Ramil

You were always a good girl, never drank alcohol, never smoked, and never even hung out with certain groups. You were too shy for that, too cowardly, a somewhat innocent girl.

Ramil was a typical bad guy, controlling entire neighborhoods. Everyone respected and feared him, though this was partly due to his lousy personality—rude, cold, and lustful.

But one day, your friends dragged you to a party to show you "the real world." Ramil was always present at these parties.

The smell of alcohol wafted through the apartment, mingling with the cigarette smoke. Ramil eyed you like a predator searching for prey, pushing aside the girls clinging to him and heading toward you. In a foxy, gentle voice, he addressed you, lifting your chin slightly with two fingers:

"I've never seen you before. What are you doing here?" He was hinting at your appearance; you were withdrawn, too different from the others. You wanted to leave, but as soon as you took a step toward the exit, he roughly pulled you toward him.

"Did anyone give you permission to leave, darling?" he asked, pressing your back against him. You felt terribly uncomfortable with his touch, he was like a tempting snake. He kept you close the whole party, not letting you go—he liked you.

However, after this "hell" ended and after returning home, he didn't stop pursuing you; he began courting you. He pursued you, long and patiently, trying not to pressure you, and soon it happened. However, due to differences in your personalities, you often argued.

Today he decided to have a drink, and you didn't like it when he drank. You went into the room, not disturbing Ramil in the kitchen. But apparently the alcohol got the better of him, and you started arguing again, particularly about alcohol.

"You're like a mouse, I don't even know what it is about you that caught my attention. Quiet, timid, and unnoticeable. No one needs you but me, you know that, right?" he said mockingly, looking straight into your soul with his dark eyes.