What surprises me the most isn't that I'm no longer a virgin. It's how much I change after it. Inside, I still feel like the same Max — a little lost, on guard, trying to hold it together. But in Katrin's eyes, it's clear: I'm someone else now. Or I've become someone else. More… right? Sensitive? Warm?
I try to understand what the difference is. Could one evening with her have changed me so much? It could. Because it wasn't just sex. It was the moment after which she became the center of everything for me. I just didn't realize it fully at the time. And now… I don't even know how to return to it.
I leave the bedroom, already fully dressed, and sit down next to her on the couch. She sits there, her eyes lowered, as if afraid even to look up. I take a breath, gather my thoughts — and ask the question that's been nagging at me:
"What did I become… after our first time?"
She lifts her gaze to me — a little frightened, but honest.
"You became… more like me," she says, her voice trembling, but there's sincerity in it. "You started telling me honest things. You became more open… You stopped keeping everything inside."
"Did you like it?" I'm afraid of the answer, but I need to know.
She nods. Simply. Without any extra words.
"And now…" I swallow. "You don't like me? The way I am now?"
"I like you like this too… It's just…" She hesitates.
"It's just that you fell in love with who I was back then," I finish her sentence, and it hurts when she silently nods. "You want him. But I… I'm not him, not yet."
Rebel Girl lets out a quiet sigh, as if she doesn't want to hurt me, but knows the words don't matter anymore.
"I understand," I say, taking her hand. My palm trembles, but I place it on my chest, over my heart. "But know this… it doesn't matter to me whether we had sex then or not. It won't change how much I love you, Rebel. Not then, and not now."
She smiles through her tears. Gently, as if this moment takes some of the weight off her soul.
"Thank you…" she whispers before leaning in to give me that same kiss — tender, full of light and peace. The kind of kiss that makes you just want to lie next to her, hug her, bury your nose in her hair… and never let go.
"So, now that I've finally been discharged…" I begin, watching her expectantly, "I suggest we celebrate this."
Katrin frowns, crosses her arms over her chest, and squints at me.
"No. You can't drink. You're on medication. Mixing it with alcohol is strictly forbidden, did you even read the instructions?"
I laugh. That's the reaction I've been expecting.
"Who said anything about drinking?" I raise an eyebrow. "I'm talking about a date. A safe, homey one. With a blanket, a movie, and Coca-Cola."
She pauses for a second, then sighs with relief.
"Ah, well, if it's like that… Fine. Just at home. I've had enough adventures for a lifetime. The maximum will be university and back, like a model student."
"University? You?"
"Since we…" She stops abruptly. I notice how a crimson blush quickly spreads across her cheeks.
Sex. She means that moment, of course.
A slight tension hangs between us, which I try to ease:
"Okay, then let's have a home movie session. You pick the film. Just not something with explosions and apocalypses, my insides still hurt, what if I get scared and fall apart into molecules?"
She giggles, and I feel the tension ease a little.
"Deal. Movie, food, soda. Coca-Cola — is it allowed?"
"Allowed," I wink. "Actually, I'd say it's prescribed. For depression and post-traumatic syndrome."
"Then I'll quickly run to the store," she grabs her bag, looking a little more upbeat. "You won't mind if I go alone, right?"
"Of course not. I can't even take two steps without limping," I point to my legs, still aching from bruises and scrapes. "So your mission is to get the goodies. Mine is not to die of boredom while you're gone."
Katrin rolls her eyes but smiles.
"Hang in there. I'll be back — and we'll reminisce with popcorn."
"Just come back. No adventures. No Ivan. No drama."
"That's exactly what I dream of," her smile is real now.
Rebel Girl leaves for the store, leaving behind a light scent of her perfume in the hallway and a soft echo of footsteps on the stairs. Her absence fills the apartment with a strange calm, almost lifeless — as if with her departure, the air has become quieter, moving slower. Or maybe it's just me — tired, covered in bruises, feeling every second differently.
I sigh and look around. The apartment is in a light but persistent mess. Plates, blankets, crumbs on the table. Everything shouts about life, but inside me is a strange, prickly need — to tidy up. I want to do something, anything, just to make everything clearer, quieter. To grab hold of something — anything — to avoid drowning in thoughts.
I reach for a trash bag, but my body immediately reminds me of itself. A sharp pain in my side pierces through me, as if someone has stuck a knife — old bruises reminding me: "Hey, hero, you're not made of steel."
But I grit my teeth. And continue.
Every movement is a struggle. I bend, pick up, wipe, pick up again, stumble, breathe through the pain — but don't stop. Because in this rhythm, in this mechanical "do-do-do," there's something soothing.
This I can control. Not my memory. Not my feelings. Not the shadow in my eyes that looks at her as though seeing her for the first time.
But dust? I can defeat the dust.
I don't even notice how much time passes. When everything is done, I stop, leaning against the back of the couch, slightly bent, with drops of sweat on my forehead. My chest burns from the effort, my body aches, but in all of that, there's also pride. Quiet. Light. The kind that doesn't shout, but just breathes with you.
The couch is neatly made, as if ready for an evening movie.
The pillows fluffed. On the small coffee table, two plates stand — empty for now, but washed to a squeak, ready to hold whatever she will bring from the store. Next to them, I place two mugs — one her favorite, the one I gave her, and the other — mine, a little worn but cozy in its own way.
