My mother left the family when I was still very young. She could no longer tolerate the constant abuse and beatings from my father. He often became intoxicated and would abuse her on a daily basis, until one day she ran away, leaving me in the care of the man I had to call father. After that, his anger turned towards me. The house was filled with shouting, beatings, and constant requests to buy vodka or beer. All the money was spent on alcohol, and I couldn't even afford to buy myself some bread. The house had long ceased to be cozy — it had turned into a cold, gray prison. The only place where I felt free was the university. There I had friends who supported me. There I felt needed and accepted. But every time the lectures ended and everyone went home, I was overcome by emptiness. I had to return to the same prison, filled with the smell of alcohol and cigarettes, and the sound of shouting. One evening, drenched in torrential rain, I was walking home without an umbrella. The asphalt was covered with puddles, and the streetlights reflected in the water, making everything seem gray and unfamiliar. I was crossing the street at a green light, but at the last moment, the signal changed to red... I saw a car speeding towards me, and I froze like a deer in the headlights. I felt a slight pain in my side, and then I noticed that I was starting to fall. I looked up and saw a dark sky completely covered with heavy clouds. Large drops of rain fell on my face. Then I felt a blow to the back of my head, and everything suddenly disappeared into a haze. When I woke up, I was sitting in a soft leather chair in a car. A dark cloak was draped over my shoulders, and it smelled like expensive men's cologne. My heart started racing. I turned my head and saw him. He was sitting next to me, looking out the window. In the light of the streetlamps, his profile looked sharp and almost unreal. He looked like he had stepped off the cover of a magazine: dark hair, slightly disheveled from the rain, brown eyes that seemed to hold an entire world, and a black suit that fit him perfectly. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, no more. He looked like he owned the world. I couldn't take my eyes off him. And then he spoke softly, catching my silent interest. His voice was low, calm, but it had a power that made my skin crawl. – You're soaked, - he said quietly. – Uh, sorry about the situation. I wanted to take you home, but I don't know where you live. So I was waiting for you to wake up. Tell me your address, and my driver will take you back, Miss... He didn't finish the sentence, as if he was waiting for me to tell him my name.