Dark Past

Jasper's POV 

I sat on my mother’s lap, her warmth the only thing that shielded me from the cold, rotting stench of our apartment. The door slammed open, and the shield shattered.

"Hey, you pathetic fool," My father, Blake staggered in, his words slurred but venomous.

I raised my head to meet the monster in his eyes. His heavy steps carried him closer, and without a second’s hesitation, he shoved my mother to the ground.

"Get me my food," Blake barked, towering over my mother as she struggled to steady herself.

"There’s no food...but if you give me some money, I can quickly make you something.” Mother's voice trembled as she spoke, her hands clutching the side of her dress.

Father's face twisted with rage. "You’re so useless," he spat, raising his hand. The slap landed with a sickening thud, and Mother staggered backward, falling to the ground. My fists clenched as I stood in the corner, fear wrestling with the fiery hatred building in my chest.

"Pathetic," he sneered, his boot stomping on her sides as she whined in pain.

I can’t watch it anymore. My legs carried me to the kitchen before I realized what I was doing. My hands gripped the knife tightly and I stepped forward. "If you touch her again... I’ll stab you.” my voice was shaking, but I didn't care. The words were out, and his attention snapped at me.

Mother's tear-filled eyes widened in fright as she stared at the blade in my hands. "Jasper, drop it!" she whispered, her voice thick with fear.

Blake turned slowly, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the knife in my hand. Then he laughed—a cruel, mocking sound that filled the room. "You? Stab me?" His laugh turned into a snarl as he staggered towards me. "You’re just like your mother—worthless.”

Before Blake could utter another insult, I lunged. The knife drove into his stomach, a wet, sickening gasp breaking the room’s heavy silence. His eyes widened as he stumbled back, hands clutching at the growing crimson stain on his shirt.

“Jasper, no!” my mother’s voice broke through the ringing in my ears. I yanked the knife free, and he crumpled to the ground, motionless.

I stood there, the knife slipping from my trembling hands, and clattering against the floor. My vision blurred as tears streamed down my cheeks.

Mother crawled toward me while I still stood paralyzed, my wide eyes fixed on my body. 

"Jasper," she said, gripping my shoulders firmly, her voice urgent, but steady despite her tear-streaked face. "Look at me," she said, forcing me to meet her gaze.

I didn’t move.

"Listen to me, Jasper" she continued, her voice trembling with resolve. "I killed him. Do you understand? No matter what anyone says, I did it."

Her words didn’t make sense, but I nodded anyway, unable to find my voice.

The hours that followed were like a nightmare. Mother acted quickly. She stripped me of my bloodied clothes, threw them into the fireplace, and watched them burn. Then, she smeared Blake’s blood onto herself, tears streaming down her face.

"Promise me," she whispered, her trembling lips as she placed a kiss on my forehead.

She picked up her phone and dialed the police. Minutes later, flashing lights filled the night, and our creepy apartment became the center of chaos. Journalists swarmed outside as Mother was led away in handcuffs. Her eyes never left me, a silent plea in her gaze: Do not tell them the truth.

I stood on the porch, the sharp, cold wind biting into my skin as whispers swirled around me. Fifteen years in prison. That was Mother's sentence. She was gone and I was alone.

The streets became my home, each day bleeding into the next. I survived scavenging for scraps, stale foods and curling up in dark alleys to escape the bitter cold night, and learn to survive on what little I could find.

Then they found me.

Fear knotted my stomach as they drew closer, but one of them knelt and smiled—a kind, disarming expression. 

“Are you hungry, kid?” one of the men handed me a box of neatly packed food. "Eat," he urged gently, his tone soothing.

I hesitated but eventually snatched the box, devouring its contents in seconds. The man handed me a bottle of water, his smile unwavering.

For days, the man returned, bringing food and small gifts. I began to trust them, their kindness a stark contrast to the cold, uncaring world I knew. Then, one day, after eating, darkness swallowed me.

I woke up to unfamiliar surroundings. I was in a dimly lit room with two other children, their sharp cries slicing through the tension in the room. The man mark, I’d trusted, stood nearby, his expression void of the warmth I had come to know, come to trust.

"Transport the kids tomorrow," Mark told his partner, Jack, his tone sharp and cold. "Dr. Harrison has a buyer willing to pay a million for a healthy heart."

The words were ice down my spine. These men weren't just kidnappers—they were organ harvesters. My trust had been a lie, and now, I was prey. 

The other children sobbed, terror thick in the room, but I sat silently, my mind racing as I hatched a plan to escape.

That night, I secretly concealed a fork from the meal they served us. When jack entered to check on us, I clutched my stomach and cried out, feigning pain.

"What’s wrong with you now?" Jack barked, stepping closer.

I waited until he had bent over me, then struck. The fork pierced Jack's neck, and blood sprayed as he staggered back, clutching the wound as he collapsed.

I didn't wait. I bolted for the door, the other children crying out behind me. "Please, take us with you!" I hesitated for a moment, their desperate voices tugging at my conscience. But the thought of Mark returning pushed me forward.

I ran into the forest, the sound of my heartbeat blurring out everything else. 

At thirteen, I had taken another second life. 

And this time, there was no one to take the blame.