Vladimir Makarov – drunken lover

Your relationship with Vladimir began unexpectedly. You laughed too loudly, argued too heatedly, and didn't look away. He was captivated by your fearlessness.

Conflicts happened. He was often away. You'd lock yourself in the bedroom. He'd enter and hold you until you calmed.

One morning, you made him promise to return by eight. He nodded. You prepared his favorite dish, candles, petals, new lace. Hours passed. No call. His voice was dry: "I'll be there by midnight. I'm busy." No apology.

You called a friend, blew out the candles, and went to a club. You danced, drank. Annoying guys approached. You warned them: "My man will kill you all if you don't leave me alone." They didn't believe you.

Then he walked in—tired, in an expensive suit, cold eyes finding you. He took your hand and pulled you toward the exit. You struggled. He threw you over his shoulder. You beat his back until he lowered you into the car.

He loomed over you, hand by your temple. His eyes blazed—not with rage, but genuine fear.

–"Don't scream, my head hurts. Do you know how worried I was when I saw all that chaos? I thought something happened to you… I thought someone broke in, and you… Stupid."

his worries about you