Patricia

I lit the candles, dimming the dimness of the room, and immediately heard a soft murmur of contentment coming from the corner of the bedroom. In that spot stood a large, four-poster double bed, the object of every woman's desire and the envy of my colleagues. On the bed lay Renata, a shapely and pretty brunette with dark eyes and full breasts large enough to build Egyptian pyramids on.

Renata had been a friend of mine since school. We'd sometimes meet up and have sex, after which we'd part in the morning in good spirits and with no desire for a more serious relationship. This life suited us both—she, a perpetually busy marketing director at a small consulting firm, and I, a moderately successful writer and freelancer, rightly or wrongly labeled a "slacker" in some circles. We were both in our early thirties.

A week earlier, after a major haggling session with the publisher, I'd managed to sell one of my latest novels well, securing the right to live on for another quarter after paying off my overdue rent and electricity bills, along with interest. On this special occasion, I decided to have a little fun, and since Renata had a free evening and was in the mood for sex, I had no problem inviting her over.

I approached the bed. Renata loved making love in the discreet candlelight, which made her shiver. She licked her lips lasciviously and looked at me expectantly, a mischievous smile playing across her kissable lips. For a moment, I fed my raging senses with the sight of the soft light gliding over her long, curly hair, her center-laced white blouse, which seemed to creak under the powerful pressure of whatever it concealed, and her short skirt, revealing long legs in black silk stockings.

Renata slowly leaned back and rested her back comfortably against the pillow. It seemed to me that her already large breasts had grown even larger than before. Taking my time, I lay on top of her and pressed my body tightly against her curves. Two quick breaths crept into the silence, intertwining and forming a single unit. I propped myself up on my elbows and gently pulled off her blouse, rolling it up from the bottom with both hands and turning it inside out. Her freed breasts swayed like two golden fields of grain, causing me to sigh in utterly uncontrollably with pleasure. A little impatient, I unzipped the side zipper of her skirt with trembling hands and removed it, caressing her slender thighs as I did so. White panties, a striking contrast against her tanned legs, caught my eye, and above them, a silver earring glinted, dancing in the most beautiful navel in the world. Removing her panties, I saw the familiar, carefully shaved strand of black hair, merging into the pleasant curves of femininity.

"Enough of this looking!" Renata pushed me away and, looking at me with satisfaction, removed her stockings. "Now you!" she added.

I clumsily began to unbutton my shirt, but my lover quickly interrupted my endeavor by tugging sharply on the collar. Several buttons tumbled to the floor with a soft clatter. She pulled off my shirt and tossed it carelessly to the floor, then unbuttoned my pants.

I looked down. A large belly was poking out from above the waistband of my pants, symbolizing my lack of attention to appearance and physical condition. This didn't usually bother me, but at this moment I felt awkward. It lasted only a moment.

Without hesitation, Renata pulled down my pants. I jumped out of my legs, quickly removed my briefs, and lowered my naked body to her curves, flipping her onto her back. She kissed me on the lips. I laughed.

"What amuses you so?" Renata asked, looking at me intently.

"Life amuses me. Simple and formulaic, cutting into my soul with burning pain, sawing like hard leather. Still, it's probably better than anything else," I answered honestly.

"I think I know how to soothe the pain," she smiled.

She embraced me, clasping her hands behind my back. She pressed her lips firmly to my neck and pressed a long, electrifying kiss there. A shiver ran down my spine as I felt the touch of her soft lips on my skin. With slow, gentle movements, I began massaging her breasts. I touched them, now more firmly, now more gently; it felt as if my fingertips were brushing royal velvet. I felt that my lover enjoyed my caresses. She was so close to me that she couldn't have been any closer, with her neck tilted back and her eyes closed, she seemed to embody bliss—as if she were peering through a crack in the gates of paradise and trying to see what was really inside.

I felt a surge of lust, strongly linked to the need for possession. I wanted to be even closer to her, as if it weren't enough for me that our bodies were touching and clinging to each other, exuding warmth and touch. The gentle stroking and tickling at first gave way to more violent displays of emotion. I felt Renata's nails scratch my skin a few times, but I took it as a simple fact, unrelated to the pain of minor cuts.

After a while, we were both ready. Being so close wasn't enough; we felt the need for complete unity. It was as if we wanted to merge our bodies, to allow one to enter the other, like Siamese twins, joined by a twist of fate, sharing a torso but with two distinct heads. I entered her with a powerful thrust of my hips, enveloping her buttocks in a tight embrace. A soft moan escaped her lips, and her entire body arched into a bow. Salty beads of sweat broke out on my forehead. A dozen or so hard thrusts were enough. A spasm. A paroxysm. The end.

