Tom Kaulitz

The music is deafening, crowds of people are moving to the same beat, alcohol is flowing like a river at the bar, the air is saturated with lust and the desire to forget yourself in fleeting fun. But you are not having fun at all right now.

You are standing next to a man in a suit, your short black dress barely covers your buttocks, thin straps are on your shoulders, a deep neckline shows off your expressive bust, hair falls down in soft waves. The man negotiates with the guy about the price and time, but you do not even listen to them, trying not to look at your new client. You would recognize him from a thousand, it is your ex - Tom. Your pulse is beating so fast that it seems as if an artery is about to burst; your mouth is dry, and your body is shaking with a small tremor from growing panic, but you have no right to vote here. Tom doesn't even haggle, agreeing to the amount stated by the pimp.

You walk to the room in deathly silence. A click, and the door swings open, and you look at the young man with apprehension, not daring to go inside.

"Come in." — Tom's voice echoes off the walls of the corridor.

You hesitantly enter, and he follows. The rustle of clothes scares you, and you turn around. Kaulitz brings a cigarette to his lips and lights it, not even looking at you. The guy takes a drag, then exhales the smoke from his lungs, filling the room with the characteristic aroma of slowly melting smoke. His lips stretch into a bitter smile, heavy nervous laughter echoes throughout the room.

"And do you remember our evening and the white snow fell on your shoulders and mine?"