Beyond Noise And Anger Novels & Stories

"You’re lying. Emma loved me so much. There’s no way she wouldn’t have left a message for me!" Zac slammed his fist against the door, and blood began to seep from his knuckles. The sound of a baby crying came from inside the house, and Anna was worried. "I told you, she didn’t leave anything for you. Move on with your life, and stop bothering the dead!"

His voice was barely audible, and his body shook like a leaf as he struggled to maintain his composure. "GET OUT!" The man yelled, his voice echoing through the room. "Leave now, or I'll kill you!" The guard quickly obeyed, stumbling out of the room. The man poured himself a glass of whiskey and took a sip. His eyes stayed fixed on the door, as if waiting for the guard to return. Suddenly, his face twisted with rage. "I'll find you!" He snarled, his voice low and menacing. "You can't escape me. I'll make you pay for running away." His eyes blazed with anger, and his face contorted in fury.

"Shush! That's hardly something to shout about. Good thing we peeked at his medical report. His family is loaded, and his parents expect grandkids. You really want Andrea to go through IVF hell?" Fiona exhaled heavily. "You're right. She is too fragile for that ordeal." My fingers trembled uncontrollably, and I staggered backward. A deafening crash erupted as a framed painting dislodged from the wall, tumbling down and gashing my ankle. Blood welled up, soaking my shoe in warm stickiness. Fiona whirled around at the noise, her eyes widening in alarm. "Claudia? When did you get here?" I bit back the throbbing agony in my leg. "Just got now."

Something hotter. Anger. Sophia sat on the edge of her bed, her fists clenched so tight her nails dug into her palms. Her heart pounded, and her chest heaved with every breath. The tears that once poured freely had dried up. Now, all she felt was rage. Tina. Alex. Their names tasted bitter on her tongue. Her body shook as she thought about them—how they had taken everything from her. Her mother was gone. And they were the reason. “I trusted you…” Her voice was low, cold, and sharp, the words slipping through gritted teeth.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, and the floor met my feet with its familiar chill. For a moment, I just sat there, staring at the peeling paint on the wall. I let myself briefly imagine that maybe life would give me just one more day of grace. Just one. But then, from the next room, came the sound that always crushed me: my mother’s deep, raspy cough, rattling through her chest like chains dragging on stone. That thought shattered. I got up.

"The way those slacks hugged him... makes a wolf want to do more than just growl." "Enough," Mateo snapped, the sound of his locker door slamming shut echoing like a gunshot. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to think about Lyon’s sharp, observant eyes or the way the man’s throat had worked when he tried to maintain his composure. Mateo loathed the journalist—especially after Lyon’s report on a barroom scuffle at the Neon Wave Club had cost him three months of the season. Lyon had painted him as a mindless brute when he’d actually been defending a pack-mate.

“First off, what happened to the permanent break from cursing, and two, I have told you not to bring that tone in here. I don’t need that negativity clouding my space.” “I don’t have time for this, Tim. I need you to get the coin and put Roxanne’s bitchy ass right back into me and—” “Hey. Hey.” He cut in, crossing the room until he was right in front of me, taking my face into both his hands. “The worst kind of anger is the kind that comes from grief. So I need you to take a breath.” I closed my eyes at that, deflating, and did what he said.

"Then what are you waiting for!" The roar came fast. His hand cracked across my face. Slap. My head snapped sideways. The heat from the slap spread through my cheek. "Do you think your life matters more than the name Moretti?" He gripped my chin, fingers digging deep through my skin. "You are a Moretti. We don't run. We fight until there is nothing left to fight." "I'm sorry," I choked out. "Sorry won't put a million dollars in my pocket. Sorry won't stop the other families from laughing at me." He released me and turned toward the window, staring out at the dark gardens. "I can't have a coward for a son. I won't."

Nobody moved for a while after that. I had come into that room intending to be angry, and I had been angry, and I had said the angry things out loud and meant every one of them and would mean them again. But there is a limit past which anger stops being useful, and we had all three of us gone past it inside forty minutes, and what was left when it burned off was three people sitting in a small room understanding at the same moment that we had each been handled by the same patient hand. My mother, on a road, at twenty-four.

You should be grateful instead of making ridiculous jokes like this. Serena grabbed the phone again. "Evelyn, please don't be angry with us. "I'm sorry..." "Don't apologize to her!" Adrian snapped. "The more you indulge her, the more unreasonable she becomes. She's not some spoiled heiress." The call ended with a sharp click. When we argued in college, he once spent three uninterrupted months sending gifts and trying to win me back. Now he would not offer even a free apology. After the call, I contacted a real estate agent and told her to list the condo we had intended to use after our wedding.