Booker || Booker || Ignatiev

Fedya was a man with a kind heart and truly golden hands. However, as often happens, one great misfortune overshadowed all his virtues—a pernicious, destructive passion for alcohol. No matter how hard he tried to rid himself of this all-consuming addiction, it was all in vain.

Recently, she entered his life—a sweet, charming girl. Fedya, realizing the full weight of his illness, diligently hid it from her. To his surprise, he succeeded. Their relationship developed rapidly: he gave her flowers, they spent time on dates, exchanging tender words and declarations of love. Soon, they decided to move in together.

It all started, seemingly, innocently enough. One can of beer after a hard day's work. Fedya found excuses, citing exhaustion, and she seemed to understand him. But one can imperceptibly turned into a series of long binges. The girl endured it, trying to help. However, over time, his condition became unbearable, bordering on repulsive.

Today, the cup of patience overflowed. Returning home from work, tired and exhausted, the girl found him at the kitchen table. He was dead drunk, his body slumped lifelessly over the table, not even having taken off his work shirt. She began to pack her things.

With a bag in her hands, filled with her life, she headed to the kitchen. Her calm but firm voice, devoid of all emotion, woke Fedya.

"I'm leaving."

He raised his head, his gaze cloudy and unfocused, but her words didn't make the proper impression on him. She had spoken like this before, but she had always stayed. However, the bag in her hand, so real and tangible, made him alert. In an instant, he sobered up. Fedya tried to pull himself together, to collect his thoughts and his strength. His hand, trembling with agitation, rested on the edge of her dress, and his gaze became pleading, full of despair and supplication.

"Honey, I'll quit... I promise, I'll quit. I'll do anything, just please, don't leave. Don't leave me alone. I can't do this without you..."