"Have you ever hit another girl before?" my voice sounds soft, but inside, emotions are still churning after what happened at the club. I try to keep myself together, but my thoughts are tangled, and anxiety slowly creeps up, tightening its grip on me from within.
"Yes."
The girl sits on the edge of the couch, her hands resting on her knees, her gaze fixed on the floor. Her fingers tremble — she clenches and unclenches her fists, as if trying to cope with the inner tension. The room is silent; only the faint light of the lamp casts shadows on her face, highlighting the pallor of her skin and the slight quiver of her lips.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I sit even closer to her, trying not to invade her personal space, but letting her know that I am ready to listen. I want to understand her, I want to be by her side, but I am afraid of saying something unnecessary that might hurt her even more.
Katrin sighs, her fingers barely noticeably clutching the edge of her dress.
"It happened once in school and twice at the club…" she stumbles, but I do not rush her, giving her time to gather her thoughts. Her eyes are full of pain, and I see how she struggles with herself, trying to find the words. In her gaze, I can read a vulnerability that she usually hides carefully.
"In school, there was a bully. We were fourteen. She found out that my parents had divorced and started picking on me. I put up with it for as long as I could, but one day she crossed all boundaries. She said horrible things about my mom… and I snapped. I started a fight with her."
I quickly notice how her eyes fill with tears, but Katrin wipes them away quickly, not wanting to show weakness. Her lips tremble, and her voice carries bitterness mixed with anger. At that moment, my heart aches for her. I want to hug her, to protect her from everyone who has ever caused her pain, but I know — right now she just needs to speak her mind.
"You did the right thing. She had no right to say anything about your parents. Did they do anything to you for that?"
Katrin nods, her lips trembling.
"They called my grandmother to school. By then, Mom was no longer living with us. I was scolded, but Grandma… she praised me. She said I acted like a real woman who protects her family."
I cover her hand with mine and gently run my fingers over it, trying to give at least a little warmth and support. Her skin is cold, but it gradually warms under my touch.
"You are strong, and I am proud of you. But remember that you are not alone. I will always be here to protect you if needed."
Katrin smiles faintly, her eyes glistening with tears, but they hold gratitude. She squeezes my hand in return, and I feel how trust and closeness are strengthening between us. At that moment, I realize that I am ready to be her support, no matter what.
"The first fight at the club was because some sick girl didn't like the way I glanced at her idiot," the girl slightly lifts her chin, as if recalling that moment, and her eyes shine as if she is reliving that scene again. "I, by the way, won and also slapped the guy, telling him that I didn't need him for three hundred years."
I cannot hold back a smile, feeling how her story relieves the tension in the room.
"Wow, you are such a fighter," I praise her, winking.
I am amused by how she tells about this with such calmness, as if it is a common occurrence. Her confidence and determination fascinate me, and I cannot help but be proud of her. Katrin smirks, her eyes shining as if she herself enjoys the memory.
"I don't like fights, but I'm not going to let anyone offend me either," she leans slightly toward me as if sharing a secret and adds: "But you know, sometimes it is better to show once that you are not a rag, than to listen to someone else's nonsense all night."
I laugh, but then I ask, trying to keep a light tone:
"And the second time?"
"It was in the summer. I was kissing a guy, and suddenly his ex came. They started arguing, and in the end, a fight began. It ended with them walking away while kissing. There was no winner in the fight. It was more of an imitation of a fight. He held her and told her what a bad person I was and what a good one she was, and that she was the only one he needed."
"You are really lucky with such situations," at these words, the Rebel Girl smirks, but in her eyes, a slight sadness is read.
"Yeah, lucky, like in a lottery. Only the prizes are such that it would be better not to win," she sighs jokingly, but I see that this incident still left an unpleasant residue in her.
Her fingers slightly squeeze the edge of the sheet, and I notice how she tries to keep herself in check, despite the internal pain. I put my hand on her shoulder, trying to convey my support.
"Well, at least now you know that you don't need guys like that. You deserve much more."
"Thank you," her hand lies on top of mine, and I feel how even more closeness arises between us. "What do you think about me now?"
"That I was wrong about you."
Her head lowers, as if under the weight of an invisible burden. Her shoulders are hunched, and she seems so fragile, as if she is about to shatter into a thousand pieces. I see her fingers clench into fists, trying to keep herself together, but despair already envelops her like a dark cloud. Katrin is ready to disappear, to hide from the world, from me, from this pain. But I do not allow it.
My hands reach out to her on their own, and I carefully lift her face, feeling her skin tremble under my fingers. My lips touch her lips gently, almost with trembling. Her split lip, slightly swollen, reminds me of what she went through. I feel the girl shudder, but she does not pull away. Her breath mingles with mine, and at that moment, the world around us disappears — there are only us, two people trying to find salvation in each other.
