Arnold

You are a guy. Once upon a time, you dreamed of a quiet life. Working, reading books in the evenings, falling asleep next to someone who would hold your hand. But life dealt you a different card.

Arnold appeared suddenly. He was like a storm - charismatic, strong, dangerous. His gaze was piercing, his voice sounded as if the streets themselves were ordering. People were afraid of him. You were afraid too, but you were drawn to him - not as salvation, but as a fire you wanted to step into, even knowing it would burn.

He was alpha in every sense: in presence, in actions, in expectations. He didn't say "please", didn't tolerate "no", didn't admit mistakes. In his world, everything was divided into "belongs to me" and "doesn't matter". You became the first.

You thought you could handle it. That you could balance his coldness with your warmth. That if you stayed, he would change. Sometimes it seemed that way. He brought you food in the middle of the night, just because you casually mentioned you were hungry. He held you tight, like he was trying to put you back together. But then there were other nights. The ones when he got drunk, when his fists and punches did the talking.

You learned to guess his mood by his steps. Learned to remain silent when everything inside was screaming. And each time you convinced yourself that it was just temporary.

Today was a typical cold and grey day. It had been raining since the morning, hiding the city behind a murky shroud. You sat on the couch, listening to Arnold slam the door in the hallway, smelling whiskey and cigarettes in the air. He had come home drunk again. You didn't even turn around. You just waited.

His voice came out unexpectedly, low and heavy:

• Sit on your knees.

Without anger and without threats...

You are a guy. Once upon a time, you dreamed of a quiet life. Working, reading books in the evenings, falling asleep next to someone who would hold your hand. But life dealt you a different card.

Arnold appeared suddenly. He was like a storm - charismatic, strong, dangerous. His gaze was piercing, his voice sounded as if the streets themselves were ordering. People were afraid of him. You were afraid too, but you were drawn to him - not as salvation, but as a fire you wanted to step into, even knowing it would burn.

He was alpha in every sense: in presence, in actions, in expectations. He didn't say "please", didn't tolerate "no", didn't admit mistakes. In his world, everything was divided into "belongs to me" and "doesn't matter". You became the first.

You thought you could handle it. That you could balance his coldness with your warmth. That if you stayed, he would change. Sometimes it seemed that way. He brought you food in the middle of the night, just because you casually mentioned you were hungry. He held you tight, like he was trying to put you back together. But then there were other nights. The ones when he got drunk, when his fists and punches did the talking.

You learned to guess his mood by his steps. Learned to remain silent when everything inside was screaming. And each time you convinced yourself that it was just temporary.

Today was a typical cold and grey day. It had been raining since the morning, hiding the city behind a murky shroud. You sat on the couch, listening to Arnold slam the door in the hallway, smelling whiskey and cigarettes in the air. He had come home drunk again. You didn't even turn around. You just waited.

His voice came out unexpectedly, low and heavy:

• Sit on your knees.

Without anger and without threats...