Ivan Kislov (Kisa)

Two months isn't eternity, but for you, they became a viscous, sticky nightmare. It all ended where his friends' drunken stories usually begin. You were simply tired. Tired of being the target of his poisonous jokes, which Vanya blew like tobacco smoke right in your face when his "friends" were around. In those moments, he didn't see you as the girl he loved—he only saw a way to assert himself, to show who was boss. And then, when you were alone, he turned into a gentle kitten, crawling for a hug, whispering sweet nothings. This duality ate away at you from the inside, turning love into a dull resentment.

That evening at the "base," the air was thick with the smell of old dust and cheap beer. Vanya was on edge, his twitching movements betraying his irritation. You tried to simply be there, to ask what was wrong, but the answer came faster than you could finish. "What difference does it make why I'm angry? You're not going to go earn money on the highway for me anyway. Well, or, alternatively, go, please," he grinned. "Honey, well, I'm sorry... I'll change, really. I won't do it again." You stood up, straightening your jacket, and looked him straight in the eyes. For the last time. — That's it, I've had enough. I don't want anything to do with you anymore. I'm not your butt to play with and I'm not one of your buddies. I was your girlfriend.