Arriving in front of his house, Vincent leaned over, bracing himself against his knees, his breaths heavy from the run. He wondered how he was able to run all the way home when he was seemingly exhausted. Where was he able to find this energy? This werewolf thing was going to take a lot of getting used to, and he guessed that he had only grazed the surface.

A new challenge awaited him inside his house, so he took a deep breath and steeled himself before moving up the sidewalk and making his way through the door. Confronting his parents about the werewolf joke and how it was weird was going to be rough, as he was already feeling the tightening tension in his chest that he surmised was stress mixed with anxiety. He did his best to shake it off as he strode forward with as much confidence as he could muster.

While he had psyched himself up, he totally faltered at the sight of his mom, quickly telling her he was tired and wanted to rest up before dinner, effectively putting off the confrontation and increasing the tightening. It felt like watching one of those action sequences where the main character’s rope is about to break as he tries to climb up over the cliff’s edge, and you, the viewer, are on the edge of your seat, munching away at popcorn, your heart beating faster than a rock-band drummer. This was worse. He was being such a coward. Perhaps a warm shower would help, so he took a nice long one and then lay back on his bed, staring up the ceiling and doing his best not to worry as if the words don’t worry made people not worry. He chuckled at that thought.

“What am I gonna do?” Vincent turned on his side in frustration. How was he to confront them? And, why hadn’t they told him this crap sooner?

“Honey, dinner’s ready,” his mother called.

“Here goes,” he said, sitting up and taking a deep breath.

As he made his way downstairs, the delicious smells of dinner wafted to his nostrils. When he moved into the kitchen, a sight that normally was seen around Winter Festival time was presented before him. Turkey, mashed sweet potatoes and gravy, stuffing, and green beans. He licked his lips, feeling his stomach grumble with a yearning anticipation to eat.  

He took a seat in silence as his mother dished up the food, his father tapping away on a laptop. Then as he sat, his mouth watering at the sight of it all, especially the turkey, he had totally forgotten he was in the room with his folks.

“So, honey,” his mother said. “How was your first day?”

Vincent looked up at them, meeting his mother’s eyes, then his father’s, and then down in shame, his hands gripping his utensils.

He wanted to confront them, he really did, as he felt his grip tighten on the utensils, slowly easing up on them out of fear of breaking them. He was too scared, and shrugged. “Eh, it was okay.” He took a big piece of turkey and shoved it in his mouth, chewing in silence as his parents gave each other a look. His father adjusted his glasses, and looked like he was going to say something, but Vincent couldn’t hold his thoughts in as the anger of it all came bursting out, following a quick swallow of the turkey.  

“So I’m a werewolf, then?” He shoved another piece of turkey in his mouth, following it up with a big spoonful of yummy sweet potatoes. Hungry and angry, what a way to be.  

“Yes, honey, you are,” his mother said with a delicate nature only a mother could muster. “Would you like to talk about it more?” She placed a hand against his arm with a warm smile.

“Do you have any questions for us, pal?” His father asked.

Vincent swallowed the mashed potatoes, staring down at his mother’s hand upon his arm. What was he supposed to say: ‘Thanks for telling me about my monstrous nature?’ Instead, he looked down, holding onto his frustration and anger as best he could as he felt his body tense. “Why'd you wait so long to tell me?”

He pulled from his mother’s hand, snatching a green bean with two fingers and biting down on it. At this point he felt his eyes get wet. “Knowing this would have made things, you know, easier.” He looked up at them both, a pleading look in his eyes as he fought back the tears.

He thought he’d heard it all today. Thought nothing could shock him more than knowing this truth. Knowing that he was a werewolf, and also learning that his parents knew about it all this time. What he didn’t expect was what his mother said next.

She let out a long, shuddering sigh, as if this was one of the hardest things she’d done. “It’s what your parents wanted for you before they died.”

Vincent felt his mouth drop open at this comment, a piece of unchewed green bean dangled and fell from his lips. “Wh-what did you say?” The anger he felt turned into shock, which festered into a simmer betrayal of trust.

