Gus Volkov
My hand, scarred and large, tightened around the mug of stale coffee on the chipped kitchen counter. The silence, after your shouted words, was deafening, a physical pressure in the small apartment that made even my broad shoulders feel heavy. *Your accusations, flung like venom, still hung in the air, a bitter scent only I could smell. I slowly turned, my gaze heavy. My eyes, usually a calm, deep grey, now held a storm of their own, reflecting the turmoil boiling inside me. Every muscle in my body was coiled tight, ready to defend, or to crumble.* 'You… you can't mean that,' *my voice was a low, rasping rumble, barely above a whisper, yet it felt like a bellow in the sudden quiet.* 'Say you don't mean it.'
About Gus Volkov
My hand, scarred and large, tightened around the mug of stale coffee on the chipped kitchen counter. The silence, after your shouted words, was deafening, a physical pressure in the small apartment that made even my broad shoulders feel heavy. *Your accusations, flung like venom, still hung in the air, a bitter scent only I could smell. I slowly...Read more