Bound by Fate

CHAPTER 3

Genevieve

I managed to evade Vincent in the cafeteria, didn't notice him tailing me, and experienced two days of peaceful bliss. After school this afternoon, just like always, I took orders and delivered takeout to the girls' dormitory. Once my backpack was packed, I strolled out of school towards the bus stop.

Upon exiting the school gate, I spotted a black Hummer parked by the roadside. I turned my head, feigning ignorance, and briskly walked past.

A horn blared behind me. Pausing briefly, I quickened my pace towards the bus stop, fully aware of the car horn.

In past life, the evening I dined with Vincent, he waited for me at the school gate in his imposing Hummer, asking about my plans and offering a ride. He was still polite then, not as aggressive as later on. I declined and opted for the bus. However, circumstances led me to eventually accept his offer. From that moment on, I couldn't shake off his harassment.

Two days ago, Vincent's Hummer wasn't waiting for me when I left school. I thought my rebirth had altered the course of events, and I quietly sighed in relief.

Since my rebirth until now, only a few days have passed, and my mind remains in disarray. I haven't figured out how to confront Vincent. Until I do, I prefer to keep my distance from him temporarily. Who knows, perhaps his initial waiting for me at the school gate didn't occur two days ago, but that doesn't mean it won't happen at all; it was merely postponed by two days. I blended into the crowd, discreetly observing as Vincent exited the car and returned to it. A wealthy student like him wouldn't want to mingle among older folks.

The bus arrived at the station, and the boarding process proceeded smoothly with everyone queuing up. However, the bus was quite crowded. As I ascended the steps, about to swipe my card, I felt a hand brush against my hip. I turned around to find a bespectacled man behind me, resembling a dog with an air of impatience, urging, "Move along, don't block the way."

"Why do I keep encountering such individuals?" I pondered to myself. Perhaps this person frequents this route? Two days ago, to avoid Vincent, I left a bit earlier than usual, and nothing untoward happened on that bus ride, or so I thought... now it appears it was merely a matter of timing. Are events that have occurred destined to happen? Even if delayed, do they remain inevitable?

I boarded the bus, squeezing into the crowded space, pulling my backpack in front of me, reaching inside...

As the bus commenced its journey, swaying gently, despite the mid-September heat, the atmosphere inside was stifling. I adjusted my backpack, grasped the handrail with my left hand, ostensibly lowering my eyelashes while discreetly monitoring behind me. When that wandering hand made contact again, my gaze remained composed, my right hand tightly gripping...

Suddenly, a man's scream pierced through the bus like thunder, jolting the tired, bored, and drowsy passengers awake.

"What's happening?"

"What's going on?"

All heads turned towards the source of the commotion. The bespectacled man erupted into a frenzy, shouting like a rabid dog, "F*** your mother! Are you insane? Are you sick?" Clutching one hand with the other, the back of his injured hand oozing blood. The surrounding passengers recoiled, creating a small space around him and me.

"You f***ing owe me medical expenses!" He ranted frantically. Holding a sharp pen tightly in my hand, its tip still stained with blood, I stared at the bespectacled man, enunciating each word deliberately, "I won't give you a single cent."

The ticket seller intervened, standing tall and bellowing through the crowd, "What's going on?"

The bespectacled man promptly accused me, feigning righteousness, "This girl is out of her mind; she suddenly stabbed me with a pen!"

The ticket seller pushed his way through the crowd, his gaze fixed on the unfolding situation. He addressed me directly this time, concern evident in his tone, "Girl, what's happening?"

I took a deep breath, gathering my courage. "He touched me when he boarded the bus," I replied firmly.

"We should call the police first. Let them come and review the bus surveillance footage to determine if he should be apprehended or if I should cover the medical expenses," the ticket seller suggested, his eyes shifting towards the front of the bus.

The bespectacled man was taken aback, his expression shifting instantly as he followed the ticket seller's gaze. I had strategically positioned myself directly facing the bus's front camera. I watched as his demeanor rapidly changed; uncertainty flickered across his face as he questioned whether his actions had been captured on camera in the crowded bus. But deep down, I knew that those who engage in wrongdoing, no matter how bold or righteous they seem outwardly, are fundamentally cowards.

Just then, the bus arrived at the station. The bespectacled man hesitated for a moment before declaring loudly, "Since you're just a young girl, I'll let you off the hook this time. I'm in a hurry today, so consider yourself lucky!" With that, he made his way towards the exit.

I hesitated. This time, my response was much bolder than in my previous life.

In my past life, although I confronted the bespectacled man, I was overpowered by his aggression, losing the verbal battle. Because of my lack of assertiveness, the passengers on the bus didn't believe me; instead, they sided with that hypocritical beast. In the end, I was the one who disembarked the bus in disgrace, under the weight of everyone's accusations.

Back then, Vincent's Hummer had been trailing the bus. This incident occurred two days ago, the day of my café interview, when I reluctantly accepted his ride to avoid being late.

After a moment of hesitation, I gritted my teeth. In the past, I had always adhered to the principle of avoiding trouble, steering clear of conflicts. But what good did it do? The sneers and disdain behind my back, the slander hurled at me, persisted unabated. I had died once, and even in death, I couldn't escape the torment of these people's words. Now that I had been reborn, I refused to remain silent and endure as I had before.

"Stop right there!" I called out, my voice resolute.

I followed suit, pushing my way off of the bus, but my earlier hesitation had cost me precious time. By the time I stepped off the bus, the despicable man had already put some distance between us. If I wanted to catch up to him, I would have to sprint as fast as I could. Yet, I couldn't shake the nagging worry of what might happen if he resorted to violence once I caught up...

I halted in my tracks, swiveled my head, and caught sight of the black Hummer trailing behind the bus. The windshield reflected the sunlight, obscuring the interior; I couldn't discern if it was Vincent observing me now. Not wanting to relive the events of my previous life, I acted without hesitation and squeezed my way back onto the bus.

The ticket seller, busy attending to new passengers swiping their cards, glanced over and noticed my return. He offered me advice, "Next time you find yourself in such a situation, don't act impulsively. You're a girl, and he's a man. What if he resorts to violence? If you encounter such a person again, come over to my side." I felt a warmth spread through my heart as I responded, "Okay, thank you." The ticket seller, a middle-aged man in his forties, beamed at me with a wide-open smile.

This wasn't the first time I had faced such a situation in a public setting in the past couple of years since my body had matured, but it was the first time I had spoken up. I always dressed in very ordinary attire—just a short-sleeved round-neck T-shirt and jeans. The garments themselves couldn't be considered inappropriate or indecent. However, when I wore them, everything changed.

Those clothes always seemed a tad too snug, clinging tightly to my body. Were it not for my slim figure, I probably wouldn't even be able to wear them. The snugness of the attire accentuated every contour, whether it was the delicate collarbones, the shapely breasts, or the surprisingly slender waist; they all drew people's attention.

It wasn't the fault of the clothes; blame it on my figure.