Глубокий вдох.
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Maxim sat on the cold floor, in complete darkness, leaning against the door. It had been about ten minutes since he decided to hide from Lapin, yet the trembling in his fingers refused to fade. His heart was pounding wildly, tears streamed down his hollow cheeks on their own.119Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZsnL5DYBBd
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He couldn’t anymore. He was done.
As if on cue, the neighbors decided to start yelling too. Strangely enough, he couldn’t make out their words this time. Maybe his brain had simply switched to a more pressing danger?119Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡn5PApo7TP5
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A deep breath—and still nothing. The air seemed unable to reach his lungs. Maxim exhaled quietly, pressing his forehead against his knees. The cold from the floor seeped into his bones, but at least it was something real. Something that actually existed. Unlike everything else.
In truth, he had no idea how long he’d been sitting there—maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour. Time had stretched out, thick and viscous like tar. Each second pressed down on him. He closed his eyes, hoping that if he just sat a little longer, everything would disappear. That the door wouldn’t tremble. That there wouldn’t be footsteps behind it.
But his hearing betrayed him—there it was, an echo, like someone dragging their nails along the wood. Maxim flinched, clutching the sleeve of his hoodie so hard that his nails dug into the skin through the fabric.
“Just my imagination… just that,” he breathed almost soundlessly, trying to convince at least himself.119Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhqOrIdIi31
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He remembered the look in Lapin’s eyes when Maxim had dared to fight back.119Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLzuwPw7wux
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Yeah… he was definitely playing with him.
A floorboard creaked somewhere above. Maxim lifted his head.119Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxqQ5TfBtRA
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Silence returned—dense, suffocating, as if someone had wrapped the entire house in cotton.
“I’m not going out,” he whispered. “Not a chance.”
He slowly straightened up, feeling the numbness in his legs. The trembling hadn’t gone, but something new had taken its place—an exhausted dullness, bordering on indifference. Maybe this was what the end of panic felt like—when fear burns down completely, leaving only ash behind.
He ran his hand along the wall, feeling the familiar uneven surface. The house had never felt like a safe place, and now less than ever.119Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDv0kLxjxBd
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A glint caught his eye—something shining in a sliver of light leaking through the cracks in the door. Maxim squinted, stepped closer, and picked it up.
“A shard…”
He stated it flatly, and his thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to his school years.
Children’s laughter. Wobbly school desks. Chalk dust. A mocking giggle behind his back.119Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6Z1wJZu09p
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Little Maxim stood in the middle of the classroom, soaked from shoulders to heels, a rag hanging from his head like a crown—what his classmate had called “the Garbage King’s crown.” The air reeked of bleach and dust. The teacher pretended nothing was happening, letting her gaze slip past him—as if he simply didn’t exist.
He remembered how, for the first time, that hollow ache had spread under his ribs—not pain, not even humiliation, just cold.119Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1nDHvS4cIA
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Just like now.
Maxim clenched the shard in his hand, the sharp edges biting into his skin and pulling him back into the present.
“Everything comes full circle,” he whispered, as if confessing a secret.
He uncurled his fingers: a thin red line crossed his palm, blood slowly gathering into a bead. It gleamed faintly in the dim light—cold and lifeless, just like the shard. There had never been any light in his past… almost.119Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWvTu3nv3Wk
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Something flickered nervously in his chest.
After yet another round of mockery, Maxim couldn’t take it anymore.119Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2406dTrFwu
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He stood up in the middle of class and left for the bathroom without asking the teacher. He was done. He didn’t care.
The shouts followed him down the hall:119Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQl1mu9hDG6
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“How dare you, you stupid street rat!”119Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ95MtSIvn3I
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“Oh, look, the motherless freak’s leaving!”119Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡztCuDzIIJl
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“Nice clothes—did he dig them out of the trash?”
He was used to it. He didn’t even want to hold on to the anger anymore.
When Maxim entered the bathroom, he wasn’t thinking about anything at all. Just a little sleepy. A little tired. Mostly… nothing.119Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJA8xHqIKIQ
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His head felt heavy, and all he wanted was to lie down and sleep.
At twelve years old, he didn’t know what to do. He never did.
He went to the sink and turned on the tap—a thin stream hissed, as if offended by the touch. Maxim looked up, and in the cracked mirror before him, a face he barely recognized stared back.
His messy blond hair hung over his forehead, long unacquainted with a comb. Dark circles shadowed his eyes—not from sleeplessness, but from something worse. His lips were cracked, his skin so pale it was almost translucent. His cheeks had sunk, his cheekbones sharp beneath them.
He wiped a blurry spot from the mirror with his finger. The reflection moved with him, and he noticed—how thin he had become. His school shirt, once too big, now hung loose like a sack, emphasizing his narrow frame and slouch.
His brown eyes—once warm and alive—were dull now, hollowed out, burned from within. There was no anger in them, no resentment. Only exhaustion—thick, sticky, bottomless.
He exhaled, struggling to keep his gaze steady. For a moment, it seemed as though the mirror had darkened, and the face in it wasn’t his anymore.119Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLzxfCLmcy7
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As if someone else was looking back at him from the depths—119Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhK1NfEiot5
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Someone who already knew there was no escape.
And back then, the small boy had noticed it too—119Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDX6so2oEyJ
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that same glint.119Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUkBMhu9n3F
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Yes. The shard.
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and then Add to home screen.