We drive home in silence, and that silence feels like a blow. Thoughts tighten my throat, making it hard to breathe. I can feel the words straining to break free, but I can't bring myself to speak. Only the hum of the engine and the distant sounds of the city remind me that the world is still moving forward, alien and unjustly calm. Everything around us seems to be on pause, while reality has collapsed, crashing down on the two of us, leaving behind an empty space filled with tension.
When we enter the apartment, the silence is deafening. It seems to compress the air around us, freezing everything inside me. I sit down on the couch, and at that moment, the world becomes foreign, unrecognizable. Thoughts crowd my head like caged animals, each one thrashing around, searching for an escape but finding none. I don't know what has happened, and this feeling of uncertainty tears me apart from within, as if a part of me has stayed behind in that moment, while the other part continues to search for answers.
Katrin doesn't let me find peace. It's as if she lives in another world, one where there is no room for calm or resolution. Her movements are sharp, nervous, her fingers fidgeting with objects as if she is searching for something. But what? I don't understand, and it unnerves me. Her eyes sparkle with a hidden fire, something dangerous, like a trap ready to snap shut. My patience is wearing thin, but I still try to understand what she is doing, though her intentions remain elusive, like smoke—vague and intangible.
Then she freezes. In her hands are my things. At that moment, reality condenses into a single thunderclap of realization—she has made a decision, but I'm not ready for it. I don't hear any words, but her gaze is so intense that it fills the entire room. I try to stand up, but I'm not fast enough. The girl suddenly throws my things at me, and I instinctively dodge, feeling adrenaline instantly flood my veins. Everything inside me is a mess: rage and confusion battle for dominance. It's strange, painful, and frightening. What am I supposed to do? Why does everything feel so... alien and unpredictable?
"Take your things and get out of here. The fun's over, there won't be a continuation."
I stand up, stunned, unable to believe what has just happened. Those words don't seem to be about us. Not about her and me. It's like a storm that comes out of nowhere and sweeps away everything that was once important.
Rebel Girl is kicking me out? Is this the end? It's as if a cup full of hopes and promises has been overturned, and now I'm standing amidst its shards. We had made such grand plans, thinking these nine days would become something significant. Nine days that were supposed to be ours, for everything we had once shared. And now... now it has all turned to dust.
Why so sudden? Why doesn't she want to give me a chance, after everything we've been through? Katrin isn't looking at me. Her gaze is empty, indifferent. Where is that spark that had once burned between us? Where is that fire I had so desperately tried to keep alive, even deep within my heart? Why don't her eyes reflect the warmth that had once comforted us both?
I try to find meaning in her words, to search for the slightest hint that this isn't the end. Maybe I'm wrong? Maybe I've misunderstood her? I can't find anything except the certainty that she has made her decision and isn't going to back down.
Rebel Girl turns and takes a step toward her room, her steps quick. This isn't just determination—it's her way of hiding from everything that hurts her. She's shutting me out, as if I'm the cause of her pain. I can't just stand there and watch. How can I leave? How can I walk away from her, even if she wants me to? I can't.
I rush after her, without thinking, and despite her attempt to close the door, I'm faster. My hands grab the door handle, and I feel her resisting, but I don't let go. I step into the room and lock the door—not because I want to trap her, but because I can't let her go. Not now.
We're alone, and I don't know what will happen next, but all I feel is tearing me apart—fear and hope, pain and despair.
"What did I do wrong that made you decide to take such drastic measures against me?"—my voice is filled with despair. I don't understand what has happened, how she has suddenly become so distant and cold.
"Are you deaf?"—the girl doesn't even bother to soften her words. "I told you to take your stuff and get out of my sight."
Taking a step forward, I try to get closer, but she recoils as if I'm something dirty she doesn't even want near her. Then, staring straight into my eyes, she shouts:
"Stop! Don't come closer! Leave! Get out of my life!"
I don't know what to do. Everything I had once known about us is crumbling before my eyes. She isn't being fair. This isn't just her life. We've been through too much together to just throw me away like a stray kitten. We were together, we were "us," and now it feels like something has shattered, and I don't know how to pick up the pieces. I can't just walk away like this.
"What happened?"
"Just go, please..."—her voice is barely audible now, filled with pain and exhaustion. I can see her eyes welling up with tears, and I don't know what to do. She begins to cry harder and harder, and I feel her pain resonating within me.
"What exactly hurt you? Everything was fine between us, and then suddenly you changed. Did I do something wrong?"—I stand in front of her, my head lowered.
"No... yes... I mean, it doesn't matter what you did, just go..."
Leaving now would mean losing her forever, and I can't let that happen. I know that if I take that step, I'll never be able to bring us back to where we were. I'll lose her. A battle rages inside me—I want to hold onto her, but I don't know how. Everything in me screams not to leave, to stay and fight.
I begin to move slowly, almost imperceptibly, toward her. Katrin is crying so hard that she doesn't even notice my steps, lost in her grief. When I finally stand beside her, I can't hold back any longer. I reach out and wrap my arms around my Rebel Girl, feeling her coldness—her body is like ice, as if the entire world has disappeared for her, and only I remain to hold her up. With every touch, I try to soothe her pain. Rebel Girl presses herself against me, as if seeking salvation in that single embrace, and I feel her trembling hands gripping me, as if trying not to vanish, not to fall apart.
