Picking Up The Broken Pieces Part 2 (Prapai's Story)

Chapter 3

Prapai awoke to a throbbing headache, his vision swimming as he registered the faint outline of his bedroom. Light from the hallway spilled in under the door, accompanied by muffled voices just outside.

As he tried to move, he felt the coarse binds around his wrists, the pressure biting into his skin. His mouth was painfully dry, and his lips stung, swollen from the blows he'd taken. The gag over his mouth pressed tightly, chafing the corners as he instinctively struggled.

The door creaked open, and a boy stepped inside—young, maybe Sky's age. He was small-framed, his sweat-stained T-shirt clinging to his wiry build, likely from the effort of carrying Prapai's unconscious body to the bed. In his hands were a glass of water and an aspirin, set on the bedside table with an almost casual air.

"You're gonna need this later," the boy said with a chuckle, his tone light, almost amused.

Prapai's sharp eyes scanned him for any hint of familiarity—some clue as to who he was or what he wanted. But there was nothing. Just a smirk on the boy's face before he turned and left the door cracked behind him, letting the murmur of voices filter through from the hallway.

Sky. Where was Sky? Prapai's chest tightened as panic settled in. He pleaded silently—begged that Sky had somehow escaped, that he was safe, far away from whatever this was.

The heat from the sheets beneath him grew unbearable as sweat pooled along his back. He strained against the binds, his fingers raw from trying to twist free. Hours seemed to pass before someone else entered the room, flicking on the light.

The brightness stung, and Prapai squinted as his eyes adjusted. He felt a rush of cold adrenaline when the person approached and severed the ropes holding him to the bed.

It wasn't until his vision cleared that the icy dread took root.

Gun.

Prapai's stomach dropped, and rage replaced his fear. A guttural growl erupted from him, but his hands, still bound behind his back, tethered him helplessly to the bed.

Gun's smile stretched into something cruel and Cheshire-like, his eyes glinting with malice. He giggled—high, mocking—as if he were genuinely amused by the sight of Prapai's fury.

"Nice to see you too, Ai'Pai," Gun said, his mocking tone punctuated by a sarcastic wai.

Prapai lunged forward, but the binds yanked him back against the bed frame, the impact jarring his skull. Pain flared at the base of his head, and Gun burst into laughter, his glee only fueling Prapai's rage.

"I'll kill you," Prapai growled through the gag, the venom in his eyes making his intent clear.

"What was that? Didn't quite catch it," Gun teased, stepping closer to pull the gag down.

Prapai had to resist the urge to bite his hand off. "I'll bury you so deep no one will ever find you, you son of a bitch!" he spat, his voice rising with each word. "WHERE IS SKY?"

Gun tilted his head, his grin widening. "Let's find out, shall we?"

He reached into his pocket, pulling out one of Prapai's burner phones. His thumb hovered over the screen, where Sky's number was displayed, ready to call.

"My Love," Gun said, his tone dripping with mockery. "Now, who could that be?" He hit the call button and switched it to speaker, letting the phone's loud ringing echo through the room.

Prapai's stomach twisted as he silently prayed. Don't pick up. Don't pick up. Don't pick up.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

And then it went to voicemail.

Sky had ignored the call. Relief washed over Prapai in a heavy exhale. For now, Sky was safe.