White night

The dying candlelight awakened the lovers wrapped in an old bearskin, their breathing still irregular, their bodies drenched in salty sweat. The strength of their recent passion still lingered in their gazes. They knew they were seeing each other for the last time, and this night was merely a testament to the meaninglessness of any coexistence that would affect the rest of their lives.

The cold of the omnipresent winter began to settle in the cottage again, and the fireplace no longer provided warmth, as no one bothered to stoke the dying flames. The powerful man moved away from the woman, using the convenient excuse of lighting a fire. He had been considering how to escape her embrace for a long time. With her ever-present smile, she decided to torment him for a moment longer, stood up behind him, and pressed herself against his back.

"What more do you want?" He asked in a confident voice

. She didn't answer; she'd expected such a reaction, but it gave her the satisfaction of having put him in a situation he could only get out of with sarcasm. It was always about one person having the upper hand, a childish game, an eternally unresolved argument about who was right and who would admit their weakness. Only one thing united them: only in this situation, they didn't fight, they didn't argue, because to experience pleasure, they needed each other; only then were they unafraid of their weaknesses and oblivious to the lives that divided them. But when the candle faded and the greatest passion burned out, they became two opposing forces again. They were not ashamed of their actions; they had nothing to be ashamed of; their only sin was pride; there was no love there, neither of them understood the word. They never even made love; it was simply sex.

The man gently pushed away the hands that bound him and began searching for his clothes. Pieces of clothing were scattered all over the floor. They were in no hurry, but it was always desire that dictated their pace. Just a few hours earlier, they had been everything to each other; now they couldn't even look each other in the eye, fearing indifference on the one hand, and any kindness on the other. It was dark and snowing, extremely inconvenient circumstances for him to leave the cabin. But an excuse would surely be found soon enough: an urgent meeting, an important matter; always pressed for time...

With a quick movement, he threw on a light, fluffy jacket and stepped out into the raging storm.

She thought it wouldn't hurt so much if she never saw him again. She'd only miss that fleeting feeling just before they met, when she'd believed that maybe this time it would be different, that maybe he'd say he felt something for her, that she was everything to him. Of course, if he ever said that, she'd laugh at him; she had no other choice; she'd laughed at him too often to take him seriously now. She'd learned to defend herself against him, kept him at a distance so he couldn't hurt her. She felt safe with him, yet she feared him like no one else in the world. She knew him, yet she didn't know what to expect from him. He'd taught her pain, and thanks to that lesson, she'd endured much, she was stronger, the worst was over, she'd succeeded. She hadn't fallen in love.

His hands began to feel numb with cold as he selected the least damp bars of wood. He felt relieved to have left the hut even for a moment; he needed a breather. This constant tension, the fear of saying something that would drive her crazy, irritated him. He hated calming her down; he did it more for his own peace of mind than to help her. He always had to choose his words carefully, recognizing that she would probably explode anyway and be consumed by a wave of destructive anger. She always managed to find a different meaning in words that were so obvious and simple to him. But despite this, he met with her, talked to her, and was there for her. He hated the question "why her?"—that stupid question with no answer. He always asked her, "Why does good only arise in the face of evil?" She didn't want to answer, but not because she didn't know what she would say; he was certain she would surprise him with the accuracy of her answer. He simply would have to answer her question, and he probably didn't want her to be disappointed by the simplicity of his answer. She was always one step ahead of him because he was afraid of not getting attached to her, and she simply didn't.

The wooden door creaked open as a delicately beautiful woman pulled silk stockings over her long, beautiful legs. The light from the oil candle barely captured the perfection of her body. She brushed back the hair that had fallen over her face and smiled sinisterly. The man walked by indifferently, throwing firewood onto the metal rack beside the fireplace. Only his clenched fists offered any indication of the million thoughts racing through his mind at that moment.

"What time are we leaving?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the last clasp on her stockings.

"What time do you want? It doesn't matter to me." He shrugged, his gaze settling on hers.

"Would you like something to eat?" She looked at him with a shy smile

. "I don't want to sit here, and besides, I have a few more things to take care of, unless you really want to." He looked away from her and checked his watch.

"No! You're right, there's no point in staying here any longer. You're starting to bore me!" She nervously put on her pants and oversized jacket.

"Aren't you putting on a blouse?" he asked mockingly

. "Shove it up your ass! I'll go myself, or anyway, it's my house, get the fuck out of here!" She shouted through gritted teeth

. "Okay. No problem. See you later." He smiled to himself.

"No way! I never want to see you again!" he sobbed silently.

The old door slammed shut, and in the wooden hut, falling onto a pile of leather, an innocent young girl burst into tears, her bra still unfastened, her hands already wet with tears, snarling false confessions and equally false promises through her teeth.

"I hate him... Never again!"

The morning news headlined the accident of a young man who, driving too fast and in very bad weather conditions, veered off the road and crashed into a tree. He died instantly. A certain girl, lying in piles of furs next to the fireplace, in the old cottage she inherited from her grandfather, never saw the news. This girl never learned about the car accident on some forgotten road. She forgot everything, felt abandoned, never remembered that last white night...