We lay next to each other, panting heavily, our eyes closed. A gentle breeze from the leaky window cooled my heated body, quenching my burning desires with its soft touch. With an effort, I pushed back the hair clinging to my forehead, as if every movement drained my entire reserves of energy. Renata nestled against me, and the irritating, sweet scent of her auburn curls filled my nostrils.

"Now let's sleep!" she said softly. I was unable, and had no desire, to refuse her. Sleep descended upon our mortal bodies and carried us like a rushing stream.

* * * * *

In a small canoe, I sailed across the translucent waters,

cutting through the silent depths and brushing the silvery backs

of the fish around me with the swift bow of the boat.

Above me, someone lit the firmament of stars high above.

I heard a call—behind me, not far

from the shore, obscured by the night's mists,

she cries in a girlish voice, doubled by the echo

. She wanders alone and asks the reeds for directions.

"Stop your course for a moment, my beloved,

Wait, take the lost girl with you."

The voice calls to me, longing, painted with regret,

slipping like the mirror of water and falling into the depths.

You appear in my memory, escaping the boat.

Between the waves, you dance like a water goddess ,

enchanting my senses with a swelling flood

of madness, for which, after all, I used to blame you.

You dance before me in a cloak of lunar aura

, and with a gesture of your slender hand, you summon me to yourself.

Suddenly, your forms clashed under the pressure of my thoughts.

You are but an illusion floating across the sky.

My oar is stuck to my hand,

I turn around and see the entire shore on my hand.

Everything alive in me froze in that moment.

It was death, not the girl, chasing me across the sand.

* * * * *

A terrible thirst woke me. My throat was so dry I could barely swallow the scratchy, rough air. I stood up, slightly dazed, my head filled with the screaming remnants of dreams and fantasies. Quietly, so as not to wake the sleeping Renata, I put on my pants and shuffled to the kitchen.

The moment I stepped inside, I was struck by the mysterious aura of the hanged room. I lifted my head and saw a figure sitting at the kitchen table. Her face was hidden by a storm of golden curls, and the only thing I could make out clearly was her ample breasts. My anxiety gave way to anger:

"Who are you?!" I exclaimed, "and what are you doing here?"

With a vigorous jerk of her head, she tossed back her blond hair. Then I saw her face—the fair complexion and the fiery blue eyes of a beautiful woman. I couldn't help but feel like I knew this person from somewhere. She confirmed my observation:

"Remember me?" She smiled with her red lips.

"No. And I don't want you here!" I exclaimed. "Get out of my house!" I added more quietly, remembering Renata, who was sleeping in the next room.

"You really don't remember me?" She seemed completely unfazed by my brusque behavior.

I hesitated, and then the mysterious woman stood and approached me. She was young, certainly not yet twenty. She stood very close. I smelled the delicate scent of her perfume, reminiscent of a fresh breath of sea air and carrying a refreshing dampness. Memories came flooding back with the scent, like large, heavy raindrops sliding down a windowpane.

* * * * *

Her name was Patrycja. Our acquaintance began very stormily and faded very quickly, like a violent meteorite bursting suddenly in the night sky. For that short time, however, I was happy for the only time in my life.

We were as if we were alone, living in a beautiful solitude that allowed us to forget the world around us. With both hands, we drew happiness from beautiful moments and carefully tipped his gilded cup to our lips, fearful of spilling a single precious drop.

We made love on a gilded beach, dancing in the rays of the summer sun, then again in a shaded yellow hotel with a wide balustrade overlooking a green-drenched park. Sometimes we fled the terrifying noise that blanketed the gray asphalt with clamor, sometimes we returned in the evening, impatient, lovingly absorbing the familiar sounds. This wouldn't have been possible without the help of the best drug: the all-powerful and powerful youth. Our will to live had to find an outlet somewhere—and it found it within ourselves, nourishing us with its luscious fruits.

We lay on the warm sand, lazily tossing and turning, snuggling into each other's bodies. The caresses my beloved lavished on me could have brought to life a stone statue that had towered immovably over the important squares of large cities for years. Under the outstretched umbrella of a blue that lived like us and breathed life in its most beautiful form with its young, fresh breast, hours passed like minutes, days like hours. It was true human perfection, the fulfillment of the most exquisite dreams. Back then, I longed for a way to kill time, for someone stronger than its infinite power to appear. For the vast hourglass of the universe to be able to turn over, now and then, and endure forever, as if in an endless story written by life.

