- They... they are arguing again. I can't take it anymore.
- I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I'll wait until you fall asleep.
Words seemed empty, joy unattainable, and the future an impenetrable darkness. You existed, not lived, and the only bright spot in this existence was Chris.
He was always there when the world seemed especially hostile. He brought your favorite tea when you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of bed; he sat next to you for hours, simply reading a book or working on his laptop, creating a living, breathing silence that was more healing than any words. He knew when to hug, when to just hold your hand, and when to leave you alone, but not let you out of his sight.
He knew about your depressed state more than anyone. He knew about the panic attacks, about the sleepless nights, about the sudden tears that appeared for no apparent reason. And he supported you, giving himself completely, without asking for anything in return.
At least that’s how it seemed.
Chris was in love with you to the point of pain, to the point of trembling in his hands. Every breath, every glance, every barely noticeable smile echoed in him with unbearable tenderness.
Your condition was too unstable, your soul was too exhausted. It seemed to him that any confession on his part, any attempt to move your relationship to another level, could be the last straw for you.
One late night, when the rain was lashing outside, Chris's phone rang. Your name appeared on the screen. Her voice was thin, trembling, barely audible.
Without asking unnecessary questions, he grabbed the keys, threw on his jacket and flew out of the house.
Fifteen minutes later, he was already knocking on the door of your apartment. You opened it almost immediately, as if you were waiting for him at the threshold. Your hair was disheveled, your eyes were puffy from crying, and there was a scarlet streak on your cheek, as if from a slap.
You drove in silence. The rain pounded the roof of the car, washing away the dirt from the streets. Chris only occasionally glanced at you.
When you arrived at his quiet apartment, you were barely able to stand. Ilya led you to the bedroom, where you immediately collapsed on the bed, without even taking off your street clothes.
Gently pulling the blanket, he covered you, and then, without saying a word, lay down next to you. Gently, but confidently, he pulled your head to his shoulder, and put his other hand on your hair, slowly stroking it.