Chapter 16 - Friends
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Friends
A coughing fit snapped Leaf out of his daze, and the habitual reach for his cigarettes brought him back to the deserted living room. The candles had burned down. Only the dim light in the corner glowed in the darkness. Tristan was nowhere to be found.
Struggling to sit up, Leaf stuck a cigarette into the corner of his mouth and shuffled—without lighting it—into the kitchen.
He grabbed a beer and greedily drank it down in big gulps, reveling in the coldness of the open fridge against his sweaty body.
When he returned to the living room with the bottle and saw Tristan’s black notebook from a distance, he paused.
On the floor, he spotted the book about the Blackfoot.
Oh no …
He immediately set the beer down and went into the bedroom. The bed was empty, but the closet door was slightly ajar.
That damn book. Why didn’t I get rid of it yet?
Curled up, he found Tristan sitting in the closet, arms crossed on his knees, head buried within. He was shaking all over, as if he were freezing. Leaf knelt down and reached out his hand to him. But something held him back from touching Tristan.
“Tris,” he whispered.
Tristan slowly lifted his head and blinked at him with teary eyes and trembling lips.
“Come.” Leaf gently placed his hand on his shoulder.
“It’s okay.”
Tristan always said that, but Leaf knew better. “No. Come.” He helped him up and supported him. Tristan struggled to stand, and Leaf wondered how long he had been in that position. Wrapping his arm around Tristan’s shoulder, he led him to the bed. “Lie down.”
With sluggish movements, Tristan climbed onto the mattress and crawled to the pillow. He grabbed Leaf’s forearm. “Don’t go.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Leaf replied, turning on the ceiling fan.
“Go to the basement,” Tristan whispered. “Hide in the closet.”
“I know.”
Anxiously, Tristan flinched. “Don’t go. Please.”
Leaf didn’t want to go either. He was right where he wanted to be.
With Tristan. Despite all his resolutions, he lay down beside him and held him in his arms. Tristan clung to him tightly, pressing his forehead to his shoulder and breathing heavily.
Leaf felt almost paralyzed by the closeness to him, remembering the time before he had made himself guilty.
Tenderly, he stroked Tristan’s temple, cheek, and neck.
The black curls flopped in every direction, making it almost impossible for Leaf to see Tristan’s beautiful face.
At least he seemed to be calming down. Tension left his arm, no longer clinging to Leaf as if he were a lifebuoy. Tristan had fallen asleep.
For a while, he watched him, caressing Tristan’s wet cheek with his thumb as he pushed his curls back.
It was an open secret between them that he knew about Tristan’s demons—Milo had told him everything.
Tristan had once confessed to him that he was glad about this; so it meant he didn’t have to do it himself.
Leaf snuggled closer to Tristan and held him protectively in his arms for a while.
How could he have made such resolutions? He loved Tristan too much to stay away from him. Tristan needed him, and he needed Tristan.
While it had taken him a bit longer, Tristan had known it from day one. Even Milo had been faster than him. But during the last tour, he had suddenly realized that he had fallen head over heels in love with Tristan.
I’ll take down Diego and tell Tristan the truth.
He deserves nothing less.
The fear that Tristan wouldn’t want to see him again after his confession took his breath away. Only when Tristan made a soft sound did he notice how tightly he was holding him. He released the embrace and made sure everything was okay.
Tristan slept peacefully, looking relaxed.
Leaf kissed him on the head and tiptoed out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
As he stepped onto the balcony, he breathed in the fresh night air.
He gazed into the darkness of the woods, listening to the cicadas, the rustling leaves, and the distant hum of cars on the freeway.
Eventually, he picked up the acoustic guitar, lit a cigarette, and played some blues.
It was half-past ten when a car parked on the street above.
Shortly after, José came down the wooden jetty and climbed the stairs to the balcony.
It wasn’t unusual for him to come by so late; even bringing a paper bag was completely normal.
Still, Leaf shook his head in disbelief.
He didn’t understand how he deserved such a friend who honestly cared about him.
But it was also annoying when José showed up unannounced like this and brought food every time.
“Hey, Leaf,” the drummer said, patting his shoulder and sitting down on the other chair.
“Hi.” Leaf leaned the guitar against the wall and picked up the burning cigarette from the ashtray. “What’s up?”
“Not much,” José replied, placing the bag on the table. “I was at First Music earlier, got a new head for the toms.”
“Was it broken?”
“The coating was peeling off, and it just sounded bad. It was overdue.”
“What’s that?” Leaf asked, giving the bag a suspicious look, although he suspected what it was.
“When was the last time you ate?”
“About six hours ago?”
A satisfied grin spread across José’s face. He liked hearing that. “Then consider this dessert.”
“You’re bringing me food again?”
“Tamales,” José said, lacing his hands behind his head and breathing in the fresh air.
Leaf had given up trying to explain that he wasn’t needy; it was like talking to a wall. José kept bringing food, over and over again.
“Is he here?” José asked.
Leaf nodded.
“And is he okay?”
He peered at José with a blank expression.
“What happened?”
Leaf shook his head.
“No. What happened?”
“Nothing.”
José gestured to the open door. “I’ll get a beer.”
“Go ahead,” Leaf said, well aware that José would take a quick look around. That was okay, but he wouldn’t like what he found. Leaf wearily rubbed his face, wishing for the daze to return.
“And?” José asked, returning with a beer. “Did you guys talk?”
Leaf shrugged.
“He’s acting like the last four weeks never happened,” José said thoughtfully, leaning on the wooden railing.
