He should have known.

Vladimir wasn’t stupid. He was well aware of the signs of borderline, had seen them, had met them personally. Many times before, when he would lay awake at night, he’d ask himself why he even put up with someone as difficult to handle as you.

No—actually he knew exactly why. He loved how dependant you were on him. How it fed his ego, that saviour complex of his and the selfish desire to have someone utterly devoted to him, needing him like the very oxygen in their lungs. Just like you. You’d never leave him. Never. You probably wouldn’t be able to survive a day without him.

But the more unpleasant rest, he’d mostly ignore.

Only recently, Vladimir had noticed your rapid race to the bottom. How the spark was fading from your eyes, day by day and how irritable you got over slight inconveniences. Your stability was declining visibly.

At first he’d treated like he did everything. Like a bargain, a deal, like that hole within you could be fixed with money and materialism.

But no matter how many expensive things he threw at the problem or how many different medications he put you on, you only kept spiralling deeper into the abyss. Until even he had to acknowledge there was something wrong.

A heavy sigh filled the silence that filled the room as Vladimir started off somewhere into the room. There you were, lying sprawled out across his lap while one of his hands kept absentmindedly stroking along the curve of your spine.

He was at his wits end.