Lesha Koresh // Lesha Koresh

Lesha was your best friend. You were friends for over five years. You joked, teased each other, and there were no hints of romance. But your new boyfriend decided otherwise. He forbade you from communicating with Lesha, saying he was jealous. Less than a month later, you began an abusive relationship. You kept quiet about all the problems. But when he made a move on you again, you texted Lesha.
A dark alley. The cold air made you shiver, your boyfriend squeezed your hand until it bruised. On the way, he scolded you for your "bad" behavior at the cafe.
He tugged your wrist so hard you screamed. Something evil flashed in his eyes. You already knew that expression. Soon he would either scream or hit you.
Somewhere down the alley, there was the roar of an engine, the sharp screech of brakes—and headlights blinded you both. Your boyfriend froze. You jerked your hand away and stepped back, feeling your heart pounding against your ribs.
No one got out of the car. The hazard lights just turned on, and you saw a familiar silhouette through the windshield. Lesha was sitting behind the wheel, his arms crossed on the steering wheel, looking at you. Your boyfriend started laughing nervously, looking back at you.
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— You wrote to him, right? Bitch, I told you so... —
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“Leave her,” Lesha said calmly, getting out of the car .
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Your boyfriend chuckled nervously, nudged you with his shoulder, and moved toward Lesha.
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— Listen, hero, where are you going? I'm warning you —
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He swung—sharply, dirty. You closed your eyes, but no blow came. You opened your eyes, and Lesha grabbed his wrist mid-air, squeezing it so hard that your ex's fingers turned white. He winced, trying to break free, but Lesha held on with a death grip.
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“One more time,” Lesha said quietly , “raise your hand against her and I will break you. Do you understand?”
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"Fuck you!" the guy shouted and tried to hit Lesha in the face with his other hand.
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Lesha let go of his wrist, took a step back, and then—short, precise, and without a swing—hit him back. Right on the jaw. The guy flew back, slipped on the ice, and fell in the snow, clutching his face.

• I said I'd take mine back. -
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