There is no free love

Justyna

"I took off my shirt, then danced a bit, for a moment I felt like a girl from a cricket club." It played softly from the speakers, and I agreed with the title statement, 'There is no free love.' I loved this song; it always made me feel very sexy. Now I sat down in my armchair, tucking my legs under me. I was wearing black shorts trimmed with white thread, like '80s sports shorts, and a slightly oversized, light-colored men's shirt, buttoned up to the last button. In my arms, I held a large teddy bear I'd had for as long as I could remember, and rested my chin on it. It warmed my exposed cleavage better than any blanket. I listened intently to the music, looked at the flip-flops in front of the armchair, and waited. Outside, the last April snow of the year was falling, and the wind was blowing, still rustling the bare treetops. For a moment, I felt so good, but only for a moment.

When I had already mentally mapped out every detail of my dream, examined it, and adjusted it, I reached the point where I was stumped. Everything was beautifully arranged and prepared for a beautiful, romantic A night with someone close, but where is that someone? And right then I realized there would be no one. No one would approach me quietly and brush my loose hair away from my cheek to kiss it. No one would embrace me and take my breath away with their lips. No one would take me in their arms and put me to bed among the candles. No one would undress me without asking if they wanted to, just knowing they did. No one would make love to me until they died. No one would then lie down next to me and kiss my forehead, offering me trivial compliments.

Tears streamed down my cheeks and dripped onto the teddy bear's head. I threw it on the ground and, wrapping my shirt around myself, went to the other room. I sat on the bed and tried to stifle my sobs. But this only increased the bitterness and regret for something I would never have. Love is like soap; the more you try to grab it and hold it with a strong grip, the faster it slips away. Finally, I stopped crying, dried my eyes, and after a while I fell asleep.

I had several terrible, terrifying dreams. In each one, I was terrified, despairing, hysterical, crying heartbreakingly, and longing for a quick death. In one of them, I saw myself walled up in a circular room, less than a meter in diameter and barely taller than myself. I don't know where, but there was always air there, and just enough light to see the opposite wall. To survive, I drank my own urine. I sat filthy in the choking stench of my own excrement. It was as cold as a tomb; naked, I shook with cold and fear like an epileptic. I became claustrophobic, screaming, trying hysterically to pierce the wall with my head, but only maimed it. Finally, I stopped doing anything. It dawned on me that there was no escape for me, that this was where death would await me—alone, rotting, and the decay of my own body and mind. I died of dehydration after three weeks, not even having the strength to shake off the vermin crawling on me.

In another dream, I was running through a field at night, fleeing as fast as I could from something that was panting loudly. Tears of fear welled in my eyes, and moans and sobs of despair escaped my lips every now and then. In the darkness, all I could see were dozens of red eyes. Every now and then, something would lunge at me, so I couldn't even see it. I would fall over, screaming in terror, my pants wet with urine, my clothes soiled with dirt. I would roll over, ready to die, but then nothing happened; only the chorus of gasping creatures could be heard. I quickly jumped up, covered in dirt, and continued running, accompanied by the thing that had been toying with me so cruelly. I ran for a very long time, I didn't even know how long, and I fell more than once, always screaming horribly. But then, at some point, it knocked me down, and I no longer had the strength to get up. I only whispered helplessly:

"Come on, kill me, I won't run away anymore. Slaughter me like a man a pig!" I lay there, utterly exhausted, my breath drowning out everything around me, waiting for it. After a long moment, it appeared. A huge creature covered in damp scales, shaped like a human crossed with a toad. I hated toads, and this was a particularly repulsive toad-human creature. I began to squeal horribly, but it sounded more like the rasping of a slaughtered pig. With the last of my strength, fueled by the last of my adrenaline, I tried to escape, but I only rolled onto my stomach and crawled maybe half a meter. It approached me and, with its frog tongue, snatched me up like a fly. It pulled me closer, stripped me, and dropped me onto the plowed ground. Now all I could do was sob, longing for a quick death, without this perfidious game. Finally, it grabbed my head with its tongue, covering my entire face, lifted me up, and began to copulate with me—humanly. While I was suspended by the huge tongue attached to my face, I moved limply up and down, suffocating. I died from lack of air during an orgasm.

