It is unbearable. As soon as I close my eyes, I plunge into a sleep poisoned by sharp pain in my cheek, throbbing with every heartbeat. The inflammation spreads across my face, denying me rest. The pain isn't limited to my face: my scalp aches where Ivan has dragged me by the hair, and even the slightest movement sends waves of agony through my body, as if I have spent the night locked in a futile struggle.
When I open my eyes, the morning light seems harsh and unwelcoming. Approaching the mirror, I see my face — especially my cheek — swollen and reddened, as if struck by lightning.
The girl, noticing my condition, quickly retrieves an ointment from the first-aid kit. Her touch is gentle yet confident, radiating a strange warmth — both unsettling and soothing. She carefully applies the ointment, and for a brief moment, I feel relief.
Then, as if apologizing for the night before, she begins preparing breakfast. Her silent but expressive gaze compels me to break the silence.
"Stop looking at me like that!" I almost plead. "Please understand, this is not your fault! You're not to blame!"
She stands in front of me, her eyes unwavering. Her fingers curl into fists, ready to defend her stance.
"I won't listen to that," she says, her voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of storm. "This is my responsibility. Period."
I step closer, but she doesn't move. Her gaze is relentless, and her stubbornness, as always, leaves me in awe.
"You're more stubborn than ever," I try to break through her resolve. "Why are you always like this?"
She doesn't answer, only presses her lips tighter and turns away. I know I can't convince her right then.
The silence stretches. I notice her shoulders relax slightly, but she still holds herself together. It's clear the internal conflict is eating away at her. I can't ignore how her pride keeps her from admitting she doesn't have to carry the weight of responsibility alone.
"It's not your fault," I repeat, softer this time, realizing that force won't work. "None of this happened because of you, and you shouldn't bear it alone."
She remains silent, but her gaze shifts, and a shadow of doubt crosses her face. Guilt twists inside me. When I try to meet her eyes, it feels like she can see every weakness and fear I have.
Thinking back to the previous evening — the dance, the way her body moved in the darkness to the music, how her gaze pulled me in — shame wells up like a rising tide. In that moment, sober and painfully aware, I want to disappear. But how can I? She is right there, and the memories refuse to let go.
Her scent... It is so sharp it feels like a part of me. A subtle, warm fragrance of skin fills the space, wrapping everything in closeness. Her hair carries a faint trail of vanilla with barely perceptible bitter notes, like a breath of summer wind. That intoxicating, sweet aroma seeps into my consciousness, making my heart race.
I remember how my hands slide over her body, feeling the silky softness of her skin, as if woven from light. Every curve of her figure seems perfect — the line of her neck, her delicate shoulders, the graceful slope to her waist. The warmth of her body flows into me, bringing peace and awakening an irresistible longing.
This feeling nests deep inside, at the very core of my being, refusing to let go or allow me to forget. It presses down, like invisible threads binding our souls together. The desire to be close to her again, to hear her voice, to feel her touch — it is more than physical attraction. It is an elusive connection, as if nature itself tears through time and space to unite us. My mind searches in vain for justification, but I know: this defies logic.
One night at the club — and I am already ready to throw myself into her arms. I know it is madness, but at that moment, it feels like I would give up everything for that night, even if it means losing my soul.
What will these two weeks lead to if I keep going down this path? A wedding? I laugh, picturing Katrin in a white dress, but far more chaotic images flood my mind. She is stunning, no doubt, but how can I keep her? She is like a wild bird — too strong, too independent to live in a cage. Her spirit of freedom is too bright, her stubbornness impossible to confine within the bounds of family life. I doubt she could stay home for more than a couple of days before rushing back into the world she creates for herself.
As Ivan used to say, they're not meant for relationships but for something else... And that "something else" lures me with a dangerous, almost magical pull. I try to convince myself that her influence is exaggerated, but the more I think about it, the clearer it becomes: she is changing my world. It isn't just attraction or admiration. Her independence challenges my beliefs, breaking down the walls of my carefully built reality.
And yet, what if children appear? She wouldn't live by someone else's rules, and I... I am afraid I couldn't live outside of them. I am used to order, predictability, the comfort of knowing tomorrow will look like today. But with her? Tomorrow will always be a surprise.
Maybe Ivan is right. Maybe she isn't made to become something more — someone's wife, someone's mother. But then why can't I stop thinking about her? Why can't I let go of the thought, as if spellbound?
Ivan.
Just thinking of him makes something inside me tighten. Irritation surges like a wave, swallowing me whole, leaving no room for calm.
How can someone do that to another person? It doesn't matter who she is, what she looks like, or how she behaves — he has no right to treat her that way. Even if she had agreed, it wouldn't justify his actions. But she says "no," and he keeps going. He ignores her words, raising his hand to hurt her. For him, "no" is just a challenge, a reason to lash out. She tries to push him away, to stop him, but he doesn't listen. He treats her like her opinions and feelings mean nothing.
And then her face twists in pain — he hits her. I can't believe it. In that moment, I feel rage, pain, and fear. Fear for her, for the fact that someone might keep destroying her.
