We drive into the city. Katrin is silent, her gaze fixed on the road. I am silent too, feeling the tension between us. We both know what has happened, and each of us is dealing with it in our own way. Rebel Girl continues to drive around the city, calming herself. The speed is slow, but enough for reflection. Every turn or traffic light gives us time to gather our thoughts. With every kilometer, the girl relaxes: her shoulders drop, her breathing becomes steadier. Her hands, which had been gripping the wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white, now rest lightly on it. My girl is becoming serene, and I am infinitely happy to see her like this. In her eyes, which had recently burned with anger and pain, there is now a hint of peace.
Did Ivan's threats scare me? Yes and no. On one hand, I am glad to be rid of his claims on my Rebel Girl. On the other hand, I know he won't let the incident at the club go without consequences. Ivan has hated me from the moment we first met, and his anger has only grown with time. But I couldn't have acted differently. He wanted to hurt her. He would have broken her, finished what that monster at school had started. Katrin had been a diligent girl, but after that incident, she became a troublemaker, trying to distract herself. To forget what he had done to her on that desk.
How did she manage to go to school every day, walk past that classroom, sit through lessons in it?
Katrin decided it would be easier to shed that negativity through distraction. And she distracted herself with alcohol, fun, and dancing. But I know that behind that mask is a fragile soul still searching for salvation.
We stop at a bus stop near the institute. The girl gets out of the car, and I follow her, feeling the cool breeze touch my skin. She sits on the trunk, her gaze fixed on the distance, as if she is trying to see something beyond the horizon. I stand between her legs, place my hands on her waist, and feel her shiver slightly before relaxing. Her body becomes soft, as if she has finally allowed herself to feel safe. In that moment, I realize that we are both seeking comfort in each other. Her past, my fears, our shared experiences—all of it is tangled into one knot that we are trying to unravel together. And as I look at her, I feel that despite all the difficulties, we can get through this. Because we are a team.
"It shouldn't have been like this. I shouldn't have brought you there today," I see her clench her fists, as if trying to hold back tears.
Her words hurt me because I know she is blaming herself for everything that has happened. There is pain in her eyes, and I want to take her hand, tell her it's okay, that I'm not angry, that it's not her fault.
"I liked your friend. I got to see another side of you. And I really enjoyed being part of the race. You were amazing behind the wheel," my hands slowly stroke her back, feeling how tense her body is. I want her to feel that I am there, that I'm not angry or blaming her. But her gaze is fixed somewhere far away, as if she isn't even hearing me.
"No, that's not it. I made a mistake. And the mistake wasn't bringing you there—it was arguing with you in the first place, and that led to all of this."
I freeze, feeling my heart tighten. Does Rebel Girl regret the past week? Our arguments, our moments, how we grew closer? It feels like a knife to the heart. I can't believe she really feels that way.
"How can you say that? If we hadn't argued back then, I wouldn't have gotten to know you," I object, trying to stay calm.
My fingers lightly squeeze her shoulders, as if trying to hold her back from saying more. I don't want her to continue because I'm afraid her words will destroy everything we've built during this time.
"Is that so bad? You were living just fine without me," her words come out cold, and I feel my calm begin to crumble. Does she really think that her presence in my life is a mistake? My hand involuntarily drops, and I take a step back, as if her words have physically pushed me away.
"Are you serious?" I can't believe she's saying this.
Everything we've been through, all those moments, the laughter, the arguments, even the tears—was all of that a mistake to her?
"Do you think I was living before you? Where? In what place? Oh, I guess when I was sitting like a prisoner in my room all day with my books? Wow, what a wonderful life!" I can't hold back my emotions, feeling them overflow. I remember those days when my life was empty, when I was alone, when my only comfort was books and silence.
"And now what? You're fighting, drinking with me all over the city, getting into trouble? This isn't right for you, don't you understand?" She truly believes that her influence on me is destructive. But she doesn't understand that she has given me what I needed most—life, emotions, feelings.
