Retrograde

Retrograde | Chapter 2

Previously, on Retrograde:

The screams of his men are a distant memory as the woman of his dreams presses her lips to his cheek and returns to meet his soft gaze.

The feeling of her hands in his hair warms him, and she whispers gently and lovingly.

"Serkan, baby. It's not your time. You need to fight. You have to fight."

⭐️⭐️⭐️

24 years earlier – The Hamptons, New York

The cool breeze awakens the trees on the Bolat family Hamptons estate, and hanging upside down on a long willow branch is seven-year-old Serkan Bolat.

Gravity bunches his green Lacoste polo shirt at his chest, exposing his little tummy – the late afternoon sun's rays warming his guts. His blue chino shorts are dirty from the day's adventure, and he closes his eyes, listening to the birds tweeting as all the blood rushes to his head.

It's peaceful here – he's always at peace when by himself. And when he's out here, he's not really alone. The trees and birds keep him company, and it's better than the alternative of being stuck at home being ignored by his father.

He swings back and forth on the branch, feeling the rush of blood down to his fingertips and reaches up to stroke the pink, heart-shaped birthmark that resides on the fleshy part of his left hand between the thumb and index finger. His mother always said he "wears his heart on his sleeve," and he smiles at the sentiment.

His hands and fingernails are caked in dirt, and Serkan smiles dreamily to himself. It has been a good day.

His thoughts are disturbed hearing the crack of a twig, and Serkan's eyes snap open to focus on a pink pair of sandshoes with frilly white socks poking out of the top. He surveys the knobbly-kneed, pink short, and white tank top-wearing form in front of him before arriving at the most beautiful deep brown, upside-down eyes he's ever seen.

Serkan blinks twice, giving his head a little shake to clear the heavenly vision before him. I really shouldn't hang upside down this long...

"Hi! What are you doing?" the angel smiles.

A confused frown creases his forehead, and Serkan Bolat flips down from his branch, now cranky that his quiet time was disturbed by a girl. Girls have cooties. Everybody knows this.

"Who are you?" he asks gruffly.

"I'm Eda! I'm five. What's your name?"

Serkan grunts and bends down to pick up his remote-controlled monster truck and a small daypack. He dusts it off, slinging it carefully over both shoulders and pulling the straps down firmly, securing it to his back.

Eda giggles at his seriousness.

"Aren't you going to tell me your name?" Eda inquires innocently. "Or don't you have one!?" she questions with shocked, wide eyes.

"I have a name! I just don't want to tell you."

"You're very cranky," Eda states objectively, her long brown eyelashes fluttering with each blink.

Serkan stares at Eda for a moment before walking back towards his house.

"Wait for me! Your mum told me to come and get you, so I came," she replies, running behind the boy with no name.

"Do you really not have a name?" she puffs, trying to keep up with his long legs.

Serkan frowns at the brunette princess beside him and stops with his hands on his hips. "Of course, I have a name! It's Serkan Bolat."