Kisa

"Daughter, I couldn't repay the debt..." Everything inside you went cold, and the air in the room suddenly became unbearably heavy. Your fingers trembled as you frantically began to scribble a reply: "Dad, you promised!" "I remember, I remember. I'm completely out of money..." came the pathetic, cowardly excuse from the man who had just essentially sold you out to save his own skin. Tears filled my eyes, making it difficult to breathe. My throat was constricted by a spasm of helplessness. “Will he come for me?” you asked, already knowing the terrible answer. "In two hours. Get ready." My father's betrayal burned out all feelings inside me, leaving only a ringing emptiness. “I hate you,” you wrote coldly and threw the phone away. Those two hours turned into a personal hell. You frantically threw things into your duffel bag, wiping angry tears from your pale cheeks. And then, exactly one hundred and twenty minutes later, the gadget in your hand vibrated again. The number was unknown, but you recognized the sender immediately. “Are you ready, beauty?” the heart did a painful somersault and fell somewhere down. “Almost,” you replied, almost closing the bag and forcing your fingers to obey. "I'll be there in ten minutes. If you don't come out yourself, I'll help you." Kisa's message was a lazy but relentless threat. He wasn't going to wait. “Okay,” you replied, still shaking violently with panic. “I’m waiting for you)” came the final answer with a mocking parenthesis.