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No. Not today.

I grab his head and slam it backward.

“Try to close your eyes, and you’ll lose them.” I take a wrench and motion for him to open his mouth. “Let’s take a look at your teeth.”

I feign concern over his teeth, which are in an immaculate state, and look around in his mouth—time to play.

I force the cold, heavy steel of the wrench into the humid space of Emin’s mouth. The metal clinked sharply against enamel—a hollow, fragile sound that makes him flinch.

"Hold still," I mutter. I line up the jaws of the wrench, clamping them down around the base of the molar. Emin’s eyes widen, swimming with a primal terror. His entire body locks rigid against the chair. All it takes is one hard, twisting yank and his tooth is out. I brace my feet against the floor to internalize the oncoming scream and the crunch of bone; the wrench shifts, applying the first true pound of pressure.

Emin doesn’t scream; he lets out a sharp, pathetic gasp as his eyes squeeze shut. Under the cold steel, the tooth gives a microscopic, sickening creak.

“Noa, don’t.” Sara’s voice booms through the speakers.

I shake my head and keep applying pressure.

“Stop this madness!” What the actual fuck? With one hand on the wrench and the other keeping Emin’s head steady, I turn around and see Hana.

“What Lana did to me was horrible, but let him go.”

“You can’t mean that, right?” Hana walks up to me, and the weight of the room is suffocating me. The well-lit medical room suddenly feels dark, and the only ones in it are Hana, Emin, and me.

“If you and Lana keep doing this, Dario will gain the upper hand. Let. Emin. Go.”

“You know what? You are right.” I tell her as I let go of Emin’s head. Hana’s shoulders slump in relief, and she clasps her hands together.

“I knew you would come–”

No.

I turn around, take the wrench out of Emin’s mouth, and smack him across the face with it. What follows is a wet, ragged gasp, followed by violent coughing as he tries not to choke on his own blood. But then he does something I have to applaud him for. Normally, a smack this hard would make anyone convulse, not this one. Lana’s friend is holding back. He is letting the initial wave of blinding pain pass through him, not giving me the satisfaction of reacting.

Even though I hit him, I didn’t put all my strength into the smack. His cheek is turning blazing, angry crimson red.

Good.

With the wrench in my hand, I smack him against the cut I made earlier in his thigh, and he groans.

“Are you in pain?” I mock him and pout my lips, making myself look like a wounded animal. Emin doesn’t answer, and I have had enough of this bozo. I take away the restraints and force him upwards. I grab him by the back of his head and push him towards the anechoic room; Hana follows suit.

Once we are standing in front of the room, I tell Hana to open it. She reluctantly does, and I push Emin inside. He lands on the floor and applies pressure to his wounds by putting his hands on them.

“Lana tortured Hana psychologically; it’s fair I return the same favor.” As I am about to shut the door, he says something.

“If you two keep on doing this to each other, you’ll lose your soul, and Dario will win.”

“Luckily I don’t have a soul to lose.”

And I turn off the lights and close the door.

When I look at my cousin, she is shaking her head in disappointment.

“Don’t, Hana.”

“When will this cycle of destruction stop?”

“Not until Lana and Dario are six feet under.”