“Hello, Rinka,” he smiled, greedily looking me over as I stuck to the elevator doors. “Hello, Misha,” I rasped, unable to hide my trembling. “So what is it you—” He took the last step between us and found himself right up close. “You’re running away? Are you so scared?” “Yes,” I exhaled so quietly I could barely hear myself. “You don’t love me anymore?” He stared into my eyes—hunger. тоска. anger… So much anger that nothing will save me now. I’ve gotten what I deserved. “No,” it says—like a death sentence. He sharply drew in air, mixing my slow exhale with a growl. “Where are you going?” he said harshly, straightening up. “That’s none of your business.” “You’re wrong, dear.” He grabbed me by the neck and pulled me to his face. “Now… it’s mine…”