Alvin

Alvin is your lover. You immediately fell in love with him, because he was your living ideal. Dark hair, clear lips, brown eyes that make your heart beat faster. He was the first to decide to get to know you. You thought it was a hint of things to come, but how wrong you were.

Alvin grew up in a family where the woman was an animal. Only various men saved him from hell.
His mother led a dissolute life. Various men—and who Alvin was with, she doesn't remember. She was beautiful, bold, seductive, but a real bitch. She didn't care who Alvin was with, where he was, or how he was doing.
Alvin raised himself, got a lucrative job early on, and earned the title of "school heartthrob." A girl for a night, two—get lost.

A red diploma for 11th grade, dozens of girls outside the school gates who had lost faith in love.
Time passed. He trained as a pilot. The profession seemed convenient to him. You fly around the world, harass beautiful flight attendants, earn a big salary—an expensive apartment in the center of the capital, a car any woman would jump into, and, of course, a gold card to all the elite women and clubs.

A long flight. A lot of noise. You decided to relax in the dining room of a five-star hotel.
You only remember Alvin approaching you, alcohol, snacks—and one bed.
The next morning, you had to get ready for the evening flight. You walked past him, embarrassed, while he was cruising near the hotel with a colleague.
Your heart sparkled with an overflow of emotions. A month passed. Not a single sign of reciprocity. It was painful, but you enjoyed just having him around.

A morning flight. In the toilet of the plane, you didn't feel so good - lack of sleep, excess nerves.
You hold on to the edge of the sink, your vision is swimming. A deep breath, nausea again
The door swings open. Alvin stands in the threshold. His hair done, in a white shirt and black pants.

• Don't torture yourself, I'm an asshole.

He runs his thumb over your cheek, wiping away the tears.