In my last dream, I dreamed I was in a dense forest. A mountainous area, a winter landscape. The snow was almost knee-deep, and I kept knocking chunks off the trees as I ran. Some of it fell to the ground, some on me, mostly by the collar, freezing my skin. I felt something following me, but this time I only had this faint premonition. Sometimes I thought I saw or heard something, but these were just the hallucinations of a woman haunted by terror. Despite this, I kept running, driven by fear. Tree branches lashed at me, I kept tripping, I was barefoot, my clothes were getting more and more torn with each passing moment, all cut and bruised, with bloody feet, tears in my eyes, drenched in cold sweat, freezing, and shivering from the freezing cold, I ran forward. Farther, faster.

At one point, I fell and couldn't get up. Not because I lacked the strength or the will to get up, I simply couldn't get up, as if I'd been suddenly paralyzed. Something furry jumped at me and began biting, tearing, and scratching everywhere it could reach. I couldn't scream or defend myself; all I could do was cry. Tears streamed down my face, my face contorted so terribly that it was unrecognizable as my own, and a lump formed in my throat, making the only sound I made a wheezing sound like a wolf trying to coo like a dove. I was growing colder and colder. All I could feel was something warm and sticky beneath me. The last thing I remembered was realizing I was lying in my own blood. I was dying... Then the image suddenly

changed.

I lay in bed, covered with a white sheet, still speckled with blood in places. I was naked, and everything hurt. I saw countless bandages and scabs on my hands, and sometimes bruises, and I felt them on my face and the rest of my body. I looked around as best I could. It looked like some medieval forester's lodge, smelling of pine needles and resin. I tried to lift my head, but I was too weak and fainted.

I woke up, I don't know when, but the bandages were almost gone. I was a little stronger now. I raised my hands to get a better look and saw many scars. I looked at my hands: my left one was missing half my middle finger, and I felt like I had an eyepatch on my right eye. I touched my face and felt a scar from the left side of my chin to the empty socket under the eyepatch. My nose had healed crookedly from a fracture.

The next thing I did was wipe away a tear that had welled up in my single eye. I didn't want to cry, but I couldn't. A tear fell from my eye, I closed it, and silently poured out my regret for my beauty, but above all, my gratitude to God for saving me from the clutches of the beast. For the first time in months, I felt that crying would surely cleanse me. I no longer felt fear, uncertainty, pain, or anger at fate. Somehow, I knew it was over and would never happen again. And that I was now disfigured? It was a small price to pay for this relief... and for her.

I cried with my eye closed and the bitten remains of my left middle finger. I didn't hear her approach and sit beside me; suddenly, I simply felt someone tentatively touch me. I felt someone gently stroking my head and whispering softly that it was okay, nothing would happen to me, so I wouldn't cry. I opened my eye and saw her above me. A pleasant young face with large, dark eyes, fair, smooth skin, and long, flowing, straight black hair. She was of average height and quite slim. She had a worried expression, and her eyes were crying tearlessly along with mine, but probably only so I wouldn't feel lonely now, because I didn't need sympathy or grief at all, only company and her alone.

There was not a shred of pretentious "big breasts, small brains" beauty about her, though her breasts weren't small. Without saying a word, I wrapped my arms around her back and buried my face between her shoulder and neck. She was warm and soft, smelling like a forest after rain. After a moment, I whispered "thank you," and then we broke apart. I shifted a little on the bed, and she lay down beside me without a word. I snuggled up to her like a frightened little child to its mother, and we lay there for a while before I fell asleep.

When I woke up again, I had no bandages left. All that remained were scars, a missing finger, and a patch over my eye socket. I was now strong enough to get out of bed, cover myself with a sheet, and begin to wander around my new home. It was a stone cottage with a thatched roof, leaning against a thick oak tree trunk that stood in the corner next to the bed. Sitting on the left side of the bed, I could see the entrance door to my right, and to my left was a curtain behind which lay a very modest but well-kept and clean bathroom (I used it immediately). Further ahead was a meter-diameter stump that served as a table, and several small stumps that served as stools. Beyond it, to the left, was an old tiled kitchen with a fireplace, and to the right, a pantry. The furnishings were pleasantly natural: clay pots and wooden cutlery. Glass was found only in the bathroom, and metal was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there were tons of spices, tools, and other unfamiliar objects hanging everywhere.

