Looking at Rebel Girl, I see how pale and exhausted she is. That paleness seems to erase all her features, turning her into a dim shadow of the girl I once knew and loved with all my heart. The shadow of the one whose laughter was music for my soul, whose eyes sparkled with warmth and life, illuminating my world. I love her smile, her tenderness, the way she looks at me, the spark that appears in her gaze when she sees me — these little things, these simple expressions are the meaning of life to me. I would be happy even with a slap from her, any emotion, as long as she is alive, as long as she breathes, feels life, joy, or pain — as long as she is near me.
My favorite moments with her lately are those rare minutes when the three of us are together. When time seems to stop, and the whole world disappears, leaving only our smiles, touches, and the serenity that this closeness brings us. They are small islands of happiness in a turbulent ocean of fear and pain, moments when one can forget the harsh reality and simply be together.
What do I tell Mary? How can I lie to her? The truth will come out, and I am not ready to hide my feelings, to create false illusions, to hide behind words. She deserves to know everything — all the pain, all the anxiety, all the hope that lives inside me like a tiny flame I cannot extinguish.
Tonight is one of the most beautiful we have had. I don't want it to be the last in our story — the final stroke that will leave a scar on my soul, on my heart, forever. I am so afraid of this end that every second feels endless, filled with fragile anticipation of a miracle that could change everything.
Igor returns with a pillow. I carefully, with trembling and endless tenderness, lift my beloved's head, placing it on the soft support, trying not to cause the slightest pain. I feel how each of her weak breaths is a small miracle, a precious gift more valuable than anything in the world, like the air without which I cannot live. And in this moment, I realize — despite fear and pain, love remains the only thing that gives strength to keep fighting.
A few minutes later, Alice comes in. She is a little tense, as if she senses the tension in the air, as if the atmosphere itself is soaked with anxiety and uncertainty that hangs over us like an invisible weight, pressing on the chest. Her gaze flickers, as if trying to read others' thoughts or anticipate what is to come, but in her eyes, there is slight confusion and worry.
"They said they will be here in a few minutes. I'll be outside to meet them," she says, trying to keep herself composed and maintain an appearance of confidence. But in her voice, there is a subtle alertness, barely noticeable, like a whisper in silence. In that tone, there is not only caution but also fear — perhaps dread or expectation of the worst, as if she already senses that something might go wrong.
I say nothing, only nod. At this moment, I cannot look the girl in the eyes — her gaze seems too heavy, full of a secret I don't want to uncover. It seems to me that it is her fault, and the fear of being wrong prevents me from expressing my feelings, as if clouds of doubt are obscuring my mind. I do not want to shout at her unnecessarily, cause pain without reason, destroy what can still be saved. But if it turns out she is guilty, I will throw her out and say no more, no matter what she wants to explain — an irreconcilable coldness has already settled in my heart. My chest tightens with mixed feelings — resentment, disappointment, and bitter uncertainty, like a stone of heavy guilt crushing every movement.
About ten minutes pass, and finally, the ambulance arrives. My heart starts beating faster, as if every sound and step of the approaching help echoes inside me, tearing the silence and filling the space with both anxiety and hope. In my ears, a rhythm beats like a drum, announcing a battle.
"Good afternoon, I'm the on-duty doctor. What happened here?" asks a woman of about forty, with a professional yet sympathetic gaze, as if reading the entire story of pain and expectation on my face. Her voice is soft but confident, giving even a small glimmer of hope.
"Hello," I answer, though I don't want to call this day good. Inside, there is a heaviness, as if life itself has pushed me to my limits, forcing me to balance on the edge of a precipice. "We don't know ourselves. She suddenly became unwell and lost consciousness," I say, the words coming out with difficulty, as if I am squeezing them out of myself because the assistant remains silent, unwilling to explain, her eyes reflecting helplessness and fear, as if she herself fears what may follow.
"May I examine her?" asks the doctor, ready to act, and her voice carries determination that inspires trust.
"Yes, of course. Everyone else, step out of sight," I give instructions again, in an almost commanding tone, feeling that now it is crucial to maintain control, like a captain on a ship trying not to let the storm consume everyone.
Alice and Igor go outside without a word, as if their presence only hinders, and their eyes show confusion and bitter understanding of what is happening.
The doctor begins the examination. She checks her eyes with a flashlight, and I watch every movement, my heart stopping in anticipation of even the smallest sign of hope. Inside me, anxiety churns like icy water slowly seeping into my heart, freezing my thoughts. Then she performs a few more maneuvers, each action filled with focus and care, as if life itself depends on her hands. Time seems to stop, and I wait to hear what she will say — whether she will save our hope or if it will vanish forever, leaving only emptiness and pain behind.
"We'll take her to the hospital so they can find out exactly what's wrong," declares the on-duty doctor, her voice firm but tinged with careful concern, as if the full weight of responsibility has fallen on her shoulders. In her tone, there is not only professional confidence but genuine worry, as if she understands how serious this is and how much we need help now.
"What is your relationship to her?" she asks, looking carefully into my eyes, as if trying to read something deeper than words. In her gaze, there is something piercing, as if she wants to look inside me, to see how sincere I am and how much I can be a support.
"Fiancé, and we also have a daughter together," I lie about the first part so she won't refuse to let me go with them. With each word, I feel tension rising inside me, as if the heavy weight of the lie is pressing on my chest, making it hard to breathe. But this is the only way to be near her, and I am ready to do it, no matter what.
"All right, you'll go with us," she agrees, asking no unnecessary questions. In her voice, there is professional understanding and sympathy, and in that moment, I feel deep gratitude for her trust, even despite the lie I just told. That trust feels fragile, yet it gives me strength.
The woman goes first, and I, lifting my beloved in my arms, follow her. My heart beats so loudly it feels like it will burst from my chest, making my blood pound in my temples. Each step echoes in my head, and around us, time seems to slow. She opens the front door so we can step outside — this moment feels like crossing an invisible boundary, a step into the unknown, filled with both fear and hope.
"Alice and Igor, I'm going to the hospital. Stay at the club," I tell them, trying to keep my voice calm, though inside everything boils with anxiety and uncertainty. The words almost burst from my chest, but I force myself to sound firm, so panic does not take hold of the others.
"Maxim, tell me later how she is, okay?" Alice asks, her eyes brimming with tears, her voice carrying fragile hope mixed with fear of losing what is dear to us. These words pierce me deeply, making my heart tighten with pain and worry.
"Yes," I answer briefly, hiding under a mask of restraint the whirlwind of emotions raging inside — fear, hope, guilt, and the desire to protect.
In reality, a very serious conversation awaits us, to the point that I might fire her for such behavior at least. My thoughts swirl uncontrollably like a storm, but I understand I cannot judge without knowing the whole truth. And now, of course, it is not the time to argue with Alice — the main thing is to be with Katrin, support her, not her friend.