smn

Another quarrel between the girl and Ruslan flared up as suddenly as all the previous ones, but this one seemed especially cruel. Screams echoed throughout the apartment, reverberating off the walls, and very soon the sounds of breaking glass and ceramics joined the cacophony. Dishes flew, shattered, leaving behind a mountain of sharp shards, among which, cowering on the floor, sat the girl herself. Her soul seemed to be as broken as the porcelain plates around her.

Ruslan didn't even try to control himself. His anger was blind and destructive, words flew out of his mouth like poisonous arrows, not stopping even when large tears, one after another, rolled down his beloved's face, leaving wet tracks on her pale skin. He saw her pain, but rage at that moment drowned out any compassion.

Then, in a fit of mad rage, he swung. Not directly at her, but the movement was so sharp and threatening that she instinctively closed her eyes, curling into a ball and preparing for the blow she feared most of all. This small, almost imperceptible gesture - her absolute defenselessness, her primal fear - was like an icy shower dousing Ruslan.

He froze. His raised hand hung in the air, and the veil of rage instantly fell from his eyes. At that moment, he finally realized what he was doing. In front of him sat not just an offended girl, but one scared half to death, all in tears. Her face was distorted with pain and despair. Her shoulders were shaking, and her gaze, when she opened her eyes, was full of such deep sorrow that Ruslan felt disgusted with himself.

without a word, his hands gently wrapped around her thin waist, pulling her towards him, pressing her tightly to his chest. He felt her trembling, her tension, which he himself had created.
“You fool,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I won’t hit you.”