The girl cries, sobs wracking her chest, and it feels like I can feel her pain in every cell of my body. I feel her body shaking, her tears soaking through my shirt. The wet fabric grows heavy with her sorrow, but there's nothing I can do except stand there and hold her. I become her support, even though I'm just as broken as she is. Those tears—they aren't just tears, they're a flood pouring out of her soul, and I can't just stand aside. I have to be there. I have to endure it all with her.
We stand like that for a long time, motionless, and I don't know how much time passes. All I know is that I can't let her go. I stand there, holding her, and despite everything that has happened, my own tears begin to fall. I can't hold back anymore. Seeing her like this is too painful, and I feel her pain pulling me into its depths. I don't know exactly what has caused her tears, but everything around her feels so heavy that I can't contain my own emotions. I cry with her, dissolving in that pain, as if it has become a part of me, and I can't escape this endless cycle of pain and love.
When the girl takes a step back, pulling away from me, I feel something inside me snap. Everything that has held us together suddenly feels fragile. Katrin slowly moves away, and I don't know what to do now. There is something in her gaze that I can't quite grasp, but it tells me that she isn't the same anymore. With every movement she makes, I feel our connection crumbling. And in that moment, I realize that perhaps she will no longer be Rebel Girl I once knew. She has gone far—not just physically. A part of her might have left me forever, and I don't know how to get it back.
"Let's sit on the bed," I suggest, trying to hide the tension in my voice. I hope that this way I can get closer to an answer, to understand what lies behind her silence.
"Okay."
Katrin wants to sit next to me on the bed, but I can't let her just stay at a distance. I pull her toward me and sit her on my lap. It isn't just a gesture—it's an attempt to hold onto her, to keep her from running away. To keep her from retreating into her silence. I know that if she walks away from me now, she won't come back. This way, I can at least have some control over the situation, not letting her turn away.
"Now you can start talking."
"There's nothing I can tell you," she tries to pull away, to hide, as she always does when her inner world becomes too heavy for her.
"That's not true, and we both know it."
I take her weary face in my hands and, with tenderness but determination, turn it toward me so our eyes can meet. I want her to feel that I am here, present, to understand her, not to judge.
"We both know I would never hurt you. You said you trusted me. So trust me now and tell me what's bothering you, just like I told you about my past."
Rebel Girl remains silent, her eyes filled with pain, but I don't push. I understand that she needs time. Instead, I hug her and begin gently stroking her hair, trying to soothe her. This gesture is my only way of telling her that I won't leave her.
"My dad was a professor in my hometown. My mom was a student and fell madly in love with him," Katrin begins to tell her story.
This story isn't directly related to what has happened today, but it is important to me. I stay silent, letting her speak, because I know that when someone finally decides to share their past, you have to be there—not interrupting, not interfering. You just listen to understand.
"They got married. Then I was born, and the nightmare began," Katrin swallows, her eyes filling with a heavy memory that still seems to haunt her. "He drank, beat my mom, and cheated on her. My mom was a naive, lovesick fool and forgave him. Even when he started using force on me. It only got through to her when she ended up in the hospital from his beatings. My grandma came and knocked some sense into her, took us in. Mom divorced him. They bought this apartment together, and before the divorce, he transferred it to my name. Legally, it was possible, but I couldn't manage it until I turned sixteen—until then, it was my mom's."
"I'm so sorry you had a father like that," I want to comfort her, but I don't know what can ease her pain.
"Like your parents were any better."
And she is right. In this, we are once again alike. My parents aren't the best example of love and care either. They are more focused on their own relationship and their own conflicts than on me, and I often feel like an outsider in their circle. We are both children who didn't get what every child should have—safety, support, and attention.
"Where are they now?" I don't know how to ask this question properly.
"My dad died. He was drunk, didn't put out his cigarette, and burned to death. And my mom... she found herself another man and now lives with him in another country. She sends money to me and my grandma sometimes. My grandma basically raised me."
"And she didn't do a bad job. You're a good girl," I know that behind her tough exterior is kindness, and behind that Rebel Girl mask is a strength and tenderness she might not even realize yet.
"Very funny. A party girl. But she doesn't know about that."
"The less she knows, the healthier she'll be," I smirk, feeling how important it is in that moment to lighten the atmosphere, to let her feel that she isn't alone.
"You described the situation very accurately. I liked that."
Rebel Girl falls silent again, but now the silence is calming. It isn't just silence—it's agreement, a moment when two people who have experienced pain and disappointment find something in each other that goes beyond words. We lie down on the bed, and I feel her body grow lighter, the tension I have sensed for so long beginning to fade. With every breath she takes, she lets go of some of her fear, and with my touch, I become her support.
She lies on my chest, and though her breathing remains uneven, I can feel her relaxing, her fragile body sensing safety. Her hair brushes against my chin, and feeling her closeness, I understand that this is more than just physical presence. It's about trust, acceptance, and even forgiveness. She isn't trying to run away anymore—not from me, not from her feelings, no longer hiding behind the mask she has worn for so long.