I sat down at the table and sighed. It was the coziest and warmest interior I'd ever been in. Everything was so natural and somehow spiritual. Nothing was dictated by fashion, advertising, economic pressures, or innate human vanity and laziness. Finally, a place where one could take a break from the hustle and bustle of the world and focus on being a better person. I felt increasingly certain that I wanted to live like this. Especially looking at that pre-war kitchen, I realized that a fireplace wasn't always necessary. A moment later, she entered, and I smiled at her. She was dressed in a linen tunic and sandals, her hair tied in a bun. In her hand, she held a net with two large fish. For a moment, she stood in the doorway, watching me. Her gaze was unreadable, but I felt no embarrassment. She walked to the kitchen, placed the fish on it, and turning around, asked,

"I suppose you're hungry?" Only now did I notice her pleasant, subtle voice.

"Yes, very much so." Then she pulled a plate of real flatbread and a jug of real jam from the pantry and placed it in front of me. I couldn't express how delicious it was. I ate a little greedily while she tended to the fish. She was very adept at it. By the time I finished, the fish was boneless and ready for frying.

"Did you make the flatbread and jam yourself?

" "Yes, did you like it?" she asked, looking at me warmly.

"Wonderful." I smiled, stood up, and approached her.

"How long have I been with you?" Only after a long moment did the answer come.

"A few months, it's already May. The nightmare of loneliness attacked you, but I chased it away and took you home. I prayed for you to live; you had so many wounds and blood loss. You must have been very weakened by despair and longing to allow yourself to be attacked.

"Because I was. For the first time, someone had appeared in this world who had done something good for me. Thank you," I said, leaning down and resting my head on her shoulder.

After a moment, I pulled away from her, and we stood face to face. For a moment, I felt incredibly stupid as she looked directly into my eyes. I didn't know what to do when she began to examine all of me. Finally, she slowly began to move closer to me, and then her lips touched mine. I closed my eyes, stood still, and after that kiss, she pulled away and went back to work.

The dream ended; it cut off like a film on old projectors. I woke up with a strange feeling of regret and sadness at the continuation of my dream story. It was the first time I'd had such a vivid dream. I could feel that kiss on my lips even now; it sent shivers down my spine. I didn't know what to think of the dream. For me, it was too strong to be considered a typical signal from my subconscious about some shortcoming. It was more like a passage into another world, where I saw the prophecy of fulfilling my dream of experiencing something completely different from what I'd already experienced.

Magda:

Another day of my solitude was already ending. Another day in which my only activity was fishing through an ice hole in a nearby lake, which was my main source of meat for the winter. When I got home, I lit the stove first, and before it heated up, I sealed the caught fish in a barrel to start preserving them tomorrow. After finishing work, I sat down in my cottage, right next to the stove, which, lit a few minutes ago, was already slowly warming me and the room. However, I didn't linger in the warmth for long. When I realized that all the sounds of the forest had suddenly ceased, as if cut by a knife, I ran out of the house. I knew that someone somewhere was being attacked by the demon of loneliness, and I couldn't let that happen. I'd already seen people killed by it. Some came to my world suddenly, as a result of some accident that left them alone, only to die at his hands, and some stayed here repeatedly, only to be killed by him. I tried to save them as best I could, but I was never able to make it in time. I always found only dismembered human remains, more like an old carcass than a person who had recently been alive.

I hoped, however, that this time I'd arrive in time. I ran through the forest as fast as I could, listening for any sounds the victim might make, as the demon itself was silent. In this silence, it was the most effective way to find out where I was supposed to run. Finally, after a few minutes of trying, I heard a faint, but approaching rustle. I ran towards it, only to hear the sound of a fall a moment later. I sped up even faster. After another few seconds, I heard a distinct wheezing sound. I ran another few dozen meters and ran toward the fallen woman and the demon attacking her. It was huge, similar to a werewolf, except its fangs and claws were much larger than anyone could have imagined. When I saw it, my first instinct was to run, but when I glanced at it and saw it already lying in a large pool of its own blood, still unwheezing, I stayed.

"Leave her, she's with me!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. The demon stopped slowly inflicting death on its victim and looked at me. I looked at the demon and then, directly in my head, I heard its whisper. He was using telepathy to speak.

"You're lying, leave, or soon you'll be dead too.

