Chapter 2: Be Careful, Mom
I woke up to the sound of rain. No birds, no cars, just the dull tap-tap against the window and the faint clink of glass from downstairs. My stomach grumbled. I hadn't eaten since yesterday.
I got up, pulled on a long-sleeved shirt, and crept out of my room. The house was still. That kind of quiet that felt like it was hiding something.
The smell hit me halfway down the stairs — sharp, acidic, unmistakable. Alcohol.
I froze at the bottom step. Through the kitchen doorway, I saw her. My mom. Slouched in her chair, bottle in hand. Third one this week, maybe more. Her hair was messy, her face pale, her eyes already glazed.
I tried to back away, slow and silent.
"Ethan," she called, voice too sweet to be real. "Come here."
My heart sank.
"Don't be scared," the voice in my head said, low and smooth. "She just wants to talk. I'll take over now, so you don't have to bore yourself with the conversation."
That was a lie. I knew it.
"Wait—" I started, but it was too late.
He stepped in.
The shift was instant. My muscles relaxed, my eyes grew still. I — he — walked into the kitchen with no fear, just steady footsteps and blank expression.
She saw the change.
Her smile twisted. She laughed — bitter and tired.
"When are you gonna let him stop being a child and let him grow up already?"
He sat down across from her. Cold eyes met hers.
"If growing up means he gets to see this side of you, I don't ever want him to grow up."
The slap came fast. Hard. But he didn't even blink.
Another hit. And another.
Still, no reaction. No wince. No flinch. Nothing.
That only made her angrier.
"Ungrateful little freak," she hissed. "Just like your father. Disappeared when things got hard. Left me with you."
She stumbled as she stood, knocking the chair back. She tried to hit him again, harder this time — maybe enough to draw blood.
But she slipped.
Her head was falling fast toward the corner of the table — but he caught her.
Effortless. Swift.
He held her in place, steadying her like she was glass.
"Be careful, Mom," he said softly.
She shoved him away.
"I'm not your mom," she spat. "You're a monster."
He nodded. "You're right. You're Ethan's mom."
And with that, he walked out the door.
---
The woods welcomed him with fog and silence. Rain fell gently between the trees. He walked deeper and deeper until the house was long behind him.
Then he let it out.
The shift tore through his body like fire.
Bones cracked, reshaped.
Flesh stretched, fur spread.
His skin split, but there was no blood — only something ancient forcing its way through.
When it was done, he stood on two legs, towering and monstrous. Not a wolf, not a man — something in between. His fur was black and jagged, his arms long and powerful, claws gleaming under the misty moonlight. Eyes glowing, fangs bared, breath like smoke in the cold.
He didn't howl.
He roared.
Trees splintered. Rocks shattered. Branches broke like twigs. His fury unleashed on everything around him.
It didn't last long. He was fast. Too fast.
And when the rage had burned through, he stood still, surrounded by destruction.
He exhaled. Slowly.
And transformed back.
Back to Ethan's body. Back to a boy with scars no one could see.
He got dressed, dusted off his hands, and walked toward town.
There was something he needed to get for Ethan.
Something to make him smile.
Even if it wouldn't last.