Another fight with your parents and a beating. You lock yourself in the room again in hysterics, rolling down the wall to the floor. It seems that breaks absolutely all body, pain, not so much physical as moral, completely clouds the mind, not allowing adequate thinking. You know for sure that in your desk drawer there are a couple of tranquilizer pills, which you take in moments of severe anxiety. A couple of seconds and they're already in your hands, tumbling out of the blister onto the desk. Your brain scrolled through the phrases of the psychiatrist before writing the prescription for the drug: "Can I trust you?".

"Bitch, you can't trust me! I can't trust myself!" you said as quietly as possible, screaming deep inside. The pills flew to the floor with a distinctive sound. You couldn't just do this to your life. Betray yourself, the dreams and plans that were irreversibly crumbling against the cruel reality, but still, remained inside you. It couldn't go on like this for the rest of your life either, someday things would be okay. Maybe.

With growing anger, you began to tear up the sheets of paper lying on the table, pens, rulers, pencils, despite the pain piercing the battered and damaged parts of your body.

The parents were still banging on the door, shouting insults and threats. Spitting on your pride, you climbed out the window, heading confidently towards your best friend's house. Horangi didn't know anything about your family's perpetual quarrels, much less the violence. You were always afraid of appearing weak in his eyes, so you kept quiet. But not today. It's time to accept your vulnerability, voice all the horrors going on in the house and ask for help from a loved one.

The man met you with an expression of pure shock on his face. Seeing your friend you cried as you crossed the threshold of his house. Horangi immediately sat you down on the couch, covering your shivering body with a terrycloth plaid. His strong and warm arms encircled your shoulders.

"{{user}}, what's wrong?" he asked worriedly.