I stand in a smoking room, I make a relaxed look and try to have a conversation with my work colleagues. Hands tremble a little from internal stress. I quickly pull in and hide the traitor’s hand behind my back. As always, the initiative in the conversation keeps one person. He, charmingly smiling, gives us detailed information on the topic under discussion. It stands, slightly stooping and leaning against the wall, which makes it seem a little shorter. And still, if you are next to him, you have to throw your head slightly to look in his eyes.

Last time, I too often look into his eyes.

With soft movements, he changes his posture, continuing to charm us with the clear timbre of his voice, well-delivered speech and convincing argumentation.

 — — -

And in my soul lies a nightmare. It is enough to lose control for half a second and it becomes painful, unbearably painful! Half a second is separated from the abyss and madness. One of his words, a glance, knocks out the soil and is thrown to the bottom of hell. And he greedily swallows me and begins to grind, crunching nerves, chewing on the heart, glaring poisonous fangs into the soul. Resentment, despair, jealousy ..., some other feelings for which they did not come up with names. We need to quickly think about something else ... about work, correctly - about work: it does not help. I need to hurt myself, put a nail into my palm, press it hard: phew, I emerge into reality, I hear what they are talking about, it seems to be okay, and no one noticed my condition. The nightmare did not retreat for long, but continued to gnash inside, reminding that it was always there.

 — — -

None of my colleagues realize that an ordinary smoke break colors the mystery, and all movements, quick glances have a special meaning for me and this handsome man.

For a couple of months I worked at a new place when an employee from another department came over to us. "If you need something to help with the computer, please contact" - he said, smiling. Since there were no smokers besides us, we both in the smoking room, often chatted on various topics, getting more and more sympathy for each other. And one day, after the weekend, when I hurriedly went in and threw out "hello", he gently answered "hello, I missed." For a moment, frightened and still not knowing how to react, I barely heard "I, too." Later we wondered how we could not be frightened of each other and did not close with heartless decency. One day he came to work without a wedding ring, and I never saw this piece of his other life again. He became my ideal in everything. I reconsidered my views in order to perceive life as he did. I changed my goals to be closer to him. How naively I gave everything to my chosen one, expecting warmth and tenderness in return. Trying to guess his desires, to give pleasure, I was madly doing a lot of stupid things. Friends, succumbing to my delight, did not stop my folly. And even if they told me “think why you need it,” I would not have heard it.

This has been going on for almost a year: Time, inexorably changing everything, stopped helplessly, unable to pull us together or distance us from each other. I want so much to kick the time that has gone too far: “My attitude towards you will never change,” he said almost a year ago. Yesterday, he repeated it again. There is only one condition for a person when nothing happens. Life, continuing its run, changes everything, and only the dead, remain insensitive to these changes. The corpse is unaware that someone misses him, wants to see him, suffers without him. A corpse will not be thrilled if a loving person decides to forget it. He will not persuade, give flowers and ask to return. He agrees in advance that decides to live.

 — — -

My nightmare is gaining full strength when I'm alone. When no one sees, when there is no strength left for self-control. A few days without sleep. Silently so the neighbors would not hear, choking tears.All thoughts, feelings, crushed by the day, are covered at once, and I am drowning in despair, remembering how he didn’t look, didn’t give a hand, didn’t answer the question, or laughed merrily when I was bad. I want to get out of this horror. I no longer believe that this is love. After all, love should be beautiful and tender, when two smiles, two joys tenderly strive towards each other, when warmth spreads in your chest and you want to touch and say with your eyes, I am here, I see you and I love you. I am happy that you are and love me. After all, there is this day, and there is the sun, and there are many different things, and our love too. You can feel it, so it is. Love cannot be a hoax.

Once again, returning home, I force myself to soberly evaluate all of its shortcomings and even write them down, trying to concentrate only on this. Having calmed down a little and felt some inner confidence, I try to fall asleep in a normal person’s sleep, without inner torments and mental conversations with him. I need a respite so much, I want to rest so much :, but I did not manage to slip away from the hell that was grinding me. I do not want to write about it, but you can’t throw the words out of the song. Alcohol, a real 96% I always have. It is already true for more than a year. I take out my tourist stash, dilute it with water and start drinking. I drink intermittently so as not to miss the moment when you can stop and go to bed. Naturally miss. Midnight I suffer from the effects of poisoning, and still fall asleep. God, it’s good that I feel bad. You can just lie down and feel bad, and there is no inner pain, and there is only a tormented body.

And then I had a pen pal.

He: hi

I: hi, who are you?

He: I am a psychotherapist

Me: I need you here!

And the days of answers began. He asked, told something about himself. I answered and it still hurt a lot. And at times, I almost could not hold back the tears. I had to go to the toilet and bring myself to the proper form, returning to explain that my head ached.

My psychotherapist wrote: try to talk to him. I tried. I thought for a week, then at night on the phone, stuttering and losing my thoughts, I said that I wanted something to be ours, his and mine. To do something together, somewhere to happen. I knew that I would hear back. And of course I heard. Very politely, as usual, he said that “ours” either grows in the process of communication or not, and nothing can be done about it:

I wonder how others motivate themselves when they need to take action against which everything protests you? My method can be called "cornering myself." Extremely heavy, but the other is most likely in such circumstances simply does not exist. The main thing, as always, is to make a decision. And then, methodically you begin to destroy all the possibilities of wagging to the side.

I did not notice when I was able to understand the main thing myself. And the main thing is that he does not need me. But I'm proud. How can I love a person who only needs me as a toy? It's impossible. By the way, I remembered the nursery rhyme. “It is easier for the proud, the proud do not cry from wounds or from heartache. On other people's roads they do not loom and love, like beggars, do not ask. ” This rhyme has been circling in my mind for days, scoring everything else. It seems that it’s hard to find a big nonsense, but after a while I could live normally, feel normally.

He is still there. Every day we meet, talk and even joke. We still love to go for a smoke together. But for me there was the world around, other people, other interests. I feel fine, I sleep at night. And only sometimes in the middle of the night I jump as if from a jolt and remember that I had just seen his face. The thought comes that something happened to him. But this does not concern me, and I fall asleep again. Maybe THIS is love? I do not think so.

As it turned out later, all the knowledge of the psychology of my new virtual friend ends with courses. But one day he experienced this himself, and therefore he was able to understand my pain and bring something very correct to me.It would seem that here and the fairy tales end: I am looking for another job, not to see it, to deprive myself of the last opportunity to return to the experienced horror. I go about my business, almost never think about it.

Afterword.

We are going in the elevator, fooling around. WHAT happened, I can not say. Waving my arms, I was telling something funny. My hands, which I have always trusted and thought that I can control their movement, do not go down from the wide gesture, as I wanted, but suddenly embrace him by the neck. I find my body pressed and trembling with excitement in his arms. He presses against me like a madman, and he kisses me wildly. He's pounding too. It seems, and he did not expect this from himself. A few seconds of madness. Everything. The elevator arrived. Send out Everything is very calm. Nothing happened. And again it is not clear ...

Maybe all the same love is?

I don't know if love exists. I did not understand, honestly.