"I was wrong in that I thought of you badly. After all, I know you. I thought it was normal for you to fight, because I thought you were not like that. And now I realized that I was wrong in my conclusions. You don't like it, only if you are not provoked."
"Thank you, I am glad that you think so, because that is how it is," the girl smiles, and this smile, despite the split lip, is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. In it is all her strength, all her vulnerability, and this makes her even more beautiful.
We go to sleep, but morning comes earlier than usual. Having woken up, we have breakfast together, and everything is so simple, so natural, as if we have always lived this way. We sit side by side, watch TV, and I feel something warm and real growing between us. Each of her laughs, each look fills me with a feeling that I cannot express in words. It is more than attachment. It is something deep, something that makes me want to be by her side always.
"Today is Monday, and this means that on Friday your wish will end."
We both know that this is the end of something important, but also the beginning of something new.
"Yes, it is sad. But on the other hand, I will finally find out what your wish is," the girl looks at me, and I see how she tries to guess what I have planned.
"I think I will surprise you, my Rebel Girl," I smile, feeling how the nickname I gave her sounds warm and affectionate. She laughs, and this sound fills the room with light.
"Have you already thought of what you want? No, I am not trying to pry your wish out. This is not what I want to hear. I am interested... do you know what to wish for, or have you still not decided?"
"I know. I thought of it back in those days when I dreamed of winning the Olympics, and it has not changed until now," my voice sounds confident, I have been keeping this secret for so long that I am already almost used to this feeling. I am talking about my dream, which sits firmly in my soul as something more than just a goal.
"Wow, you have intrigued me!"
"My intrigued one, what are the plans for this week?" the question is full of playfulness, since I cannot predict her answer, but I still wait for what she will say.
"A party."
"And what kind of party?" I barely hold back a smile, imagining how she will tell, and she definitely knows that her mysterious smile will generate even more questions.
"At home."
"That means we will go to someone's home?" my gaze seeks clarity, but Katrin slips away from me again, and I almost feel her playful retreat.
"No, we are throwing the party."
But as soon as these words are spoken, I already know that the moment is coming when she takes everything into her own hands again.
"We? You mean you will invite strangers here? No!"
My indignation is sincere, my eyes widen in bewilderment, and my voice rises a little from anxiety. I cannot believe that she is suggesting something so unexpected. It seems to me that she understands how unbearable this is for me.
"You are against my wish for the first time in a long time. And what do you not like?" she is waiting for explanations, and in her eyes, something between resentment and curiosity is read. I see her fingers nervously sorting through the edge of the pillow, and this gives away her inner tension.
"They will wreck our house," I say this directly, trying not to hold back my fears.
The thought that strangers will appear in our space causes an internal protest in me. I do not want our sanctuary to turn into a place of noise and chaos. My hands clench into fists, and tension builds in my shoulders. I know that she will not understand, but I need to voice my fears.
"Not ours, but mine. And since this house is mine, and the wish is mine, so I decide," with this, the girl puts an end to the conversation, and in her voice, determination is felt, and she is clearly not going to retreat. Her eyes sparkle, and I see in them that very stubborn spark that always makes her go to the end, even if it is unreasonable.
I sigh, feeling how the tension between us is growing. The air in the room becomes thick, as if filled with unspoken words. "And how many of them will there be approximately?" I ask, trying to keep calm, although irritation is already starting to bubble inside me. My fingers involuntarily tap on the table, giving away my internal anxiety.
"Besides us, five more people," she has the smile of a person who knows that she is taking a risk but cannot stop.
"How many? Five? And who will it be? Your next friends?" I am annoyed by her habit of calling people she barely knows "friends."
My words sound sharper than I planned, and I see her face distort for a moment from resentment. But she quickly pulls herself together.
"And yes, and no. The truth is that I have no friends, only acquaintances. The fact that I call them friends, it does not mean that we know each other well," the Rebel Girl always tries to seem strong, but at this moment, I see her vulnerability. Her voice trembles, and she lowers her eyes, as if being shy of her own words. I feel sorry for her, but I cannot simply agree with her plan.
"Clear. And when will this shindig be?"
"On Wednesday. Tomorrow we will prepare everything. We will clean the house, buy alcohol, and that is it," she says this as if it is the simplest plan in the world.
But I know that something more is hidden behind her words. The Rebel Girl is always a master of improvisation, but sometimes her ideas go too far. She knows that I do not approve of her plan, but it seems this only spurs her on.
"I have a bad feeling again about your "not-friends.""
I do not want everything to go sideways, but it seems the Rebel Girl has already made a decision, and it is impossible to stop her.