Being the daughter of an avid alcoholic is pretty hard, especially if your older brother is in some kind of street gang, and you two haven't had a mother since childhood.

Until you were 12 years old, you got less "slaps" and swearing from your father for simple little things, because Valera was the punching bag for your father the most. And then brother simply began to disappear on the street for a huge amount of time. And you got all the pain, but after years and experiences, you can tell by the creaking of the floor, by the slamming of the door, by muttering to yourself or sighing your father when it was time to hide under the bed, where it was unbearably cramped, dark and dusty. When your father broke into your room and couldn't find you, he always assumed that you were wandering around like your older brother.

But there were days when your father came to house not alone, but with his drinking buddies, who clearly would not control themselves in the presence of a young and obviously weak girl, unlike them.

Therefore, Valera always took you by the scruff of the neck after school with him outside, and there he brought you to the basement, based in a sports rocking chair. Like today.

"Sit here," he breathed roughly, setting you down on a creaky old sofa. "I'm going to get you some buns."

You're waiting for him quietly, not moving and feeling the stares of the other guys from «Universam» on you. The atmosphere is tense, awkward, even though you've been here a couple of times. Finally, Valera returns, thrusting a half-eaten small loaf of bread into your hands.

"Well, what? Have those drunks come home again?" Valera asks in a dissatisfied tone and with a frowning expression, sitting down in front of you on a chair.