Life after death, death after life

THEN

I don't know why I remembered that morning today. Maybe because this one is just as dirty as that one, back then. When your eyes caught mine on the bus. When you promised you'd kill me if... You thought I cared about you. Poor thing, how could you have known I cared neither for others nor for myself back then?

It was raining that morning too, it was just as gray and unpleasant, and just like today, I hated November. Only for slightly different reasons.

That November morning, like every November morning, with a grudge against the whole world in my heart, a bag full of books on my shoulder, tears welling up in my eyes, and headphones in my ears, I was on my way to university. But I didn't really know why I was going there.

BEFORE

For weeks, I'd gotten absolutely nothing out of classes. No knowledge, no notes. I wandered the hallway, walking from lecture to lecture, and responded to any teasing from my groupmates with a forced smile. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I didn't feel the need. Everyone was just part of this miserable world I planned to leave soon anyway. It didn't matter that I didn't know when yet.

The timing couldn't have been better. I no longer believed in anything. Not in goodness, not in God, not in selflessness, and certainly not in love. Back then, these were just clichés to me, with no basis in reality. And they still are. Goodness didn't exist. Back then, before that—goodness never did. My own mother taught me this when she threw me out of the house after yet another argument.

I was never the daughter all the parents in the world could dream of. I was never the daughter my mother deserved. Everything I did, I did "not bad." She hated me for who I was and what I was. And me? I hated her because she'd had enough of me even before I was born. A lot had changed since she'd thrown me and my suitcases out the door with a bang. From then on, I no longer had to pretend to be an obedient daughter, just to maintain the family's good name. I no longer had to apologize to pay for my room. I didn't have to be a good girl, with a flawless character. Now I could be a whore, and I decided to be one. Partly out of spite, partly out of necessity. I was an exclusive intellectual whore. And no one can tell me that intellectuals don't stand a chance these days. I was liked, I had many, like me—exclusive, and moreover, regular clients. After all, I had to make a living in a big city somehow. Don't think I'm trying to justify myself now. I sold my body because I loved it. I loved having power over men, I loved being desired. What's more, I was and still am evil. To the core.

THEN

Yes, this morning definitely has a touch of that. A thick slurry of human hatred hangs over the city, just as it did back then. It was those ominous, dark clouds that gave me the feeling that something special was about to happen. This strange premonition stayed with me during my morning coffee, persisted while I stood in front of the mirror, and even as I exhaled cigarette smoke while waiting at the bus stop for the bus. I probably shouldn't have been smoking then, but that didn't matter in the slightest. I didn't care.

Layne Staley's sad voice, coming from my headphones, sang, in keeping with my mood: "Down in a hole, feelin' so small. Down in a hole, loosin' my soul"... The difference was that, unlike him, I wanted to feel that way. Or maybe I simply couldn't do otherwise. I was nobody. I was a prostitute-future lawyer. I was also a mother-to-be, though I didn't want to be one. I felt sick just hearing that word. I knew I wouldn't be able to be a good mother, that I wouldn't be able to be a mother at all. Not good, not bad, not even bland. I didn't want to bring this child into the world, and that fact was compounded by the thought of how it was conceived. And to make matters worse, someone like you had a hand in it.

BEFORE.

When I started this business, I felt like pregnancy was out of the question. I'd been on the pill since I was 16, and unprotected sex with a client was out of the question. Except with you back then. You weren't an ordinary, routine client. You wanted to look me in the eyes, pat my head, kiss my neck tenderly. You wanted to whisper that you loved me every night. You paid double. And don't think I believed it was all out of concern for my future, out of love. Love is nonsense, an empty phrase. You paid double for letting me pretend. Pretend love, pretend we had a real relationship. Did you think I'd be fooled? An unhappy, lost boy who let himself be deceived by a common whore. He let her rob him of his feelings, his emotions, and finally, all his savings. But this is just payback. You robbed me of something more precious. My resentment, my bitterness, and my hatred. You deprived me of that in favor of emptiness. I will never forgive you for that.

THEN

, you knew which bus I was taking to class that day. You knew what time and at what stop I was getting on. You waited for me, thinking I had no idea. Oh, how naive you were back then! Because in reality, it wasn't you waiting for me, but me waiting for you.

My eyes met yours. He'd caught it in the crowd. Without saying a word, you approached me, grabbed my sleeve, and pulled me along. Why didn't I resist? Because I wanted to kick your ass then. Crush you. Humiliate you. And I had a feeling another opportunity wouldn't come along anytime soon. We got off three stops early, but I wasn't concerned about getting to university. All I could think about was how I would humiliate you, how I would show you my indifference.

We went to the park, even though it was drizzling. It didn't matter at the time. You tried to grab my hand. I pushed you away, I remember.

"Why?

" Silence.

"Why, Anka? You know I love you, that I would do anything for you. You didn't have to steal that money; all I had to do was ask for it. I would have given it to you...

" "What kind of love? Love is just a fairy tale for children who don't want to drink milk before bed."

"Ania, what are you talking about?" I thought…

"Don't think so. It's obvious you're struggling. Have you ever heard this from me? Have I ever told you I love you?"

"No, but I thought… I thought we'd figure it out somehow. That it would come someday. Ania, quit. I found a well-paying job, you don't have to do this anymore. We'll manage somehow, I promise.

" "I don't want anything from you. I'm pregnant! Yes, you heard right. I AM PREGNANT!!! But I won't have this baby. I don't want to have your offspring. And do you know why? Because I hate you. Like all lousy males! Like my mother…

" "Ania, what are you saying? Okay, I understand, you're probably embittered. This is beyond you. Me too. I admit you surprised me with this, but our shared child is our shared problem, and together we'll figure out what to do next. I'm just asking you for one thing: don't do anything stupid. I'll kill you if you do anything stupid now! Ania! My God!" You're shaking all over! Ania! Come to me. Understand, I really love you!

- Shut up, you idiot! And don't ever tell me you love me again!!!

You never said anything more to me.

NOW

Let them say what they want. Let them diagnose me if they want. That I had a difficult childhood and adolescence. That I was a degenerate mother. That no one taught me how to love. That I was such a good boy, how could I? But they supposedly understand. That it's the fault of the conditions I had to grow up in. That prostitution is the reason I couldn't cope with the love you gave me. That I had no father. That I felt haunted, insecure. That I had a complex, that I lacked self-confidence... What do they know?! They didn't know you. They didn't know that everything you said was a lie. That you wanted to deceive me. That you did it out of pure selfishness.

I'm sitting by the window, watching the raindrops trickle down the glass. Dinner's coming soon. But I'm not eating. I don't need to eat to survive. I'm above it all. I'm above this whole place, above you. The child I gave birth to is probably in good hands. Mine aren't good. I don't believe in goodness.

I don't give a damn if I ever get out of here. If after I get out of here I end up behind bars again. I don't know which is worse—the hospital or prison. I know one thing: no one will force me to stay alive. Someday I'll find a way to join you. And you know what then? Then I'll kill you again!

Sweet escapism...