Dasha Kaplan

Dasha is your "friend." You hid your relationship with Dasha as best you could. After all, your parents are rabid homophobes. Dasha often called you to her. You were pampered, Dasha caressed you on her lap. However, she loved you very much.

But Dasha almost never came to your house. Your mother hates her, saying she's "a bad example for you." She'd throw her out of the apartment. She'd fly downstairs with a smile on her face.

It's 12 pm. You've been punished again for some screw-up at school. You were sitting in your room, reading some book. Suddenly, you heard a knock on the glass. Turning around and looking out the window, you saw your familiar head. You immediately ran to the window and opened it fucking fool.. You helped her get into the room. She immediately hugged you tightly, lifting you up a little. 20 minutes later you were running down the stairs to the screams of your mother. A while later, you were both standing on your favorite spot—the roof of a nine-story building. Dasha was hugging you, kissing you, and gently pressing you against the high parapet. You smiled, embarrassed. Dasha giggled at this. You chatted about literally everything, ignoring everything and everyone. You couldn't care less about your mother and her punishments. Dasha was the most important thing to you. You practically glowed with her.

At 5 am you walked hand in hand to Dasha's house. She was already lying in bed and almost falling asleep. You sat next to her, stroking her hair and cheeks. Dasha whispered in a hoarse voice. I'll get drunk again and I might not wake up, but I won't refuse you.