reincarnated with the mind control powers in another world VK

Cora Stace.

Nobody had the slightest idea where Abbott was. He had gone on a trip to find his sister and hadn't returned yet. During the summer vacation, I got a part-time job that allows me to help my parents pay the bills. Mom is unstable, and inconsolable. She hasn't wanted to do anything since she found out that Dad slept with another woman. When I found out, I was paralyzed. I couldn't understand how the man who gave me life had cheated on Mom. I used to see Derek, my father, kiss Mom on the forehead in the mornings, take care of her, and cook for her when she was sick. All those affectionate gestures confused my mind and made me believe in something that didn't exist.

I used to look at them and say, "In the future, I want a relationship like theirs." Abbott always made fun of me for wanting a relationship like my parents. He would tell me it's foolish, that a marriage never goes perfectly. And I think he's right, now I believe it. Since they decided to divorce, my father has been packing up everything he's taking with him. The money is his. My mother doesn't work; she has always taken care of the household chores. He insisted on leaving us a portion, but she refused. She felt indignant, frustrated, and disappointed. She didn't want anything to do with him or his money.

In the morning, Derek tried to talk to me. He urged me to convince Mom to accept the money. I couldn't look him in the eyes; I didn't want to. And I also refused. I think the decision Mom made was the right one. It's like she's paying for what he did, to erase it, or maybe to compensate for his mistake. But sleeping with another woman and seeing her do the same things you do with your wife and pretending everything is fine has no price. And I'm not going to make it easier for him.

"If you want to talk to my mother, do it yourself," I said curtly and left that room as quickly as I could.

Julian is my coworker. He always comes to pick me up from home so we can go to the pizzeria together. We handle the deliveries. Sometimes we entertain ourselves by talking and sharing anecdotes. He told me about one of his exes who is a bit crazy. Whenever he has a soccer match, she goes to see him and starts screaming as if they were still together. He has told her countless times that she doesn't have to do that, that it makes him uncomfortable, and that their relationship is over.

I always laugh when he tells me a story about her. I think we've labeled her as "The Screaming Crazy." One day, I wanted to accompany him so he wouldn't feel so alone, and the screams of the girl next to me were tormenting me. I thought it was someone else; I hadn't stopped to look at her. But when I saw her clearly, I knew who it was. From the verbal description Julian had given me and the enthusiastic screams she let out, there was no way I could be mistaken. It was her.

I decided to talk to her woman to woman. I was polite and straightforward. She listened to me attentively for the first few minutes, but then she started saying that she loved him, that love was like that, and there was nothing I could do to interfere in their romance. That night, I ended up with the milkshake all over my clothes. I hated her. I wanted to hit her, but the match had already ended, and I hadn't noticed everything that was happening with the girl in front of me.

When I opened my mouth to protest, Julian appeared by my side and shouted at her to leave him alone. He even insinuated that he and I were together, at least, no one sitting there knew anyone, it would have been embarrassing, not in a bad way, but I don't want people on the street thinking I'm dating a guy.

When I met him, he seemed like a reserved person. He always has short hair, is dark-skinned, and wears colors between gray and white. Sometimes he goes for a dark green and combines it with beige or similar colors. I thought he was strange, but if I think about it, he must have thought and believed that I was strange too. My hair is wavy and copper-colored, I have green eyes, and I'm as pale as paper. It's not just that. My eccentricity starts with clothes. I like to wear colorful clothes and a black headband; most of the time, I'm wearing it. I tie my hair in a high ponytail and put on the headband. If not, I leave it loose and use the headband as an accessory.

The first time I saw him, I was wearing a neon green dress, and black high heels, and had my hair down. Over the dress, I was wearing a beautiful white jacket.No one had the slightest idea where Abbott was. He had gone on a trip to search for his sister and had not returned yet. During the summer vacation, I managed to get a part-time job that allows me to help my parents pay the bills. Mom is unstable, and inconsolable. She hasn't wanted to do anything ever since she found out that Dad slept with another woman. When I found out, I was paralyzed. I couldn't understand how the man who gave me life could betray Mom. I used to see Derek, my father, kiss Mom on the forehead in the mornings, take care of her, and cook for her when she was sick. All those affectionate gestures confused my mind and made me believe in something that didn't exist.

Most of the students at my university would like to have a part-time job and skip classes because "their boss" has called them. It's not as simple as that; none of the spoiled kids who inhabit those facilities have any idea what it's like to work late and come home tired. If they want something, they get it, whether it's from their parents or because they have enough money scattered around the house. I've seen that many times, more times than I would like.

Morgan, a friend of mine, invited me to her house to finish the work for the first semester, and I accepted without hesitation. I had never seen her so interested in a project as she was that day. Her house is enormous, filled with crystal lamps and TVs bigger than a wall. I didn't mention anything about her house because I didn't want to seem interested, nor did I want her to hate me for my comment. On that same day, she asked if I was hungry after seeing me writing an essay for more than three hours, which, of course, she wouldn't do. She said she would pay for it and told me to consider it as a token of appreciation. I felt frustrated and wanted to kick her, but I managed to handle it better than I thought. I accepted her fake gratitude and watched her search for money throughout the house; she seemed crazy to me like she had lost her mind. Amid stress, I asked her what the hell she was doing.

She laughed and told me she was looking for money; undoubtedly, that made me frown. "If you don't have money, why did you order a pizza?" I asked, and she shrugged in response, saying, "My parents always lose money, and they don't care. I know there's something around here."

Her response got me thinking. My father had money; that's why I studied there, with them. But he has never behaved superficially. My mother, married to a millionaire, had attitudes that I hated, that I detested many times. When she saw people of lower means, she would laugh under her breath, and I would always roll my eyes at her, but I don't think she realized it.

No matter how much I tried to make my mom change, she never did. Until now, where she has no one but me. Where my father has left her with nothing, that's what we both see, that we have been left with nothing. I know that Dad will continue to pay for my university; he promised and he will. But nothing more, now it's my mother's turn to go out to work, and I know that it will cost her more than anything else.

I opened the fridge to get some food, and there was nothing. Yesterday, I gave my mother the money I earned this month at the pizzeria. What had she done with it? And speaking of her, she entered the kitchen with a new piece of clothing.

"What the hell did you do?" I growled.

"Why do you say that?" she complained. "What are we going to eat today?"

"Nothing! That's precisely it, there's no food in the fridge," I shouted angrily. My mother shook her head and started crying desperately. "You have to stop doing this."

"I can't," she sobbed. "Your father has ruined my life."

"He hasn't, you're still alive, right, Mom? So go and get a job. I'll eat at the university," I demanded.

I stormed out of the house, slamming the door. My father was arriving at the house; I imagine he was looking for the last things he has left here. It wouldn't be bad if he took everything with him at once, maybe Mom would realize it's a reality and not some crazy dream she had.