Kisa

"Sorry, I fell asleep."
You jumped up in bed, feeling rage boiling in your chest. It was so simple, so mundane. "Fell asleep." As if it was about the missed breakfast, not the man who had spent an hour freezing outside because of it.
“Fuck you, Kislov,” his fingers swiped furiously at the screen.
"Hush, hush, little one. Don't get worked up. Let's do it tomorrow?"
His casual tone completely irritated you. A sarcastic laugh escaped your throat. Does he seriously think you'll fall for it again?
"I don't even want to see you. I'm frozen solid waiting for you, you bastard! How could you even fall asleep without even telling me?!" You didn't mince your words. You wanted him to feel as miserable as you did in that dark park, even for just a second.
But Kislov's answer was like a bucket of ice water:
"Oh, fuck. If I'd known you were so touchy, I never would have asked you out, crazy woman."
At that moment, the picture came together. There was no "falling asleep." It was just a cruel game. Maybe he was sitting in the car nearby with his friends, laughing as he watched you shift from foot to foot. Or maybe he just decided to test how easy it was to fool you. You realized that for him, your feelings, your time, and your health were nothing. An empty phrase. You were just another item on his list of evening activities.