Possessed hearts - стр. 40

I close my eyes and try to banish all thoughts from my head. Not to think. Don't think about anything. Block out the noise of the other residents of the hotel and the street. Listen to the rain and breathe in its scent.

When you look at me

It's poison, it's just poison

Like the sin to which

I'm so close to

For a moment that can't be born

A moment that can't be

nor should be.

These lines burst into my brain.

– Can't be and shouldn't be," I repeated quietly. – Can't and shouldn't be. It shouldn't. Can't and shouldn't.

Get out! Get out of my head!

I jumped out of bed in a frenzy and went to the bathroom. I needed to get away from myself. Now. A perfect excuse to look round the city and give Martin a report.

It was raining outside. Quite heavy. Must be cold. I don't have an umbrella.

I quickly put on jeans, socks, T-shirt, sneakers, – and ran out of my room without even locking it. I quickly walked down the stairs to the ground floor.

No make-up again. I look like a teenager again. But I don't care at all. I don't care! I have to escape.

– Where can I buy a rain jacket here? – I asked the receptionist.

– You can get one for free from us," the girl smiled back at me.

– Great! Bring it!

A minute later, wearing a long translucent blue mackintosh that looked like a big rubbish bag, I stepped out into the rain and inhaled deeply the smell of wet asphalt with trepidation.

Cars drove along the wet road, with their headlights on, as it was semi-darkness all around. The sky was so grey that it looked like Gdansk would be swamped in rain that would flood it all the way to the roofs of houses and hotels. People passing by me were wearing jackets. On their feet were rubber boots, water-repellent trainers and leather half-boots, half-boots. I was surrounded by a sea of colourful umbrellas. And I stood in this sea – like a lighthouse, in my blue mackintosh. My sneakers were soaked after five seconds of being in the rain.

Everyone was running, in a hurry.

I was the only one who didn't know where I was going.

– Can you tell me what time it is?

The passerby looked at me perplexed. Then at his watch, hidden under the sleeve of his jacket.

– Seven minutes to eleven.

– Thank you. – I slowly walked on.

It was pouring cat and dogs. My hair, which didn't fit under the hood, hung down like rat tails, streams dripping from it. Unnaturally long rat tails.

We got to the main road and I saw three old Skodas, pressed up against the kerb, under a taxi sign. Next to them were three elderly men smoking.

– There was Ales. Hello, Ales! – Martin shouted hello to one of the three taxi drivers.

– I see you already have your own mafia network! – I joked quietly. – Do you know everyone and everyone who lives in Gdansk?

– Every last homeless person! – Martin said cheerfully. – Ales is a great guy, with a healthy sense of humour, and I always go only with him.

– Jesus, it's less than a minute's walk.

– Eight seconds. I timed it.

– Then why do you need Ales?

– I'm trying to understand the psychology of mortals.

– You're writing a report? – I laughed again.

Martin surprised me more and more: though we had been in touch very often, I heard the news only now.

– No. I'm just bored. I have to have fun somehow. Do you?

I realised what he was getting at: that when I'm bored, I sleep with mortals.