REGAN RAY UNBOWED

Chapter Four

Regan’s body lay sprawled on the cold floor, his limbs heavy and unresponsive. A dull ache throbbed at the back of his head, a persistent reminder of the brutal blow that had sent him crashing into unconsciousness. Slowly, painstakingly, his senses began to return. A hazy blur of light filled his vision, and it took several blinks before the room sharpened into focus.

He tried to move, to push himself up, but his body protested with a sluggishness that infuriated him. He groaned, a low sound of pain escaping his lips as the sharp pain at the back of his head shot through him once more. He managed to roll onto his side, his back resting against the cool surface of the bed, and slowly, painfully, he pulled himself into a sitting position.

As his awareness sharpened, the memories crashed into him with the force of a tidal wave. Stacy’s cruel words, her mocking laughter, the sickening image of her and his stepfather intertwined in a betrayal so profound it seemed to tear at the very fabric of his soul. The realization that Stacy, the woman he had poured his heart and soul into, had been using him all along settled in him like a stone, heavy and cold. The fact that she had struck him at the back of his head, not caring if he would die, made the pain worse. It was as if he was just a puppet in their sick game.

“I was such a fool,” he murmured, the words barely audible. His eyes burned with a mixture of rage and a bone-deep disappointment in himself. So many signs, so many red flags, and he had ignored them all, blinded by his foolish infatuation. It was as if his world had turned upside down and he had to accept his new reality, a reality that was filled with betrayal and deceit.

Thoughts swirled in his mind, a chaotic mix of anger and hurt. It felt as if his body was a pressure cooker on the brink of exploding. He needed to release some of this pain, to give voice to the anguish that was threatening to consume him. He let out a raw, guttural scream, a sound of pure agony and fury as he crushed the scattered roses between his trembling fingers, their once vibrant petals turning into a mass of crumbled fragments.

His gaze swept across the room, landing on the picture of his mother hanging on the wall. Her smiling face, a beacon of warmth and love in the cold, desolate landscape of his heart, brought a fresh wave of pain. He managed to stand on shaky legs, his body stiff and protesting, and walked slowly towards the picture, reaching out with a hand that trembled.

He took the picture into his hands, cradling it tenderly, as if he could feel his mother's physical presence. Her face looked as if she was smiling at him, her eyes gentle and warm and somehow, he felt his soul began to calm, the memories of his mom soothing the wounds in his heart. All he had left of her were these memories, these precious glimpses into a life that was cut short too soon.

“You left too early, Mom,” he whispered, his voice cracking as a single tear rolled down his cheek. He let out a heavy sigh, feeling a deep ache in his chest. “A lot has happened ever since you left me, Mom.” He gently kissed the picture, a gesture of love and longing, and placed it carefully back on the wall.

He turned and surveyed the room. There was no sign of Stacy or Alfred, not a trace of their presence. A cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach. He hurried to the closets in the room, flinging them open, one after the other, but each one was empty. Alfred had left, taking everything with him. He ran to his mom’s dressing room, hoping against hope that something would still be there. His heart plummeted as he stepped through the doorway. The room was bare, stripped clean of all his mother’s precious belongings – her fancy clothes, her elegant shoes, her expensive jewelry. A deep sense of violation washed over him.

It was clear what Alfred was planning to do. Sell everything and make a fortune from it. A new wave of anger washed over him, burning hotter and fiercer than before. Alfred had crossed a line. He was going to steal from his mother even after she was gone. He was a monster, and Regan was ready to fight back, even if it cost him everything.

“That bastard!” Regan roared, his voice echoing through the empty house. “I’ll make them pay!” The words weren't just an outburst of rage; they were a promise, a vow that he made with every fiber of his being. He would not let them get away with this. He would make them suffer the way they had made him suffer.

His phone suddenly began to buzz, the insistent ringing cutting through his thoughts. He picked it up, not even bothering to check who was calling.

“Please come to the restaurant, Regan. It's urgent,” Anny’s voice came through the line, tense and a little shaky.

“Calm down, Anny. Tell me what’s going on,” Regan replied, his voice low and husky, trying to project a calm that he didn’t feel.

“Our jobs are at stake, Regan. Your stepfather is….” Anny started, but before she could complete the sentence, Regan’s voice broke through. The mention of his stepfather’s name was enough to make him lose control.

The words were a punch to his gut. “What about him?” His voice was sharp, the rage and fear bubbling up again, threatening to boil over. This was not about him anymore; it was about the restaurant, it was about Anny, it was about Jeff. It was about everyone else but him. They were now at his mercy and he had no intention of letting them win, he would fight for everyone who had always had his back. His step-father had taken too much, and this time around, Regan wasn’t going to let it slide.