The Next Big Thing
Chapter 158: Accident

Chapter 158: Accident

"Dude, wake up."

The words sliced through the silence of the early morning like a paper-thin command from the heavens—or more accurately, from a very annoyed David.

Thud!

A dull thump echoed right after, as David’s foot met the side of the bed, making it shudder just enough to cause a chain reaction. Mohamed, his Middle Eastern friend and the proud owner of the now-violated mattress, groaned like a ghost being exorcised mid-sleep.

David stood there with his arms folded, watching as Mohamed, rather than rising to the occasion, flopped over dramatically and rolled right off the bed like a sack of potatoes—landing flat on the floor in the parlor with a blissful sigh. He was still, his body occasionally twitching, a faint smile playing on his lips like he was having the time of his life... in a dream.

David’s expression? Disbelief. His friend looked like he was halfway to paradise, sprawled out, arms open, legs slightly bent, as if he had just flopped into a five-star spa, not a tiled floor.

The night before had been nothing short of legendary. A full-blown gaming marathon. What started as a quick invite had spiraled into digital madness. David had only meant to chill and game with Mohamed—but then Zoey, his online friend, had joined them, and from that moment, it was pure chaos.

They’d played for hours. Screaming, laughing, trash-talking. At one point, Mohamed had screamed so loud Zoey threatened to mute him. David had been eating chips, half-listening, and ended up snorting crumbs from laughing too hard when Mohamed got eliminated in a game in the dumbest way possible. The squad had spent the night rotating between intense gameplay and devouring unhealthy amounts of food. At one point, someone had the brilliant idea to make cereal at 2 a.m.—with juice, not milk. It was surreal. It was madness. It was friendship.

But now... the sun was up. And with daylight came responsibility.

David had training.

Mohamed had work.

David stared at the unmoving figure of his friend still sprawled like roadkill in the parlor. He walked over and gently tapped him with his foot.

"Dude, wake up," he said again, this time with a bit more emphasis, giving him a few rhythmic nudges.

Mohamed groaned, rolling slightly as he muttered something in his sleep.

"No... not another one. Stop..."

David paused, his brows furrowing.

What the hell is this guy dreaming about? he thought, staring at Mohamed as if he’d just confessed to illegal time travel. The groaning continued, with more nonsense talk as Mohamed twitched and turned.

David shook his head slowly and sighed. "Bro, I ain’t got time for this." Turning away, he strolled into the kitchen. He needed reinforcements. The kind his mother used to use.

He reached into the fridge, grabbed a cold bottle of water, twisted the cap open with a satisfying crack, and turned slowly toward the battlefield—aka the parlor.

David walked in with quiet, calculated steps. The bottle dangled in his hand like a sword ready to be unsheathed. As he approached Mohamed’s sleeping form, he stopped, towering above his unsuspecting friend.

Mohamed’s face was still the picture of serenity. A man at peace. A man who had no idea what was about to rain—literally—upon his dreams.

David’s expression darkened.

His voice dropped low, guttural, almost reverent.

"I have... become my mother," he whispered in a menacing tone that could’ve made Darth Vader do a double take. His eyes gleamed with the thrill of the dark side.

Slowly—oh so slowly—he tilted the bottle.

And then...

drip

drip

dripdripdripdripdrip

The cold water cascaded from the bottle like a holy blessing—except this was a curse. A mother-grade, get-up-or-die kind of curse. The first drops landed on Mohamed’s peaceful face.

David watched with devilish satisfaction as the transformation began.

Mohamed flinched.

A frown formed.

His eyelids twitched.

Then—suddenly—his body jerked as if he’d been electrocuted by a thousand volts of freezing liquid judgment. He shot up with a strangled scream, flailing like someone being baptized against his will.

"DUDE—WHAT?! WHAT?! WHAT IS THAT?!"

But David didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink. He stood over him like a Sith Lord with a mission. The water kept flowing like a divine punishment from the heavens.

Mohamed threw his hands up, shielding himself like a man who had just realized the ceiling was leaking directly onto his soul.

"GUY—I’M UP! I’M UP! STOP! STOP!!" he yelled, spinning on the floor, drenched and betrayed, desperately trying to catch his breath.

David still didn’t stop. He only grinned.

Wide. Evil. Sinister.

A grin that belonged to someone who had waited his whole life for a reason to become this dramatic.

Mohamed, blinking through the water assault, finally looked up—and what he saw froze him to his core.

