My steps echo in the darkness, making every movement feel like a punishment. My head is splitting, and my hands shake, gripping the cold door handle. Flashes of pain are replaced by panic, and I lose the ability to think. But Katrin's voice cuts through it, full of fear and desperation, making me freeze. The dark corridor swallows me. The tension hangs in the air like a spring, ready to shoot.
I want to go in, but my body screams to stop me. The realization hits me — I was not ready for what might follow. But the fear for Katrin is stronger than the pain, and I open the door. I don't know what awaits me, but I know one thing — I have to find her, no matter what. It doesn't matter what stands between us. Everything in my body screams to stop, but I can't — she needs me, and I am ready to protect her.
"What kind of bitch are you, Katya? With anyone but me, huh?!" his words rip through the silence. In Ivan's voice, there is no anger — only a desperate thirst for power. I grit my teeth, but the blood runs cold in my veins.
"My personal life is none of your business, I am friends with whoever I want — and I sleep with whoever I want. Let me go, Ivan, you won't get anything from me. Let me go, I want to leave!" her voice sounds as if she is trying to hold back tears. But in her words, there is not only pain, but also fear. This is not just an argument, but a struggle for her soul, for her freedom.
"No, today you will finally lie under me, bitch! And then you can go wherever you want, unless, of course, I want to repeat it," his words are a threat, but also a statement. It is a sentence. I know that he won't stop, he wants to break her, to make her his. And something breaks inside me.
I open the door a little wider and see his hand swing down hard on her face. The blow is so strong that I feel its echo in my chest, like a clap of thunder. I can't believe my eyes. Katrin cries out in pain. The wail that I hear pierces me to the bone. I abruptly stop being drunk and weak, becoming wild, ready for anything to protect her.
She recoils, pressing a hand to her cheek, and her eyes, full of fear, meet mine. Her fragility and pain pierce my soul. A gaze full of desperation continues to seek comfort in me. She shouldn't have had to experience this or feel weak. I must be not only her protector, but also the one who won't let her spirit be broken. I can't remain idle any longer, I can't watch her being humiliated.
I am ready to go to any lengths for her salvation. Everything seems like nothing compared to her safety. At this moment, I realize that there is no turning back. She is mine — and I can't let him do this to her. Inside, there are no doubts, no fear. I have to stop him.
Without thinking, I burst into the room, feeling only rage, unable to stop. Everything disappears. I know that it is now or never. Clenching my fists like an animal, I rush into the fight, I don't think, I don't reconsider — acting on instincts. The blow is lightning-fast. His face distorts from pain.
"Bitch!" he howls, and his scream cuts through the air.
A blow, like lightning, strikes me in return. I feel it breaking me from the inside, leaving only pain tearing me to pieces. My jaw clicks from such a strong hit. The pain pierces like a red-hot knife and instantly spreads throughout my head. It's immediately clear that this isn't his first time fighting like this, because the strike is polished, calculated — like that of an experienced fighter.
My world blurs from the sharp pain; from such a surprise, I can't stay on my feet and fall to my knees, trying to focus on something with an unblinking gaze.
I close my eyes, hoping to wake up, I just want to disappear from here, to sink into emptiness. To close my eyes, escape from reality, and see only the warm morning light in my bed, not this nightmare.
Ivan approaches me, his steps sounding threatening, his hands entwine in my hair, roughly lifting my face. The fire of confidence burns in his eyes, he is about to deliver another blow — the final one, which, it seems, should simply wipe me off the face of the earth. I can barely breathe, my vision goes dark from the pain, and only at this moment do I hear the familiar voice that I will never forget.
"Don't, please!" my Rebel Girl begs this bastard to spare me. The girl is sitting, terrified, on the floor in the corner near the bed and crying. "I'm sorry."
Her quiet words, tears, and efforts to protect me, even when she herself is in such a defenseless position, leave me no choice. I can't let him continue to mock her after his victory over me.
"You'll beg for forgiveness on all fours in bed," Ivan answers her, thinking his last words were for him, but they were addressed to me.
Emotions rage inside me, and, without thinking about the consequences, I tear forward, grab his hand, rip it out of my hair, and smash my forehead into his face with full swing. He staggers back but immediately regains his stance. I don't give him time to react. Quickly running up from behind, I grab him by the neck and, without saying a word, drag him out of the room. We tumble out into the corridor, and, kicking him in the stomach, I dump him on the floor. Then I return back, closing the door behind me.
I approach Katrin, trying to maintain my calm, but my heart beats in a frantic rhythm. I know that I will never let him hurt her again.
