A silence hangs in the room, filled with unspoken words and unresolved questions. I feel the distance growing between us and don't know how to bridge it. All I can do is wait, hoping that tomorrow brings at least a little clarity.
The girl reaches out, and her fingers, like a soft breeze, brush against my face. Her touch is so warm, so tender, that everything inside me stills. Her eyes, full of sincerity and longing, look at me as if I were her entire world.
"I don't want to say goodbye, so you'll have to make room and share the bed with me," she says. Her palm glides gently over my cheek, and I feel its warmth seep deep into my heart, dissolving all my fears and doubts.
I close my eyes, sinking into the moment. Her fingers move like an artist's brush, tracing invisible patterns on my skin. Every touch is so tender that I want to melt into it, to forget everything else. A strange but pleasant sensation washes over me — as if I'm wrapped in a safe cocoon where nothing exists but her warmth and love. I want to fall asleep just to prolong this endless peace, but even more, I want to respond — to purr like a kitten that feels cherished and protected.
Katrin shifts her touch to my lips, and I feel her fingers tremble slightly. I open my eyes to meet her gaze. Her eyes are full of tenderness and fear, as if she's afraid this moment might vanish any second.
"Don't do that again. Next time, I might not come back to you." My words are quiet but firm. I don't want to hurt her, but she needs to understand — her actions aren't always harmless.
At my words, Katrin looks away, and I see sadness fill her eyes. She tries to pull her hand back, but I don't let her. Taking her palm in mine, I kiss each finger, breathing in the familiar, sweet scent of her perfume. These kisses are my way of telling her I'm still here, that I still love her despite everything. Then I press her hand back to my cheek, letting her know these touches are like air to me — something I can't live without.
"I love you. But that doesn't mean I'll tolerate your disrespect." I stare straight into her eyes. My voice carries both love and resolve.
"I wasn't trying to humiliate you — I'd never even think of that." Her eyes are sincere, but there's fear, too — fear of losing what we have.
Her hand remains on my cheek, and I feel her warmth mingling with my breath. We stay silent, but this silence holds more understanding than a thousand words.
"Hurting me means you don't respect me, at the very least. And second, I never thought it could bring you joy." My words taste bitter.
Memories flash before my eyes like scenes from an old film. Her smirk — playful and mischievous — right before I screamed in pain. That smirk, which once seemed sinister, now stirs mixed feelings: hurt, confusion, and even a tinge of regret.
"Joy? When did I ever feel joy? If anything, I cried when you silently packed your things," Rebel Girl retorts, her voice trembling.
Her eyes, usually so bright and confident, are now filled with tears. She tries to explain herself, but there's genuine pain in her words. It's obvious she never meant to hurt me — her lost gaze and shaking hands betray her guilt.
"Right before ripping off that strip — or whatever it's called — you smiled at me in anticipation," I remind her, my tone edged with accusation.
She flinches as if struck. Her face pales, and she lowers her eyes, as though hiding shame.
"Yes, because I thought it would barely hurt you! And then for weeks, I'd tease you about not messing with me," she says quickly, like she's afraid I'll cut her off. "I didn't know it'd be so awful for you. If I had, I'd never have done it. I don't want to hurt you — it doesn't make me happy."
Her words sound sincere, but a bitter aftertaste lingers in my chest. I want to believe her, but the memory of that pain, her smirk, the humiliation — it won't just fade.
"Alright, let's just forget it and move on," I suggest, trying to smooth things over.
I want this buried in the past, for us to go back to who we were — two people in love, willing to forgive.
But Rebel Girl isn't done. Her eyes blaze with resolve, and she grips my hand so tightly her nails dig into my skin.
"No, we can't just forget," she says firmly. "I don't want anything left unsaid between us. I don't want you thinking I didn't care. I do care. You mean everything to me, and I hate that I hurt you."
Her words cut deep. I see how hard she's trying, how badly she wants to fix this. And in this moment, I realize — maybe we were both wrong. Katrin, in her actions. Me, in my reaction. But above all, we want the same thing: for us to be okay again.
"You don't believe me?"
"Lately, I've been so disappointed in you that I started doubting everything you've said this whole time," I admit honestly.
Yes, I know it hurts her to hear. But she needs to understand how deep this wound goes.
Katrin turns away silently, curling into herself as she starts to cry. I realize I've gone too far. Now I'm the one hurting her, and I need to fix this — fast. Because neither of us wanted this.
"Sweetheart, don't… I'm sorry, I'm yours, you know that! Come on, don't cry. If you want, we can do the waxing again, just stop crying," I joke weakly.
Of course, I know she'd never suggest it again.
"No, I just… I didn't think I could disappoint you this much. I'm a disappointment to everyone I know."
"That's nonsense. You're our sunshine. Mine, Grandpa Vi's, your grandma's — even our classmates'. And sunshine should shine, not cry. I just overthought things, that's all. Come on, baby, don't cry," I murmur, kissing her shoulder, her neck, her back, trying to soothe her.
"I need to rest. Today's been hard, and I just want it to be over. Let's go to sleep, okay?" Rebel Girl says, still not turning to face me.
I lie on my back, feeling the mattress dip slightly under my weight. The room is bathed in semi-darkness, only faint moonlight seeping through the curtains, casting strange shadows on the walls. The air is thick with silence — heavy, as if something unspoken hangs between us, unsettling us both.
My eyes fix on the ceiling while my thoughts circle around her, around us. Her words — "I need to rest" — echo in my mind over and over. Simple words, yet weighted with exhaustion that seems to have seeped into her very soul. I want to ask what's troubling her, to pull her close and promise everything will be okay. But I know she isn't ready for that now. She's shut me out, and I can feel that invisible wall dividing us.
"Okay. Sweet dreams, love," I murmur, reaching for the cheek she's trying to hide from me and pressing a kiss to it.
I long to wrap my arms around her, but the weight in my chest stops me. And in this moment, I realize: despite everything, I'll fight for us. Because she's the one I'd go through hell for.
The kiss I leave on her cheek is featherlight, but it carries all the tenderness I can't put into words. She doesn't respond, doesn't turn to me, and that stings deeper than I'd care to admit. My heart clenches, but I refuse to let it show.
I lie still, forcing steady breaths to mask the storm inside. My hands fist, then unfurl, grasping at nothing. I want to hold her, to feel her warmth, her breath, her nearness. But I can't. Not now.
Instead, I close my eyes, focusing on the sounds around us. Her breathing is even, but I know she isn't asleep. Katrin is pretending, just like me. We lie together in this silence, each trapped in our own thoughts, our own pain.
I turn onto my side, facing her but not touching. Her silhouette in the dark is so close yet impossibly far. More than anything, I want her to turn to me. To pull me close and whisper that we'll be okay.
But Katrin doesn't turn.
And so I lie there, feeling the silence between us grow heavier, more suffocating.
Sleep won't come. My thoughts are too loud, my heart too leaden. I squeeze my eyes shut, imagining tomorrow will change everything — that we'll find our way back. But even in my fantasies, I can't be sure.
And so I remain. In the dark. Beside her, yet alone. Alone with my thoughts, my fears, and this love that threatens to tear me apart.