Tagging: @motifenjoyer @pheita @hallwords @coffeewritesfiction @milkhoney531
Your words will be: Insist. Uniform. Disgrace. Haunt.
My words were: Tear. Gasp. Scream. Scar.
excerpts from 'THE BEAST IN THE GLASS HOUSE' (releases June 10th 2025)
The quiet squeak of the traffic doors alerts me to our waiter approaching and the electricity between us fades at the interruption. You blink and your cheeks turn scarlet in embarrassment. No doubt you’re baffled by your body’s response to me. You turn your head away and use your tall glass of ice water to hide your red face. Accompanying our waiter is the mouth-watering scent of our breakfast.
Irrational jealousy stings my heart when you thank him profusely for our food. It’s sweet that you’re kind to the waitstaff. A good sign, even, that you treat those beneath you well. But I can’t help the way it makes me feel.
And I feel like I want to tear that boy's head off.
You’re far more observant that I initially gave you credit for. I’ll have to be absolutely certain I don’t make any mistakes, and I think that means I need to be honest with you now. “He’s my brother. About half a decade my junior. Adopted, if that matters any.” I chuckle to show you I’m teasing, and turn my hand over to feel our palms touch. It’s electric, but I can’t focus on that right now because you’re talking and I don’t want to miss a second of it.
“Oh my!” You faux gasp. “Meeting the family already?” And gently bump into me with your hip.
The sounds of bones breaking and men screaming are the soundtrack to my chores. The atmosphere in the cabin is morose. Everyone lacks the joy that usually fills them on full moons. Their gazes lift, wolf and human alike, as I enter the cabin, and pass through the parlor, but no one makes an effort to engage me any further. They go back to their shared grief, and I go to the kitchen to scarf down food for the first time since I woke up.
I’m still naked, but after my earlier shower, I am no longer so easily mistaken for an extra in a horror movie. My tongue is scarred over, and if I look closely enough in the mirror, I can see the telltale beginnings of regrowth. Having eaten the supporting structure of Brody’s gut last night, I can’t prop him in an upright sitting position like I initially planned to. Instead, I have to sort of fold him in half and tuck him in the bathtub. Gore stained once more — but this time drastically less so than this morning — and standing outside the tub, I use the flexible shower hose to clean myself. Once I’m satisfied, I drop the hose, not bothering to set it back in its cradle. It’ll be in full use today. There’s no need to put it away just yet.
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