" "She's with me and I'm with her, so you leave." I walked up to her and grabbed her hand, and it suddenly tightened on mine. I looked at her in surprise. When I turned my head back toward the demon, filled with a huge dose of courage, I saw only the forest. The hairy man had disappeared.

I

did what I could; the rest was up to her, I hope she'll recover. She was badly scarred, but fortunately, most of the wounds were inflicted on her front, so she could at least lie on her back, and she did so for several weeks. I nursed her, washed her, and threw out her old, torn clothes—if she needed anything, I'd sew something. All the while she lay idle, I grew increasingly attached to her. After a few days, I couldn't wait for her to wake up, but I had to be patient because it didn't happen quickly.

The first time she woke up, she looked around the house for a moment and tried to get up, but then fainted. I watched her from across the table and was so upset when I saw her wake up that I couldn't do anything. Only after a while did I go over to her to check if she was okay.

The next time she woke up, she was strong enough to examine the spot where she lay and examine herself. She looked pitiful, staring at her own disability. I was also sad, watching her inspect the stump of her finger from every angle, or delicately touch the patch over her empty socket. I couldn't save her eye, and she had beautiful blue eyes. She touched her crooked nose, and there was nothing more I could do there either. I was angry with myself, and I felt sorry for her, especially when she started crying. This time, I couldn't just watch. I went to her and whispered, stroking her head. She looked at me with one eye, and I forced myself to look pleasant and natural. I wanted to give her plenty of warmth so she could cope with what had happened. She seemed to appreciate it, because she snuggled closer to me. She still had some bandages on, so I had to be gentle, and I couldn't hug her so tightly that she wouldn't feel alone, even subconsciously. When she pulled away from me, she shifted invitingly on the bed, and I lay down beside her without a word, letting her cuddle me, waiting for her to fall asleep.

As we lay there, I came to the conclusion that what was happening inside me wasn't just a desire to help, identifying with her through feelings of grief and compassion, but also something more. Destiny hadn't crossed our paths for nothing. I think it was also a partial fulfillment of the desire to have someone who was a part of us, someone who had always been in our imaginations, not necessarily as a person, but as a personality, a spirit. And now this person was suddenly coming true, becoming physical, still a part of us. Perhaps that was why I wanted to save someone from the demon so much. Not out of good intentions, but to have someone for company.

I looked at her... and started crying. Life had punished her with such disfigurement, for who knows why. She didn't deserve it, I knew it perfectly well, and even if it had been otherwise, I wouldn't have accepted it. She looked calm now, but she held my hand tightly, though not enough to suspect anything was wrong. In fact, it seemed I was crying instead. I was doing it for her, and at the same time, I was crying for my own happiness. Thank you, Providence, for her. I must and want to give her peace, to make up for the harm she suffered. I felt she needed it and that she would want me to give it to her.

When she woke up again, I wasn't home, fishing for dinner. However, when I returned, I forgot everything I'd been doing since morning. I saw her sitting at the table, wrapped in a sheet, naked and barefoot beneath it, with her incredibly light, naturally blond hair loose and reaching below her shoulder blades. It fell over her sweet face, but didn't really hide anything. Her face might have been doll-like if not for her soul-searching, light blue eyes, which you were either terrified to look into or unable to look away from. She was naturally honest about showing herself to others. She hid nothing, but that wasn't what impressed me most. Her blue eyes looked at me with hope, joy, and such trust that I didn't believe she could be just my temporary patient. She seemed to know perfectly well where I'd gone, what I'd been doing, that I'd be back soon, yet she missed me as if for someone you loved, someone who was sure to arrive but wasn't there yet. She smiled at me when I entered. It was a smile of relief after a time of uncertainty. After all, we never feel certain when waiting for someone we care deeply about.

She was hungry, so I gave her something to eat. It seemed a simple act, yet it brought me so much joy—yet there can be something magical and lyrical in the humdrum of life. She ate until her ears quivered, and in the meantime, I busied myself with the fish. When we both finished with the fact that I wasn't quite there, we started talking. It seemed like nothing, but listening to her soft, gravelly voice made me feel truly good, though that wasn't the end of the pleasure. She smiled again, stood up, and approached me. Her smile, despite the scars and wounds, was endearingly beautiful and sincere. I could have stared at it forever.

"How long have I been with you?" she asked, and I didn't know what to answer. She had always been in me, in my home for several months, and she must have been in this world for a long time.

