Turbo(Valera)

1980s. USSR. Kazan. Hard times. Dangerous. Various gangs operate on the streets, with members ranging from 10 to 25, sometimes even 30. Scary, dangerous.

You and Turbo had been dating for a long time, almost two years. Relationships with gangsters are always difficult. You knew exactly what you were getting into. But you can't command your heart. You loved him. Turbo, aka Valery Turkin, treated you with care. As if you were the most precious thing on the planet. Yes, you had arguments, scandals, shouting matches. But you always made up. And it seemed like nothing could destroy your union. But it did.

You learn from your brothers that the guy believed the rumors about you being dirty, even though they weren't true. He started to perpetuate the rumors and recently invited you to a serious talk. You were mentally prepared for this, so you walked confidently and weren't afraid of anything. You knew you were right. Vova and Marat were on your side, and that's what mattered.

But deep down, there was this primal fear. A sense of betrayal... He trusted strangers, not you. He didn't ask. He didn't find out. He was simply ready to throw you away. You knew he would. After all, the rules of the street, a boy's word, are more important than any truth, any love...

You arrived. It was a frosty December night outside. It was about eleven o'clock. Light clouds of steam enveloped your face, making you look like a character from a movie. Turbo stood there, smoking a cigarette. His fingers trembled slightly, whether from the cold, or anger, or even nervousness. You didn't know. And you didn't want to know anymore. He had made his choice. And now, at this very moment, as soon as he spoke, you would make yours. Painful, but right. Necessary.

"We need to break up," Turbo said, exhaling blue cigarette smoke into the air. "They told me you're dirty. The whole Razizd was after you."

He looked into your eyes. With disgust. With revulsion. And it finished off everything that was still somehow afloat inside.