Do I feel guilty for us being arrested recently? No.
On the contrary, a strange, almost malicious satisfaction burns inside me — I want Katrin to see it, to know what I've been caught up in while she wasn't around. Let her, even for a moment, look into the abyss I've been falling into, torn apart by pain and longing. Let her feel what it's like to live with this eternal emptiness, when every minute without her cuts me to the bone. Let her see with her own eyes the darkness I sink into every day, like plunging into icy water. Let her feel how I burn, how I writhe in pain — from her absence, from that void that no one could ever fill.
She must see my pain herself, even a small part of it. I desperately want her to live, with me, at least one of those endless, agonizing days I spent without her. Yes, I know — it's impossible. The past cannot be returned, and other people's suffering cannot be transferred. I want Rebel Girl, even if only in thought, to share with me every day I've lived without her. But if she could even partially immerse herself in my new, foreign, wounded life — she would understand. Even if it's impossible, even if years lie between us — she can at least touch my hell, feel its breath, inhale its smoke… and draw conclusions. Because without this — nothing works. And perhaps, she will forgive me too, as I will forgive her someday.
Rebel Girl, like a whirlwind, stormed into my life and tore me out of the old, familiar reality. She led me into a new, dangerous, twisted world, full of pain, anxiety, and fear for tomorrow. And before I can let all this go, push it away as if it were just another mistake, and try to return to that fragile but real connection I had with Katrin — she, this girl, must fully dive into the life I built without her.
Yes, I know — she won't like it. I am almost certain it will end with tears, shouting, maybe even that we never speak to each other again. But I cannot act otherwise. I cannot live as if these years never happened. I am not playing. My beloved must go through at least a brief tour of the hell she herself ignited in my soul.
Is it selfish? Yes. I understand that. But what can I do if my heart still bleeds from that pain… if every memory is like a knife, stabbing me over and over again. You cannot build something new on ashes without clearing them first. You cannot start over while the embers of the past still burn.
I can only truly return when she sees — how my three years went without her. How I howled from loneliness, how I hated myself and her, how I fought this war inside, every day.
I make this decision consciously. I know the price, and I am ready to pay it. Let it hurt, let it be hard, but for us, for the chance we might have at all — we must go through this. Return to the past, to finally let it go.
When we get home, we don't say a word. The silence between us is thick, like fog. We just lie down to sleep, each with our own thoughts, with the burden no one wants to speak aloud. In the morning, I have to go to the university . I leave early, without waking her. And then, when I return, the apartment is almost sterile in its quiet. I step in and immediately feel that calm, almost illusory coziness.
Katrin sits in the kitchen, drinking coffee. Next to her on the table is a box of chocolates, one of the kinds she likes. The house is quiet — Mary must be napping. This moment seems almost unreal to me — like a scene from someone else's life that I suddenly fell into. And everything is too calm… like before a storm.
"Hi," I greet her, feeling her gaze slide over me, faintly, but the way she always does when she doesn't want to show that something affects her.
"Hi," she answers, her voice a little cold, as if still lingering in the recent thoughts that somehow touched her. She doesn't look me in the eyes, but I feel her watching my every move. Just for a moment, and in her eyes slips a shadow of displeasure.
I stand for a while, then move closer, unhurriedly, as always, and make myself coffee. The warm aroma immediately envelops me, like returning to a familiar comfort where everything is under control. I sit across from her, calmly placing my cup on the table, feeling her attention remain on me despite her silence.
"I want to talk about the desire," I get straight to the point, not wanting to delay.
My head is full of thoughts I need to convey. Something important demands to be said. I have the feeling she's been waiting for this, even if she tries not to show how much she knows the conversation won't be smooth.
"Or maybe we should talk about how you almost got us thrown in jail yesterday?"
Katrin is still angry, and her voice is half irritated, half condescending. I know she's worried, but that only makes me feel lighter. I laugh, a barely noticeable laugh, but with some hidden bitterness.
"You would have found it funny if Mary had been left without parents?" Her words ricochet in my brain, and I feel a slight pain in my chest, but I don't show it. I know she speaks the truth. But I also know something else — that we would all have been fine. Hardships aren't for us, they're for others, for those who can't get out of trouble. We've survived worse situations than this.
"No. They wouldn't have jailed us anyway. At most a fine, that's all. And I know even if they did, I'd get us out."
With these words, I feel a certain confidence, almost calm. It's important — to show her that nothing is a barrier for me, no matter what happens. I am confident in myself, unlike the past me.
