"Yes, you're a master at dancing. If I'd known that earlier, I would've asked you to dance at our first meeting," the girl says, genuinely admiring me.
"I would've refused," feeling my words slightly sting her, I can't hide my unease.
Being honest is difficult, but I want truthfulness, even if it might hurt her. A wave of uncertainty surges within me, weighing heavily on my shoulders, but I can't stop myself.
"Why?" Rebel Girl pouts, and for a moment, her face resembles that of a hurt little girl who doesn't fully understand what has happened. Her expression is both amusing and touching, as if she hadn't expected such words. It seems she is searching for an answer but can't believe what she's heard.
"I didn't like you back then. If it weren't for the bet, I wouldn't have gotten involved with you," the words spill out, and I feel how heavily they land on our relationship. But I can't lie. I'm not ready to pretend or hide my feelings, even if it seems cruel.
"Was I really that bad in your eyes?" her gaze turns sad, and Katrin seems to be trying to understand what has made me think that way. Her sincerity touches me, but at the same time, I feel my words becoming heavy, like stones I'm throwing straight into her soul.
"Not exactly. I thought you were clearly insane for deciding to mess with the professor on the first day of class. And yes, I also thought you were a fraud. Sorry about that!"
"Well, there's some truth to that. About the insane part, I mean. As for you thinking I cheated on the tests, I forgave you a long time ago. So don't apologize. Let's just drink."
And so we do. We continue to relax, enjoying the moment, and everything seems perfect — until Katrin stands up, breaking the atmosphere of ease.
"I'm going to the restroom, I'll be back soon," I immediately feel how this moment, which was filled with a certain harmony, seems to pause.
"Maybe I should go with you? Last time your trip didn't end well," worry washes over me again. I can't shake the feeling that I need to be close to her, to make sure everything is alright.
"No, I'll be quick. Stay here."
As soon as she leaves, I pour myself another drink, feeling how the emptiness stretches time. After drinking, I try to distract myself, not letting unnecessary thoughts take over. But the loneliness only sharpens my senses, and when the silence becomes unbearable, Marina approaches me — the same girl who had tried to latch onto me at the bar earlier.
"You dance beautifully. Where did you learn?" her voice sounds genuinely interested, but I detect a hint of boldness in it.
She sits down on the couch next to me. The air around us seems to grow heavier. This is my girl's spot, and her presence here feels intrusive. A sense of possessiveness and the desire to protect this moment from outside interference grows stronger. I hold back, hiding my irritation, though the urge to say "get lost" is almost overwhelming.
"Where I learned, they wouldn't take you as a student," I hope my words sound sharp enough for her to understand that the conversation shouldn't continue. But alas, she is as stubborn as they come, and instead of taking the hint, she only presses further into my personal space.
"I don't need to go there. Don't you want to teach me?"
This persistence is starting to irritate me to the core. No matter how hard I try to stay composed, her proposal seems to shatter my patience into pieces.
"I don't work as a tutor, so no," even my tone turns harsher than I'd intended. I hope she'll finally get the message and leave me alone. But there's no embarrassment or understanding in her eyes — instead, she clearly doesn't respect my boundaries.
"Why not? I'm a quick learner and a good student."
I know exactly what she's hinting at, and it fills me with disgust. The only thing I can't understand is why, after being rejected, she doesn't just leave and find someone else who'd gladly fulfill her desires in the nearest restroom.
Speaking of restrooms. . . Where is Katrin? My heart races as I realize she isn't nearby. I stand up, feeling anxiety tighten my chest, and head toward the crowd, trying to find my Rebel Girl. But as soon as I take a step away from the table, Marina grabs my arm again. Her touch is cold and intrusive, like tentacles unwilling to let go. I turn around — and that is my mistake.
The blonde reaches for me, her fingers sliding across my face, and before I can react, her lips press against mine. It's disgusting. Her lipstick smears, leaving a sticky, sweet taste that makes me nauseous. I feel anger and revulsion rising within me like a wave, ready to burst out.
I'm about to push her away, to send her packing, but someone beats me to it. A sharp shove — and Marina is flung to the side, landing on the couch. The sound of a fist hitting flesh echoes like a slap, and a tense silence hangs in the air.
"You bitch, he's mine!" it's Katrin's voice.
Her eyes burn with fury, and her tone carries an unshakable confidence. But she doesn't stop at just one blow. Like an enraged tigress, Katrin pounces on Marina, grabs her by the hair, and begins yanking with such force that it sends shivers down my spine.
