the long hallway once more, I pushed open the door to his bedroom and found him lying on his back with his arms out to the side. He seemed calm, with his eyes closed and breathing steady, adding to my confusion at his actions.
"Jameson," I called from the doorway and received no response despite my proximity. The fucker could definitely hear me.
His room was spotless, making me wonder if he had even used his bedroom in the past few days. The stark difference from the rest of the home was quite the conundrum. His dark wood floors shone like they had been polished recently, his open closet showed all of his clothes neatly hung, while his king size bed remained perfectly made beneath his body.
I'd venture to guess that he had purposefully lain near the bottom of his bed as to not fuck up the stupid assortment of decorative pillows he used.
With a few steps I neared the edge of the bed and kicked his foot, "Dude. What the fuck is wrong with you?"
My question was a complex one, as it could be applied to many facets of his life right now. The dude was a wreck.
He grunted in response, to which I snarked back, "That's extremely enlightening, please, tell me more."
"Fuck off, Seth," He managed to croak out while holding up his middle finger.
I retreated to the nearest wall and leaned against it to settle in for this conversation.
"What you did to Kira was—" Before I finished my sentence, he sprung off the bed and came at me in a fury. He raised his fist, poised to hit me, but he was extremely predictable when anger clouded his head, and I saw it coming. Dropping down, I rammed my shoulder into his stomach and kept pushing until his back slammed into his dresser on the far side of the room.
His fists repeatedly punched my back, but I barely felt them from his poor angle. They held no real strength behind them. It annoyed me though, like a gnat flying around my face, and I didn't want to deal with this for long. Sending a few swift punches to Jameson’s ribs, I heard him growl at me before kicking his knee up into my stomach.
Backing off, we stood panting and staring each other down. Barely a sliver of the man I grew up with gazed back at me, and I realized that I might not be able to pull him out of this hole he had chosen to bury himself in.
I couldn't bear the weight of leaving him alone right now on my conscience though. If I decided to walk away from this friendship for the time being, I would do so with the knowledge that I’d tried everything I could to help my brother climb out this darkness that had seeped into his mind.
"I don't want to fight you, Jameson." I pointed at the bed, "Sit the fuck down and listen to me. I'll leave you alone after that."
His eyes glared daggers at me, but he begrudgingly accepted my demand, walking a few feet to sit on the edge of the bed. As he did, his face took on a look of amusement before claiming, "If you think there is anything you can say that will make me change my mind about that human whore, you're on some good drugs."
Without hesitation, I took a step and landed a punch square on his jaw, snapping his head back.
He didn't bother fighting back this time, instead choosing to continue to rile me by laughing. "Wow, she must have a magical pussy for you to—". This time my fist chose his mouth, since he wanted to spew all that shit out of it.
Spitting blood out onto his floor, he smiled at me, his white teeth coated in crimson blood and his eyes gleaming with hostility. "You're making this too easy, Seth."
A stream of blood escaped the corner of his mouth when he spoke, but he didn't bother to wipe it away. Arching an eyebrow at me, he smirked, "Still want to have this talk, or have you realized that I truly don't give a shit about anything you want to say?"
Taking a few steps back, I put my hands into the pockets of my joggers and decided it was my turn to laugh. "You think you're too good for Kira? I find that amusing asyou'rethe one living in a pigsty, tearing apart the remaining links you have to your dead mother, and wallowing in anger in your bed."
