Page 255 of Fatality

He rests his hips against the bathroom counter and plants a palm on either side of him.

“My parents loved me, but my father drank day and night, came home, and beat the shit out of me.” He rolls his eyes like it's normal. “Not because he wanted to, but because, one, I never obeyed, and two, because down there, baby girl, you either survive or you die.”

I push myself up and step out too, grab a towel and wrap it tightly around myself.

Evren suddenly appears behind me, his hands settling on my waist, and before I can react, he lifts me and sets me on the counter, stepping between my legs.

I let out a soft yelp as the cold counter touches my bare skin.

He looks at me, places his hands on either side of my hips, caging me in as he leans closer.

His lower body pulls back slightly while his face lowers until it's level with mine.

“How could you know anyway?” He leans in even closer. I can feel his breath on my face. “You're an Upper, a rich girl. You never went without food or water, despite your family.”

My eyes narrow. I tense, but I make no move to push him back.

Because he's right.

I never had to worry about food or water, not even once, even if my parents hated me and raised me out of obligation to protect their social image.

“So, the ten-year-old bastard…” He pauses. “Basically, I found a piece of bread and a giant bottle of water. A fucking miracle down there.”

He pauses again.

“And I was about to bring it back home when that fucker came and beat me up. I fought like hell, I was almost unconscious even if I was used to getting beaten up, but if I wanted to drink clean water, if I wanted my parents to, I needed to act, or I was simply dead.”

He reaches out and plucks a damp strand of hair plastered to the corner of my mouth.

The gesture is too casual for that kind of story.

“So, I looked around, saw a steel pipe, grabbed it, pushed myself up and smashed his face until it was nothing but a pancake against the ground.”

I grimace.

I can picture it, and I want to vomit. My stomach flips, and my hands fly to my mouth.

This is sick.

This is completely beyond anything I can comprehend.

“Did you like it?” I mutter, the words muffled behind my hands.

“The first time? No, I threw up right on his body.” He shakes his head dismissively. “But the more I beat people up and survived, the more I liked it.”

My heart stops and my eyes widen.

“I'm not pretending to be normal. I am who I am. I learned how to survive, and it fucks your mind up.” He brushes my bottom lip with his thumb. “You learned to survive your world in your own way. I had to survive mine, simple as that. And strange for you maybe? I don't regret any of my actions.”

He straightens up, steps back, turns his back on me, and walks toward the bathroom door.

He pauses at the threshold and looks at me over his shoulder.

I follow him with my eyes until they settle on his back.

Evren’s back has a large gothic cybersigilism tattoo spread across his shoulder blades and traces the line of his spine in a sharp, symmetrical design.

It resembles fractured wings, corrupted circuitry, or a ritualistic cybernetic mark etched into flesh.