Chapter 22 Guilt
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Guilt
Tristan traced the phoenix on Leaf’s chest with his finger. As Leaf’s muscles twitched under his touch, Tristan propped himself on one elbow, and kissed Leaf’s nipple.
It was as if they had made up for everything in the past few hours that hadn’t been possible in the last four weeks. They had lain together for a long time, exchanging tender gestures, caressing each other, and making promises. All of this had led to another round of intense and passionate sex.
Exhausted and deeply satisfied, Tristan lay on his back and stared at the bedroom ceiling. The fan above them was spinning, and a fresh breeze blew in through the open window. After their third orgasm, they had showered together, but sweat was already oozing from every pore.
The demons were banished, yet Tristan still felt a heavy melancholy that couldn’t be dispelled even by hot sex, though he had hoped it would.
“What’s on your mind?” Leaf asked, turning to face him.
“I always thought there was a life before the thing with my parents and one after. But now, the life after my parents’ death is the life before Milo’s death. And whether I want it or not, life after Milo’s death has begun. How could it be that Clint’s questions threw me off so much?”
“You weren’t prepared for it,” Leaf replied, brushing a dark lock of hair from Tristan’s forehead.
“It’s been twenty years.” Tristan shook his head in disbelief, as if trying to shake off the memories. Yet, they remained. The sex had only temporarily driven them away.
“My mom died almost twenty years ago too,” Leaf whispered. “I miss her. And even though I know it’s absolutely ridiculous, I still fantasize today about what my life would have been like if she hadn’t died of cancer.”
“I do that too. Or at least I used to. But since Milo, I can’t put a clear thought together. Everything is completely messed up.”
There was a deep furrow between Leaf’s eyes, which only appeared when something was bothering him. Surprised, Tristan sat up and crossed his legs.
“What’s wrong?”
Leaf rubbed his face tiredly and pursed his lips. Sitting up, he wrapped his arms around his legs. His eyes lowered, and he turned away from Tristan, suddenly becoming bashful. “Did you … really want to kill yourself?”
There it was again, that feeling of tightness, like an iron belt binding around Tristan’s chest and squeezing his lungs. So many thoughts raced through his mind, but he couldn’t grasp any of them.
Yes, he had wanted to kill himself. In that exact moment.
And no, he hadn’t thought of anyone. Not even Leaf, the only person left to him.
All he had wanted in that moment was to be with Milo and with his parents.
His real parents. With his mom, who had promised him that if he went to heaven, he would see Grandma there.
If that was true, Mom had to be there too. And Dad. And Milo.
“Yes,” he admitted weakly. “That’s what I wanted.”
Leaf’s eyes glistened. He closed them tightly, pressing his hands to his face.
“I was … desperate,” Tristan continued. “And in that moment, there was no other way for me.”
“You just disappeared.” Now it was Leaf’s voice that trembled. Tristan was surprised that he hadn’t already lit a cigarette, but the way Leaf sat there, he seemed paralyzed. “I called you a hundred times.”
The last time Tristan had checked his phone, there were 76 missed calls and 35 text messages. He hung his head and exhaled a heavy sigh.
“It wasn’t until five days later that I found out you were in Vegas. That you crashed into a wall. You probably had all the damn guardian angels you could wish for on your side. The doctors forbade me from visiting you because I’m not family!”
“You’re the only family I have left. I’m sorry, but I can’t apologize for … I just can’t.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
Tristan looked up. Leaf’s voice sounded so composed, resigned, and cool. Squinting, Tristan scrutinized Leaf’s face for an explanation.
“What do you expect then?” His heart raced wildly, and when Leaf shook his head, fear crept in.
“Nothing.” Leaf replied. He still couldn’t look at him, and the way he suddenly chewed on his lower lip suggested that this was about something other than his suicide attempt. “I understand you. Very well,” Leaf continued, his tone soft and empathetic. “You lost Milo.”
“That’s why I don’t want to lose you too.”
“That might change once you know the truth.” With shaky fingers, he glanced around for his cigarettes.
“What truth?”
Leaf pushed his long hair back. “I’m the reason Milo died.”
The words sounded as if Leaf had spoken in a different language.
Tristan struggled to understand. “What do you mean? Milo was …” Four weeks had passed, and he still couldn’t get it out.
Leaf’s silence only made his heart beat harder.
He searched Leaf’s stony face for answers, but his eyes looked distant and empty. “You’re not to blame.”
It was impossible for Leaf to have any blame for Milo’s death. All three of them were friends. Leaf knew things about him through Milo that he never would have guessed. He had even wanted to bring Milo into the band as a drummer, but Milo had declined.
“Me and my little brother in the same band. No thanks,” was Milo’s response as he hugged him. “Don’t get me wrong, Ming, but that would end in disaster.”