"You think too highly of yourself, don't you?"
Rebel Girl smiles with a slight challenge in her tone, but I feel that her words don't carry the weight they could. I know she cannot completely misunderstand me, even if she tries to hide it behind mockery.
"No, I think I've been underestimating myself. I should value myself more often," I say, almost joking, but with truth as well.
I have indeed often underestimated my abilities, but at that moment I realize I can do much more than before. Katrin snorts at such words, as if my speech causes her slight annoyance, and I even enjoy that feeling — she still reacts in her own way.
"Desire," I remind her, moving to the point, not wanting to prolong the conversation. I catch her gaze, try to get into her thoughts, but it's clear: she didn't expect me to return to this so quickly. And that, perhaps, is part of her irritation.
"And what does the racer want from me?" she looks at me, a slight hint of bewilderment still in her words, but I can feel something inside her giving way. This question is not only about a request, but also about how she perceives me in this moment. And I'm ready to answer.
I silently raise a finger, showing the number two. Silently, because my words don't need much explanation; they are direct enough.
"Two weeks?"
Rebel Girl clarifies, trying to find some sense in it. I smirk, my lips barely curved in a smile, and inside me, something responds with a soft, warm feeling.
"No, this time it's Roman five," I answer, laughing, enjoying her confusion. It's not that difficult, but I know she will keep searching for meaning in it, trying to understand why exactly this way. And it amuses me.
"Five of what exactly?" she's starting to lose patience, but I see how her interest grows, how more questions appear in her eyes.
"Dates," I say with a slight hint, almost playfully, knowing these words will stir a storm of emotions in her. She looks at me in bewilderment, as if she can't believe I'm serious.
"And this is your desire? For me to go on five dates with you?" her eyes are full of doubt, and I see how she tries to organize everything in her mind, trying to understand what's behind these words.
"No. The date is the consequence, not the reason. My desire is for you to see my world, the one I live in now because of you."
These words are important to me, because I know they will open something to her that she perhaps hasn't thought about. It's not just a desire to spend time. It's a desire for her to feel what I've experienced all these years. It's a step for her to see not only me, but also my new side of life.
Katrin looks away, and I understand that she begins to realize what I'm talking about. Everything in her expression changes. I don't know exactly what she feels at this moment, but the air carries a sense that the conversation is gaining a new depth.
"The day after tomorrow evening, Vi and Vera come to stay with our daughter. And we will go to the club," I say these words without any excitement, but inside I already feel something shifting. Maybe it's some hidden challenge for her, maybe just a desire to show her another side of my life.
"To the club?" she repeats, slightly bewildered. Her voice carries not only confusion but also a hint of caution, as if she doesn't understand what I mean by this. We haven't spoken in this tone for a long time, and her reaction feels natural — she is used to the old me, the one I was before, but deep inside me.
"Not just a club, my club," I deliberately pause, not revealing all the cards at once. I know how she might be surprised. But there's something in her reaction that makes me hide my excitement. This is my world, my territory, and I know her reaction will matter to me.
"You have a club?" her voice sounds a mix of surprise and disbelief.
"Yes, I own it. I told you that there's a lot you don't know about me. Here's your chance to see the new me."
I say this with a slight laugh, but inside there's some anxiety. On one hand, I want her to see that I've changed, and on the other — I'm not sure if she's ready to accept me this way, even for a while. Or at least try to understand. After all, for me the club has become not just a business, but a place where I can be myself, where I can forget everything else.
"I liked the old you more," Katrin mutters under her breath, and I feel how her words pierce me, leaving a cold sensation. This isn't what I expected. I thought she was already used to my changes, to the fact that we both aren't the same people we used to be. But her words somehow confirm that she still hasn't accepted who I became because of her.
"You shouldn't have abandoned him back then, like a puppy on the road. So be glad for what you have now, before it gets worse."
I don't want it to sound so harsh, but I can't hold back. I still remember how her action back then hit me hard. And maybe my words are too sharp, but they come out on their own, as if I can't control my irritation.
"What are you talking about? What does that mean?"
Rebel Girl looks at me, and I see her eyes fill with unanswered questions.
"You'll see later," I say, moving to another room, not giving her the chance to keep asking. At some point, I decide I don't want to explain, I don't want to put all the dots. Sometimes silence is stronger than words, and even better is simply showing. Let her see what her actions three years ago led to, and what consequences remain until now.