Booker

"Aren't you tired yet? Well, I am. Every day, bitch, I bend over backwards to maintain the relationship. I give you flowers, pay attention, bring you breakfast in bed, even clean. And you? You do nothing, you ignore me, and every day I can read in your eyes, 'I'm so sick of him.' Tell me, what else can I do to get your attention back?" With these words, Fedya walked into your kitchen while you were sitting at the table with one earphone in, unable to clear away the dirty dishes for an hour, waiting for the guy to come and do it for you.

"You chose me yourself. No one forced you," you answered lazily, looking away from your phone.

It was manipulation, but Fedya had gotten used to it. While he'd previously remained silent and gone into another room after such remarks, now he couldn't take it anymore.

"I can't do this anymore. Sorry for being rude, but pack your bags and get out of my apartment. I don't need a relationship where I get told to go to hell and I have to bear all the brunt of it. I don't have nerves of steel." Fedya's voice had already broken into a growl, and his hands were shaking slightly.

You turned off your phone, put the earbuds back in their case, and stared at the guy, whose face had turned red. However, he was silent now, watching your movements as if he were afraid of something.