David. Towering. Silent. Grinning. His eyes gleamed like a villain on his final boss level. The water continued its descent from the tilted bottle in slow motion. Mohamed’s eyes widened. His heartbeat spiked.

In that instant, all the peace, dreams, and joy Mohamed had known vanished.

He could only think one thing:

"I am going to die."

"Hey Prakesh, can I connect my phone to the car? I want to listen to some Saw music," David asked, breaking the suffocating silence that had taken over the ride.

From the driver’s seat, Prakesh glanced at David through the side mirror and nodded with a quick smile. "Yes, yes, of course," he said in his usual enthusiastic tone.

"Okay, thanks," David replied, already pulling out his phone, determined to inject some life into the dreadfully dull atmosphere.

He was halfway into syncing the Bluetooth when he turned his head and noticed Mohamed beside him. The poor guy was slumped against the door, arms folded, face long, clearly sulking. His whole aura screamed, "I’ve been emotionally wounded by someone who betrayed me in my sleep."

David blinked at him. Yep. He was the mood killer.

"Dude, is everything okay?" David asked, his tone cautious but concerned. He had a strong feeling this was about this morning’s waterboarding episode.

Mohamed didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he turned slowly, dramatically—like a horror movie ghost just realizing who its murderer was. He stared straight into David’s eyes, wide-eyed and with a look of betrayal that would make a soap opera star proud.

"You..." he muttered.

David pointed to himself, looking completely innocent. "Me?"

"You tried to kill me," Mohamed accused, his voice cracking under the weight of perceived trauma. "You—you!"

From the front seat, Prakesh glanced back, his eyebrows raised, clearly confused and now mildly concerned.

David burst out laughing. "Whoa, kill you? Are you insane?" he said, doubling over as he struggled to breathe between giggles. "What—did I drown you in your dreams or something?"

"Yes!" Mohamed shouted. "You tried to drown me—with water! Real water! Not even dream water!"

David couldn’t stop laughing. "Come on, it was just a sprinkle!"

"A sprinkle? Bro, I was waking up to a monsoon!"

Prakesh was now more invested in their conversation than in driving. His eyes kept darting to the rearview mirror.

David leaned back in his seat, still laughing. "Maybe I tried to kill you—in the game last night. But even then, Zoey got us both."

"Ah yes, your female warrior," Mohamed said dramatically, wagging a finger. "As if that friend of yours didn’t kill you more times than the villain from Saw."

David rolled his eyes. "Hey! Zoey doesn’t count. She’s a pro!"

Mohamed crossed his arms again. "Yeah. A pro at beating you."

"Okay, okay, fair," David said, chuckling. "She wiped the floor with me. But at least I didn’t nearly pee myself when the ghost popped up in that mission!"

"Oh please," Mohamed snorted. "You screamed like a kettle!"

The car filled with laughter—David and Mohamed full-blown cackling now. Even Prakesh tried to chuckle along, although his eyes were still darting back, distracted.

"Calm down, boys! Calm down!" Prakesh said with a nervous laugh, still glancing backward, both hands half on the wheel.

David and Mohamed turned toward him. "Prakesh, keep your eyes—"

"—ON THE ROAD!" they shouted in unison, faces transforming from jokesters to horror-struck passengers.

Their eyes widened as they all saw it at once—a car, barreling toward them from the opposite lane, way too close, and definitely not slowing down.

"Prakesh! A car! LOOK!"

Everything happened at once.

Prakesh turned back to the road just in time to yank the steering wheel with a sharp jerk. Tires screeched. The car spun slightly, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision.

David and Mohamed were thrown to the sides, their screams echoing inside the car as bags shifted, phones flew, and the entire vehicle did a sharp swerve.

"AHHHHH!"

BAM!

The car collided with the sidewalk barrier, jolting them forward as the impact rang out like a cymbal crash. Metal against stone. A crunch. A final lurch.

Silence. Breathing. Shock.

Everything stopped.

Author’s Note

Hey everyone!

I want to sincerely apologize for the long break—I’m really sorry for disappearing like that. But the good news? I’m back now and fully committed to this journey. I promise to deliver at least one Chapter a day, and this time, I will see this book through to the end.

I have so many plans for David. Honestly, I can’t think of many football stories where the main character is fully arrogant—and that’s exactly what I want David to be. He’s going to face challenges, trials, and setbacks. His arrogance will evolve—it might turn into something worse, or maybe something better—but that transformation is part of the ride. And I’m here for it.

I hope you are too. Thanks for sticking with me, and once again, I truly appreciate your patience.

Just one last thing to say:

We are SO back, baby.