"What are you thinking when you suggest something like that?" I want to understand her motives, but my mind is in chaos, like a hurricane sweeping away all thoughts. My voice sounds strained, as if I am trying to hold back a storm of emotions threatening to burst out. Every word comes with difficulty, as though I am fighting myself.
"He got on my nerves, so I decided to humiliate him with a loss and my desire," her voice is as firm as steel, but a shadow of doubt flickers in her eyes, as if she isn't entirely sure of her decision. Her gaze shifts to the side, and I notice her fingers trembling slightly, betraying her inner tension.
"You'll humiliate yourself when he tells you to get on your knees and do all sorts of immoral things for him," I say, feeling anger and fear mixing into a swirling mass that tightens my throat and makes it hard to breathe. It isn't just the race itself that scares me, but its consequences, which could destroy everything she has. I see her taking risks, and it fills me with both rage and helplessness.
"Do you really not believe in me that much?" Her voice carries a hint of hurt, as if I have betrayed her at the most crucial moment. Katrin looks at me as if waiting for support, but I can't give it to her. Her eyes, usually so confident, now seem vulnerable, and it hurts me even more.
"Right now, I don't believe in your victory at all, because I have no idea what either of your driving skills are like. Why didn't you tell me you were going to race?" My hands clench into fists, and I barely hold back from shouting everything that has built up inside.
"Because I know you. If I had told you right away, you would've run off and forbidden me from participating."
"And I would've been right. Then we wouldn't be in this mess. Cancel the bet!" I almost shout, feeling anxiety tightening my chest like iron vise grips.
I see her face twist in pain and disappointment, but I can't stop. Fear for her overwhelms me, and I am ready to do anything to protect her from herself. A heavy silence hangs in the air, filled with unspoken words and emotions. We stand facing each other, as if on the edge of an abyss, both aware that the next step could change everything.
"No, I'm not canceling anything. Our race is in twenty minutes, and I'll be there," she declares firmly, putting an end to our argument.
Her words sound like a verdict. I look at her, feeling helplessness and fear enveloping me. She is ready to risk everything, and there is nothing I can do about it. Thoughts race through my mind: How can I stop her? How can I protect her? But there is no answer. Only anxiety and a foreboding sense of disaster. Arguing with her is pointless, just as it is with Ivan. And I don't want to persuade anyone anymore. I am hurt by her. Let her do what she wants; I won't be part of it. But she should know that if she loses, I won't help her. Though I am lying to myself. Of course, I won't be able to just stand aside. As soon as Ivan walks out with that smug grin, I'll rush at him without thinking of the consequences. I'll beat him until he gives up his immoral demands.
"I've prepared the car. Want to check it out before the race?" Her old friend, Grandpa Vі, interrupts my thoughts.
"Yes, I've missed her too. Let's go, you'll see my beauty," Katrin replies, throwing me one last glance. Her words sound like a challenge, as if she wants to prove to me that everything is under control.
We go after Grandpa Vi. He leads us to a yellow sports car. I immediately recognize it as a Lamborghini, though it clearly isn't new, even though it looks insanely beautiful. The color surprises me—a bright, sunny yellow. After all, Katrin's favorite color is black, and here is such vibrancy.
The car is a true work of art. Its body, despite its age, gleams as if it has just rolled out of the showroom. The low stance, aggressive lines, and wide wheel arches emphasize its sporty character. The front is adorned with a massive air intake, and the narrow, predatory headlights seem to glare at the world with defiance. The sides feature the sharp edges characteristic of Lamborghinis, giving the car a futuristic look. The rear is no less impressive: a huge diffuser, square exhaust pipes, and LED taillights that look like a designer masterpiece even when turned off. The wheels are large, with thin spokes, through which powerful brake discs and contrast-colored calipers are visible. The windshield is sharply angled, highlighting the car's aerodynamics. The doors, opening upwards like wings, add even more charisma.
The Lamborghini, covered in sparkling glitter, catches the light of the street lamps and reflects it in thousands of shimmering points, like stars fallen from the sky. Despite not being a new model, every detail speaks of the meticulous care it has received. Even the small scratches and marks of time only emphasize its character, like scars on a warrior's body. This Lamborghini isn't just a car—it is a symbol of style, speed, and defiance.
"Vi gave it to me for my birthday. He's a businessman in real life. He buys wrecked or broken cars, repairs them, and then sells them. He taught me how to drive," the girl explains, pride evident in her voice.
I look at the car, feeling mixed emotions. On one hand, it is truly impressive; on the other, the thought of Katrin racing in it makes me anxious. I want to say something, to stop her, but I know it is useless. She is too stubborn.
"Are you sure you can handle it?"
"Of course," she replies, smiling.
