Come Back
991 Words
The phone was still pressed to my ear when his voice came again.
“I will come for you,” he said calmly. “Tomorrow.”
I swallowed.
“Come… where?” I asked.
“To your school,” he replied. “It is time you meet me. We need to talk and I need to see to your welfare."
My heart thumped hard against my ribs. My face lit up with joy of a man I had never seen.
The benefactor that calls himself my father.
“I don’t need pity,” I said quietly, my voice breaking despite myself. “I just—”
“This is not pity,” he cut in. “This is correction. You are my son and you won't be humiliated."
There was something final in his tone.
“You have endured enough,” he continued. “Tomorrow, you will no longer walk alone.”
Before I could ask anything else, the call ended.
I stared at my phone long after the screen went dark.
I laid back on the bed wincing in pain. I could hear the soft scrap at the door.
I know she was there, sitting, waiting for me to have the door opened. But I won't let her see me like this.
I shut my eyes and drifted into a long sleep.
*
The next morning, I almost didn’t go to school. My heart raced with uncertainty.
My body still hurt from the beating. Every movement reminded me of yesterday—the laughter, the kicks, the way Vanessa had looked at me like I was nothing.
But worse than the pain was the fear. I couldn't bring myself to think about what I was actually going to face when I get to school.
Fear of the looks.
Fear of the whispers.
Fear of being seen.
Still, I had to go.
My mother was not by the door when I walked out. I guess she had gone to work.
She had a lot on her plate. I hate to be the one to add to it.
*
I let out a gentle sigh, my ribs ached a bit. The moment I stepped into campus, I knew.
Everything had changed. The air itself changed.
Phones were out.
Heads bent together.
Laughter followed me instantly. It was almost like they had all be waiting for me.
“Isn’t that him?”
“That’s the guy!”
“The one that got beaten like a dog?”
I lowered my head and walked faster.
As I passed the notice board, I heard someone laugh loudly.
“Hey! Trash Boy!”
More laughter.
Someone else added, “Did you enjoy the ground yesterday?”
My fingers curled into fists, but I kept walking.
Then I heard it.
The sound that made my chest tighten.
A video.
My voice.
The way I pleaded and agreed that I was a thrash.
Someone was playing it loudly, so loud that I felt like running away to hide.
I stopped walking.
My vision blurred.
This wasn’t just humiliation anymore.
This was public execution.
There was no one I could tell, the school authority trest all this rich kids like they were gods and goddess.
I looked around, hoping—stupidly—to see one familiar face.
Noah.
My best friend.
I spotted him standing near the cafeteria. Relief washed through me for half a second.
I walked toward him.
“Noah,” I called softly.
He turned.
Our eyes met.
Then he looked away.
He pretended not to see me.
I stopped in my tracks.
“Noah?” I called again, louder this time.
He stiffened, glanced around nervously, then walked away.
Like I was contagious.
Like knowing me would stain him.
That hurt more than the beating.
I stood there, alone, as students walked past me, laughing, whispering, pointing.
“Beggar.”
“Punching bag.”
“Human trash.”
Each word landed like a slap on my face. For a moment, I wished I had stayed back at home and didn't come to school.
Lectures felt endless. I sat at the back, ignored, avoided. No one sat beside me. Seats around me stayed empty like I carried a disease.
Even lecturers avoided looking at me for too long.
By afternoon, I stopped feeling angry.
I just felt tired.
When school finally closed, I dragged myself toward the gate.
That was when I noticed the cars.
One by one, they came.
Exotic cars.
Shiny. Loud. Expensive.
Ferraris.
Range Rovers.
Bentleys.
Rich kids laughed as chauffeurs opened doors for them.
Damien walked past me, surrounded by his friends, loud and proud.
He glanced at me and smirked.
“Careful,” he said loudly. “The ground might still recognize you.”
Laughter followed him.
I didn’t respond.
I just kept walking
.
Then—
A sudden hush fell over the area.
Engines stopped. Heads turned. I felt it before I saw it. A car pulled in.
The latest Mercedes-Benz model—black, polished, flawless.
It parked directly in front of me.
Most of the kids began to talk at once.
“Who’s that for?”
“That car costs more than this whole street.”
The driver’s door opened.
A tall man stepped out.
He wore a neat black suit. His posture was straight, his expression calm.
A chauffeur.
He walked around the car and stopped right in front of me.
My heart skipped.
He bowed.
Deep.
Respectful.
And then, in a clear voice that carried through the silent crowd, he said—
“Young master.”
The world froze.
Every laugh died instantly.
Phones dropped.
Eyes widened.
My breath caught in my throat.
The chauffeur opened the back door and stepped aside.
“Your father is waiting for you.”
I stood there, stunned.
Shaking with hundreds of eyes staring at me.
And for the first time since I stepped into Elite Crest University…
The silence was loud.
- Writer
