My steps echo in the darkness, making every movement feel like punishment. My head throbs, 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 all, full of fear and desperation, making me freeze. The dark corridor swallows me. The tension in the air hangs like a spring, ready to snap.
I want to go in, but my body screams to stop. The realization hits me — I'm not ready for what could 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'm ready to protect her.
"What kind of bitch are you, Katya? With anyone but me, huh?!" His words rip through the silence. Ivan's voice holds no anger — only a desperate hunger for power. I grit my teeth, but the blood runs cold in my veins.
"You have no right to my personal life. I'll be friends with whoever I want, and give to 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's holding back tears. But in her words, there's not only pain but fear. This isn't just an argument but a struggle for her soul, for her freedom.
"No, tonight you will finally lie under me, bitch! After that, you can go wherever you want, if I don't decide to repeat it," his words are a threat, but also a statement. It's a sentence. I know he won't stop; he wants to break her, make her his. And something breaks inside me.
I open the door wider and see his hand swing down on her face. The blow is so strong I feel its echo in my chest, like thunder's roar.
I can't believe my eyes. Katrin screams in pain. The cry I hear pierces me to my core. I suddenly stop being drunk and weak; I become wild, ready to do anything to protect her.
She recoils, pressing her hand to her cheek, her eyes, full of fear, meet mine. Her fragility and pain pierce my soul. Her gaze, full of desperation, continues to seek comfort in me. She shouldn't have to endure this or feel weak. I have to be not only her protector but the one who won't let her spirit be broken. I can't stay inactive anymore; I can't watch her being humiliated.
I'm ready to do anything to save her. Everything else is nothing compared to her safety. At that moment, I realize there's no turning back. She's mine, and I can't let him do this to her. There are no doubts, no fear inside me. I have to stop him.
Without thinking, I burst into the room, feeling only rage, unable to stop. Everything disappears. I know it's now or never. Clenching my fists like an animal, I rush into the fight, not thinking, not reconsidering — acting on instinct. The blow is lightning-fast. His face twists in pain.
"Bastard!" he howls, and his scream tears through the air.
A strike, like lightning, hits me in return. I feel it break me from the inside, leaving only pain, tearing me apart. My jaw clicks from the impact. The pain pierces like a heated knife, and it instantly spreads through my head. It's obvious he's fought like this before; the hit is precise, calculated — like an experienced fighter.
My world blurs from the sharp pain, my eyes become foggy, and from the shock, I can't hold on and fall to my knees, my unblinking gaze trying to focus on something.
I close my eyes, hoping to wake up, wanting to disappear from here, to sink into nothingness. To close my eyes, escape reality, and only see the warm light of morning in my bed, not this nightmare.
Ivan approaches me, his steps sound threatening, his hands wind through my hair, roughly lifting my face. His eyes burn with confidence; he is preparing to deliver another blow — the final one, which seems like it will just erase me from existence. I can barely breathe, my vision darkening from pain, and only then do I hear the familiar voice I would never forget.
"Don't, please!" — my Rebel Girl begs that bastard to spare me. The girl sits terrified on the floor in the corner by the bed, crying. "I'm sorry."
Her quiet words, the tears, the effort to protect me even when she is in such a defenseless position, leave me no choice. I can't let him keep tormenting her after defeating me.
"You'll beg for forgiveness on your knees in bed," Ivan answers, thinking her last words are for him, but they are for me.
Emotions rage inside me, and without thinking about the consequences, I lunge forward, grab his hand, tear it out of my hair, and smash my forehead into his face. He staggers but quickly regains his stance. I don't give him time to react. Rushing behind him, I grab him by the neck, and without saying a word, drag him out of the room. We tumble into the hallway, and with a kick to the stomach, I throw him to the floor. Then I go back inside, shutting the door behind me.
I approach Katrin, trying to stay calm, but my heart is pounding wildly. I know 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. My voice isn't loud, but it carries so much strength that she doesn't dare argue. She nods silently and quickly closes the door behind me.
When I step back into the hallway, my opponent is already trying to get up. His face twists with rage, and the words spilling from his lips are filled with hatred:
"You're dead, you little shit! Do you hear me?! I'll kill you!"
