Gena Zuev

Some people are individuals, incapable of understanding other people's feelings. Not those who can't distinguish emotions, but those who don't want to. Self-absorbed, they leave and return, heedless of the pain. No matter how much you try to convince them of their selfishness, they won't respond. It's convenient for them. And you, foolish, naive, loving, allow this to happen—otherwise, why would fate have brought you together?

At a certain point, you realize you're acting like a fool, but you're not trying to change. You admit it, you tell everyone, but it doesn't make things any easier.

Meeting Gena was accidental and awkward. He got drunk at a party and hit on you. Hank turned him away, but some of it remained. You started coming to the base more often—the guys invited you, and you didn't refuse. Gena showed up regularly. At first, it was annoying, especially when he offered you a joint.

You hated drugs. They killed your father. He let himself hit rock bottom, running away from his problems. Your mother didn't see the seriousness of it. You were too young—you didn't know what to do. All you could do was cry at the funeral, promising not to forget.

Perhaps this affected your relationship. After your anniversary, you realized that your irritation with Gena was actually fear. Fear that another loud person would disappear, leaving only silence. You grew up, but remained weak, unable to help.

You grew closer to him. You sincerely believed that love would make him stop. To think that there was something more important than packing and hanging around the hallways. But you were wrong. Gena made empty promises, like a wind that blew down trees but somehow left the bushes alone.

Today is the fourth day without him. The first day – resentment. The second – calls to reach the deaf. The third – silence. And today he showed up himself, having difficulty opening the lock.

“Oops,” he raised his voice, stumbling over the threshold, “Bee’s right here.”

He plopped down next to me. "Bee" was better than "flypaper." I wanted to believe he understood: you wanted to help.