"I'm telling you, Stas. Get out of my apartment. And take your friend with you," she says, her eyes blazing with a mix of disappointment and anger. She is done tolerating lies and manipulation.
I stand frozen, unable to process what has just happened. Does she believe me? Really? Has she actually chosen to trust me? Questions swirl in my mind, but I can't bring myself to speak.
"I'm sorry, girls, but the evening is ruined, and it's over because of this. So I'll have to ask you to leave as well. Thank you for understanding," Katrin adds in a commanding tone.
She is my Rebel again, the woman I know and love.
We stand motionless as the guests file past us, silent and with their heads down. The room falls quiet, the only sounds the soft shuffle of footsteps and the rustling of clothing. I can feel the tension slowly ebbing away, but inside, emotions still rage.
As soon as the door closes, Katrin removes her hand from my chest and wraps her arms around me. Her embrace is warm and firm, as if she is trying to convey all her support and regret.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let them stay," she whispers, her voice trembling. I can feel her breath hitch slightly and realize she is on the verge of tears too. But I am happy. Happy that she has believed me, not him.
"Do you really believe me? Why?" I finally blurt out the questions that have been spinning in my head this whole time. I need to understand what has made her change her mind.
"Of course I believe you. I knew from the start you wouldn't start a fight for no reason."
"I did start it. I threw the first punch," I admit, feeling a wave of guilt rise within me again.
"That's not what I meant. I meant you didn't start it the way Stas described. You had a reason, at the very least," she says, not judging me but trying to understand what happened.
"He said such horrible things about you. When I heard them, I just couldn't hold back," I explain, feeling tears welling up in my eyes again. I am ashamed of my weakness but grateful that she understands.
Katrin silently holds me tighter, and I feel her warmth and closeness calming me. In that moment, she is my Rebel again—strong, decisive, and loyal. I am ready to do anything to never lose her trust again.
"Did they hurt you badly?" she asks, studying my face and body for signs of the fight.
"They got worse than I did," I reply with a hint of pride, trying to smile despite the pain pulsing through me. I want to show her I've held my own, that I haven't let them walk all over me.
"I don't care about them or their injuries. They're out of my life for good," she says firmly, her voice like a verdict. Her eyes are resolute, and I can tell she is ready to cut ties with anyone who has betrayed her trust.
I am happier than I've ever been. Despite the bruises and the pain, I smile at her, feeling a warmth spread through me. She has believed me. She has chosen me.
"Were you crying?" she asks, placing her hand gently on my face. Her touch is tender, but her eyes are filled with concern.
"Yes. I was sure that, since we haven't known each other long, you'd believe him," I admit, ashamed of my vulnerability but grateful she sees the real me.
"They never knew me as well as you do. And it doesn't matter how long I've known them—or you," she says, her eyes reflecting the deep connection between us.
"Thank you for trusting me. It means everything to me."
"Come here," she says, pulling me into her arms. Her embrace is tight, but when her body presses against mine, I wince in pain. "Take your shirt off. I'll get the first aid kit and check you over."
I sit on the couch and pull off my shirt, careful not to make any sudden movements. Katrin returns quickly with the first aid kit and begins laying out supplies on the table. I watch her, and suddenly, I can't help but laugh.
"What are you laughing at?" she asks, looking up at me. Her eyes are puzzled, but a smile is already tugging at the corners of her lips.
"It's just… here I am, half-naked, and you're playing nurse," I say, still chuckling. The absurdity of the situation strikes me as funny, but at the same time, I feel the tension melting away.
Katrin laughs too, her laughter light and melodic.
"Well, then I'll be your personal nurse," she says, winking at me. "But only if you behave."
"I promise," I reply, smiling. Despite the pain and the stress, I am happy. Because she is here, she believes in me, and we are together.
"You're all beaten up, and you still find this funny?" the girl asks, unable to hide that she, too, is amused by the situation.
"Yeah, we're such an interesting pair," I say, enjoying how she reacts to my jokes, even in my current state.
"What do you mean?"
"Two days ago, you were in a fight, and I was the one patching you up. Today, it's me who got into a fight, and now you're taking care of me. It's like we take turns getting into trouble."
"Maybe we should stop doing that before it becomes a habit?"
"If people stop insulting you in front of me, I'll stop getting into fights. I'm only willing to fight for you," I declare proudly, looking her straight in the eyes. My words are sincere, and I want her to feel that.
Katrin decides to ignore the comment, but her cheeks flush slightly. She busies herself with the first aid kit—or at least pretends to, rearranging items to hide her embarrassment.
"Alright, patient, where does it hurt? Where did they hit you?"
"I think someone hit me on the head with something—maybe a cutting board. A couple of good punches to the stomach and face," I summarize my condition, trying not to complain too much.
She examines me carefully, her fingers gently brushing over my bruises and scrapes. I can feel her touch easing the tension, and it makes me feel better.
"My verdict: if you don't feel nauseous or dizzy, it'll heal on its own. You've got a bruised head, a battered cheekbone, and your stomach took a hit," she concludes, sounding professional, but her eyes betray her concern.
"Spot on, Doctor. What's the treatment plan?"
"Ointment and rest. So, no going anywhere for a while. We're treating this."
"Got it, my Rebel. Consider it done," I say, happy despite the pain and bruises.
The next day, we stay home, not venturing out anywhere. Katrin takes care of me like a real nurse, strictly forbidding me from getting out of bed without a good reason. I've never seen her so attentive and caring before. She cooks for me, brings me water, checks my bruises, and even reads to me when I get bored. At some point, I catch myself almost being glad for the beating—it has allowed me to see a new side of her: tender, caring, and infinitely close.
But time passes, and the end of her wish is approaching. Friday evening is coming, and I can feel a slight unease growing inside me.
Today, at least, I can change rooms—lying in the bedroom all day has gotten tedious. We are sitting on the couch, having dinner, and the atmosphere is calm and homely. Finally, after finishing my meal, I decide to start the conversation.
"Today's the last day of your wish. Thank you for these two weeks—I really had a great time," I say, trying to keep my tone calm, but a hint of sadness creeps into my voice.
"You're welcome. I'm glad you enjoyed spending time with me. If you miss me, come by anytime," she replies, her voice also tinged with sadness. She looks at me, and there is something unspoken in her eyes.
"As you remember, it's my turn to make a wish," I say, steering the conversation to the topic I need, feeling my heart beat faster.
"Yes, and as I promised, I'll fulfill it. What do you want?" she asks, looking me straight in the eye. Her gaze is serious, but there is a readiness to do whatever I ask.
Silently, I make the peace sign, just as she did two weeks ago. My fingers form the familiar gesture, and I watch her, waiting for her reaction. For a moment, the room falls silent, as if time has stopped.
Katrin freezes, her eyes widening in surprise.
In that moment, I realize that everything that has happened over these two weeks—the fights, the tears, the laughter, and the care—has only brought us closer. And now, as her wish comes to an end, something new is beginning. Something real.