"Lock the door and don't let anyone in but me. Do you understand?" I emphasize every word like a command. The voice isn't loud, but there is such power in it that she doesn't dare to object. The girl silently nods and hurries to close the door behind me.
When I step out of the room, my opponent is already starting to get up. His face contorts with rage, and the words breaking from his lips are full of hatred:
"You're a dead man, you little shit! Do you hear me?! I'll kill you!"
But I don't care. His threats seem empty, hardly able to affect me. I am drunk, but this only fuels my rage. Alcohol becomes a catalyst for what hides inside.
Every word of his only strengthens my resolve. My muscles are tense to the limit, an incredible strength is felt. Ivan, with a wild look, rushes at me, his fist aiming straight for my face. But I don't close my eyes — a step to the side, and his body flies past. The moment is perfect. Raising my knee, I strike his back with my elbow, and he first crashes his stomach against my knee, and then falls to the floor. But this is only the beginning. Anger breaks out like an avalanche. My strikes become frequent and relentless, I kick him in the stomach. He can't even defend himself. I feel no pain, only one thing — I must win. And I am sure that I am winning, without any doubts.
When I finally stop, my breathing is heavy, like after a frantic race, and every breath comes with difficulty. My hands tremble from the adrenaline in my body, which refuses to subside. I feel the energy leaving, but one thought remains clear: I cannot continue. It's like standing on the edge between rage and reason, and this feeling gives me no peace.
He, getting up with difficulty, makes sounds of pain, but even this does not make me return to him. I am not one to sink so low. And, despite the anger, I understand that it is not my path to finish him off. It would be disgusting, a humiliation. He is already broken. I won't break him. This must be the truth, and I cannot become like him.
My eyes burn, ready to engulf everything around. I drop to my knees, feeling my heart pounding wildly, my pulse going off the charts. Rage boils inside, but I keep it under control.
Grabbing him by the hair, I force him to meet my gaze — just as he had held me once. In this gesture is all my hatred and, at the same time, calmness. This is not revenge. It is a lesson. His face distorts from pain and fear. Everything I need is reflected in his eyes — brokenness, defeat. And this is right.
"She is mine, got it?" I grip his hair tighter, feeling the veins pulse on my wrists. "You will not touch her anymore, otherwise next time I won't stop."
I let him go, Ivan lies there, his body shaking from pain, but it doesn't move me. Only an emptiness grows within me, filling everything inside. I step to the door and knock. Confidently. Firmly.
"Open up, it's Max."
Unclear sounds are heard behind the door. Then the door opens, and I see her — Katrin. Doubts and hidden fear mix in her eyes, but behind them I catch something more — relief, a gleam of joy, as if her soul has woken up after a long nightmare.
"There was no key here, I had to improvise," she slightly tilts her head, as if trying to justify her action.
The girl looks at the massive table she propped the door with, as if it is her only defense against what could be hiding outside this room. Her fingers tremble, as if still feeling its weight — when she moved it, probably with her last ounce of strength. This desperate gesture speaks for itself.
I don't wait. I grab her by the hand, feeling a dull pain inside that gives me no peace. All I can do now is get her out of here. I cannot afford to stay here any longer. We both know: it is dangerous here, every extra moment could be fatal. My fingers squeeze her wrist, and I feel her skin flinch. But suddenly her hand relaxes, because she trusts me.
"We are leaving. I've had enough fun for today," in these words sounds not only exhaustion, but also a firm intention.
I want to lead her after me, but she doesn't budge, as if an invisible barrier is holding her.
"I need to get my purse, it was left at the table," the girl asks me.
"Alright."
I pull her hand again, and this time Katrin does not resist. Her steps are slow, cautious, almost silent, as if she is afraid, but she follows me. We walk in silence, and I feel the tension between us ease, as if the air itself becomes lighter. But something in her still remains constrained.
Walking past Ivan, I notice how she averts her gaze. The girl dares not look at him, as if meeting eyes would mean a betrayal of herself. In the depths of her empty gaze, pain, confusion, and, perhaps, hopelessness can be read. We go further, not looking back.
When we approach the table, I feel her slowing down. I let go of her hand, giving her the opportunity to gather her things.
Stepan, sitting with Mila at the table, looks up. Dislike can be read in his eyes.
"Where is Ivan?"
"In the corridor, your friend. Sitting beaten up on the floor," I don't hide the truth.
Stepan frowns, his face distorts with displeasure, as if he was insulted, but he cannot openly show it.
"Is this your doing?"
"It's none of your business."
We step out of the building in silence, and I feel how the heaviness of the night finally recedes, as if we are leaving this world, and light awaits us ahead. A light that still seems distant, but its presence becomes palpable, like a thin, barely perceptible line on the horizon.