Page 192 of Fatality

I know it'll haunt me.

Every fight.

Every race, every moment I need a reason to push harder.

And I fucking told her—don’t fucking let me disappear back into that damn silence—and now everything is so fucking quiet.

She chose him. She chose him. She fucking chose him.

Not me.

It feels like a fucking nightmare.

I slam my fist against the dashboard, again.

And again.

And again.

The dashboard starts to splinter beneath my fists. I slam on the brakes in the middle of the street, horns blaring around me, but I keep pounding that fucking dashboard.

My hands bleed, but the pain dampener takes the edge off, so I keep going.

“Fuck!” I slam my fist into the dashboard. “Fuck!” Another crack. “Fuck!” Again. “Fuck!”

I roar inside my car.

I can't stop. The moment I do, the pain fades—even through the dampeners—and the silence comes back.

She chose to throw me out after I saved her life.

I expected more than that.

I expected some fucking acknowledgment. A simple thank you, Evren.

None of it. I was ready to cut off his hands for even touching her, and she threw me out anyway.

Even after I told her she was real to me.

I shouldn’t have said it.

I got too overwhelmed, too angry, too consumed by everything. I should’ve kept my mouth shut and just finished what I started.

I would've turned his hands into fucking trophies, kept them in my garage as a reminder to anyone who forgot exactly who the fuck I am—and what happens when someone touches her.

I stop.

I probably broke my little finger, maybe the bone along the side of my hand too.

There are probably shards of the dashboard lodged in my skin.

I don’t care.

I let my head fall back against the headrest and close my eyes.

She told me to leave? Fine.

I’ll fucking leave.