I look at all of this and for the first time in a long time feel quiet comfort. As if I've pressed my palms to the shattered glass of the world and for a moment stopped its cracks. Not for long. But that's enough.
I sit down carefully, trying not to flinch from the pain. I lean back on the couch. And maybe for the first time in all this time — I just wait.
I wait for her to return.
I wait for her footsteps.
I wait… for us.
"I'm home," comes a voice from behind the door, and at that very moment, the corridor grows brighter, as though the light has returned to the apartment with her.
I greet her with a warm smile. The moment she sees me, she drops everything and, without a second thought, throws herself into my arms. I catch her and hold her tightly, as if afraid of losing her again.
"Are you cold?" I feel how her fingers are cold as ice. "Lately, the weather outside has been freezing…" I carefully take her hands and begin kissing each finger one by one, as if trying to warm not only her hands but her soul as well.
"With you, I'm always warm," she whispers, pressing against me.
"Am I your replacement heater?" I laugh, though with each passing second, my chest grows softer and warmer.
"You replace a lot of people for me."
"Who exactly?"
"Everyone. Everyone except you."
I freeze for a moment. These words pierce my heart. It feels bitter because even I, even I, am not quite living up to the image she keeps in her mind.
"Sorry that I can't be the way you want me to be," I say with bitterness. The self-loathing squeezes my chest like a belt.
But she doesn't let me sink into that feeling. She hugs me again, this time so tightly, as though she fears I might disappear once more. And she doesn't let go.
"Shall we do this? Tonight, after the movie," her voice is quiet but firm.
"Do you think it'll help?"
"Yes. It'll help us, me, you."
I look at her. She is beautiful – not because of her appearance, but because of how her eyes glow, how her lips tremble in this confession.
"Well then, let's do it…" I smile a little awkwardly. "Strange, I'm nervous like a teenager before the first time… Though, technically, my body already knows all of this. It's just my mind trying to catch up with my heart."
"You'll be fine. I'm right here. I'm with you."
I cup her face gently in my hands, as if it were made of porcelain. And I kiss her – passionately, hotly, the way I've wanted all this time, with pain, with longing, with hope.
"Sorry…" she whispers afterward. "I'm the one making this complicated. I think you're not you. And I start losing my mind. I don't want to suffer anymore, and I don't want to drag you into these depths. You're still you. Just a little quieter, a bit more lost. But still the same, still mine."
"You're right too. It's hard for me to realize that time has passed, and I haven't truly lived it. I don't remember everything, but… I feel it. I feel you, and that's not something that fades."
"Let's forget," she takes my hand. "Let's pretend I have amnesia too. We'll build everything anew. Not from the fragments, but from something new."
I nod, relief washing over me, like I've shed an invisible weight.
"What did you buy?"
"Everything you wrote. I've been a good girl."
"Good girl," I say with tenderness, and she smiles that smile, the one that used to make my heart race. The smile that is mine again.
"Today's an important day," she says, walking into the room with bags. "I stopped by the pharmacy too. I bought… well, condoms. I only had one left."
The last words come out quieter, and I notice how she averts her gaze in embarrassment. I smile, not because it's funny, but because it's genuinely sweet.
"Alright. And the movie? Have you already picked what we'll watch?"
"Yes. A new movie. I've wanted to watch it for a while, but just never got around to it. Now there's a reason."
"I trust your choice. Though, honestly, for me, it's not about the movie, it's about who I'm watching it with."
"Me too, Max."
For a moment, silence hangs between us. Warm. Cozy. Like a blanket we can both hide under.
"By the way, Vi gave me something before our discharge."
Katrin hands me a folded sheet of paper.
"What's this?"
"It's a sick leave note. It's brief, without details. For the university," she says calmly, without too much anxiety, as if she's gradually returning to normal life.
"Okay. Put it somewhere, I'll take it to class."
Soon everything is ready for that moment, which seems so ordinary – just an evening, food, a movie. But for me, it feels like an entire universe, concentrated in the warm dimness of the room, in the soft rustle of bags, in the gentle bubbling of soda being poured into glasses.
We lay out the food on the table in front of us – something simple, something tasty, almost childlike: chips, pizza, wings. The blanket softly covers our legs. I sink into the couch with a slow exhale – my body responds with pain, but I ignore it. Because the next moment, she sits next to me, and I embrace her. Her body immediately settles next to mine, as if it isn't a choice, but an instinct. As if this is where she is supposed to be. Only here. Only with me.
Her head finds its usual place – right on my chest, just to the right of my heart. I feel her hair brushing through the fabric of my t-shirt, how her breathing grows quieter, steadier. Katrin sighs – deeply, relaxed. And I feel as if the whole evening has been created just for this exhale. For that one second when everything feels right.
I run my fingers over her shoulder, slowly, cautiously, as if afraid to break the magic of the moment. She doesn't move. Only snuggles closer. At that moment, even the TV screen seems irrelevant. The movie is just background noise. The real thing is happening here. In this breath. In the weight of her head on my chest. In the unspoken "I'm here, I'm with you."
I can feel how she believes. How she trusts. As if all the bad things – everything that has hurt us, that has ripped us apart – freeze for a moment beyond the walls of this room.
I don't know what will happen tomorrow.
I don't know if I will remember everything.
I don't know if we can get back what we once had.
But right now…
Right now, with her breath on my skin, her body under my blanket, her heart – beside me, it feels like there is a chance. Because she is here. And I am holding on. And I don't want to let go.