Chapter 36 - Morning
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Morning
Leaf stood in shock as he observed the living room table. Everything was tidy. The empty bottles, the overflowing ashtrays, and glasses—all gone.
“Hey! Sleep well?” José asked from behind him.
Definitely too cheerful for Leaf's taste.
“What the hell …? Where’s my stuff?” He knew the heroin was gone, and while he was relieved, it didn’t mean he could get through the day without help—especially with the headache he had.
José studied him closely, squinting his eyes slightly. “You don’t look good.”
“Dude,” Leaf growled through clenched teeth, balling his hands into fists.
“Take it easy, man.” José fetched an envelope from the shelf. “Here.”
Leaf sat on the couch and prepared everything. Nathan had brought him a bit of opium yesterday, and that was exactly what he needed now. His hands shook as he packed the glass pipe, and he repeatedly wiped the sweat from his forehead.
Just two hits, and everything was normal again. The world felt right. His mind was whole. Relieved, he closed his eyes. As the tension melted away, the chaos in his head dissipated, and the pain vanished.
Yet, at the same time, everything seemed so clear to him. The upcoming tour. The concert tonight. Tristan.
Damn, I’m so messed up.
“You should talk to a doctor,” José said, standing beside the couch.
Has he been watching me the whole time?
Whatever.
“Why not,” Leaf replied, lighting a cigarette. He struggled to his feet and walked to the kitchen on shaky legs. “I won’t have to get the stuff from Nathan anymore.”
“Haha,” José said dryly. “You know what kind of doctor I mean.”
Leaf stopped in surprise. The trash was gone. The dirty dishes were washed and put away. He grabbed a glass and filled it with water, then followed José onto the balcony.
It was going to be a hot day, but at least there was a bit of wind. The leaves rustled, and the sun sparkled through the treetops.
Exhausted, Leaf sank into an empty chair and set the glass down. He took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled the smoke.
“Do you remember the fifth or sixth rehearsal? When I went after Andrej?”
José frowned and nodded. “Yeah, I had just come through the door. Tristan wasn’t even there yet. It wasn’t pretty.”
“He came and tried to give me the number of a shrink.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I love you, man, really, but never do that again.”
“I’m worried. I’m sorry.” José paused for a moment, shaking his head. “No, I was scared. Damn it, Leaf! You almost died from that stuff yesterday! And now you’re standing here like nothing happened. Like you didn’t just need a fix to talk to me. Do you even realize how close you were to death?”
Leaf stared at the cigarette between his fingers and exhaled the smoke. He had no idea what to say. He knew how bad the situation was. “I want to go on tour. Sort things out with Tristan.” The realization hit him suddenly. “Damn, man, I …”
“Tristan was here this morning,” José said. “He left about two hours ago and told the others we’ll be there for soundcheck.”
Leaf just grunted, which José accepted. Knowing Tristan had been here gave him a pang of nostalgia. Why couldn’t things just be like they were before? Ultimately, his feelings for him hadn’t changed—if only that monster wasn’t in the room.
But now Leaf was aware that the monster had taken on a new form. Whereas it used to look like Diego, it had now become white powder. The needle marks on his arm showed it wasn’t easy to defeat.
They sat in silence for a while. Leaf enjoyed the soothing tingling in his body.
When he had drifted off last night, a leaden weight had settled over him.
In that moment, it was okay, but in hindsight, he preferred the tingling.
From the neighboring cabin, the sound of a saxophone played, which always gave Leaf a sense of peace.
“Do you remember how my mom let us set up our practice space in the garage?” José asked, smiling. “She thought it would last maybe three or four weeks, tops. And then she put up with us for six years.”
“We were terrible,” Leaf recalled, looking up at the treetops. He didn’t know if it was melancholy or nostalgia that was brushing over him.
“At the beginning, maybe. But we got better.”
“Yeah … That was …”
“Good times,” José said, fully aware that his memories were mixed.
Leaf found it hard to separate the great time as a garage band from the horror at home. He was all the more grateful that José reminded him of it from time to time.
“Did you know that Iggy secretly practiced on your guitar? Every time you weren’t around, he snuck into the garage and played.”
“I remember the arepas your mom made for us.” Leaf took a final drag from his cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray. “They were always so good.”
“Oh yeah.” José laughed. “And the cookies on weekends were the best.”
“I don’t think I ever … Can you thank her for me?”
“Sure,” José replied, looking puzzled and worried.
Leaf massaged his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. “She probably thinks I’m a freeloader.”
“What? Why would you say that?”
Leaf remained silent and barely shook his head.
“No,” José objected, sitting up straight. “My dad would often come home from work and ask if you had been over. Mom just nodded. ‘Maria, we already have two kids and you’re feeding him three times a week,’ he’d say. She’d just respond, ‘And if that’s the last thing we can do for this poor boy.’”
“Why are you telling me this?” Leaf asked, his voice choked.
“You’re not a freeloader, Leaf. We all knew what was going on. Back then, after Christmas, after that … incident, I overheard my parents whispering. ‘Go over there and shoot that man,’ Mom said.”
Leaf’s breath caught, and he felt the agony creeping in. Tortured by the memories, he clenched his teeth and tried to endure them. But he couldn’t. He abruptly stood up.
“Leaf …”
“No,” he said, disappearing into the dark apartment.
There was only one thing that enabled him to triumph over his memories, if only temporarily. He immersed himself in oblivion and solace, where no one could reach him, even if it meant paying for it with an early death—a pact he had made at fifteen.
José hadn’t followed him. If he had tried to stop him, it would have led to a fight. He apparently wanted to avoid that.
