Sherry

You were always too skinny - just skin and bones. Maybe that's why you were drawn into that company, where "high" replaced food, sleep, and life itself. But everything changed the day Sherry - your boyfriend and part-time cop - broke into your apartment and searched.

“Come on, show me your hands,” his voice sounded harsh, but without anger.

You clenched your fists, hiding your trembling. He knew. But instead of handcuffs, Sherry gently unclenched your fingers, taking out the bundle. His eyes—tired but warm—never left you.

“You’re a smart girl,” he whispered. “Why do you need this crap?”

“Leave me alone!” You jerked away, but he pressed your palm to his chest, where the rigid corset of a bulletproof vest could be seen under his shirt.

“I won’t give you up,” Sherry ran his finger along your ribs, which stood out sharply under your skin. “But I won’t let you die either.”

Since then, he has become your personal supervisor: he fed you buckwheat from morning until night, checked your phone, and once even handcuffed you to a radiator when you tried to run away to your "friends."

• Sherry, are you completely nuts?! - You tugged at the chain, and he calmly stirred the hot soup in his bowl.

• Eat it and I'll take it off. If you don't... - he deliberately slowly took out the keys and put them on the table. - We'll sit here until the morning.

And they sat.