024.02 VERONIKA – Tension snaps on Sept 12 at 21:00 – 00:00

I can't take a step back. I won't even turn on that recorder.

We're standing here out of our minds on that damned little bridge. A gull is screaming overhead, as if chewing us out for even coming. The river below us is brown, murky, full of branches and crap from yesterday's storm. The kind of water that will come for you too if you lean over too far.

Viktor slips on the wet planks. Sprains his ankle or something. I don't ask. Nobody asks. This whole moment is one big silence.

"So what are we gonna do about it?" I let slip and immediately regret it. The words hang in the air like a stench.

Tom is standing on the other side of the railing, feet on the edge, holding that medal. It looks like he wants to jump. Or throw it down. Or both. I don't know which idea is worse.

Martina is standing next to me, holding paper cups of coffee that nobody wants. Silence. Just the river roaring below and carrying its filth onward.

Tony sits on the edge, legs dangling in the air, I can see his calves tightening up. He's cold. He should have worn socks. Such a silly thing, and yet I'm thinking about it. As if it mattered.

I'm holding the audio recorder, the red LED is blinking. It's on, but I don't utter a question. What kind of question is there even to ask after all this?

How do you feel after your coming out, Tom?

Viktor, what is it like to be the one who destroyed the Czech team's Olympic hope?

Tony, do you regret getting mixed up in this?

It's all fucked up.

Tom slackens the chain. The medal clinks against the metal railing, a sound that will be heard in dreams tonight. A small bronze thing that was supposed to mean everything, and now means nothing.

Viktor touches its edge. He shouldn't. I can see pain twitching in his eyes. He probably knows he'll never have this. Not anymore.

Tony exhales and opens his fingers. The rubber band he's been nervously twisting around his wrist the whole time drops into a puddle beneath him. Stupid detail that I'll remember.

I blink and the recorder bites off three seconds of silence. Three seconds that might have said something.

Martina clears her throat for the first time, but whatever she wanted to say is swallowed by the ambient sound of the rain. I want her to end it. To say that's enough, that we can go. That this isn't an interview any of us needs.

Suddenly a flash. A camera from the bushes. Síma. That bitch gave herself away with her own flash. I can totally see her face—this is going to be an article. This is going to be a headline.

Martina immediately blocks the shot with her umbrella. Too late.

In the distance, Tom and Tony are arguing with the PR manager. I can't hear what they're saying, the sound over the rain is hollow, but their gestures burn with anger.

"You're not content," I say quietly to Viktor, who is standing next to me with his eyes glued to Tom. "You're not someone's story."

He nods, but I don't know if he heard me.

„Breathe,“ I whisper. „Breathe…“

I pull out my phone and symbolically cancel tomorrow's PR session. I send a message: SILENCE. All capital letters.

I can't let them get torn apart like this. As if what's already happened wasn't enough.

I turn off the recorder. No one will ever hear this.