Pain.
A burning, piercing pain in my chest, as if a knife slices through my body. I barely hold back a scream, muffling it into the pillow as I press my face against it.
The thing is, I don't even get to touch Katrin's lips before she, lost in the heat of passion, places her hand on my chest over my T-shirt. Her fingers begin to caress me, stroking gently—but what should be tender turns into torture. In the heat of the moment, she forgets everything, including the fact that I have a burn there.
Tears stream down my face on their own, and I cry silently into the pillow, trying not to make a sound. The pain is so intense that I can't move, can't even pull away from her. My body goes rigid, and my heart pounds wildly, mixing physical agony with emotional turmoil.
"Max?" Her voice is quiet, but there's already alarm in it. Rebel Girl feels me tense, hears my ragged breathing.
I don't answer—I can't. All I do is lie there, teeth clenched, waiting for the pain to fade.
"Max, what's wrong?!" Her voice rises, panic creeping in. She tries to sit up, but I press her back down. "Are you crying? Max, what's happening?!" Her hands reach for my face, but I turn away, not wanting her to see my tears.
"Hey, you two! Did you decide to fuck while I was sleeping? Couldn't you at least wait until I left?!" Dima's voice cuts through the air—he must have woken up from my muffled scream. Of course, he doesn't understand what's happening and assumes I've cried out in pleasure. But reality is far from that rosy.
"Shut up. Can't you see he's in pain?" Katrin snaps back, her voice sharp as steel.
Rebel Girl carefully tries to slip out from under me, moving slowly to avoid causing me more pain. Her movements are cautious, deliberate, but I still feel every shift sending fresh waves of agony through my chest.
"Max, how are you? I'm so sorry, I completely forgot. What can I do? Does it hurt less now, or is it still bad?" Her voice is thick with worry and guilt.
She looks at me with those big eyes, filled with so much concern that it hurts—not physically this time, but deep inside.
I don't move. My position is awkward and uncomfortable: lying on my stomach, face buried in the pillow, arms braced against the bed to keep my chest from pressing down too hard. It's far from ideal, but I can't do anything—every tiny movement sends another jolt of pain through me.
Realizing I can't stay like this forever, I lift my left leg and, with Katrin and Dima's help, who rushes over the second he understands, slowly roll onto my back. Every motion is excruciating, the pain like a red-hot knife stabbing through me.
I gasp for air, trying to steady myself, but the pain won't fade. Tears still roll down my cheeks, unstoppable. I'm scared—not for myself, but for Katrin. I'm afraid of how I must look in her eyes right now. Pathetic. Weak. A guy who can't handle pain. But I can't help it. When it hurts this much, you lose control—over your body, over your emotions.
But what pisses me off the most isn't even that. It's the fact that she probably blames herself. I see it in her eyes. She sits beside me, stroking my cheeks, wiping away tears, trying to soothe me. Her touch is gentle, but laced with fear, worry, and guilt.
Looking into her eyes again, I see pure fear and horror staring back at me. She's terrified—not for herself, but for me. And it breaks my heart.
"Max," her voice trembles, tears now rolling down her cheeks too. She looks at me with such despair that I want to jump up right then and pull her into my arms, tell her everything's fine. But I can't.
"Max, what can I do? Should I call a doctor? Bring the ointment or the pills your doctor gave you yesterday? Just tell me what to do." Her fingers shake, and I feel it as she brushes my cheeks, trying to keep my attention.
"It's not your fault," I force out through gritted teeth.
Right now, the most important thing is making sure she stops blaming herself. The pain will fade soon, and I'll feel better. But her tears, her fear—that's worse than any physical agony.
"Forget about me and my feelings! How are you? What can I do to help?" She's pleading, but I don't have the strength to answer.
"Move aside. Here, take this—it'll help," Dima says, nudging Katrin away and slipping a pill into my mouth. He lifts my head slightly and guides a straw between my lips so I can wash it down.
"What was that? Do you even know what you just gave him? Or did you just pick a random pill?" My girl is on edge, ready to tear into Dima if this makes things worse.
"Relax. It's just strong painkillers. He'll fall asleep, and when he wakes up, the pain will be gone," Dima explains, keeping his voice calm.
"And where did you get them?" Katrin presses, steel in her tone.
"My older brother works with meds. He gave me a whole first-aid kit before I moved here. It's good stuff." Dima shrugs, trying to sound confident.
It doesn't seem to fully reassure Katrin, but she backs off—what's done is done. I've already swallowed the pill.
I can feel the medicine working. The pain dulls, like fog lifting under morning sun. My body grows heavier, my thoughts slower. I really want to sleep now. My eyelids droop, and the agony that was so sharp and unbearable just moments ago now fades into the distance, as if retreating before a warm wave of calm.
"Max, sleep. I'll be right here the whole time, so don't worry. We'll skip classes tomorrow—I already know everything anyway. If you need help catching up, I've got you. Just rest." Her voice is so soft, so soothing, that I barely manage a nod before slipping into deep, dreamless sleep.
"Don't blame yourself," I whisper as consciousness fades.
"I won't," she lies—I still hear the guilt in her voice. "Sleep. Everything's going to be okay." Her fingers stroke my hair, so gentle I feel myself relaxing completely.
I close my eyes as the pain finally lets go. The last things I hear are Katrin's quiet murmurs and Dima's footsteps as he steps back, giving us space.
I dream of her. My girl. Her apartment—warm and cozy, filled with her scent, so familiar it's like coming home after years of wandering. The air carries a hint of vanilla mixed with her perfume. The lamplight spills softly over the walls, casting a dim glow that makes her eyes shine even brighter. They sparkle with happiness, with tenderness, and in them, I see my whole world.
When she smiles—that smile, the one that always stops my heart—I forget everything. The worries, the problems, the world outside these walls.
And for some reason, there are children. Our children. A little girl with my eyes giggles as she hides behind the curtains, while a boy with Katrin's features tries to catch her, laughing loudly. Their bare feet patter against the wooden floor, leaving faint traces. Their voices fill the room with life and joy. In the dream, none of it feels strange or impossible. It's just… right. Like this is how things were always meant to be.
My chest swells with warmth. A tenderness spreads through me, edged with that bittersweet ache—the kind you feel when something is so beautiful it hurts, because you're afraid it might vanish. This is happiness. Simple. Real. The kind I've always wanted.
I hold her hand, her fingers laced with mine, so familiar, so home. She looks at me, and in her eyes, I see love—pure, unconditional, needing no words. For the first time, everything in the world feels like it's in its place. This is the life I've dreamed of. With her. With us.
And for a moment, in this dream, I am truly happy.
I feel true, boundless happiness.