Book one in ????????? ????? ??????? series.
????? ?????? has been shaped by sorrow, growing up in a home scarred by her parents' addiction. Despite it all, she became the light in the dark. After their death, she was...
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I could barely hear anything over the ringing in my head.
There was a sound, distant yet somehow all-encompassing, like I was trapped in a tunnel, the noise echoing in my mind on a relentless loop.
My vision blurred and I soon understood what the noise was—cheering.
The crowd was wild, caught in the frenzy, chaos spilling out for the winner.
For me.
No matter how many times I fought, I could never get used to this.
The chaos.
Their expressions. Some filled with admiration. All brimming with respect and fear.
Since I was a kid, I learned not to expect anything from anyone.
Not kind words.
Not gifts.
Not warmth.
None of it was real. Certainly not lasting. And it always came with a price.
I realized early—people don't give, they take.
Your happiness, no matter how fleeting.
Your innocence, no matter how brief.
Your body, no matter how young, how small.
It didn't take long to be beaten into an understanding: I was nothing.
No one.
Just the son of a stripper and an alcoholic bastard.
And I deserved nothing but pain.
After a while, I learned to expect it. Crave it even.
Because pain was predictable.
Better the devil you know, than the one you don't.
Better a cruel, cold familiarity than a fleeting warmth that will eventually slip through your fingers, leaving behind only shattered remnants of your soul, scattered like ash—inevitably disappointed, undeniably helpless and irrevocably alone.
Hope is a slow death. A fool's game.
You may call me cynical. Cold. Jaded. Empty. But after the shit I've been through I'm honestly surprised to call myself alive.
Psychical pain only fueled my anger.
And after I saw how cruel and selfish people could be, how they took without remorse—what monsters lurked inside them.
I knew I had to become a worse one to survive.
I had a life-altering choice to make before I even knew how to make a proper fist: shut up and take it, or fight back.
I fought. And I haven't stopped since.
I never lose, and I never let myself get distracted.
I'm a deadly weapon, forged from the years of struggling to stay alive while starving on the streets, from the pain and cruelty inflicted by those who were supposed to protect and love, but instead shattered, the vulnerable and innocent parts of a little boy, in pieces.
