All Chapters of Rebirth: What’s Left Of Me: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

To no one's shock, Damien was in front of my house bright and early, ready to pick me up for school. Since my injuries had healed enough for me to go back, I had no real excuse to stay home any longer. Luckily, the system hadn't popped up again since my hospital stay, so it had been a relatively peaceful recovery. Getting around on crutches was a pain in the ass, and I was still adjusting to it. My mom and Erwin hovered over me the entire time I made my way to Damien's car, as if I'd collapse any second. "You look like you have polio," Damien joked as soon as I stepped outside. "Hahaha, very funny," I muttered, trying to get around him. But, of course, I slipped. Damien caught me with ease, and my mom let out an exasperated sigh. "He won't let anyone help him," she complained. "I can fix that," Damien said. Then, before I could react, he grabbed one of my crutches and snapped it in half against the porch railing. "What the fuck, man?!" I snapped. "There. Now you have no choice

The wind slammed into me from all sides, making every movement harder than it already was. The higher I climbed, the worse it got, the cold seeping into my clothes, into my bones. My grip tightened on the cold steel rungs, knuckles white against the metal. My calf burned, my arms ached, and my lungs felt tight from exertion, but I couldn't stop. The ground was a dizzying blur below, a mess of people, construction equipment, and media trucks that had started gathering. I blocked it all out. Focus. Just climb. The crane groaned in protest as if warning me to turn back. My hands were growing numb, but I forced them to keep moving, gripping tighter, step after step. I pressed my forehead against the steel for just a second, gathering my strength. The operator was somewhere above, trapped and probably terrified. No turning back now. No matter how little I cared about this guy personally, if he died, so did my future. It was too late to regret not sending Erwin instead. I kept going, pu

I woke up the next day to see Jason sitting next to my bed. "Jason, why are you here?" I asked groggily. "I won rock-paper-scissors to see the crane hero first today," Jason grinned. "Those two assholes have to wait outside so we don't overwhelm you. The creep Damien was pissed. Wait! Don't move yet, I'll go call the doctor." "Where are my parents?" I asked, ignoring his offer. "They had some stuff to take care of in the next town over and told me to stay until you woke up," Jason smiled. "Anything you want to say?" I hesitated, but this was as good a chance as any to get something off my chest. "Have you ever been chased before? Like really chased? The kind where you know someone wants to hurt you, and the closer they get, the more you can feel it?" I asked. "That's what's happening right now. I have that feeling—on steroids." Jason's face scrunched up. "Oh? Is someone chasing you?" "The Roth gang," I muttered. "And since they can't get to me, they'll go after the people arou

{TW: violence, death} The dining room, once warm and filled with the scent of the maids cooking, was now a battlefield. Two of Pete's men had made it past the guards, and the sounds of destruction echoed through the house. Fists meeting flesh, furniture breaking, bones snapping—it was pure chaos. "There you are!" one of the intruders snarled, his voice dripping with venom. A scream tore through the room—my mother's. My blood ran cold. I sprinted in just as one of them lunged for her. There was no time to think, no hesitation. My hands were steady as I swung the axe, the blade sinking deep into his neck with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed in an arc, splattering across the walls, the floor—me. His body crumpled, twitching, but I didn't stop. I wrenched the axe free and swung again, this time caving in his face. The thud of his body hitting the floor barely registered. I turned to my parents, my breathing harsh. My mother clung to my father, sobbing uncontrollably, her body

The moment we entered the hotel room, Jason collapsed into the bathroom, throwing up everything he'd eaten since this morning. I stayed back, sitting on the edge of the bed, thinking about how the conversation with my dad went. The guilt in his eyes, the way he blamed himself for all the mess. I didn't even know he felt like that. Was me being around shocking them that much? I was still trying to make sense of the whole thing myself. But I guess the change was drastic enough. I wasn't weak little Jack Spencer at all. The room itself had that nostalgic throwback vibe to the 70s, with its mustard-yellow walls, shaggy carpet, and vintage furniture. It wasn't as extravagant as the places I used to stay, but it had a cozy, cool grandparent charm. The bed was neatly made, and the floral quilt had a retro feel to it. A lava lamp glowed on the bedside table, casting that soft, undulating light. This place hadn't changed one bit since the last time I was here hiding. "Don't like the room