After all, Irina Konstantinovna's idea of a voluntary-compulsory escort was a good one, although Lera initially still tried to protest. Hearing the combat mission "the beautiful lady is in danger" announced, Marat, as a true son of his nation, activated knight mode and joined forces with the boss to press Lera.

Upon hearing Lera's confused objections, Marat threatened to ensure her compliance by force if necessary. Specifically, by immobilizing her with swaddling. He vowed to bring immediately his entire brood of brothers to protect his beloved colleague, one brother for guarding each of Lera’s limbs. At this point, Lera babbled even more desperate. When Marat, stern faced, reached for the phone to call for help, Lera realized it was pointless to resist. She gave in with a sigh. Marat smiled with satisfaction looking at Lera with his hazel eyes and put the phone down.

Ten minutes later, Lera realized that walking home with a tall, broad-shouldered, athletic guy supporting her gallantly on the icy sidewalk was much more enjoyable, calmer, and safer than hobbling home alone. Marat smiled and joked, but his bright tiger-coloured eyes carefully scanned the street from under his hair that fell on his forehead. Looking at him, Lera felt cheerful, and smiled. She hadn't realised until that evening how much she had been putting her head down and hurrying to and from work.

The evening passed much more calmly for Lera than usual. Now the girl looked at the two packages of pills on the table in the hallway with hatred, and then still shoved them in her bag, along with the prescriptions.

Strong sedatives. Those that needed to be taken daily and those that were only needed in cases of breakdowns. She hated the sight, taste and smell of them. Lera shuddered each time at the clicking of the foil as she removed the pills.

Only half an hour ago, she had coped with nervous nausea that came every time she took these damned pills. Her therapist said that it happened to her because she had not yet accepted her illness, or come to terms with the fact that taking the drugs was a continual and strict necessity

Yes, she had not come to terms with it. She still did not accept it! Lera still didn’t believe that she was ill, even though everyone tried to convince her that she was mad. She was tired of proving her point to everyone and would just look like a monster when someone tried to have a heart-to-heart talk with her.

It felt like she was drowning in fear but still didn't fully believe in her disease. She still didn’t, although no one else seemed to notice the things she told her mother and doctor about. No one listened to her. Sometimes she was tormented by doubt and had a pathetic tantrum. Especially after her periodic visits to the therapist, a kindly fellow looking like Santa who, with warmth in his voice, urged her to devote herself fully to the treatment.

In a few days everything would pass and she would find her inner strength again. Despite that, she took the pills because they helped her cope with persistent anxiety and fears. Lera was alone. Surrounded by all these therapists and relatives, these liars with caring faces, she was still alone. Alone, resisting them all and resisting her fear. Face to face with her terror.

Every time she felt nervous, they dragged her to the doctor again, and Lera had learned to hide her emotions behind a stone mask. She had learned to control her breathing, to calm the trembling in her hands by sheer willpower. This had worked. Visits to the doctor had been reduced to a minimum. However, it was all a lie, because the things that scared her had not disappeared.