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The thoughts running through Evan’s mind at the moment were impossible to sift through at the current moment. His state of being was indescribable, since saying that he was pissed off would be the understatement of the century…of the fucking millennium. His knuckles turned white as he gripped at the sides of his sink, not even caring that the pearly white porcelain was now stained with his blood. It wasn’t the first time his apartment would be in shambles because of the Death Eaters; but it was definitely the first time he didn’t think he deserved it. His shoulders were tense, and his entire body was sore from being tossed around like a rag doll, but the inevitable exhaustion that usually followed being tortured hadn’t kicked in just yet. He was supporting himself against that blood covered sink, staring at the stream of water pouring from the faucet. He wasn’t even sure how he had managed to pull his body up from the floor, and drag himself into his bathroom, where he was currently standing. He had cleaned himself up, and had changed out of his blood soaked clothing, but now that he thought about it, there really wasn’t any point to it. He didn’t have too many potions in his cabinet, so he was able to stop most of the bleeding, but his torso and sections of his legs were wrapped in gauze, covered by a loose t-shirt and baggy sweatpants.

His damp hair fell forward as he tilted his head down, shutting his multi-colored orbs, trying to keep his breathing calm. The knuckles of his right hand were covered in crimson liquid, since he had actually punched the mirror moments ago. His history with Caradoc Dearborn kept playing like a film in his mind, trying to find the bits and pieces that would have given him a fucking sign. Was he really that stupid? Was he that foolish, to trust someone who was working against him? The fact that he trusted him at all made Evan’s eye twitch, and it wasn’t until he heard his name being shouted did his thoughts come to a stop.

Blinking his eyes open, his gaze traveled up to the shattered glass fragments that were still left in the frame, distorting his image. The old scar that had been on his cheek for quite some time was now accompanied with another one, making it an X. He had a cut on his lip, and a bruise on his cheekbone…but Death Eaters usually didn’t go much for the face when they tortured people. It’d lead people to ask too many questions. They were minor enough so that they would heal in a few days, but they were still noticeable. The wounds on his body, however…were not so small.

Pushing his hair back as he heard his dog growl and bark at the owner of that voice, he rinsed the blood off of his hands, wrapping up his hand with a bandage, fastening it before he closed the bathroom door behind him, taking his time getting to the main hallway of his flat. Mack hadn’t been able to get much further than that because of the snarling dog. Evan just looked at her, and then down to his Doberman, letting her snap and bark fiercely for a while longer until he finally spoke. “Unten.” His voice was low, and raspy, but it was enough to make the dog completely stop and lay down, like she was instructed. His eyes stayed focused on the canine before he looked back over to Mackenzie. “Do come in, Mackenzie. Make yourself at home.” His voice was laced with sarcasm, not at all amused that she had just decided to barge in like she had. He didn’t want to see anyone; not because he wanted to be alone and mope, but because he was in a shit load of pain, and he wasn’t so sure he would be able to stop himself from causing someone physical harm if he had to deal with them at this time.