All of a sudden, Leaf jumped up and left the room. Tristan slipped into his briefs and followed him. He found Leaf next to the couch, lighting a cigarette, inhaling deeply, and exhaling loudly.
“You can’t be to blame. That’s impossible.”
It was. And no matter what Leaf claimed, Tristan would continue to insist. Simply because he loved Leaf, and he was all he had left of family.
Of course, the band was a kind of family too.
After the long world tour, where they still argued over whether all the flying had gained or lost them a day in their lives, they had grown close.
Even when Andrej suggested replacing Leaf, Tristan interpreted it only as a slight sibling rivalry.
He knew Andrej well enough to know that he would come to his senses.
“Leaf? Talk to me.”
“He … asked me for help, and …” Tristan felt dizzy. He slowly took a step forward, leaning on the armrest of the sofa. If Milo asked for help, then …
“He was gambling again.”
Leaf took a drag from the cigarette. “He begged me not to tell you. I wanted to, but … he was so desperate, and he didn’t want to upset you.”
That sounded just like Milo. Since their parents’ death, he had taken care of him as a big brother. He had helped him with homework and realized that he had a talent for writing. It was thanks to Milo that he had submitted the poems and made a name for himself in the literary scene.
When they were on their own and no foster family supported them anymore, it was Milo who found an apartment and turned a rat hole into a home for him.
At night, Milo worked in the casinos at the bar, and during the day, he played drums in the studios for solo artists.
It wasn’t that Tristan hadn’t done his part.
He worked in bars, in diners, or even spent a few months on garbage duty, but it was always Milo who assured him that he would take care of him.
That was when his brother had started gambling.
Time and again, he failed in his attempt to secure security by gambling too high and they were left with nothing several times.
Milo never played at the big casino tables, but always in shady basement bars where more illegal activities happened than he might have realized. There were days when he came home with $75,000, only to lose it all again the next night.
It was Tristan who had pulled the plug and forced the move to Los Angeles. And it worked out. Milo had since been able to boast about many studio jobs, establishing himself as a drummer here too. The temptation lay far behind them in the Nevada desert.
In the last four years, Milo had only slipped back into gambling once. He had been gone for days, while Tristan had searched everywhere for him. He even contacted old acquaintances in Vegas, but it took another week before one of them finally got back to him.
They had driven out to Vegas together in Leaf’s car to pick up a bruised and defeated Milo. He got into the car without saying a word and remained silent for the entire ride back. It wasn’t until they stopped in front of their apartment that he broke the silence.
“Help me, please.”
That Milo had only asked Leaf for help this time meant he must have been truly desperate.
And he had kept it a secret from me.
At what cost?
Tristan furiously turned away and crossed his arms. “That damned … It didn’t have to end like this.” He turned back to Leaf, bewildered. “And what did you do? You helped him, didn’t you? Got him a job.”
Leaf’s cigarette had burned down by now, and he stubbed it out in the ashtray. He stood there like a little boy, remorseful and a little scared. “I got him a job with Diego Garcia.”
“Diego? Who’s that?”
“After I came to L.A., I worked for him for a while. He’s into dealing drugs.” Although Leaf quickly said the last words, as if ripping off a bandage, they still hung ominously in the air.
“Drugs?” It was not even a whisper, more like a breath, as Tristan repeated the word.
“Milo wanted to make enough money to pay off his debts.”
Tristan felt dazed and numb. “But how could you be responsible for his death? That doesn’t make any sense at all.”
Leaf’s eyes wandered to the drugs on the living room table, and he frowned as though deep in thought. He moved in slow motion as he made his way back to the bedroom. Tristan followed him, and as he entered, Leaf was already dressed in black jeans and shoes, putting on a fresh shirt.
“Where are you going?” Tristan asked, although he guessed, because Leaf’s supply of opium had run out since this morning. “Are you going to see this Diego?”
“Believe me, I would never get my stuff from Diego.” Leaf’s voice sounded strained, and he seemed to be making a great effort to keep himself together.
“But … You can’t just …”
“I’m sorry. What I can’t do is continue to pretend that everything is okay. It just can’t.”
As Leaf walked past him, Tristan breathed in his wonderful scent one more time, the one he loved so much.
Leaf took his wallet, car keys, and cigarettes and left the house.
Tristan watched as the door closed behind him, inhaling shakily.
He hadn’t even noticed he had been holding his breath.
Then he heard Leaf start the car and drive away.
Everything had become so chaotic, especially him.
During his time in the clinic, he had lost touch with himself.
How could he then believe that he could restore it with Leaf with sex?
He wasn’t even sure if he himself would ever be the same again.
But what he knew for sure was that Leaf was not to blame for Milo’s death.
That just couldn’t be.