Kostek and I moved into his apartment. It seemed nothing had changed, but nothing was the same. Our love was no longer simple and unconditional. Sometimes I truly felt like a poor, helpless girl, at the mercy of her father. I still went to classes, and my parents helped us financially. We argued more and more often over trivial matters. I constantly felt like Kostek blamed me for what had happened, for becoming a father, for having to marry me. My Prince Charming became an ordinary guy in slippers, with a newspaper and a beer in his hand, who treated his wife like his property. I increasingly thought I'd wasted my life, cried more often, and lost faith in myself, in happiness, in the future. I didn't want to live like that anymore. After all, I loved my Kostek, I loved our little one, and I was determined to do everything to save our marriage, our love. In my youthful naivety, I believed that if I just tried, our feelings would change him, that somehow things would work out for us. Now I see how beautiful this youthful faith in the magical power of love is. Over time, experience verifies these false hopes, but when you're twenty, you believe in everything, trust everything, and place your hopes in everything. However, just as it takes two to tango, so it takes two to make a relationship. Trust once broken is never fully regained, and lost love cannot be rekindled with the same force.
You only learn all this much later, when you experience it firsthand, in your own love. But then I decided to fight for us. One day, I walked into the room where my husband was sitting, watching TV. I stood before him and announced that we needed to have a serious talk. Through tears, I told him everything that hurt me, that his behavior was hurting me, that I wanted things to be the way they used to be. But he wasn't at all sorry; he didn't see the problem.
Suddenly, I felt as if someone had ripped my heart out and shattered it into a million pieces. Kostek, deeply agitated, finally shouted, "What more do you want? I married you after all." I felt like a complete stranger was standing before me, not the man I loved, adored, almost worshiped, but someone callous, selfish, insensitive, and rude. I didn't want to look at him, didn't want to listen to him. I knew that if I had stayed there even a moment longer, I would have done something I didn't want to do. Although today I don't know if that wouldn't have been better, considering what happened a few hours later.
I got in my car and drove to the club. To calm down, I had a few strong drinks. I only managed to do this because Mateusz and Balu weren't there; they were on some business that day. They wouldn't have let me have drinks. I was glad they weren't there, but if they had been, none of this would have happened. After a while, I lost control of myself; I was drunk, and that's a good thing, because I don't remember much. I know some guy came over, and I didn't care anymore. He bought me another drink, and then he practically carried me to the car, where he raped me. I didn't have the strength to defend myself or scream. I vaguely remember his heavy body, his warm breath, his large hands roaming my body. I tried to forget, but you can't erase something like that; it stays with a woman forever. It mutilates her body, even though it leaves no visible marks, wounds her soul, robs her of her self-confidence and respect. It leaves her with eternal fear, nervous movements, and a loathing for men.
I woke up in the hospital, with Kostek, my parents, and Balu sitting by my bed. For a moment after waking, I didn't know what had happened or where I was, and then all those silent images from that evening flooded my mind. This wasn't the end of the tragedy. I'd lost my little one. What I experienced in the following months is impossible to describe in simple words. I lived as if in a dream, vegetating, drinking, and couldn't come to terms with what had happened. I dwelled on everything, asking questions I'd never find answers to. My tormentor was never found, which only worsened my emotional state. The following months were a torturous journey, not only for me but also for those close to me.
Above all, Kostek had changed dramatically; he was once again kind, caring, and loving to me, but I knew full well he was only like this because he felt guilty for what had happened. Each of us had to live with guilt forever. I blamed myself for my stupidity, for drinking too much, for even going to the club. I'd chosen the easy path again, which led me to this tragedy. Balu and Mati regretted not being at the club that day. But none of it mattered; however much they blamed themselves, it had happened, and none of us had the power to turn back time.
The only thing they could do was be by my side and help me stop tormenting myself with these terrible thoughts. I couldn't come to terms with what had happened, but the worst was the knowledge that someone had killed my child, my precious little one. I spent hours in my room, staring blankly out the window, tormenting myself with every detail and the future of my little one, which would never exist.
I couldn't sleep at night, I cried all day, wandering around the house with a drink in my hand that was supposed to be a miracle cure, but it didn't bring even a moment's relief.
I didn't want to see anyone, and I looked at Kostek with indifference, like he was just another piece of furniture in the apartment. Meanwhile, he did his best, bringing me breakfast in bed, buying me my favorite flowers, being tender and gentle, and it infuriated me. He treated me like a sick child, tiptoed around me, putting up with all my whims, and I wanted to scream with rage and even greater helplessness. I couldn't cope with myself, with my emotions, with my thoughts. I drank more and more and walled myself off from life with a tight wall. One day, several months after that incident, Kostek snuggled up to me in bed and touched my breast. I reacted with an outburst of fury. I started screaming, telling him in anger that he'd only just killed one child, and now he wanted to kill another. I didn't think so at all, but I couldn't tell him that his touch caused me almost physical pain. I couldn't even imagine ever again feeling pleasure from a man's touch. I never got around to telling him that. I couldn't take back the fact that I blamed him for our baby's death. I felt like someone had slapped me in the face. Kostek looked at me with hatred then, only shouting that I was sick and needed treatment, but I knew full well that he himself thought of himself that way, as the killer of his offspring. I realized then that our marriage was over. Even if we were together, it would always be inside us, and at the most inopportune moments, it would surface. These misunderstandings would sooner or later destroy us both.
I no longer believed that love could endure everything; there were things that could never be fixed or forgiven. And those who deceive themselves, believing that love alone would be enough, would never be happy. They would always feel guilty and silently accuse each other. I realized I had to leave Kostek because he wouldn't do it; he felt too guilty, and that had nothing to do with love. At the time, however, I didn't yet feel strong enough to take such a drastic step. I started leaving the house anyway; my fear of strangers paralyzed me. I took every glance from another man as an attack on me. I never went out alone, and we spent our evenings at home.
Kostek and I kept pretending that things had somehow worked out. We didn't dwell on our argument or what had happened. Just because we didn't talk about it didn't mean it hadn't happened, or that I hadn't thought about it. This pretense tormented me even more. At night, I had nightmares, during the day I acted like a wounded animal; everything filled me with fear. Despite Kostek's presence, I felt incredibly lonely; I couldn't cope with what was lingering in my head. All I wanted was to shut my thoughts off for a moment. To forget. I became so paranoid that I became afraid of people, and I started each day with a stiff drink.
Mati even got me some gas to make me feel safe, but one day I used it on Kostek because he woke me up, and I kept him on my nightstand.
One thing was certain: I couldn't cope. Kostek wanted to take me to a psychologist, but I called him out on his last words and told him he was probably crazy and that he should be the one receiving treatment. Thinking back, I realize how lost and unhappy I was, and how much I needed help, which I systematically rejected. Kostek had long since moved to the couch to sleep. I couldn't even tolerate the touch of my hand, and the sight of my body filled me with disgust. I looked sadly at my flat stomach, and when I thought I was already nine months pregnant, tears streamed down my cheeks. To sleep, I had to take pills; to function, I had to bolster my courage with vodka. Kostek had already given up, had already lost hope that things would work out between us. He no longer fought my drinking, nor tried to touch me. It hurt even more, but I couldn't do anything about it; I was in a frenzy. I didn't return to university; I stayed home all day. I fell into a terrible depression that was destroying me, but no one could help me, and besides, I didn't even realize the state I was in. I don't know how it would have ended if not for Balu and that one November night.
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