"You don't understand. Before you, I wasn't living. I was just existing. You gave me everything I have now. Yes, sometimes it hurts, sometimes it's scary, but that's life. Our life. And I don't want to go back to what it was before you."
Her eyes fill with tears, and she turns away, but I don't let her go. I know we're both wounded, both afraid, but I also know we can get through this. Because we're us. And no mistakes can change what we mean to each other.
"Are you saying you're not right for me?" I can't let her think she's a mistake in my life.
"Yes."
I'm tired of listening to her nonsense, can't stand her self-deprecation any longer. In a surge of emotion, I pull her to me by her hips, feeling her body tense and then relax. My lips press into hers with demand, with pleading, with a desire to prove her wrong. I want her to feel that she's everything to me.
"Wait! Ah!" Her protest is weak, almost uncertain, but I don't stop.
My lips move to her neck, leaving hot kisses, slowly descending to her collarbone. I feel her breathing quicken, her body responding to every touch. Then I abruptly pull back and kiss Katrin again. Passionately, uncontrollably, as if my life depends on it. My hands slide down her back, pulling her even closer to me. I don't need her words—I don't believe them for a second. I want her body to speak, not her wounded heart. And her body doesn't want to let me go for a second. Now she's pulling me in, her arms wrapping around my neck, and she kisses me back with the same passion, the same hunger.
We kiss until we run out of breath. Every kiss is like a silent confession, a promise that we can get through anything. In that moment, there are no doubts, no fears—just us, two people who have found each other in this chaotic world. When we finally break apart, our foreheads touch, and I feel her breath mingling with mine.
"You're everything to me," I whisper, looking into her eyes. "And I won't let you think otherwise. I'll never give up on you. No matter what you say or do, I'll always be with you, on your side. And I'm not afraid of him or his threats. The only thing I'm afraid of is losing you." I decide to lay it all out there before she can start trying to convince me to leave again. My words are filled with sincerity and determination, and I hope she can feel it.
Katrin places her hand on my head and begins stroking my hair. Her touch is gentle, but there is still uncertainty in her eyes.
"My good boy, how can you not understand that I'm not right for you and never will be," the girl whispers, her voice tinged with regret.
"That's just what you think. My opinion is completely the opposite. I believe we complement each other perfectly," I object, feeling her fingers continue to caress my hair.
I know we are different, but that's precisely what makes us stronger. Her emotionality and my calmness—two opposites that come together and unite us. Thanks to her, I became more emotional, and she, in turn, learned to find peace beside me.
"And what am I supposed to do with you?" A playful tone creeps into her voice, her eyes sparkling as if she has just thought of something amusing, and I feel the tension between us begin to melt away.
"Kiss me, love me, and don't forget to feed me!"
I want her to know that all I need from her is the simplest and most sincere things—her love, her attention, and, of course, her culinary talents, though I don't mind cooking for us myself.
Finally, a smile reappears on her face. When the girl stops smiling, she seems to change, becoming someone else. I like that serious side of her too, but carefree and cheerful suits her more. Her smile is like the sun, lighting up everything around her. In that moment, I realize just how much I have missed that light.
"Very funny."
"I tried."
Rebel Girl moves closer, and I feel her hand gently rest on mine. Her touch is warm and soothing, as if she wants to say—it's okay, I'm here. I hug Katrin, feeling her body relax in my arms. In that moment, everything falls into place—our arguments, our doubts, our fears all dissolve in this simple moment of closeness.
"You know you're unbearable, right?" She says it in a way that doesn't feel like a reproach but rather an admission that I am her little weakness, one she has come to accept. Her arms wrap around my waist, and I feel her breathing become steady and calm.
"Yes, but you love me anyway," my lips brush against her soft hair, and I feel her shiver slightly at the touch.
Katrin laughs, her laughter light and genuine, as if she has let go of all her worries and is simply enjoying the moment. I hold her tighter, feeling her body relax in my embrace.