— I’ll say it straight, Yesen. You’re not indifferent to me, but women like you don’t get married. You’re a girl for pleasure—for the soul, you understand?
— How can you say that, Islam? I gave you my virginity!
Tears burn my eyes, but I swallow them, forcing myself not to break down and keep my face.
— You had a good time with me, didn’t you? Did you enjoy it? Then what questions are you asking me?
— Get out! I don’t want to see you anymore. Never!
His gaze darkens; anger flares in it. He suddenly closes the distance, and I step back until my back hits the wall.
— No, Yesya. You won’t leave me, — he says harshly, with that possessive stubborn certainty so typical of Caucasian men. — You’ll still be mine. Even after I marry another.