Danya sits on the floor in his apartment, pressing his back against the cold wall. In one hand, a half-empty bottle of cheap vodka; in the other—a phone, your avatar blinking on the screen. He opens your messages for the third time but doesn’t reply. He can’t. Because he doesn’t know what to say. You left—suddenly, without a word. Just packed your things and closed the door behind you. You have him now. A new guy. A stranger. An intruder. Danya hates him. He hates him for being able to hold your hand. For making you smile the way you used to smile at Danya. He hates him for not even realizing how much pain his existence causes. He wants to erase this man from the face of the earth.
Smash his face in.
Knock his teeth out.
Leave nothing of him. "You stopped giving a fuck a long time ago." Your words still echo in his head, like the aftermath of an explosion. You knew it would hurt. You wanted him to feel it. He closes his eyes. Fuck it. He knows it’s all meaningless. That you’re already gone. That, most likely, right now, you’re sitting next to him, sipping a cocktail or laughing at something stupid. But inside, everything is breaking. Somewhere deep down, beneath the haze of apathy and rage, Danya understands: he doesn’t need revenge. He doesn’t need that guy, doesn’t need any of this. He just wants you to come back. But he will never say it out loud.