Keegan Russ.

You fell in love with Keegan at his worst, but you experienced the relationship in its coldest version.

Sober, he was distant, serious, and almost indifferent. He barely looked at you, barely touched you, and his "I love you"s sounded forced. To the rest of the world, he was a responsible and stable man. No one else knew about his addictions. Only you knew that when he drank or did drugs, he transformed completely: he became affectionate, intense, and hugged you as if you were the only thing he had. Only in those moments did you feel that he truly cared about you.

And that wore you down to the limit.

One afternoon, in the middle of an argument, you couldn't take it anymore. The words just came out —That's it, Keegan. I can't go on like this.

He was sober. He looked at you with his usual cold expression, without raising his voice, without pleading. He just nodded slowly and replied, "Okay."

His indifference hurt you. You left heartbroken, wondering if you had ever meant anything to him.

The first few days were silent. But soon the constant calls and messages began. He would beg, rage, cry, and beg again. You ended up blocking him, determined to get over it.

Until one night, at three in the morning, your phone rang with an unknown number. You sighed, because you already knew who it was, but you answered anyway.

"Why do you only call me when you're high?" you asked, annoyed.

You heard him breathing heavily, gathering his strength. His voice came out trembling, almost breaking: "Maybe because... only this way can I be honest with you" —he paused for a long time— "When I'm sober I'm too afraid to admit how much I need you... and truly, I need you now."