The Outcast's Rebirth

CHAPTER 37: The Ghost Of The Past

Many hours later,

Winston lay drunk in his office. The memory of Kyzzu's face, twisted with hurt and confusion, gnawed at his conscience like a parasite. The more he drank, the more vivid the image became, and it killed him slowly from the inside out. His heart felt like it was being wrung dry.

Ethan-Kazi-had cried himself to sleep after the incident, his tiny voice still ringing in Winston's ears. His cries, calling for his mother, echoed in the empty halls of their home. Maryanne... she had looked at him differently this time, as if she was finally done with him, as if she saw him for the worthless man he was.

All the guilt and shame he thought he could bury surged back like a tidal wave, slamming into him with the force of years of regret and unresolved pain. He'd thought drinking would drown it out. But now, sprawled on the floor, his body heavy with alcohol, Winston realized the bottle had failed him too. Just like everything else in his life.

"Why can't I do anything right?" he rasped, his voice barely a whisper in the stillness. His throat burned from the alcohol, but it was nothing compared to the ache clawing at his chest. "Why do I ruin everything?"

His mind was a mess, fractured by the weight of everything he had done wrong. All he could see was Kyzzu's face-those blue eyes that had once looked at him with such trust, now filled with sorrow and betrayal. He'd broken something precious, something he couldn't fix.

And then, like a cruel joke, the memories of his past life crept in, uninvited. They poured in through the cracks of his fractured mind, suffocating him.

---

He hadn't always been Winston. Back then, he was Alfie Jr., the unwanted son of a wealthy old man who hadn't wanted to acknowledge him either.

Alfie Sr., his father, had been a cold, calculating man who collected women like trophies, and Alfie Jr. had been the unfortunate result of one such conquest. His mother, whoever she was, had abandoned him shortly after his birth, leaving him to be raised by the man who he resented with his very existence.

His father's death when Alfie Jr. was barely six years old should have been a moment of freedom, but it wasn't. At the funeral, dressed in clothes too tight for his small frame, Alfie Jr. stood alone, surrounded by people who looked at him with disdain. His father had left him nothing. Not even the hollow promise of family.

He had older step-siblings-much older-each one a product of the man's failed marriage. They were in their twenties or thirties, fully grown, with lives of their own. And they hated Alfie Jr. for simply existing, for being a reminder of their father's infidelity, of the ugliness that had torn their family apart, that made their mother die of depression. He was nothing to them, just a mistake, a product of a moment of weakness.

At six years old, Alfie Jr. already knew what it was like to be unwanted, unloved. He had never known what it felt like to have a mother's arms around him, or a father's pride. His life was a series of empty rooms and hollow promises, and after his father's death, even those small comforts were taken from him.

His older step-sister-Agnes-moved into the grand mansion with her husband and her young son, Ethan, who was only four at the time. At first, Agnes tried to be kind. She tried to play the part of the caring guardian, but it didn't take long for her patience to wear thin. Alfie Jr. was a difficult child.

He had been spoiled by his father, allowed to grow up without discipline or direction, and Agnes quickly grew tired of him. She stopped pretending to care, and soon, so did her husband.

Ethan, her son, was the golden child. The one everyone loved. He was smart, charming, handsome-everything Alfie Jr. wasn't. And it wasn't long before even Ethan grew distant. Alfie Jr. was alone again, trapped in a house full of people who barely tolerated his presence.

His grades were terrible. He was constantly getting into trouble at school, constantly being sent home with notes about his bad behavior. No one cared enough to help him, and Alfie Jr. didn't know how to fix it. He didn't know how to make himself better, how to make himself worthy of love or attention. He felt stupid, useless, ugly. A burden.

And then... there was Keith.

Keith was Ethan's best friend, a small boy with soft features and big glasses that made him look even younger than he was. He was the kind of child people wanted to protect, the kind of child people loved. Even Agnes adored Keith, treating him like the son she wished she had instead of Alfie.

It was unbearable.

Alfie wanted to be near Keith. He wanted to be part of the happiness that surrounded the boy. But every time he tried, Ethan would shove him away, as if he were dirty, as if he didn't belong. And every time Keith got hurt, no matter how small the injury, it was always Alfie's fault. The blame was always on him.

He tried to hold it together, but the resentment, the bitterness, it built up inside him until he couldn't take it anymore. He hurt Keith. It wasn't something he had planned, but it happened. One day, in a fit of anger, he lashed out, cruel and spiteful. Keith didn't deserve it, but Alfie Jr. couldn't stop himself. He had been pushed too far, and the pain he felt inside needed an outlet.

His so-called friends, boys who only hung around him because they thought he had money, encouraged him to do worse. They made him steal, made him hurt people, and Alfie Jr., desperate for any kind of validation, went along with it. They thought he was rich because he came from the same family as Ethan, but they didn't know the truth-that Alfie Jr. had nothing. No allowance, no inheritance. Just a name that meant nothing to the people around him.

But as they grew older, something shifted. Alfie began to see Keith differently. What had once been jealousy turned into something else, something he didn't fully understand. He started to find Keith... cute.

There was something about the boy's softness, his innocence, that drew Alfie Jr. in, and before he knew it, his feelings had turned into something darker, something more dangerous.

He forced his first kiss on Keith one day, clumsy and awkward, but filled with a desperate need to feel something-anything-other than the emptiness that consumed him. Keith had been horrified, of course. He hadn't wanted it. But Alfie Jr. didn't care. He was selfish, reckless. He wanted Keith, and he didn't care what it took to have him.

But it didn't stop there. He wanted more, and he took more.

HIs first time. Alfie Jr. hadn't meant for it to go so far, but it did. He hurt Keith in ways he couldn't take back, in ways that haunted him long after the act was over. But he couldn't stop. He was broken, and he broke everything he touched.

The guilt weighed on him, even then. But it was too late. He had become the monster they always said he was.

And then the fire. The fire that changed everything.

---

Winston gasped as the memories flooded back, his chest heaving as though he couldn't breathe. He was a monster, then and now. Alfie Jr. had died in the fire, but the truth was, he'd always been dead inside. Winston was just the shell that had survived.

"I ruin everything," he whispered, his voice cracking as he stared up at the ceiling. "I don't deserve Kieth. I never deserved anyone."