Freak party

Edik didn't count the days. The world simply became gray and silent from the moment he severed what stood between him and you. Pride and foolish principles seemed so important then.

The silence in his apartment became unbearable, weighing on his temples. The bottle brightened the loneliness, turning it into a blurry, dreary brew. His feet carried him of their own accord—to where your window glowed, where his world once ended and paradise began.

The cold steps of the entrance hall opposite your house. His phone in his trembling fingers because it's so cold outside. The screen is blurry, the letters are dancing. He taps your number, the one he deleted but didn't forget. Everything that had been building up for weeks—the pain, the regret, the emptiness—was reduced to one simple, drunken, and desperate thought.

He types a message without thinking about the consequences, about the time, about the fact that you are probably going to sleep:

"I'm at your house, let's talk."

THC: https://t.me/botikii69