However, Marina isn't the type to give up without a fight. Recovering from the first strike, her eyes flash with anger, and she seizes Katrin's hair in return. Then comes a sharp headbutt to the forehead — the sound is so jarring that I flinch. Rebel Girl lets out a pained yelp, her face twisting momentarily, but she doesn't let go of her rival.
Blood trickles down Katrin's forehead, a crimson drop slowly making its way downward, but it only fuels her rage further. Marina seizes the moment and strikes again. I watch as Katrin's face twitches in pain, blood now streaming from her lip as well.
My heart pounds wildly, as if trying to escape my chest. Every blow reverberates in my temples, mingling with the thrum of music and the screams around us. Anger and helplessness war within me, creating a chaos I can't control. My hands tremble, and my feet feel rooted to the floor. Frozen in shock, I can't move, as if everything has slowed down and I'm trapped in this madness.
I see Katrin, like a fury, unleashing her wrath on the girl. Every strike, every scream, every sound — it all merges into one deafening roar that fills my head. I want to intervene, to stop her, but my body refuses to obey. It feels numb, paralyzed by fear and confusion.
My thoughts race like caged birds. Why is she doing this? Why can't I stop her? What if she goes too far? These questions swirl in my mind, but there are no answers. Only emptiness and the sinking feeling that I'm losing control of the situation.
I feel sweat trickling down my back, my palms growing clammy. My breath comes in ragged gasps, and I can barely inhale. All I can do is watch as the two women, like wild animals, tear into each other, leaving me a helpless spectator.
"That's it, you're done, you dyed slut!" Katrin shouts, her voice like thunder, cutting through the noise of the club. Her eyes blaze with fury, and every line of her face radiates unwavering determination. She looks ready to kill Marina right then and there, and it terrifies me to my core.
Marina falls to the floor, and Katrin, like a wildcat, rains down blows with her fists and feet. Each strike lands with a sickening thud that makes my heart clench. The girl beneath her screams, her voice blending with the music, but her cries are filled with pain and desperation.
I snap out of my daze, realizing I have to stop this madness before Rebel Girl goes too far. The possibility that she might actually kill Marina grows with every second, and I can't let that happen.
Rushing to Katrin, I wrap my arms around her waist and try to pull her away from the blonde on the floor. But she, as if clinging to her last hope, grips Marina's hair with incredible strength. Her fingers dig into the light strands, and Marina screams so loudly that her voice echoes through the club, drawing the attention of everyone around.
Security rushes over. Two burly men try to pry her fingers loose, but she holds on with a stubbornness that both awes and frightens me. Her face is twisted with rage, and her eyes hold something wild, almost animalistic.
Finally, the security guards manage to pull her away from Marina, but not without consequences. In Katrin's hand is a large clump of blonde hair, clenched tightly in her fist like a trophy won in a brutal battle. Rebel Girl smiles, her lips stretching into a sinister grin, her eyes gleaming with triumph.
Marina lies on the floor, her face bruised and her hair disheveled, patches of it torn out. She weeps, her body shaking with sobs, but Katrin seems not to notice. She stares at her hands, at the clump of hair, and her smile widens.
"If you ever go near him again, you bitch, I won't be so kind. At the very least, I'll help you go bald, and at most, I'll send you to the next world," Katrin says, her voice icy and sharp as steel. Her eyes burn like two embers, ready to ignite at any moment.
Marina can barely process the threat. She sits on the floor, pressed against the couch, her body trembling with sobs. She gently touches what remains of her hair, fingers shaking, eyes full of tears. The face that was so self-confident a moment ago now expresses only pain and humiliation.
The security guards lift Marina by her arms and lead her away. Her cries gradually fade, swallowed by the noise of the club. I still hold Katrin, moving backward toward the couch, careful not to let her out of my sight. When I sit down, she ends up on my lap, her body still tense, coiled like a spring ready to snap at any moment.
A waiter approaches, his face a mix of apology and mild panic.
"I'm sorry, but could you please leave the club? We'd be happy to welcome you back any other day," he says politely, though a note of tension lingers in his voice.
"Fine. Give us five minutes, and we'll go," I reply, my own emotions still raging inside.
The waiter nods and quickly packs a bottle of wine into a bag, as if eager to be rid of us. I drape my jacket over Katrin, trying to cover her disheveled appearance. She remains silent, her face unreadable, but I can feel her hand trembling in mine.
We step out of the club, and the cold night air hits us like a slap. Katrin stays quiet, her gaze fixed ahead, though I notice her lips quivering slightly. She squeezes my hand tighter, as if searching for an anchor in the chaos.