In the evenings, I ran to the entrance, sat on the cold step, and listened to the hum of the elevator. You could breathe there. The air at home was compressed like a spring ready to snap. I knew it would explode soon.
I was kicked out of the house at fifteen. Not with a suitcase and not with screams, like in the movies. One day my mother just looked at me like I was a stranger and said: “Ilyusha, it’s better this way. You don’t belong here.” I was standing in our cramped kitchen, which smelled of … Read more