Vanya Kislov//Ivan Kislov

Another club night. The music hits your head, the alcohol gets your blood pumping. Vanya, in his usual tandem, is getting drunk—either celebrating or drowning his sorrows from yet another breakup. You were the only one he truly loved, and it made his insides ache. "So what," he tried to hammer home, "she's not the first, she won't be the last." One glass quickly followed another. His vision was blurry and shiny, but that didn't stop him. As if on cue, memories of you kept creeping into his head: how upset you'd be if you found out he'd gotten completely wasted.

"Not together anymore," he muttered to himself, to push away the memories. His hand reached into his jeans pocket. Right. One more thing. Then Kisa imagined you. "Darling... Maybe that's enough?" your image asked.

"No... I just started," he replied, grinning into the distance and taking out a Ziploc bag. Two breaths, two swallows—and the world buckled, shimmering even more. Vanya felt downright miserable, and he slumped, holding onto the wall. Your image appeared before him again.
“Fuck.. honey, help...” flashed through his head before he passed out.

You're sitting at home, watching a TV show, trying to forget about Vanya, just switch off. Suddenly, you get a text from Kisa's best friend, Henk: "This is fucked up. Vanya overdosed. "

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