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Erich died in a freezing cabin, abandoned by the powerful Hollywood actor who had kept him as an abused, captive pet. But instead of finding peace, his eyes snapped open in a rundown bedroom. He had been reborn into the body of a suicidal stranger. The original owner, who shared his exact name, had swallowed a bottle of pills after being framed for plagiarism and destroyed by cyberbullying. Now, his new family was drowning in medical debt and facing foreclosure. Meanwhile, Erich was still paralyzed by the severe PTSD of his past life, suffocating at the mere memory of his ex's footsteps. Desperate to shed his trauma, he went to a barbershop to cut off the greasy hair hiding his new face. But when the barber removed the cape, a wave of pure, unadulterated terror crashed over Erich. Staring back in the mirror was his exact original face, complete with his signature teardrop mole. He knew if his psychopathic ex saw this face, the man would tear the world apart to drag him back to his personal hell in Malibu. But Erich refused to be a victim again. He grabbed a flyer for a prestigious art competition and looked at his stunned new sister. "I'm going to New York." This time, he wouldn't hide. He was going to use his art to save this broken family and declare war on everyone who had ruined them.
Contents
Reborn To Escape His Toxic Love Chapter 1 1
His eyes snapped open.
The air tearing through his throat sounded like a rusted saw blade cutting through bone. Erich's hands clamped down on the bedsheets, his knuckles turning a stark, bloodless white.
He tried to roll over. A violent cramp ripped through the pit of his stomach, burning like battery acid. The sheer force of the pain slammed his spine back against the thin mattress.
He gasped for air. His lungs expanded, pulling in the scent of cheap pine air freshener and rotting floorboards.
This wasn't Malibu. There was no crisp ocean breeze. No scent of Erik's expensive cedarwood cologne.
Heavy, frantic footsteps thudded in the hallway.
Erich's pupils dilated. His body reacted before his brain could process the movement, curling into a tight, defensive ball. His shoulders hiked up to his ears. He braced himself for the blow. He thought it was Erik Patton coming to punish him again.
The flimsy wooden door flew open, slamming against the wall.
A middle-aged woman with disheveled hair and swollen, red-rimmed eyes rushed into the room. A glass of water slipped from her trembling hands, shattering onto the faded carpet.
She let out a guttural sob. "Oh, God!"
Brenda threw herself at the bed. She didn't hesitate. She wrapped her arms around Erich's rigid body, pulling him into a crushing, desperate hug.
The sudden physical contact sent a violent shockwave through Erich's nervous system. The trauma of being forcefully held down, of being touched against his will, ignited in his veins. He started shaking uncontrollably.
He raised his weak, trembling arms, shoving at her chest with everything he had.
A young girl appeared in the doorway. She wore a frayed denim jacket. Keyla crossed her arms tightly over her chest and bit down hard on her lower lip. Her eyes were wide with panic, but her voice dripped with forced sarcasm.
"Look who finally decided to wake up."
Erich's cracked lips parted. He wanted to scream at them. He wanted to demand who they were and where Erik was. But the words died in his throat, replaced by a fit of coughing that felt like his ribs were splintering.
Brenda released him, her face pale with terror. She spun around to face the girl.
"Keyla! Go to the kitchen and get him some warm water. Now!"
Keyla uncrossed her arms and vanished down the hall.
Brenda turned back, her hands hovering uselessly in the air. Erich didn't look at her. He lowered his chin, staring at the hands he had just used to push her away.
They weren't his hands.
These fingers were pale, bony, and completely devoid of the cigarette burns Erik had left on his knuckles.
His heart skipped a beat. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead. He ripped the heavy blanket off his legs, staring down at the emaciated thighs hidden beneath the cheap hospital-grade sweatpants.
This was not his body.
Keyla stomped back into the room. She held a bright blue plastic mug. She shoved it toward Erich's face with a jerky, uncoordinated motion.
Water sloshed over the rim. A few ice-cold drops landed directly on Erich's bare collarbone.
The cold moisture hit his skin. His vision went black.
The memory of Erik's hand wrapping around the back of his neck, forcing his head under the freezing bathwater, hijacked his brain. His lungs locked up. He couldn't breathe.
Erich let out a choked gasp and swatted his hand outward.
His palm collided with the plastic mug. It flew across the room, bouncing off the hardwood floor with a loud, hollow clatter. Water sprayed across the wall.
Brenda sucked in a sharp breath. Her hands shook violently as she reached out, barely grazing his cheek.
"Where does it hurt? Tell me where it hurts." Her voice cracked, thick with begging.
Erich scrambled backward until his spine hit the hard wooden headboard. He pressed himself into the wood like a cornered stray cat. His chest heaved. His eyes darted wildly between Brenda and Keyla, scanning the cramped room for a way out.
Keyla rolled her eyes, though her knuckles were white where she gripped the doorframe.
"If he has the energy to throw a tantrum, he's not dying," she snapped.
Erich forced himself to swallow the bile rising in his throat. He inhaled through his nose. He was alive. He wasn't in the freezing cabin where he had died. He was in a stranger's house, in a stranger's body.
Brenda took a slow, cautious step forward.
"Erich?" she whispered.
The name hit him like a physical blow to the jaw. It was his name. The exact same pronunciation.
His head snapped up. His eyes darted wildly, scanning the woman's tear-streaked face with pure, unadulterated terror. He opened his mouth, but only a broken, animalistic wheeze escaped. His chest heaved as he struggled to connect his shattered thoughts. Finally, his vocal cords scraped together, forcing out a fragmented, breathless whisper.
"...Where...? Who... are you?"
The air in the room instantly evaporated.
Brenda's face crumpled. Tears spilled over her eyelashes, tracking through the deep lines around her mouth. She looked back at Keyla, her expression completely shattered.
Keyla dropped her arms. She took a threatening step toward the bed, her voice rising to a shrill pitch.
"Did you fry your brain with those pills? You don't recognize your own mother and sister?"
The words triggered a catastrophic reaction inside Erich's skull.
A massive wave of foreign memories crashed into his brain. Images of swallowing handfuls of white pills. The crushing weight of depression. The smell of cheap paint.
The new memories violently tangled with his own final moments-the sound of the lock clicking on the abandoned cabin door, the freezing wind, the realization that Erik wasn't coming to save him.
Erich let out a low, agonizing groan. He grabbed his own hair, pulling hard enough to rip the roots.
The room spun. He lost his balance, his upper body pitching forward off the edge of the mattress. He gagged, dry-heaving bitter stomach acid onto the floor.
Brenda screamed. She dove forward, catching him by the shoulders before he could hit the ground.
"Keyla! Call Dr. Albright! Call her right now!"
Brenda wrapped her arms around him again, pulling him tight against her chest. The smell of her laundry detergent filled his nose. It was suffocating.
Panic clawed at Erich's throat. He needed to get away from her touch. He needed to run. But his muscles were entirely useless.
If they called an ambulance, they would lock him in a psych ward. He couldn't let that happen.
Erich bit down on the inside of his cheek. He bit down until he tasted the sharp, metallic tang of his own blood. The physical pain sliced through the panic, forcing his brain to focus.
He went completely limp in Brenda's arms.
"I'm fine," he rasped out, his voice dead and hollow.
Brenda sobbed, burying her face in his shoulder. She carefully pushed him back onto the pillows, tucking the blanket under his chin like he was a toddler.
Erich didn't fight her. He stared blankly at the yellow water stain on the ceiling. He had just hijacked the life of a pathetic, suicidal stranger who happened to share his name.
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