Chapter 31 - All that Remains
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All that remains
Leaf paused at the threshold of the living room, stunned by the sheer chaos that greeted him.
Papers and books were strewn everywhere, the whole place a mess. Tristan lay sprawled on the couch, still in yesterday’s faded jeans and black shirt. Above him, the wall was a chaotic mosaic of notes, their scribbled words a testament to the sleepless night and relentless thoughts.
“I don’t know if I can do it,” Tristan had said to him after their first rehearsal, “but it’s what I have to do. So I’ll do it.”
Why did Leaf keep remembering those words? They echoed in his mind like a familiar tune, with Tristan’s shadowy voice explaining why they played together at all.
When Leaf woke up today, those words hit him like a slap, spinning his head.
If what Tristan did was bad, he would still do it as long as there was no reason not to.
Is he really asleep?
Or …
I can’t lose him again!
Words that stamped out everything else in his brain. Not finding Tristan in his apartment had been worrying enough.
The poet who can’t be alone seeking the ghost of his dead brother in his deserted home.
Leaf knew it was mostly his guilty conscience that had made him rush up the street to Tristan’s apartment, but he had panicked.
An uneasy feeling, like thick slime, spread through him, making his limbs even heavier than they already were.
The fear that something might have happened to Tristan had been omnipresent since Milo’s death, but right now, it took up all the space.
In a way, he was even grateful for it. It distracted him at least a little from the fact that, since waking from his fever dream, he had been in total withdrawal.
Tristan lay curled up on the couch like a cat, looking peaceful—except for all those notes. Leaf knelt beside Tristan and gently touched his temple. Tristan stirred a little, which immediately set off alarm bells in Leaf’s head. He quickly scanned the room.
No drugs.
Just a half-empty bottle of Jameson.
Half-empty.
No.
Not good.
And when he glanced at the wall again, a chill ran down his spine. So much paper. So many notes. So much text. A disturbing plan. A cancerous growth that had found its way out of Tristan’s head.
Masterful, or …
Every day without you,
a day without sun, a day without air, no life.
The art has lost its effect.
Its taste is gone.
It no longer brings me relief.
It takes away my words, my language, takes you away from me.
I will be what you are. I will not fight.
…or totally desperate?
Songs? Poetry?
Grief? Or secret resignation?
I disappear into the darkness.
Hate the moment when I have to listen to myself.
It doesn’t stop writing.
A torn notebook and more slips of paper. Pasted over each other, lined up, chaotic, and lost under the table.
I want to be raptured—without contradiction.
Reject harmony with myself.
I have become an emptiness.
A void folding outwards.
No dream will ever stop me.
The handwriting was strained and weary, with broken letters and barely legible scrawls.
Where did you go?
Where is the dark place?
Where do the demons dance?
Where do I start to pray?
Where do I fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness?
Forgive my secret,
my silence, my guilt!
Take me away! Away from here!
Take me to solitude.
Away from the cold and the lost.
All the dark hiding places
and the painful screams.
Say goodbye to what remains.
Abandoned and long gone,
with golden eyes.
Farewell.
A whisper.
Everything will be fine.
Is the shadow back, bending over me?
Is it safety?
No more rain, no more suffering, just what remains.
“Tris! Tristan. Wake up!”
Tristan slowly opened his eyes, blinking as he looked up at Leaf. He tried to pull Leaf closer, wrapping an arm around him, but Leaf's body remained too stiff to lie down beside him.
“Are you okay?” he asked instead.
“Yeah, why?” Tristan mumbled.
No hangover? Leaf gestured to the half-empty bottle.
“I barely drank anything. Maybe two glasses.”
And the bottle wasn’t even empty. Leaf got up and paced around the room. He was relieved, but the panic he had just felt, the fear for Tristan, made him think.
He wrung his hands to hide the trembling. His body craved a hit, showing it with cold sweats. But Leaf would stay strong. After all, they had a concert tomorrow.
If only it weren’t so hard.
Stop! Get rid of those thoughts!
“Leaf, what are you doing here?” Tristan sat up and stretched his arms. “Where were you yesterday? I was worried.”
Leaf glimpsed at the long scar on Tristan’s forearm. It had healed well, but it would always remind him of what had happened. The bandage lay on the table next to the glass. Get a grip! “I was … I had to take care of something.”
“I thought we were going to … maybe …”
Leaf stopped in his tracks and chewed on his thumbnail. “What?”
“Spend the evening together?”
Leaf would have loved to, but he had been busy holding himself together.
He should have been proud of himself for staying clean—at least from heroin.
But now, everything hurt even more. His muscles burned, his tendons ached, and he felt like he’d been beaten with a baseball bat.