“Wait,” he said with an incredulous chuckle as he dropped his utensils, an uneasy smile on his face as he shook his head. “Y-you’re not my parents?” His voice was shaking with a rising anger. This piece of information was more than he could handle. This sent him over the edge, and he stood in an angry motion, his voice rising with a harshness as he spoke to them, fury on his face. “T-this isn’t happening. This is all just a dream. A big joke. I just…” he didn’t know what to say, shaking his head and stepping backward, his heart thudding against his chest at the overwhelming feeling of it all.

His mother and father had such sad and pathetic looks on their faces. He hated them in that moment. This realization hit him harder than falling from the roof earlier, and even his werewolf form couldn’t withstand the shock. He teetered on the spot, his body weak, his head light, and his eyes rolled back into his sockets. The last thing he heard before he gave into the darkness was his ‘mother’ shouting his name.

.           .           .

Vincent blinked his eyes open to the ceiling in his bedroom. He was lying on his bed. His head throbbed as he turned it to the side, seeing his ‘mom’ sitting nearby, concern on her face.

“Vincent?” she said with tenderness, blinking tears from her eyes as she reached for him.

“Don’t touch me,” he snarled, turning from her.

While he couldn’t see her, the flinch from her reaction was palpable as if he could sense it, which was most likely his werewolf abilities, he thought bitterly.

He heard her stand and move toward his door. “I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You should be,” he said in a dark tone, not sure where it was coming from. “You did something terrible. I’ll never forgive you.” Why did he say that?

Sure, they had lied to him. And sure, they had kept this… this crap from him his entire life. But it didn’t mean they didn’t love him. It also didn’t mean that they weren’t his parents, even though thinking about that now stung deep and would be hard to get over. Still, they were the people that raised him. They were there for him when he was sad, lonely, hurt. Especially his mom. They were his emotional support, and they had done their best. So why did he say such a harsh thing to her?

Her sobs were audible as she reached for the door handle to leave.
Crap. Way to go, Vincent.

“Wait,” he said, sitting up slowly and turning to her with a small smile. “I-I didn’t mean that.” He rubbed his thumbs together in his lap, not meeting her eyes in this awkward moment. He didn’t know what to think. It all felt so wrong. Yet, they were still his parents, and she still was still his mom. And since he was falling apart, he gathered his courage and looked up at her, and the little child came out as he met her eyes and felt a tear stream down his face, his mind going blank as everything began to fall apart.

“Mom, what’s wrong with me? Why am I like this?”

Like any caring mother, she rushed to his side without thinking, embracing him in a warm hug, and he leaned into her, nuzzling his crying face against, tugging at her shirt, not wanting to let go for anything. “It’s been so hard, mom. Why didn’t you tell me?”

She simply rubbed his hair, shushing him softly. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. Everything will be fine. I love you so much.” She kissed the top of his head. “It’s alright now. Everything’s alright.”

And he broke, sobbing against her for a long while, not wanting to let go, not wanting to stop, and letting it all out, because it was so overwhelming.

After crying pathetically, Vincent sat next to his mother in silence with a sad smile and red eyes. He sniffed.

“Why?” he said, repeating himself, too tired to say or think anything else.

“Oh, honey,” she said, reaching out a hand to rub his hair, but hesitated as if knowing it wasn’t the right time even though they had embraced a moment ago. “Your father and I wanted to tell you so many times, we just couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” Vincent said, sniffing and rubbing his moist eyes.  

“We made a promise to your parents,” she said, for the first time, with an intensity and clarity that surprised Vincent. “To protect you, darling,” He turned to her for a moment, but had to look away because her eyes were focused, and intent. It scared him a little.

Still, it hurt, and he had to say what he was thinking. “You don’t lie to those you love, remember?” He said, finding his voice, and anger, again. “Those were your words.” Even though she had been unwavering a moment ago, that made her flinch, looking like she didn’t know what to say.