Many bitter years have passed since then.

* * * * *

"Honey, what's going on?" Renata stood in the kitchen doorway.

With a sigh of disappointment, I returned to the world. I felt as if I'd fallen down a flight of stairs and thoroughly bruised my brain. I must have been standing in the kitchen for a very long time, and Renata, impatient with my absence, set off to search for me.

"Now it begins," I thought, closing my eyes. "I don't know how to explain Patricia's presence. Good heavens! I have absolutely no idea where she came from!"

I felt someone grab my hand. I opened my eyes and saw Renata's worried face right in front of me.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked, her sentences quick as always. "You'd better lie down. I'll make you some tea."

I turned and saw a faint smile playing on Patricia's lips, once again seated at the table. It seemed to me she nodded slightly in a gesture of assent. Renata took a lemon from the fridge, passing the girl twice but never once looking at her or asking anything. A wonderful woman.

I headed for the bedroom, determined to explain everything to my mistress. After all, nothing happened between Patrycja and me today – what about me daydreaming a bit? Everyone's allowed to have dreams, after all. Renata and I weren't in a committed relationship, but I'd learned that she couldn't stand other women in the presence of herself and the guy she was making love to.

I sat on the bed, waiting for the girls, impatiently fiddling with a pen. After a while, they arrived, Renata first carrying a tray of cups, followed by my old flame, Patrycja.

"You only made two?" I asked Renata, looking at the tray in surprise.

"Yes," she looked at me, sitting down next to me on the bed and placing the tray on the floor beside us.

"Want more?" she asked.

I sighed in resignation. Irony. I didn't know what to say and surreptitiously glanced at Patrycja for help. She was sitting in the chair opposite us, still smiling faintly, as if it were permanently glued to her luscious lips. She remained silent, which irritated me a little. After all, it wasn't my fault she'd arrived so unexpectedly.

"Listen," I turned to Renata, "she's an old friend of mine and she decided to visit me today. I didn't invite her to tonight."

Renata listened disinterestedly at first, but the last sentence visibly perked her up.

"Who? What evening?" she asked, looking at me intently. She wasn't smiling, and I had no idea how to interpret her words.

"She," I nodded at Patrycja, reluctantly lowering my gaze. When I raised my head, I met my lover's questioning gaze.

"Who? What are you talking about?"

I looked at her intently—she looked genuinely surprised. We stared at each other in horrified stillness, and then I thought that if this was just an act of a resentful woman, then it was definitely in poor style.

* * * * *

From then on, Renata visited me less often. We no longer made love; she only asked me hundreds of questions about Patrycja. I didn't expect her to be so concerned – after all, she knew she wasn't the only woman in my life. Just as I preferred not to think about how many men's arms she'd spent the night in. What irritated me most, however, was her claim that Patrycja had never been to my place and was just a figment of my imagination. I knew otherwise, and she must have known it too. I didn't understand where this could have come from.

I saw Patrycja often, and she visited me often, but never when Renata was already there. The latter, in turn, drove me to outbursts of rage, accusing me of making up silly stories about visits from a nonexistent woman.

"You should see a specialist," she said one day. I couldn't quite put into words how wrong she was. We argued, carrying our emotions into the long winter evenings, blanketing our contrasting thoughts with a blanket of snow.

After several such arguments, I decided to visit a psychiatrist's office. Just to finally put an end to Renata's nonsense – she'd arranged the appointment herself and paid for it. The waiting room wasn't crowded, and of course, there was no queue. Private healthcare is a true blessing for those who can afford it. Unfortunately, to my great annoyance, Patrycja refused to come and prove with her presence that nothing was wrong with me and everything was perfectly fine. She declared that she harbored a deep aversion to doctors and everything associated with them. I

told the doctor about Renata's fears, pointing out that they were completely unfounded. I also completed a long and tedious psychological test. After an hour, the doctor finally rose from his chair, took a few steps, and opened the door to the hallway.

"Please come in," he gestured for Renata to enter.

Silence fell as they sat down on the chairs in the examination room. The doctor interrupted them:

"The situation is serious. Unfortunately, you require long-term therapy. Medication will also be necessary. Are you married?

" "No," we replied in unison.

The doctor smiled.

"In that case, things will be a little simpler. I will have to ask you to cease contact with you," he turned to Renata. "Of course, only for as long as necessary," he added quickly, noticing the wrinkle on her forehead.

"That's nonsense," I said. "I don't understand at all.

" "You are seriously ill. Please don't ignore this," the doctor said. "I will write you a referral for observation."