"A few months, it's already May," I replied in the most obvious way. "The nightmare of loneliness attacked you, but I chased it away and took you home. I prayed you'd live; you had so many wounds and blood loss. You must have been weakened by despair and longing to allow yourself to be attacked.

" "Because I was. For the first time, someone had appeared in this world who had done something good for me. Thank you." She knew what kind of world this was, knew that in this world, everything was real, no matter how improbable or strange. As she said this, she came closer to me and hugged me. She held the sheet with one hand and the other around my back, standing there with her bare arms, which showed a few scars. When she laid her head on my shoulder, her hair spilling over me, I felt hot. I could have stayed like this with her until the end of time.

After a moment, she pulled away from me, and we stood face to face. I looked at her and wondered who she truly was to me... I concluded that she was my salvation, then slowly leaned in and kissed her. She was completely unprepared for this, or perhaps she didn't want to be? I understood who she was to me and showed it, but I didn't want her to see my fear, uncertainty, and flushed face, so I turned away and continued with my fish.

* * *

A few days after that extraordinary dream, I was sitting in the corner of my favorite café furthest from the door. The dim interior was illuminated only by a few dim wall lamps. I had a perfect view of the door, the bar, and the enormous, several-hundred-liter aquarium in the front wall, its exoticism fitting the cafe's marine decor.

I sipped my coffee and thought about my pathetic life. I rarely stopped for coffee without reason, on a whim, in an empty café. I usually kept myself occupied even here with work. But now I simply sat and allowed myself to feel that emptiness I usually pushed aside, the longing for something that would have been nice to have. Despite everything, my life was satisfying—at least professionally. I'd already forgotten that my husband was a brute, so the balance was positive. This emptiness only occasionally appeared, like a slight cold, which is unpleasant but doesn't really warm or cool you down. At least until it's cured...

Actually, I was finishing my coffee when she walked in. No scars or wounds, a head of curls, and not just one, but a pair of blue eyes. She sat at the bar and ordered a martini. When the bartender smiled and placed the drink in front of her, she took it, sipped a little, and turned perfectly to face me. She did it as if she knew perfectly well I was sitting there... Or maybe I was imagining it? She looked at me closely, as I did at her, then raised her glass in a toast, to which I nodded.

She was wearing black knee-high boots with high heels, a pleated red tartan skirt that reached mid-thigh, and a classic white cropped blouse with the top two buttons left undone. This made her naturally flat stomach and ample cleavage very visible. She was very attractive, around 26 years old and about my height. She wore little makeup, just enough to make the lack of it less noticeable.

After a moment, she approached my table.

"Do we happen to know each other?" She spoke just as she had then. "

I think it's only in my dreams.

" "Maybe you're right." She smiled slightly, and her eyes twinkled.

"You have beautiful eyes," I said, looking into her pupils.

"Thank you, but I could do without one if I were to receive something much more necessary in return, like the closeness and warmth of another person.

" "To this day, I can't forget the sight of you under that sheet," I said, finishing my coffee, she her martini, and we both left the café, whispering to each other occasionally. From the outside, our conversation must have seemed silly, or at least ridiculous, but to us, they were magic words.

We walked toward her—as she had requested—slowly, strolling, hand in hand. We were both tense, as if we knew a prince with an engagement ring was waiting somewhere out there. But we both wanted the tension to actually hurt; then the relief would be even greater.

* * *

15-20 minutes later, she was opening the door to the stairwell. We entered, excited as children about to do something bad. We waited for the elevator, holding hands, then got in, and a middle-aged man joined us. We stood behind him, giggling until he got off, disgusted, on the third floor. As soon as we were alone, we began kissing passionately, embracing, she crossed her legs over mine, and we didn't leave each other until the elevator stopped. It was a good thing no one stopped her, or we would have been caught red-handed.

We entered her apartment, kissing nonstop, slammed the door, sat her on the table in the living room, unbuttoned her blouse, lowered myself to her breasts, and began teasing her with my mouth. I held my left hand on her back and slid my right under her skirt; she wasn't wearing any underwear. She was breathing rapidly with excitement, her eyes half-closed, and she leaned her hands on the table, occasionally shifting her weight. One time, she accidentally turned on the radio with the remote control lying on the table. "No Free Love" came from the speakers. I turned off the song and we moved to the made-up bed.