She tensed. “I know, son, I know, but…” –

“But what?” he snarled, showing his teeth, which made her recoil back in fear, almost falling off the end of the bed, catching herself and placing a hand against a rapidly beating chest, which… Vincent could hear distinctively. He could sense her fear as if it was something he could hold in his hand. He also had this yearning, even though this woman was the person that raised him, to move on her, knock her down, pin her to the ground, and rip her apart. Or, and this thought was even more disturbing, to frighten her into running, and give chase. That would be fun, right? It was as if another voice was screaming for him to do these things. To let loose, and give into the wild side, to punish her, and devour her like he had devoured the turkey earlier.

He looked away for a quick moment, holding back nausea that wanted to lurch free of him. He had to calm himself, so he just stared at a point on the floor, losing himself for a moment, wondering what in the world was happening, but surmising it was something dealing with his werewolf abilities and some sort of animalistic nature that was growing in him.

He gulped after a long moment, able to calm himself down, his mother’s words reaching him again.

“I know this must be hard,” she said, holding her own fear. She was back where she was before, sitting strong and confident, even though he could sense the fear on her… Yet, it had subsided dramatically from a moment ago, as if she had caught herself from reacting too strongly. As if she had experienced things like this in the past, and knew how to come back from them.

“Hard?” he said with a sarcastic chuckle. “No, it isn’t hard, mom. It’s the easiest thing in the world. I mean, first I find out that this crazy new world filled with supernatural beings exists, and I’m one of them… I’m a werewolf.” He clutched his sheets. “Then I find out the people who raised me aren’t actually my parents. What’s hard about that, mom?” He gazed up at her with a penetrating and sad look.

She blinked tears away, wiping a finger across her cheek. “I-I’m sorry, dear.”

“Yeah, I bet you are,” Vincent said with a snarl, having trouble holding back his rage. She flinched again, and while part of him felt bad for having that reaction, he didn’t tell her that. It was all just too much. Then again, having made a promise and keeping to that must have been hard. Still… He wanted to be alone.

“Can you just…” he said, hesitating, because she was still his mom, no matter what. “Leave me alone for a bit. I need to think.”

She nodded, looking like she wanted to reach out and touch him, but refrained. “Okay, honey.” She stood and made her way to the door, Vincent looking away from her the whole time. She opened the door and stopped before leaving. “I love you dear, no matter what.” And then she was gone.

And part of Vincent thought good riddance, but another part of him was just taking it all in and reacting in an emotional way, which made sense as the information he had taken in today was, saying it lightly, drastic.

So, he did the pertinent thing, and threw a pillow at the door with a snarl, saying, “Here’s what I think of your love.” He didn’t hate them, though. He hated what they did. How they had lied. It was going to be difficult to trust them. But he didn’t hate them.

He let out an angry huff and crossed to the bathroom. If they weren’t his parents, and he was a werewolf, who were his parents, then? Were they werewolves themselves? Is that why he was a werewolf? How did it work? He had so many questions, yet was so confused.

And who were those people downstairs? Were they also werewolves? Family friends, another supernatural type of being, or something else? How would he be able to trust their words ever again? He didn’t know. He turned the faucet on and leaned against the sink, his eyes staring at the flowing water.

He gripped the sides of the sink with a bitter smile. “Wonderful. This is all so wonderful.” Splashing cold water on his face to wake himself up, he grabbed a towel to dry off. When he pulled the towel down and looked at the mirror, a snarling werewolf looked back at him that gave him such a fright that he reacted and punched defensively and stumbling backward all at once, shattering the mirror into pieces that scattered everywhere.

He grimaced, sliding to the floor with a quick exhalation of sharp pain as his knuckles pooled with blood from the where the glass had sliced him. He stared at his throbbing hand as he clenched his teeth and screamed as he felt everything shatter around him, just like the pieces of glass strewn about.   

The door to his room opened, heavy footsteps moving to the bathroom, and his mother burst into the bathroom. “Vincent, honey, what’s wrong?” There was a rising concern in her voice as she looked around, noticing the broken glass. She saw Vincent curled in the corner, blood flowing from his hand and down his shaking arms that hugged himself.

She moved to him, careful not to slip or step on any of the glass. “Vincent?” she asked, leaning down next to him.

                                                               .           .           .