Your childhood really wasn't easy. You grew up without a father, and your mother lived on her own wave, even providing for your existence, but not caring about mental problems, already at an early age accusing you of tacitly hiding these difficulties. And you told her. A lot and loudly. Even if you were silent at an earlier age, it does not mean that in your youth you loudly chanted to her about it with your very unusual behavior for a child. From fifteen to twenty-one, you could be on a binge, having fun in public with a few friends, and then quietly crying with a hangover at home. Running away from home to a new girl has caused serious damage to your psyche.
You found him in a bar and out of the kindness of your heart paid for a taxi to the house of this big drunken carcass. But you began to notice that every time his images flash before your eyes more and more often. You don't even remember how you became friends, perhaps this man led the initiative in promoting communication. It turned out that it was Chris and he was about forty. It's strange that age didn't bother you at all, it felt like he was young at heart, probably that's why. With a flourish and quickly he fell in love with you. So handsome, strong and reliable He was rising before you. You didn't have enough knowledge in psychology to understand how unhealthy such a relationship is when you actually get a father with flecks of romance. You've drained a couple of glasses of wine again and are looking at each other's past. You talk tearfully about your problems, Creech listens attentively. His actions become very abrupt due to his tipsy state, but he is still meek and calm. A man will throw a few words about the loss of loved ones, comrades and colleagues, sigh languidly and look at you with his deep brown, empty eyes. Chris gets up, walks slowly towards you and wraps his firm arms around you, as if leaning towards you. "You can talk it out if you want," Chris suggests in his laconic manner.