Page 58
Leaf clenched his fist and breathed in and out. The day with Tristan had been beautiful, but that didn’t change the fact that he had long been in withdrawal. “What do you got? I’m tapped out.”
“A little bit of everything, actually.”
Leaf scanned the table and spotted fresh syringes. “I’ll take those,” he said, exhaling smoke loudly.
“Are you sure? I mean … I can’t stop you. But do you think that’s wise?”
Leaf paused for a while, trying to weigh his options. Cocaine was the wrong choice. Besides, reason had already left him at the sight of the syringe, making room for the demon spreading through every fiber of his being and screaming for the white gold with all its might.
It didn’t take long before he drew the boiled heroin into the syringe, placed the needle against a protruding vein, and injected the substance into his bloodstream. He barely managed to put the syringe away before a warm wave enveloped him; gravity broke down, and he surrendered to a high he thought he had sworn off. A blinding surge of warmth seared through him, and every trace of tension drained from his body.
It was incredible how fresh and untainted the high felt. All the fear, pressure, and uncertainty dissolved, floating above him like white smoke. Dragon-like creatures emerged from the flames, rising and disappearing into the mist. Dreams were within reach, and he was ready to embrace them all with open arms, knowing they could no longer harm him.
“Oh fuck …” he moaned, letting his hazy gaze wander to the ceiling.
In the distance, he heard the doorbell, followed by Nathan, who shortly after climbed the stairs with heavy legs.
Leaf tried to keep his eyes open, but he was seized by warm currents. Finally, his body had stopped trembling. The feeling of well-being and security was too comforting. He never wanted to return. Maybe he should just stay here. Forever.
As he came to again and opened his eyes, he needed a moment to get used to the dim candlelight. His body felt heavy. Leaf laboriously dragged himself up and peered around groggily. Sitting next to him was a guy, probably around forty, who was snorting a line. Then he sat back upright, rubbed his nose, and looked at Leaf.
“Dude, you’re still alive.”
“That’s Daniel,” Nathan said, sitting in the armchair opposite, smoking a joint. “And these are Nick, April, and Diana.”
Leaf struggled to focus on the faces, so he nodded and reached for a cigarette with slow movements. The upper window behind him was open, and a fresh breeze blew in. The high lingered in Leaf’s body, making him feel like he was sitting in lukewarm water. Everything was decelerated, which he was grateful for. He lay back and watched the dancing shadows of the plant on the ceiling as Daniel lit a cigarette and responded to some comment from Nick that Leaf had missed.
“Aw, come on!” Daniel exclaimed. “We’ve long entered the new millennium, yet we still question what we can do. We understand everything about AIDS, homosexuality, abuse, and drugs. They’ve even banned smoking! The slow death isn’t fast enough anymore. The media perpetuates fear to keep us in line. Conspiracy theories have become the new terror. And on TV, it’s the same mundane content every day. No one aspires to be a rockstar anymore! No! Today, they crave fame, even if it’s only for 15 worthless minutes, for whatever reason. Ultimately, it’s all about paying—for everything! For melting ice, for air pollution, for everything! And the small window left for us is shrinking. We’re nothing more than pitiful, troubled creatures. Everyone is afraid. Everyone is terrified. We’re trapped in a cycle of waiting, resigned to indifference, and hoping for better days.”
Nathan took a drag from his joint and smiled, as Daniel intruded into Leaf’s field of view.
“You seem somehow familiar,” he said. “Are you a musician by any chance?”
Unperturbed, Leaf looked at the brown-haired surfer dude with the Billabong shirt and made an agreeing grunt. That’s all he could manage; it felt like the drugs in his system were fighting for his intestines.
“I wanted to be a rockstar too,” Daniel said. “My parents were totally against it. ‘You’re going to college, son! Law or medicine.’”
“You’ve been working at Starbucks for fifteen years,” Nathan interjected.
“That’s a decent job! It makes me happy.”
“Seriously?” Nathan asked.
Daniel didn’t respond, and Leaf didn’t care whether he blew his brains out with his finger or just nodded.
“It sounds like you’ve given up on music,” Nathan said.
“Oh, come on! Rock is dead.”
“Why should rock be dead?”
“It got pumped full of drugs and sold out to the industry.”
“Leaf won’t like hearing that.”
As Leaf opened his heavy eyelids, Nathan looked at him with concern. “Okay, Leaf, what drives you? Why do you still make music?”
“I can’t help it,” he muttered.