But I don't care. His threats feel hollow, barely able to touch me. I am drunk, but that only fuels my rage. The alcohol becomes a catalyst for what has been boiling inside me all along.
Every word he spits only strengthens my resolve. My muscles tense to the limit, and I feel an almost unnatural surge of power. Ivan, eyes wild, charges at me, his fist flying toward my face. But I don't blink — a quick step to the side, and his body shoots past me. The moment is perfect. Raising my knee, I slam my elbow into his back, and he first crashes stomach-first into my knee before collapsing onto the floor. But that is just the beginning.
The anger erupts like a landslide. My kicks come fast and relentless, pounding into his stomach. He can't even defend himself. I don't feel pain, only one thing — I have to win. And I am sure I have, without a shred of doubt.
When I finally stop, my breathing is ragged, as if I have just run an impossible race, and every breath feels like a struggle. My hands tremble with adrenaline, which refuses to fade. I feel my energy draining, but one thought remains sharp: I can't keep going. It is like standing on the edge of rage and reason, and that feeling won't let me rest.
He, barely rising, groans in pain, but even that doesn't make me go back to finish him. I'm not the kind of person to sink that low. And despite the anger, I understand that finishing him off isn't my path. That would be disgusting, degrading. He's already broken. I won't break him further. That has to be the truth — I can't become like him.
My eyes burn, ready to engulf everything around me. I sink to my knees, feeling my heart hammering, my pulse skyrocketing. The rage still boils inside, but I hold it back.
Grabbing him by the hair, I force him to meet my gaze — just like he once did to me. In that gesture lies all my hatred and, at the same time, my calm. This isn't revenge. It's a lesson. His face contorts with pain and fear. Everything I need to see is reflected in his eyes — brokenness, defeat. And that's right.
"She's mine, got it?" — I clench his hair tighter, feeling the veins pulse in my wrists. "You will never touch her again, or next time, I won't stop."
I let him go. Ivan lies there, his body trembling with pain, but I feel nothing for him. Only emptiness grows inside me, consuming everything. I step toward the door and knock. Firm. Unshakable.
"Open up, it's Max."
Muffled sounds come from behind the door. Then it opens, and I see her — Katrin. Doubt and hidden fear flicker in her eyes, but beneath them, I catch something more — relief, a glimmer of joy, as if her soul has awakened after a long nightmare.
"There was no key, I had to improvise," she tilts her head slightly, as if trying to justify her actions.
The girl looks at the massive table she has wedged against the door, as if it's her only defense against whatever might be lurking beyond the room. Her fingers tremble, as if still feeling its weight — she has likely moved it with her last ounce of strength. That desperate act speaks for itself.
I don't wait. I grab her hand, feeling a dull ache inside that refuses to fade. The only thing I can do now is get her out of here — staying any longer isn't an option. We both know it: this place is dangerous, and every extra second could be fatal. My fingers tighten around her wrist, and I feel her skin flinch. But then her hand relaxes — she trusts me.
"We're leaving. I've had enough fun for one night," the words carry not just exhaustion, but unwavering resolve.
I try to lead her away, but she doesn't move, as if some invisible barrier is holding her in place.
"I need to grab my purse. It's by the table," she asks quietly.
"Okay."
I pull her hand again, and this time, Katrin doesn't resist. Her steps are slow, cautious, almost silent, like she's still afraid. But she follows me. We walk in silence, and I feel the tension between us ease, as if the air itself has become lighter. Yet something inside her remains locked.
As we pass Ivan, I notice how she averts her gaze. She doesn't dare look at him, as if meeting his eyes would mean betraying herself. In the depths of her empty stare, I see pain, confusion, and perhaps hopelessness. We keep walking, without looking back.
When we reach the table, I feel her slow down. I let go of her hand, giving her space to gather her things.
Stepan, sitting with Mila at the table, looks up. His eyes are filled with hostility.
"Where's Ivan?"
"In the hallway. Your friend. Sitting on the floor, beaten up," I don't hide the truth.
Stepan frowns, his face contorting with displeasure, as if he's been insulted but can't show it outright.
"Was that your doing?"
"None of your damn business."
We walk out of the building in silence, and I feel the weight of the night finally lift, as if we're leaving that world behind, and light lies ahead. A light that still seems distant, but its presence can already be felt — a thin, barely perceptible line on the horizon.