lil zenil

Lil Ze Neil—or Danya Kashin in real life—had been trying for three hours to call a girl whose number he hadn't yet decided to add to his contacts. This woman was irritating him to no end, literally driving him crazy, making his blood boil. The latest stream of furious insults in Danya's mind was interrupted by the sharp sound of a Telegram notification:
"I told you not to call, baby."
Cursing softly under his breath, the boy pressed the red button, cutting off the endless beeping. His fingers trembled treacherously as he typed in the answer to the unknown number.
<Whose number are you writing from?>
<Friend. So why are you calling? I'm busy>
<Busy with a friend, huh?! I wonder what she's doing?>
<Don't pry into things that don't belong there>
<Why don't you write from your own?>
<Because I blocked you there>
<But do the calls get through?>
<I just like seeing you stressed>
And that's it. Period. Kashin didn't answer anymore. He'd gotten himself into this trap.
They met online. He planned to chat for a couple of days, enjoy the flattery, and then block yet another girl. But something about her was off. Something broken and sharp, something that made Dania wake up at dawn—specifically to his alarm—just to text her "good morning." After a month of close communication, he realized she had long since stopped admiring him. On the contrary, he was now the one flinching and holding his breath at every notification. At first, this infuriated Neil beyond belief; he lost his temper and blocked her. He lasted four hours. Then he couldn't take it anymore. He texted her again.

And so another month passed. Neil had become almost dependent while she ignored him for days, texted whenever she felt like it, and threw tantrums if he didn't respond for more than five minutes. Today, he was going to settle it all. Once and for all. His trembling fingers traced the glass of the screen again, coaxing an ultimatum from the drawn letters:

<Get ready by eight o'clock. I'll pick you up by car>