Maybe he'll back off for a while. But for how long? I can't always be there to protect her from that beast. We agree on two weeks, but what happens after that? Will everything just go back to normal? No. She'll go back to wandering the streets at night, and I'll bury myself in my studies as if nothing has happened. Life will go on, but we won't be the same.
The fight.
When it happens, I don't know what to expect from myself. I can't imagine raising my hand against someone else, especially someone bigger and stronger than me. But something snaps. It is like a flash — the world fades to gray, and a storm of emotions rages in my head. I am scared because I don't understand what I am doing, but I can't stop. In that moment, it doesn't matter that he is stronger. Only one thing matters: I need to take back control. And I hit him. It isn't a decision or a plan — just adrenaline, anger, and confusion crashing into one wild impulse.
"Did you eat?" the girl pulls me out of my memories. "If you did, get ready. We need to stop by your place."
"Why?" I mutter, not understanding why we have to go back to my dorm. Struggling to my feet, I sit down next to her.
She looks at me with a slight squint, as if I've said something so obvious it doesn't deserve a response. Her green eyes remain unreadable, and her face, despite its calm, seems to hide something more. She doesn't move, as if waiting for me to figure it out on my own. I notice her fingers unconsciously playing with the corner of a pillow on the couch — her nervousness gives away more than she intends.
"Are you planning to go to the party in those dirty clothes? You'll take a shower later, of course, but still!"
I look at myself — I really don't look my best. My shirt is stained with blood, my jeans caked with dirt, reminders of our recent ordeal.
"I get the need to change, but I don't get the last part. What do you mean I'll be swimming at your party?"
"It's the last warm week," Katrin's voice turns serious, like she is sharing something important. "It'll start getting colder next week — first at night, then during the day."
"I already know the weather forecast," I grumble, still feeling the headache pounding behind my eyes. "What does that have to do with where we're going?"
"Tonight's the last beach party. And it's not just any party — it's a foam party!" Her eyes sparkle with excitement. I can't help but notice how her face lights up with joy and anticipation. It is the kind of energy that can infect anyone nearby.
"Wow," I say, unable to hide my smile. Something in her words makes me feel like this party will be truly special.
"Maybe I shouldn't change, then?" I joke, despite my lingering worries about my clothes.
Katrin looks at me, her smile never fading. Her eyes sparkle, reflecting the soft light of the evening sun, and the corners of her lips lift playfully, as if responding to some invisible but shared secret between us. I feel time slow down, the world dissolving around us, leaving only this moment and her gaze.
"We'll change the shirt," she says, almost without thinking. "I'll grab a towel for you. I already took one for myself."
She turns around, and after a brief pause, adds, "We also need a change of clothes, because I want to swim with you in the sea."
Her last words make my chest tighten with a strange feeling — surprise mixed with something else. Everything is becoming more personal, and her confidence fills me with both embarrassment and curiosity. I want to protest, but I can't.
"Can you swim?" she asks, abruptly changing the subject.
"I can," I answer, standing up and following her, feeling a lightness despite the lingering headache. Her gaze is steady, and it seems like she is already mentally at the beach, at the seaside party.
"You've changed somehow," she suddenly notes, looking me over from head to toe, as if trying to see all the differences.
"How so?" I ask, surprised, not fully understanding what she means. Her words make me think, but I try not to show it. A faint tension settles in my chest, and restless thoughts flicker in my mind.
"You stopped trying to argue with me," she continues. "When I say something, you just agree, like you don't care anymore."
She narrows her eyes, watching me carefully, something mysterious and a little mocking in her gaze. I shake my head, feeling a bit lost by her bluntness, but I pull myself together.
"I just want you to fulfill my wish. Then I'll get my revenge!" A smile tugs at my lips — even if I try to look serious, my emotions spill out. My eyes meet hers, and I feel a strange excitement spark in my chest.
"Oh, I'm so scared, I'm shaking!" she laughs, her voice ringing with amusement.
When we get into the taxi, I notice how her eyes gleam with anticipation. It is funny, knowing how much she hates walking. Even though the dorm isn't far, she always prefers a taxi — quick, convenient, and hassle-free. I don't mind; it cuts the travel time by three, and taxis in our small town are cheap.
Katrin waits outside the dorm while I hurry to pack my things, deciding not to waste time on conversation. To my surprise, Dima isn't in the room, and I feel a wave of relief. I'm not ready to answer his questions about last night — in fact, I don't want to talk to anyone at all. There is a strange freedom in being alone.
I grab my bag, feeling the tension melt away, and step outside. The night air wraps around me, cool and inviting, as if calling me into a world of nocturnal adventures. In the distance, someone laughs, but the street is strangely quiet, almost magical. I glance around and finally see her — Katrin stands with her head tilted slightly, waiting, a gentle smile on her lips. My pulse quickens, though I try to keep my face calm.
"Ready for some fun, Nerd?" she grins, her voice laced with excitement and mystery. Her eyes gleam, daring me not to play along.
"With you, I'm always ready, Rebel Girl," I answer, feeling a smile tug at my lips, refusing to fade.
I can't predict what lies ahead, but I know one thing — life with her will never be boring. Something warm stirs in my chest, and I am ready for this night, ready for whatever comes next — as long as it is with her.