His behavior drives me into deep depression—a sticky, dark abyss where every day feels like an endless trial, as if I am drowning in a gloomy sea with no hope of rescue. This darkness wraps around me, suffocates me, making me feel utterly alone and helpless. I already understand that Maxim punishes me for leaving him, as if trying to make me feel both guilt and fear at the same time—two emotions intertwined in my mind, preventing me from breathing freely. Inside me, a contradiction rages: I am angry at him, but at the same time, I am afraid of him, and this feeling of guilt becomes a suffocating weight on my heart.
At the same time, I cannot figure out how to stop these endless attacks, which fall on me like cold blows without warning, wounding me deeply, leaving traces of pain and anxiety. His unpredictability pushes me to the edge, forcing me to stay constantly alert, as if guarding my life from a sudden storm. He is so unpredictable in his actions that I cannot anticipate when he will switch again to the "Rebel Boy"—that dark side of him I call so because it is full of a thirst for revenge, like a shadow that follows me in every glance and word, piercing me with icy fear. This part of him seems to live its own life, wanting only to take revenge on me for leaving, like a living darkness that gives me no peace day or night.
At home, he is completely different—calm, relaxed, as if hiding inner storms behind a mask that he does not dare release. His voice never rises—neither at me nor, especially, at Mary—and it gives the impression that here, within these walls, he tries to preserve the remnants of peace and calm. Even when the girl accidentally breaks the glass table, he simply asks quietly if we are hurt and carefully cleans up the shards himself, showing astonishing care that feels so alien to his new usual self. No reproaches, angry looks, or harsh words—the house is filled with a fragile silence, like a transparent shield protecting me from his inner chaos and destructive rage. The most he can do is remain silent, sometimes greeting me in the morning and saying goodbye before leaving. He behaves quite normally, as if at home he is the man I once loved and was proud of, and it is hard to believe. Maybe it's because of Mary, her innocent presence, which seems to soothe him and allows him to forget his demons for moments. I am not sure, but it makes me happy—here I can, at least for a while, forget fear and not expect betrayal, feeling a warm glimmer of hope.
But the moment we step outside the house, I know—something will happen. Something that will not let me breathe calmly, that will return me to the captivity of anxiety and fear. The incident at the club becomes another proof of this nightmare, when all my fears come true, making my heart beat so fast it feels like it will burst from my chest. After that, I begin to fear Maxim—who he can become and what he is capable of, terrifying and unpredictable, like a walking threat looming over my life. Before, I thought I knew this guy, that I understood his limits, but now there is no certainty—only a cold, penetrating fear that binds me. I fear him, I fear the plans he has for me, the steps he might take, and this feeling paralyzes me, forcing me to search for ways to survive. Four more dates lie ahead, and my heart begins to tighten at the thought of them, as if a heavy stone presses on my chest, making it hard to breathe. I even have to buy a sedative at the pharmacy to calm the pulse pounding in my chest and stop my nerves, trying to preserve the remnants of reason and strength to fight this inner storm.
I long for time to speed up and for my beloved boyfriend to return to me—the Maxim I know and love, the man with kind eyes and a gentle heart. But I understand the bitter truth: he will not calm down, will not become the same, until he gets his revenge for what I did. Yes, I feel that I deserve this punishment—it is a heavy burden on my soul. But watching him turn into someone else, becoming cold and cruel, is beyond my strength. Every new look, every word feels like it burns me from the inside, making my heart tear with pain and helplessness.
Then I decide to leave—not just physically, but to escape all this fear, all this pain, that part of life that brings only suffering. Having no better idea, I hide in the bathroom, where, alone with myself, memories and past mistakes catch up with me—like dark shadows I try to forget, yet which haunt me again and again.
I am afraid—afraid that he will take me by force, that the Maxim I knew is gone forever, and in his place remains only someone terrifying, like Ivan or Yegor—rude, cruel, those who live only for pain and destruction.
Could it really be that my leaving made him like this? Even my return cannot fix everything? These thoughts tear me apart, making me feel helpless and alone. But I do not want to believe it; I search within myself for the strength to fight, to make things right. I must find a way—step by step, to return to what we had, to the happiness we could live together, to the love that once warmed our hearts. Yes, I stole three years of life from us—those precious years that could have been filled with joy, understanding, and light. But even now, amid all this darkness, I believe—I believe that not all is lost and that we have a chance to restore everything.
We arrive at Tim's. I really don't want to be here, but I have to—because of Maxim. Deep down, a quiet, persistent anxiety grips me, a feeling that this place will bring nothing but discomfort and tension. My heart seems to warn me of the challenges ahead, beating faster and harder, filled with worry and unease.
The only thing that calms me even a little tonight is the thought that Vera and Vi are here. Their presence gives me a sense of protection, like a warm shield that could guard me from his pressure and pain. They are not just friends—they are my support, my hope, my light in this bottomless darkness. Only with them do I feel that I can stand firm, that I won't break under the weight of this terrifying trial. So I decide firmly to cling to them today, to seek salvation in their hands, not in Maxim's, who is becoming more distant and frightening. Their support is my only ray of hope, which at least slightly dispels the shadows of despair.
Entering this rich, glittering house, I immediately feel out of place among the crowd—loud people absorbed in their conversations and affairs, completely removed from my world. The air carries the smell of alcohol, mixed with a hum of voices that feels empty and cold, like a sound that has no meaning for me. Maxim takes my hand, and I feel the weight of that touch—it's like a chain trying to hold me in place, not letting me run, not letting me breathe freely. His grip is strong and commanding, and in it, I sense not only control but also a hidden threat.
He leads us through spacious halls and luxurious corridors, like guiding me through a labyrinth where I get lost in the stream of faces and sounds. Only in the backyard do I finally see familiar, dear faces—our friends. Their presence brings relief and warmth, like light at the end of a tunnel, reminding me that I am not alone. My heart beats faster, filled with joy and hope. Unable to hold back, I pull my hand from his firm grasp and, giving in to a storm of emotions, rush to them, hugging them both at once. At that moment, it feels as if all the weight and fear recede—my heart fills with warmth and a sense of safety, as if I've returned home after a long, exhausting journey. In their arms, I feel the support and understanding I so desperately need right now, in this difficult moment of life.
"I'm so glad to see you here," I say to them with genuine relief and a bright smile that seems to light up everything around.
"We came just for you, girl," Vi whispers in my ear, his words wrapping me in warmth and support, making me feel that I am not alone.
"Thank you. I was so scared to be here, especially alone with Max," I admit quietly, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and gratitude.
"Is he hurting you?" Vera asks, and I feel the weight of that question, but my silence becomes my answer, as if I'm afraid to expose my wounds.
"Hi, Max," Grandpa's voice rings out as he shakes the man's hand, trying to stay polite, but I notice a chill in his gaze.
"Good evening," he replies briefly, without any emotion, as if hiding something behind a mask of indifference.
"I need to discuss personal matters with Tim. Keep an eye on Katrin; she has a nasty habit of disappearing," he says coldly to me, like throwing a knife in my back. I swallow my resentment and pretend not to hear, trying to keep my composure.
"Don't worry, no one is stealing her while she's with us," Vera defends me, and I feel genuine care and support in her voice.
"I hope so," Maxim mutters quietly and leaves.
We are left alone, the three of us, and moving to the cozy couches in the backyard, Vi suggests going for cocktails for us. At that moment, despite the complexity of the situation, I feel a small island of warmth and understanding forming around me—a place that helps you stand even in the hardest moments.