But in her eyes, I see a shadow of doubt that she is trying hard to hide. Her smile is bright, almost dazzling, but it lacks the sincerity I love so much. It seems like a mask, behind which lies uncertainty and fear. I stay silent, feeling my fear for her mix with resentment and anger. My heart clenches at the thought of her risking herself, and there is nothing I can do about it. But what can I do? All that is left is to wait and hope that everything will turn out okay. This waiting is agonizing, as if I am standing on the edge of an abyss.
"How did you two meet?" I ask, trying to distract myself from the anxious thoughts and lighten the mood.
My voice sounds unnaturally cheerful, as if I am trying to convince myself that everything is fine. I look at Katrin, hoping this question will help both of us relax a little, to break the tension hanging in the air. She thinks for a moment, and her face lights up with a faint smile, this time more genuine.
"At a bar. I was feeling down, had just divorced my first wife, and was trying to drown my loss in alcohol. She was there, dancing all evening. Then she came over to order a drink, I paid for it, we started talking, and we became friends. She saved me from depression at that time," Vi recounts, his voice warm, with a note of gratitude.
"You were just trying, like me, to drown your sorrows with a shot of vodka. We met two months after that incident at school," Katrin adds, her gaze turning thoughtful for a moment, as if she is reminiscing about those days.
"What's with the nickname 'Grandpa Vi'?" I ask, curious about the unusual name.
"His real name is Viktor. But we have such a good relationship that he basically became the male figure in my upbringing. Back then, I only had my grandmother, who I lived with, so I started calling him Grandpa. And Vi is just short for his name," she explains, smiling.
"Now I understand how you know each other," I nod, feeling that the story of their friendship adds new strokes to Katrin's portrait. The girl continues to inspect the car, her fingers gliding over the shiny body as if she is communicating with a living being.
"Vi, do you know what Max calls me?" the girl suddenly asks, and I feel the blood rush to my face.
"Not just you coming up with nicknames, huh, Katrinka?" Vi replies with a smile.
"Well, yeah. He calls me Rebel Girl," her words make me even more embarrassed. I want that nickname to remain just between us, something personal, intimate.
"Wow, it really suits you! You really are like that by nature," Vi laughs, his eyes sparkling with approval.
"I know, I like that nickname from him," Katrin glances at me, her eyes showing a hint of playfulness and warmth. I stay silent, feeling mixed emotions overwhelm me. On one hand, it is nice that she likes the nickname; on the other, I am still angry at her for her recklessness. But in that moment, looking at her smile, I realize that, despite everything, she remains the person tied to the brightest and most important moments of my life.
They continue talking about the car and its capabilities. Vi enthusiastically tells her about what new parts he has installed in her "baby," and she, in turn, shares her ideas about what else she wants to add. Their conversation is filled with technical terms I barely understand, but their voices are filled with passion for what they are doing. Suddenly, a sound resembling a horn blares, sharp and loud, like a signal for something inevitable.
"It's time. Good luck, baby!" Vi says, his voice warm, like a soft blanket trying to shield her from the upcoming trials. But his eyes betray anxiety, deep and unspoken, as if he knows something he doesn't dare say. His hand lingers on her shoulder for a moment, as if he wants to keep her here, away from danger.
"Thank you, I'll come back to you with a victory," Katrin declares confidently, her eyes burning with determination, though a shadow of doubt flickers in them, as if she is trying to convince herself that everything will be fine.
"I know, I know!" Vi encourages her, but his smile seems slightly forced, like a mask hiding a storm of emotions. He takes a step back, as if giving her space, but his gaze never leaves her, full of worry and hope.
We get into the car, and the girl smoothly drives up to the glowing start line drawn with spray paint. I look at her, feeling my heart pounding wildly in my chest, as if trying to break free. It all feels like a dream, strange and unreal, from which I am about to wake up. But the cold seat beneath me and the smell of gasoline remind me that this is reality, and it is terrifying.
"Ready?" Rebel Girl asks me, her voice calm but tense, as if she, too, is trying to hide her fears. Her eyes meet mine, and in them, I see a mix of determination and uncertainty.
"No," I admit, feeling fear tighten my throat like an invisible hand, choking me.
My palms are sweaty, and my mind races with thoughts that everything could go wrong. But I know it is too late to back out, and all that is left is to hope for the best. A heavy silence hangs in the air, filled with anticipation and anxiety. We stand on the brink of something important, and each of us understands that the next step will change everything.
The horn blares again, sharp and piercing, like a final warning. And in the next moment, we shoot forward. The car roars like a beast unleashed, and I feel myself pressed into the seat. The speed is staggering, and everything around us blurs into a stream of light and sound. I grip the door handle, feeling my palms grow damp with sweat. Katrin focuses on the road, her hands tightly gripping the wheel, her eyes burning with resolve. I want to say something, but the words stick in my throat.
Instead, I just look at her, feeling my fear for her mix with admiration for her courage. We race forward, and I know there is no turning back. All that is left is to hope that everything will end well.