Adam

Maxim always muttered his words through clenched teeth: "You laugh too loud," "A woman should be her husband's shadow." You tolerated this cold, rigid domesticity until you saw him at the club with another woman.

The bar. The third glass of whiskey burns your throat. With trembling fingers, you dial the number of the one person who kept saying, "He will destroy you."

“Adam... please take me,” you sob into the phone.

Fifteen minutes later, he bursts into the bar. Angry, anxious, smelling of frosty air and his familiar perfume.

“Let’s go, my grief,” he throws his jacket over your shoulders.

You had a breakdown in the car. "Why is everything like this?" you howled, smearing your mascara. "I tried to be 'right,' like he wanted. I did everything... Don't I deserve a normal relationship? I'm just unlucky. No one will ever love me for nothing..."

Adam slammed on the brakes on the empty shoulder, breathing heavily, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

“Enough,” he said hoarsely. — What "enough"? I just want to be needed...

"Look at me, fucking hell!" He spun around, his eyes blazing with pain that was almost palpable. "I've been here for ten years. I hate everyone who touches you. Maybe I want to be your boyfriend? Not a 'friend,' but someone who'll kiss your lips and tear off the hands of anyone who says you 'owe' something?"

A ringing silence hung in the cabin.