I looked at Renata. I had never been able to read anything in the faces of familiar people, and I failed this time. Renata remained silent. Only after a moment, hiding her eyes behind the curtain of auburn hair falling over her forehead, did she say quietly, as if afraid to wake someone:

"I'm sorry."

* * * * *

I ran down the street, brushing aside the passing pedestrians like a great black angel flapping the wings of his long cloak. The rapid pace and overwhelming exhaustion allowed me to forget what I'd heard in the office. It could have meant the end of everything: my life and my pathetic career—truly, only time, which had seemed to me in the past like a merciless monster, could now heal me with the skill of an experienced surgeon. I didn't try to think about anything in particular, realizing after a while that I was completely indifferent to everything. At that moment, I would have responded with a simple shrug to both the invitation to a heavenly paradise, a land of bliss, and the necessity of suffering eternal punishment in the depths of Hell.

As I ran down the street, I heard the terrifying screech of tires, the loud clang of shattering glass, and the dull thud of a powerful impact, like a car hitting a barrier at high speed. I sped up even faster, not looking back. For a moment, I could still hear the screams of terror from nearby pedestrians, then everything faded into the distance, vanishing into the monotonous hum of the big city.

That day, Patrycja visited me again. As soon as she entered, I rushed to tell her what had happened to me today. She placed her finger on my lips. The warm, genuine touch of her body finally convinced me. I took her in my arms and hugged her tightly.

It was like before. Living with the knowledge that human life doesn't last forever, we tried to make the most of the little time we were given. We made love, intertwining our bodies in an unbreakable chain, distinguished from steel only by the fountain of energy that emanated from it. I could say that every day looked the same, but there was not a shred of routine or stagnation. I think I had finally found my little piece of happiness, and my troubled mind could finally rest. Months passed, and time seemed to stand still for me. I stopped writing—the irritating need to pour my thoughts out everywhere, compelling me to think hopefully about the works I'd created, finally left me. It left me with a previously unknown feeling of relief, as if, with a mighty sigh, a crushing weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I no longer tried to catch up with the youthful years lost in pipe dreams and already deadened hopes; I had fully satisfied my small hunger for success.

Every morning I woke up to look at my reflection in the mirror—every day the same face stared back at me, without a trace of wrinkles or gray hair. The eyes of the man on the other side of the glass burned with an unceasing lust for life, stronger than the inexorable march of time. Patrycja was always there for me, always as real and genuine – I completely misunderstood what Renata had told me, and what would be confirmed in the psychiatrist's office. Truth be told, I didn't think much about that visit. I felt truly great. Even the tremors in my hands, the result of many sleepless nights and thousands of cups of black coffee, had stopped.

Sometimes, deep in my dazed mind, a faint feeling of something being different would linger. It was as if my subconscious were warning me that something wasn't quite right. But I quickly dismissed these terrifying thoughts, which stubbornly tried to smother my mood with a vast amount of gray ash. I connected these thoughts with the car accident I'd witnessed—and I'd become so insensitive to the suffering of others that I hadn't stopped or even turned around, let alone tried to help the victims. The terrifying screams of passersby echoed in my mind—as if the accident had been a complete disaster.

One day, I went out for my morning shopping as usual. I walked with my hands in my pockets, dodging the lines of pedestrians on either side, as usual oblivious to the world around me. My eyes did notice the people passing by, but I felt terribly alienated from them. Like an extraterrestrial being, unable to communicate with the alien species inhabiting an exotic planet. I also noticed that people had stopped walking—now they seemed to float, each completely immersed in their own thoughts and conversing with their own unused consciences. If I could focus on anything, I could have sworn I could hear the chatter around me, but none of the figures passing me on the streets seemed to open their mouths. Yet I was immersed in this mysterious stupor, unable to think and unable to draw conclusions.

I entered the store and grabbed a metal basket. As I walked past the shelves, I picked up items completely at random, not examining the packaging or considering my actual needs. Suddenly, my gaze fell on a stack of rolled-up magazines. I absentmindedly scooped up a few papers, tossing them into the basket, and suddenly realized it had been ages since I'd read anything. Tentatively, as if knowing my eyes needed to adjust to the written word, I picked one up and opened it to a random page. What I saw should have chilled my blood, but it didn't.

The newspaper's publication date was at least several months earlier than I could have guessed. It was as if I had fallen into a long dream, transported forward in time, and upon awakening, was surprised to find myself back in my original place on the endless line of passing days. In the upper right corner, I saw the headline, printed in small letters, "Writer Dies in Car Crash." Below it was a picture of me.