As Figen and Ayhan shook hands and left the house, the rumbling of Süleyman’s stomach made Tarık realize it had been a while since they had last eaten. Just thinking about food made his own stomach growl. “Let’s make some food and eat, Uncle. I'm starving,” he suggested.
Their spoons dived into a dish of tavern-style rice and cucumber yogurt salad, fulfilling their purpose by silencing the rumblings of their hungry stomachs. Tarık gathered the empty plates and dropped them into the sink, lacking the energy to wash them. Süleyman’s eyelids fluttered—his body yearned for sleep. As Tarık prepared Buğra’s bed for his uncle, the fear of spending a second night without Buğra filled his heart. Who knew where he was or how he was? Was he asleep? Was he hungry? There wasn’t a single second he wasn’t on Tarık’s mind.
“Be okay, little brother, please be okay!” he murmured.
When his uncle emerged from the bathroom, Tarık told him, “Go to sleep, Uncle, good night,” and left the room. Behind him, Süleyman, busy removing his pants, replied, “Good night, nephew.” As Tarık headed for the shower, Süleyman had turned off the light and crawled under the blankets. The aches in his feet from running all day radiated through his body. Just as he was about to succumb to sleep, the sound of water snapped him back to reality, and his eyes briefly said farewell to the world. Tarık turned on the water heater and undressed absentmindedly. Before stepping into the shower, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. His face had sunk in over the past two days. His cheeks felt hollow, his eyes sunken, as if his beard had grown overnight.
“All that matters is finding Buğra,” he said, stepping under the water. A scream escaped him as the icy water hit his body. He was sure he’d set the water heater to medium, but why was the water still cold? As he struggled to step out, it felt as though buckets of ice water were being poured over his head. His breath was about to catch when a man’s voice saying, “That’s enough,” halted the water.
Tarık groped around in the dark, trying to steady his breath and stand. Though his eyes were open, his vision was blurry, as if he was looking into a foggy world.
“This will teach all of you a lesson!” the man’s voice seemed to come from nowhere.
“You thought you could escape from the dorm, did you? Did you think I would allow that, kid?”
Tarık swallowed reflexively. His mind was a tangled mess, understanding and confusion mingled together.
“We weren’t escaping,” he said. Had he spoken those words himself?
“Crawling under the wire fence to go where, to the movies?” the man laughed mockingly. Tarık clenched his teeth. He hated this man. But how could he hate someone he didn’t know?
His back started to burn as if he had an open, bleeding wound.
“Look at me, kid!” he shouted, raising his head to see the man. His vision was still blurry, only the silhouette of the man was visible. The man laughed again, “Good job, boys,” he said. Tarık heard a few teenage voices laughing in the background.
“Cengiz, Mert, Dağhan,” the names flashed through his mind, faces forming in his memory. How did he know these boys? His mind was fogging up even more.
“Untie his hands,” the man commanded. They untied his hands, which Tarık hadn’t realized were bound. How had they been tied when he was just trying to hold onto something?
Once his hands were free, two young boys clung to his arms. Despite the pain with each step, he continued to walk.
“I hate this man,” one of the boys beside him said.
“Me too,” Tarık found himself responding.
“Why are you guys trying to escape, big bro? Don’t you know the guard won’t forgive this?”
“What choice do we have, Hüseyin? I can’t endure his humiliations forever,” he said. The words felt both his and not his. It was as if two different souls, from different times, occupied the same body. He knew he was lying on the bathroom floor, yet he felt present here.
“None of us want to, but there’s nothing we can do. Just wait till we’re eighteen, then I know what to do to that scumbag,” Hüseyin spat on the ground as if the word dirtied his mouth.
“You’re lucky, you’ll leave when you’re eighteen. What about me? I’d have to leave Enes behind. I just turned thirteen this year, and he
’s only eight,” thought the smaller shadow, the part of him that knew he was still in the bathroom. “Enes is the younger one,” he noted mentally.
“You’ll find a job and take him with you if they pay you,” the other boy, whom he realized was Fahri, broke his silence. Tarık was surprised he knew. Memories of the larger shadow swirled in his mind.
“You’re the luckiest, man. You’ve only got two years left here,” he said, a mix of jest and jealousy. Suddenly, he realized the voice touching his ear wasn’t his own. Fear throbbed through his heart, overwhelming him as his hand touched the cold marble. Grasping the sink for support, he stood and faced his reflection in the mirror. Swollen, bruised eyes stared back at him, the brown irises not his own. He recoiled in horror, retreating under the showerhead as the water turned scalding. When had he turned it to the highest setting? Panicking, he struggled to turn off the water heater, thinking he might be the first to burn to death under a shower. When he finally managed to shut off the water, he was shaking. He grabbed a towel from the rack and wrapped it around his trembling body. The bathroom was steamy, obscured. He hesitantly approached the mirror again, terrified of the face he might see. When the steamed-up mirror refused to clear, he wiped it with his hand. His own flushed face and green eyes looked back at him. He sighed in relief. Quickly dressing, he rushed out of the bathroom. As he threw himself onto the bed, he pulled the covers over his head.
“This wasn't real,” he repeated to himself, gifting sleep to his eyes.