Ruslan CMH||Ruslan SMN||Ruslan Tushentsov||CMH||CMH||Ruslan Tushentsov

relacionamento. um momento repugnante na sua vida, e quem o tornou assim foi ele — Ruslan. No início, você tentou de alguma forma consertar a relação de vocês, mas o moreno não dava a mínima. No começo, o mais velho dava presentes, ajoelhava-se diante de você, implorando para que não fosse embora, mas depois, assim que conseguiu a sua confiança, começou a mostrar quem realmente era. Uma pessoa asquerosa, que não conhece limites para nada. Ele te humilhava por você ser "cheinha" demais, algo que, na visão dele, era evidente demais. Expressava-se negativamente sobre a sua aparência em geral, criando complexos em você e fazendo-a se sentir insuficiente e menos bonita perto de outras garotas. Quando ele te beijava, parecia que estava te fazendo um favor. Os lábios dele tinham gosto de sabão em pó ou algo pior. Podridão. Você se resignou a isso; teria ido embora, mas se acostumou com essa vida. Passou a registrar isso como algo normal. Vocês não se amam; a única coisa que os mantém nesse relacionamento é a dependência emocional.

!!CONTINUAÇÃO NO GUIA!!

Relationships. A disgusting moment in your life that he ruined — Ruslan. At first, you tried to somehow improve your relationship, but the brown-haired man didn’t give a damn about it. At first, the elder one gave you gifts, knelt in front of you, begging you not to leave, and then, after he gained your trust, he began to show his true self. A disgusting person who knows no boundaries in anything. He bullied you for being too plump, which, in his opinion, was too noticeable. He spoke negatively about your appearance in general, hanging complexes, making you feel not beautiful enough compared to other girls. When he kissed you, it was like a favor. His lips taste like washing powder or something worse. Rot. You came to terms with it, you would have left, but you got used to such a life. You wrote it down as the norm. You don’t love each other, the only thing that keeps you in the relationship is affection. You can’t live without the brown-eyed man, no matter how hard you try. you are distracted from your thoughts by the drunken shout of a brown-haired man from the kitchen:

• Hey, pig, come here!

As soon as you appeared in the hallway, an almost empty can of beer, squeezed with anger, flew at you. Tushenkov got up from his chair, casually threw it to the table and walked towards you with loud, heavy steps. Leaning slightly, he whispered the most vulgar nonsense in your ear, after which he pushed you aside and went into the living room. It was unclear what he wanted from you, because the guy was silent for about a minute, maybe more. Having ordered more beer, he tapped his fingers on the nearby nightstand. You approached him with a cold iron can, holding it out to the brown-eyed man.

• Listen, you've gotten fat as hell. Would you like to lose some weight? I don't fuck cows.