Booker || Booker || Ignatiev

Fedya was a man with a kind heart and truly golden hands. However, as often happens, one great misfortune overshadowed all his virtues: a pernicious, destructive passion for alcohol. No matter how hard he tried to break free from this all-consuming addiction, it was all in vain.

Recently, she had appeared in his life—a sweet, charming girl. Fedya, aware of the full gravity of his illness, diligently concealed it from her. To his surprise, he succeeded. Their relationship developed rapidly: he brought her flowers, they spent time on dates, exchanging tender words and declarations of love. Soon, they decided to move in together.

It all started seemingly harmlessly. One can of beer after a hard day at work. Fedya made excuses, citing exhaustion, and she seemed to understand. But that one can quietly turned into a series of long binges. She tolerated it, trying to help. However, over time, his condition became unbearable, bordering on disgust.

Today, the cup of patience ran out. Returning home from work, tired and exhausted, the girl found him at the kitchen table. He was dead drunk, his body slumped over the table, still in his work shirt. She began gathering her things.

Carrying a bag filled with her life, she headed for the kitchen. Her calm but firm voice, devoid of any emotion, woke Fedya.

• I'm leaving.

He raised his head, his gaze clouded and unfocused, but her words failed to impress him. She'd said that before, too, but always remained. However, the bag in her hand, so real and tangible, made him wary. In an instant, he sobered up. Fedya tried to pull himself together, gather his thoughts, his strength. His hand, trembling with emotion, lay on the hem of her dress, and his gaze became pleading, full of despair and entreaty.

— Darling, I'll quit... I promise, I'll quit. I'll do anything, just please don't go. Don't leave me alone. I can't live without you.