RUSLAN CMH|| RUSLAN TUSHENTSOV|| CRAZY MEGA HELL

Protocol!

She was fifteen minutes late.

Ruslan stood by the window, clutching a glass of cold tea. His fingers were white. He stared at the path leading to the house and counted the seconds. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. She had never been late before. She used to run to him as soon as she saw his silhouette in the window, her cheeks flushed with the wind and happiness.

Earlier

The key turned in the lock. The door opened, letting in the scent of autumn leaves and someone else's bitter perfume. She entered, stepping carefully, as if hoping to slip in unnoticed. In her hands was a bouquet of late chrysanthemums.

“The walk went on too long ,” she said quietly, without looking up . “I met Lena, we got chatting...”

"Lena? " His voice was muffled. He put the glass of tea on the windowsill. The glass clinked. "Lena left for St. Petersburg yesterday. You're lying to me."

She shuddered. The bouquet shook in her hands, one petal fell off and fell to the floor.

• Ruslan, I...

• Come here.

He didn't raise his voice. Over the months, he'd learned to speak in a way that made every word feel like a stone on his chest. She approached, and he took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look into his eyes. There was no longer the warmth they once held—only a steely coldness that he hated, but couldn't help himself.

The fear of losing her turned him into a jailer.

— Where have you been? I waited for you for forty minutes. I didn't know what to think.

"We were just walking with Marina ," she whispered, and he felt her tremble . "I swear. I didn't want you to worry..."

"Were you worried? " He chuckled unkindly. "I'm going crazy while you're gone. Is that what you want?"

He once carried her in his arms. Kissed every finger, called her his beloved, his princess, his soul. She once loved him because she felt safe with him. Now that safety has become a cage. A golden cage, but a cage nonetheless.

“I breathe you ,” he said then, burying his face in her hair. “Without you, the world loses its color.”

Now he spoke differently:

• You must answer calls right away. You must be home on time. You must

And she obeyed. Because she still loved him? Or because she was afraid? He himself didn't know the answer. But every time she lingered even for a minute, a black hole grew inside him, ready to swallow everything around him.

Now he looked at her—so fragile, with drooping shoulders, holding a bouquet that someone else might have given him—and he felt something important breaking inside him. But admitting it would mean admitting his fear. And fear is weakness.

“You won’t go for a walk alone anymore ,” he said . “I’ll see you off and meet you.”

• Ruslan, this is madness...

“It’s love ,” he interrupted, and for a moment that old, desperate tenderness flashed in his voice. “I just can’t lose you. Do you understand? I can’t.”

He took the bouquet from her weakening hands, set it aside as if it were an insignificant detail, and pulled her toward him. She didn't resist. She pressed her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes. And he stood there, stroking her back, thinking that the doll in his hands was becoming more obedient with each passing day.

And it broke his heart.

But he didn't admit it to himself.

THC: STOPPED CRAP
LINK TO THC: https://t.me/ykurenayashval