Leaf cocooned himself in a sense of security, allowing all the pain to dissipate. He breathed deeply, sighing softly in relief.
“What happened?” José’s voice echoed from a distance.
Leaf slowly opened his eyes. He found himself lying on the couch, the room spinning around him.
Yeah. What happened? I’d like to know that too.
Groggily, he brushed his hair back. His eyelids were too heavy to keep his eyes open.
“Leaf.”
“Hmm …”
“Did you talk to Tristan?”
“You don’t understand,” he said, struggling with the weight on his tongue as he strung one word after another.
“That’s what brought us together. We didn’t really talk about it.
At least, not certain things. And that was okay.
It was good like that. But now … I tried to tell him, but …
” Leaf sighed. His body was paralyzed, the memories banished.
He wasn’t even sure if it was him speaking.
“We lived in this wonderful little bubble,” he continued. “It was just us, owing each other nothing but love. But it feels like that bubble has burst. It’s shattered now. You can’t repair it. It’s gone.”
Leaf turned his head to the side and felt the cool leather against his cheek. He wanted more, but he didn’t have the strength to reach for his pipe and smoke.
“So what do you want to do now?” José asked calmly.
“Hmm …”
“Leaf.” José sat down beside him. “Do you want to keep going like this, just waiting for your guilt to disappear?”
“I threw Milo under the bus,” he mumbled, covering his face.
“That’s exactly what I mean! Leaf! Look at me!”
Leaf lowered his hands, unable to meet José’s gaze. He couldn’t bear the understanding look in José’s eyes; it was a grace he hadn’t earned.
“You should go to him,” José said, as if he had devised a plan for him. “He needs you. That’s all I know. He needs you so much.”
“I just let it happen,” Leaf whispered. “I let Milo die. I couldn’t do anything to stop it. What more is there to say?”
He had been wrong. That wasn’t José’s understanding face; it was his worried one. Leaf turned his head away and covered his eyes.
“No. You’re not getting away from me like this. I won’t allow it. Get up!”
Leaf lifted his head, his eyes glazed.
“What do you need to get back on your feet?” José asked, taking a few steps back like he was ready to go. “Tell me. You have a choice. Because believe me, if I have to, I’ll drag you onto that stage tonight. Please, Leaf. Don’t let me down. Don’t let us down! Tristan! Don’t let Andrej win.”
Leaf gathered all his strength and lit a cigarette. Lying back, he closed his eyes.
“Leaf!” José called impatiently.
“A few lines should do,” he mumbled, exhaling the smoke.
“Okay! What are you waiting for?” José said. “Time for drugs! The soundcheck is waiting.” When Leaf didn’t move, José’s tone changed. “Please. If you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for Tristan.”
Leaf surveyed the spread-out supplies on the table, struck by the absurdity of the situation.
José’s encouragement to take drugs highlighted how deeply things had spiraled out of control.
What kind of understanding had José shown him all these years?
Leaf gazed at his friend, pondering this question. “Why are you doing this?”
“We’ll handle it. One step at a time. I know the music means a lot to you. It’s more important than this,” José said, gesturing at the stash of drugs. “But we have a gig tonight. One where we can prove to the world—and we have to—that we still rock.”
Leaf paused, furrowing his brows.
“Yeah,” José added. “The press was pretty brazen this week. It wasn’t all that funny or entertaining; you didn’t miss much.”
“Alright.”
José squeezed Leaf’s shoulder and stepped out onto the balcony.
With effort, Leaf pushed himself upright and rested his elbows on his knees. He took one final drag from his cigarette and extinguished it in the ashtray. As he reached for the baggie of cocaine, a part of him hesitated.
This is so wrong.
He prepared two lines and stared at his handiwork. Every fiber of his being craved the substance. Yet, amidst the craving, there was a voice deep within him crying out for help—a quiet, desperate, and wounded voice.
Leaf fought back tears as he recognized that quiet plea for help. It was his own voice, barely audible but becoming fainter with time.
It had never happened so quickly before. And then the overdose.
The realization hit him like a ton of bricks.
No, I can’t do this alone.
I can’t keep fooling myself.
I need help.
Stunned, he wiped his cheeks dry and pulled himself together.
But one step at a time.
I need to talk to Tristan.
He can help me. He knows what to do.
This plan gave him a sense of confidence and reassurance. As he snorted the cocaine, his spirits soon revived, and that wonderful tingling sensation returned to his skin.
I can do this.
After Leaf showered and shaved, he threw on fresh clothes and tied his hair back.
He slipped on sunglasses and gathered his belongings, stuffing pills, powder, and a guitar pick into his back pocket.
He tucked the lighter into the cigarette pack, then stashed it, along with his phone and wallet, inside his jacket’s inner pocket.
Despite the sweltering heat outside, the air conditioning was cranked up everywhere.
On the balcony, Leaf hung the jacket over the back of a chair and stood across from José, who was sitting with his hands behind his head, soaking in the breeze, waiting for the cue to leave.
Leaf lit a cigarette and leaned against the doorframe. Thanks to the cocaine, he no longer felt like he had been run over by a tank. He wasn’t afraid either. Mentally, he checked if he had enough supplies with him; they had to last at least until after the show.
“You look better. Got some color back in your face. How do you feel?”
Leaf glanced at José suspiciously out of the corner of his eye. A brief nod, almost just a twitch, was all he could manage. He knew it was only temporary. Still, he was in good spirits.
I’ll talk to Tristan.
“Alright, let’s go.” José rose and reached for his car keys. “How about we stop by Valerie’s?”
“Hmm …” Leaf had lost his appetite for days, but he knew he couldn’t perform on an empty stomach. So it was a necessary step.