My Past Life – Part 29
The car hummed softly as it moved along the quiet road, the sound of the engine blending with the occasional rustle of leaves outside. Inside the Toyota Corolla, the atmosphere was tense, filled with unspoken worries and emotions. Peter sat silently in the back seat, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery, lost in his own thoughts. His mother, Mrs. Chris, turned slightly in her seat to look at him, her eyes filled with concern.
"Why are you like this, Peter?" she asked softly, her voice gentle but firm. "Cheer up, my son. At least you're alive, thanks to God who kept you safe for me and your dad." She reached out and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, hoping to bring some warmth to his troubled heart.
Peter didn't respond. His mind was far away, replaying the events of the past few days—the chaos, the fear, the things he had seen and heard. His father, Mr. Chris, glanced at him through the rearview mirror, his expression serious.
"The doctor said he suddenly started screaming 'Joy, joy, joy' last night while the other patients were resting," Mr. Chris said, his voice low and thoughtful. "I don't know about you, honey, but this boy might know something very important about what happened at the school that day—something we don't."
Mrs. Chris sighed and shook her head, her lips tightening in frustration. "You are just amazing," she said, her tone laced with sarcasm. "Instead of thinking of how to help the child, you're here saying things that don't make any sense."
Mr. Chris's grip on the steering wheel tightened. His jaw clenched as he shot his wife a sharp look. "I wasn't speaking so that you could lecture me on how to treat my child," he snapped. "Be warned, woman. Unless you want to upset me and be kicked out of this car, then close your mouth when I speak."
The tension in the car grew thicker. Mrs. Chris bit her lip, holding back her words. She turned back to Peter, her eyes softening as she took his hand in hers. "Peter, you're alright, okay?" she whispered, squeezing his fingers gently.
But Peter wasn't listening. His mind was racing with determination, his thoughts focused on one thing—revenge.
"I'm gonna find you, Joy… and Scorpio," he thought, his fists clenching unconsciously. "The next time we meet, I'm going to be stronger and faster than you. And once I'm done with you… I'm going to bring down this so-called organization of yours—the one that has caused so many problems."
The drive continued in silence, each person lost in their own world. Outside, the world moved on, unaware of the storm brewing inside the young boy's heart.
A Few Days Later at Home
The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that made every little sound seem louder than it really was. The walls held their breath, and the air felt heavy, like something was about to happen.
In Peter's bedroom, the only light came from a small lamp in the corner, casting long shadows across the floor. The bed creaked slightly as Peter shifted, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. His thoughts were loud in the silence, but he didn't move, didn't speak.
Then—slowly, very slowly—the doorknob turned. It moved without a sound, as if someone was being careful not to make any noise. The door opened just a crack at first, then wider, letting in a sliver of dim light from the hallway. But no footsteps could be heard. No voice called out. Just silence.
Peter didn't turn his head. He didn't need to. He already knew who it was.
"What do you want, Prosper?" His voice was low, calm, but there was something underneath it—something sharp, like a warning.
Even though the door had opened without a sound, Peter had heard her. Not with his ears, but with something deeper. He knew the way she moved, the way her presence filled a room. And right now, he didn't like where it was coming from.
"Are you trying to put us in trouble?" he asked, still lying on the bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
For a moment, there was no answer. Then—
"Blah, blah, blah."
The words were playful, teasing, but Peter didn't smile. He knew Prosper too well. She wasn't here for jokes.
Then she moved closer. The bed dipped slightly as she climbed onto it, sitting down right in front of him. Their eyes met, and for a second, neither of them spoke.
"Well, you're as sharp as always," Prosper said, her voice soft but full of meaning. "But I want to fuck now. Please."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy and real. Peter didn't look away. He knew what she wanted. And he knew what it meant.
The silence stretched, thick and waiting.
To be continued....