Pulling Only Bad Bitches After Rebirth

The kitchen was cold, the tiles biting against Liam's bare feet as he stood by the counter, pouring himself a mug of black coffee. The eggs sizzled quietly in the pan, their faint aroma barely masking the stale scent of mildew and dust that clung to the corners of the house. The place hadn't changed—not in this timeline, or the last.

Behind him, the creak of footsteps signaled the arrival of trouble.

His so-called mother shuffled in first, rubbing her arms and yawning like the morning had ambushed her. His father followed a second later, already grumbling about something, and trailing behind were the little ones—half-asleep, dragging their backpacks like they weighed a hundred pounds.

Liam didn't even turn around. He just poured his eggs onto a plate, grabbed a fork, and sat down at the cramped breakfast table. Same cracked laminate top. Same mismatched chairs. Same silence that always got filled with judgment.

"You made coffee?" his mother said, surprised.

"I did," Liam said flatly.

She glanced at the stove. "Did you use the last of the eggs?"

"There were three left. I used two."

"Great," she muttered. "And what are the rest of us supposed to eat?"

His father's chair scraped loudly as he sat. "You sure you're not getting a little too comfortable around here, boy?"

Liam looked up, met his gaze calmly. "I'm just eating breakfast."

"You're eating too much," his father snapped. "Maybe it's time you started helping with the groceries. Electricity. Water. Rent."

Liam didn't flinch. He took another bite, slow and casual, like this conversation hadn't happened dozens of times before. It had. In both lifetimes.

Here it was again—their favorite game.

They called it discipline. Responsibility. "Preparing you for the real world." In truth, it was exploitation.

They used to take everything from him. His part-time paycheck. Birthday money. Even pocket change. Claimed they were "saving it" for when he turned eighteen. Said they'd give it all back.

They didn't.

Liam found out the truth after graduation—when they used that stash, all his hard-earned savings, to pay for tuition fees and new clothes for his younger siblings. No one had asked him. No one had told him.

And when he got angry?

They made him feel guilty. Accused him of being selfish for wanting his money back. Said he was jealous. Said a real man wouldn't cry over a few dollars when it was going to "family."

He stabbed another forkful of eggs. "You want help with the bills, fine. But maybe I'll need to see some receipts this time."

His mother blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, last time I helped, that money disappeared. And I never saw a cent come back."

His father scoffed. "Don't act like you were funding the damn house. You lived here rent-free."

Liam smiled faintly. "You charged me rent since I was fifteen."

"That was to teach you responsibility!"

"Really? Or was it to pay off the new flat-screen in your room?"

Silence.

The air went stiff.

His mother clutched the edge of the sink. "That's enough, Liam. Don't bring up the past. We did what we had to do."

"No," he said quietly. "You did what you wanted to do. There's a difference."

His siblings stood frozen in the doorway, watching wide-eyed. One of them—his youngest brother—looked down at the floor, clearly uncomfortable.

His father leaned forward, voice low and sharp. "You wanna talk about what's fair? You've been walking around acting like you're better than everyone since that girl started picking you up in fancy cars."

Liam said nothing.

His father smirked. "Yeah, we saw. Mercedes. Jeep. Blacked-out windows. What are you doing, huh? Selling yourself like a little whore? You think she's really interested in a kid like you? Or is she just using you to fetch her coffee?"

"Watch it," Liam said coldly.

"Oh, what, that struck a nerve?" His father laughed bitterly. "All I'm saying is if you've got some connections now, maybe it's time you used them. Put in a word for me at her family's company. Or hell, ask her for a little loan. That girl's mom's loaded, isn't she?"

Liam looked up slowly, meeting his father's eyes with something new—icy, unreadable stillness.

"You want me to ask Alice for money?" he asked.

"Don't act like that's some big betrayal," his mother said. "You're close with her. She clearly likes you. If you really cared about your family—"

"This isn't about family," Liam cut in. "It's about you seeing me as a wallet."

The words hit harder than he expected.

His mother's expression turned tight. Defensive. "Don't you dare speak to us like that. After everything we've done for you."

"What you've done is teach me to survive," Liam said. "And I learned. I learned that nothing here was ever free. Not food. Not love. Not trust. Everything had a price tag."

His father stood suddenly, fists clenched. "You think you can disrespect us just because some girl with money's interested in you?"

"No," Liam said, voice low but steady. "I can disrespect you because you stopped being parents a long time ago."

The room went silent again.

A silence fell over the kitchen as Liam stared at the two of them—not as his parents, not anymore—but as the strangers they truly were.

They didn't raise him out of love. They raised him out of obligation, out of guilt, or worse, for gain. And now that he knew the truth? Every memory with them felt tainted.

He stood up, slowly and deliberately. His chair scraped against the floor, sharp and final.

"I'm not asking her for anything," Liam said flatly. "And I'm not staying here for much longer."

His so-called mother looked startled. "Liam, you—"

"Don't call me that like you know me," he cut in coldly. "We're done playing house."

His father's expression hardened. "You think you can just walk out and make it on your own?"

"I don't think. I know," Liam replied. "I've survived worse than this."

He grabbed his plate, his coffee, and walked toward the stairs. Not in a rage. Not storming off like some angry teenager. Just… leaving.

They didn't matter now.

At the bottom of the staircase, he paused—not for them, but for himself.

"I'll be gone soon," he said. "Don't bother pretending to miss me when I am."

Then he disappeared upstairs, shutting the door behind him.

He didn't slam it.

He didn't need to.

Some things end loud.