“He didn’t forget,” Leaf countered, eyes downcast.
“Maybe we should all sit down and talk it out. I mean, even the stuff you’ve got lying around on your table isn’t helping.”
Leaf grimaced and glanced out into the darkness. “Are you turning on me?”
José smiled and took a sip of beer. Leaf reached for his beer bottle and realized it was empty.
“If you’d said something, I would’ve grabbed one for you too.”
“It’s okay,” Leaf said, standing up.
Instead of a beer, he got a glass of water from the kitchen. Before returning to the balcony with it, he stopped outside the bedroom and listened.
It was quiet. Too quiet. An unsettling, all-consuming silence. He stepped into the room and paused at the foot of the bed. Tristan didn’t stir.
Is it happening again?
Leaf stood rooted to the spot, watching and counting the seconds.
One. Two. Three.
Breathe!
Four. Five.
How long has it been going on?
Forty-five?
Please not sixty-eight.
Where’s the limit?
Fifteen. Sixteen.
Leaf tilted his head slightly and reminded himself to breathe. Suddenly, Tristan jerked and gasped for air in panic. Relieved, Leaf placed the glass on the floor and climbed onto the bed beside Tristan.
“Hey … Hey … Easy. It’s all good,” Leaf whispered soothingly, pulling him close.
Tristan wrapped his arm around him and held on tight. Then he slid a leg between Leaf’s and nestled against him. His whole body was tense, and he still breathed heavily.
Leaf gently pushed Tristan’s black curls away from his face and placed his hand on his head. It felt so familiar. Tristan’s breathing calmed down again and became steady.
“He stopped breathing!” Leaf exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration. “I thought he was suffocating!”
Milo took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled the smoke.
How could he remain so calm? This was his brother after all.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“No idea,” Milo replied, shrugging. “Looks like some kind of panic attack. Definitely not asthma; they already checked.”
“Dude, this isn’t normal!”
“He’s had it since he was eight. You know,” Milo said casually. “It’s like a mental thing. Nothing you can really do about it.”
Leaf exhaled and closed his eyes for a moment.
Maybe it was good that Milo had remained so calm about it.
Experience had probably shown him that it wasn’t life-threatening.
Leaf had no choice but to follow his friend’s lead and maintain composure in moments like these, even as the fear that Tristan might never wake up sent him into a panic.
Only when he was sure that Tristan was deeply asleep again did he leave the bedroom, leaving the door slightly open, and returned outside.
“And?” José asked, his weight still resting on the wooden railing—a beer in one hand, his phone in the other. “What do you think about my suggestion?”
“No. We shouldn’t talk about it,” Leaf replied, standing in the doorway.
“You know I mean well.”
Leaf raised the glass to his mouth. “I know.” Then he drank.
José didn’t stay silent for long. “Nah, you can’t just brush it off like that. You’ve got a responsibility here—to the band and yourself. Honestly? I’m more worried about you than I am about Tristan.”
“Finally, we get to the point.” Leaf sat back down. He was far too sober for this conversation.
“Did you talk to Andrej?” José asked.
“Why?”
“Because he’s already freaking out. About you,” José said, pocketing his phone. “He called me and suggested bringing in Iggy to replace you if you can’t get it together.”
“Replace me?” The words sounded foreign coming from his mouth. “That’s not possible. We brought him into the band ourselves.”
José rubbed his forehead and sighed. “I know.”
It didn’t surprise Leaf that Andrej had already lost all trust in him. When it came to drugs, the bassist had always drawn a strict line. But Leaf questioned how much trust he could still have in himself. He had crossed this line many times before, and each time had ended in disaster.
“I’m worried,” José whispered, sitting back down on the chair.
Leaf hung his head and stared into his glass. “This time, it’s different.”
“In what way?”
“I have to find Diego. When I find him … As long as he doesn’t …”
As José patiently waited for him to form a complete sentence, Leaf could see it in his eyes, the pain he felt when Leaf was in this state.
“I’m responsible for Milo’s death,” Leaf admitted.
José shook his head with conviction. “That’s nonsense.”
“I introduced Milo to Diego. And the guy gets away with it as if nothing happened. He sent Milo on that job.” Feeling his hands start to tremble, Leaf lit a cigarette. “That’s not fair.”
José seemed to recognize that Leaf was discussing something that was tearing him apart inside. With a sympathetic frown, he leaned forward. “Leaf, it’s not your fault.”
Leaf shook his head and finished his drink. Although he caught José's words, their meaning eluded him. Deep down, he knew the truth of what he had done.
“Please promise me you won't totally lose it this time,” José pleaded.
Leaf bit his lip, taking a deep drag of the cigarette before exhaling the smoke. Despite his best efforts, it wasn’t his intention …
“Leaf?”
“Ugh, what do you want from me? You know I can’t promise something like that. Why do you keep coming back here?”
“This is the only time we can have a quiet conversation,” José replied. “Honestly, I miss the times when we just hung out together.”
Leaf felt the same way, so he nodded.
For a while, he listened to the rustling of the leaves and the chirping of the cicadas. The sound of nature always had a calming effect on him.
“Have you seen the photos Nathan took at the release concert?” José asked.
Leaf shook his head. “Are they good?”
“Hmm … Do you remember?”
Leaf nodded, although he could barely remember the evening.
“Well, Nathan has a good eye. The photos … They’re … Well, we definitely should have done everything we could to postpone the gig. I’m sorry.”
Even though the words were only a small comfort in hindsight, they meant a lot to Leaf. It was reassuring to know that José was on his side, a true friend he could count on.