Our bodies entwine in a primal dance—every touch, every gasp growing more desperate, almost feral. We kiss with a hunger that makes mere days feel like years apart. Her lips taste sweet as forbidden fruit, her touch searing like molten metal. Each time I try to pull away for air—because God, we are stealing each other's breath in those deep, relentless kisses—Rebel Girl sinks her teeth into my lower lip, refusing to let go. As if terrified I'll vanish if she loosens her grip for even a second.
Her fingers trace my scalp, my neck, my shoulders—featherlight yet demanding. She avoids my chest like an invisible wound festers there, and I can taste her anxiety in that hesitation. But oh, how she plays with my hair. Tangling her fists in it, tugging just enough to guide my mouth wherever she wants—to her collarbone, her throat, her breasts, then back to her ravenous lips.
I am her willing prisoner. She pulls my strings like a puppeteer, and I revel in every second of this sweet captivity. We aren't just skin on skin; we are bound by something deeper—desire, yes, but also that invisible thread that has tied us together since day one.
We would cross that final line. We would burn up entirely in this fire. Our breaths sync into one ragged, scorching rhythm. Her nails bite into my shoulders like she fears I'll slip away, while her lips brand me with fire. In her eyes: pure, devouring want. My heart hammers in time with her gasps, and I know—one more moment, and we'll be lost in this storm, dissolved into each other.
If not for…
A blade of light slashes through the dim room, sharp as a guillotine. I flinch, shielding her with my body as the glare blinds us. We freeze like thieves caught mid-heist. In that fractured second, I feel her breath hitch, her fingers claw into me harder, her heart pounds loud enough to echo in my ribs.
Then, puppet-like, we turn toward the door in perfect unison. Dread coils in my chest. The silence rings with the tremor of her inhale—so quiet, so tense, it makes me want to crush her against me.
I squeeze her hand, trying to pass some shred of calm even as ice floods my veins.
The dorm room door stands open. And in the frame…
The air turns thick with vodka fumes as Dimka staggers in. He sways like a storm-tossed ship, barely upright, his knuckles bone-white around a half-empty bottle glinting dully in the lamplight. His eyes are bloodshot, swollen from crying, his face twisted in something between agony and rage—like a man who has just lost his last fight.
"Bro!" His voice is a wrecked sob.
I release Rebel Girl instantly, her heat slipping through my fingers as I step forward, shielding her. My heart slams against my ribs hard enough to crack them. Shoulders square, I brace for impact, glaring at the intruder.
Dimka wavers in the doorway. His gaze is glassy, unfocused; his hands tremble like he is freezing. Not just drunk—destroyed. No anger in his eyes, just a hollow, suffocating pain that makes my gut twist. But that emptiness makes him dangerous. In this state, he could wreck everything without even realizing it.
I feel Rebel Girl's grip tighten slightly on my hand, her fingers trembling almost imperceptibly. I know—she's seen it too. Her breathing grows uneven, her heart pounding so violently I can almost feel its echo against my back.
The air hangs thick with tension. I squint, studying his face—twisted beyond recognition, whether from alcohol or pain, I can't tell anymore. His lips quiver; his eyes dart wildly, lost, like he doesn't even know why he came or what he plans to do.
"You know what? All these bitches are fucking snakes!" he slurs, swinging the bottle like a weapon.
Tears streak down his cheeks, mixing with sweat and the stench of vodka. He takes another swig, gulping it down like he can drown the agony, but it only yawns wider inside him, a black hole devouring everything.
"Even yours… just like the rest. They make you fall, then rip your heart out like it's nothing."
Ice shoots down my spine. I shove Rebel Girl further behind me, fists clenched. If he takes one step toward her, I'll drop him—friend or not. Not an inch closer.
"What happened?" I snap, steering the conversation away from her.
Dimka hiccups violently, sways, then collapses into a chair like his legs gave out.
"She—dumped me," he rasps, swallowing hard. "Saw her with some rich prick. Yeah, he's got more cash, so off she fucking goes." His voice cracks with hatred and helplessness, fists clenching like he wants to tear the world apart.
I exhale, forcing calm.
"Then screw her. We'll find you better. Just sleep it off—morning's smarter."
He freezes, staring dumbly at the floor, then suddenly snorts and drains the bottle.
"Yeah… you're right, bro," he mumbles, stumbling toward his bed and face-planting onto the mattress. A beat, then his voice, thick with booze and bitterness, slithers out: "You and yours… is it really that serious?"
I don't hesitate.
"Yeah."
He scoffs, rolling onto his side, drunken stubbornness clinging to him.
"Love that crazy bitch?"
Heat flares in my chest, my hands curl—but I choke it down. Instead, I squeeze Rebel Girl's fingers, feeling her nails dig into my palm. She stays silent, motionless, like a shadow pressed against my back.
"Yeah. I do."
Dimka wheezes a laugh, eyelids fluttering shut, but his last words come out like a curse, a warning:
"Gonna wreck you… like the rest. Just watch."
I don't answer right away. The room plunges into silence, broken only by his ragged breathing. When I finally speak, it's quiet, certain:
"I know. But it's worth it. Better a broken heart with memories of her… than a whole one that never beat at all."
The quiet after his drunken confession feels deafening, like the aftermath of a bomb.
I stand there, listening until his breaths even out into a drunk's oblivion.
Damn. Another shattered person. And who knows how many more there'll be.
Rebel Girl hasn't moved, but her fingers twitch in mine. When I turn, she stands with her head bowed, hair hiding her face. I lean in, lips brushing her ear:
"Grab your stuff. We're going to your place. Okay?"
No words. Just a nod. She slips from behind me, silent as a ghost, gathering scattered belongings.
I exhale slowly, stuffing a few things into my bag. Our situation is still… foggy. Together, but not quite. Close, but not forever. The uncertainty gnaws at me.
But for now—just being near her is enough. At least tonight.
Outside, we slide into a taxi. Katrin stays quiet, lost in thoughts I can't decipher. I hope she isn't pissed about what I said to Dimka. I haven't lied—but Rebel Girl has a way of twisting even honesty into something sharp.
The car stops. Her apartment building looms, so familiar I could walk it blindfolded.
But as I enter, I am shocked.