Not exactly the best conditions to stay strong.
His gaze drifted over the wall and the masses of notes. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”
Tristan frowned in sadness. “Can we … I mean … You look sick.”
“I’m fine,” he lied, trying to sound casual. “I just wanted to see you, that’s all.”
Tristan stood up and walked over to him. Gently, he brushed a sweaty strand of hair from Leaf’s face and kissed him. Tristan’s soft lips sent a spark through Leaf’s body. The kiss was so tender, so loving. As Tristan pressed closer, his warmth flowed through Leaf.
Leaf let it happen. His lips barely moved, and his breath was still. Tristan’s closeness ignited a fire within him that chased away the cold numbness and gave him a feeling of security. For a moment, there was absolute peace.
Tristan’s fingers slipped into his jeans, pulling him closer. Their kiss grew more intense, and Leaf placed a hand on Tristan’s neck to support his head.
“I want things to be like they were before,” Tristan whispered breathlessly into his mouth. “Please, I miss you so much.”
Something inside Leaf twisted. He pulled away from Tristan and stepped back.
“What’s wrong?”
A voice whispered to Leaf. A feeling that suddenly settled at the back of his neck.
Leave, quickly. Get out of here!
There was a deep longing in Tristan’s eyes, a longing that had clearly not been satisfied that night.
He’s so beautiful.
Leaf breathed unevenly, licking his lips as he gazed at Tristan, but then turned away. He had clear ideas about what he wanted to do with him, but he couldn’t. “I …”
He felt Tristan’s sadness and heard his breath. Leaf grimaced and chewed on his knuckles.
Get a grip!
His eyes darted from one point to another, always avoiding Tristan. He fidgeted, fighting an internal battle—the battle against his inability to speak.
“You’re here,” Tristan said gently. “Please, talk to me.”
He didn’t sound accusing or challenging, but still, the request triggered something in Leaf that he had wanted to forget.
“I told you the truth.” Leaf’s voice was weak and shaky.
“I can’t pretend nothing happened. I can’t ignore the guilt, even if you say you don’t blame me.
And …” A lump formed in his throat. “Please, stop pretending you still want me.” It hurt him so much to say that.
His heart pounded rebelliously and hard in his chest.
Tristan opened his mouth, but no words came out—he had used them all up. They were all scribbled on the countless notes plastered behind him on the wall.
“I dragged you into this mess,” Leaf said, his tone laced with remorse. “So give me the blame and say you hate me.”
“I … can’t,” Tristan replied, shaken. “You’re the only one I have left. You can’t leave me too. This big black hole … it’s consuming me. And I can’t do anything about it. Everything was fine. Where did you go?”
“Yeah. Until you got in that damn car and drove into the desert! You left me!” Leaf had no idea where those words came from, but they terrified him.
“That wasn’t me,” Tristan explained as he fought back tears. “Please, Leaf. Forgive me.”
Leaf staggered backward slightly, feeling suffocated by his guilt. “No. I was the one who made you do it. I’m sorry.”
They remained motionless, staring at each other. Tristan searched for words–on the floor, the walls, even on Leaf’s body.
Tristan gasped the moment he noticed something. He grabbed Leaf’s wrist and clutched his elbow with the other hand. “What the …? Is that … Please tell me it’s not what it looks like.”
All the blood drained from Leaf’s face at the horror in Tristan’s expression. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Yanking his arm free from Tristan’s grip, he stepped back.
“You … you shot up! Are you hooked on needles?” Tristan asked, his voice filled with pure terror.
“I’ve got it under control. It was just a small slip.”
“That looks like more than just one slip!”
“Oh fuck … I …”
“We have a concert tomorrow! The tour starts on Tuesday! What were you thinking?” Tristan’s voice grew stronger, louder, almost breaking, and Leaf knew it was a sign of absolute helplessness.
It showed in the way Tristan struggled to stay on his feet.
“Fuck …” he muttered softly, as if all his strength had suddenly left him.
He shifted from one foot to the other, pressed his lips together, and bravely stood his ground. “I love you, Leaf.”
That confession, combined with Tristan’s tear-filled eyes, brought down all the walls that had been holding Leaf together.
The last breath left his lungs, and he started to tremble.
Panic-stricken, he moved away. It wasn’t easy to turn his back on Tristan and start moving, but as soon as his body finally understood what his mind wanted, the heavy feeling left his limbs, and he stumbled out of the apartment.
Thank God he knew the solution to the chaos in his head. As soon as he got home, he hit speed dial on his phone. Like a caged animal, he paced in his cabin, counting the unanswered rings until Nathan finally picked up.