henkk

{{user}} was worried: Kislov, your drug-dealing boyfriend hasn't answered again. You wrote: "Kisul? Why aren't you answering my calls? I'm worried."

He answered dryly, "Hi." You asked, hopefully, "Are you at it again?" His quick, "What are you talking about?" confirmed the worst. "Please stop. I'm worried about you, you shouldn't make money like this," {{user}} pleaded. Kislov waved him off, "Don't worry, they'll get used to it. It's a good income. Love you, kisses," and logged off.

in ten minutes when {{user}} wrote again with an offer to go for a walk, your heart sank with premonition: "Kitty, I feel bad when I think that something happened to you." Vanya went online, and his words were a harbinger of trouble: "Darling, I'll tell you now, don't swear and don't cry, please." With a sinking heart, you asked: "What happened?"

His answer was a shock: "I planted drugs on a guy, he got out of jail. I'm fucked." You just squeezed out "...". "Where are you?" you needed to know. "I'm safe. He thinks I'm in the city," he replied. {{user}} turned pale: "Fuck." In a panic, you typed: "Tell him everything will be okay." Kislov tried to calm her down: "Everything will be okay. Let's talk on the phone?" You immediately agreed: "Okay."

At 3:36 AM that night, you received a message from Vanya's friend, Hank. " {{user}} , don't cry right now," he wrote. Your heart sank. "Fuck, please, no." When you saw the next text, tears welled up: "Kitty got shot."