Page 27

27

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Noé

“I’m not feeling well,” I typed to Chris with one hand. “Gonna have to skip today.”

That was the understatement of the year, but not even ten horses could drag me to band practice today. My head still throbbed from Steffan’s punch and my right hand felt numb. On top of that, I had an itchy throat and my stomach rebelled with cramps due to hunger. With the determination to eat everything, I sat in front of three slices of bread, butter, and honey.

Every calorie counts. Maybe I’ll feel a bit better afterward—at least physically .

As I struggled to reach for the knife, someone approached the table.

“Do you need help?” It was the woman from last night. She held a small plastic box in her hands and sat down on the chair next to me. “May I?”

I nodded and allowed her to take the knife from me and spread butter on the bread. As she smiled at me, I sank even deeper into myself and pushed away all thoughts of my wretched life.

“And now eat,” she said, then opened the box beside her. “I’ll bandage your hand. It looks pretty bad. Did you get into a fight?”

“Something like that,” I replied softly, taking the first slice of bread.

I ate slowly, assessing with every bite whether my stomach could handle it. Meanwhile, the woman examined my hand and asked me to make a few movements.

“It looks okay,” she said, retrieving a bandage out of the box. “Doesn’t seem to be broken. But you should rest your hand.” With a concerned look, she wrapped a supportive bandage around it. “Do you know where you can go today?”

Although I had no idea, I nodded. But I had a plan. I would arrange for a place to stay overnight. I still had a whole day to find a solution. Someone from my long list of flings would surely be happy to hear from me again.

Hopefully ...

“It’s your birthday today,” the woman whispered as if it were a secret. “I saw it on your ID yesterday.”

“That ...” My voice sounded too weak, so I cleared my throat. “That doesn’t change the situation.”

“I know. But maybe something will come up.”

I was too tired for hope. The past few days still felt like a hammer blow, and inside me, there was a gaping emptiness.

“Did you also get one in the eye? That looks ...”

She reached out to me, but I turned my head away. Everything became too much at once. My plate was empty, and this place would be closing in twenty minutes at most, so I stood up, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and backed away. “Thank you,” I said, holding up my bandaged hand. “For everything.”

“The door here is always open for you.”

Reluctantly, I managed a nod before making my escape. My heart was racing, and I was just glad to be able to leave the emergency shelter again. This night had done nothing good for my ego. Confusing dreams had repeatedly awakened me, and I felt miserable.

Trying to convince myself that choosing the shelter was the right thing to do didn’t help either. The sight of the people seeking refuge there almost made it impossible for me to consider my decision sensible. As arrogant as it might sound, I was far from ready to put myself on the same level as them. Yet, it was a painful realization that I had looked into a mirror that night, and it revealed where my life was heading.

I had indeed become the bottom of society, and the path had been meticulously laid out for me by my cursed mother. I kept trying to push these thoughts aside because they stirred up a shame in me that I couldn’t handle. They constantly rattled the bars of my locked-up vices. The urge for alcohol or drugs increased by the minute, and it wasn’t even noon yet.

I needed a dry and warm place, where I could look for a place to stay for the night in peace and later have something to eat. The three slices of bread won’t be enough for me.

With this in mind, I went back to Langstrasse, bought a cola from the kebab shop, and sat in the corner where I could see the TV. Some telenovela was playing, and tinny Turkish pop blared from the weak speakers. Serkan had known me long enough and had never turned me away. I immersed myself in my phone and was annoyed by the numerous messages I still hadn’t read. I even lacked the strength to face Juri, although he would probably have been my last resort. But he was staying with Romero, and I wasn’t that desperate yet.

Who am I kidding here?

I spent a night in the damn emergency shelter.

And yet everything in me resisted asking my closest friends for help. My mother’s death might evoke pity in them and completely destroy me.

All of a sudden, a message popped up from Chris. “How are you doing? ”

“Yeah, all good,” I texted, knowing it’s a lie. “Just caught a slight cold. It’ll be fine.”

I had mastered the art of pretending to everyone. I had learned from the best. From all the junkies who had come and gone in our lives for years. My luck was that despite the incident with Steffan, I still gave off a more or less flawless impression—apart from the shiner that was becoming visible. But I was freshly showered and no longer emitted the foul stench from my mother’s apartment. That helped me to maintain the facade a little longer.

Before noon, I sent out several messages to my acquaintances, hoping to secure a place to sleep. Then I pondered over my notebook and worked on my lyrics. It was the best way to distract myself. Once the lunchtime rush was over, I ordered a kebab. The replies gradually started trickling in, and they were far from encouraging. I knew that Tuesday was a crappy day to sort anything out, but ultimately it was probably the Christmas stress that was ruining my plans here. Not everyone had responded yet, so there was still hope, but the later it got, the more my hope dwindled.

My life was falling apart, but I couldn’t stop it. And my thoughts kept drifting back to Alex. I cursed the longing I felt for him and scolded myself for knowing better. Eventually, I would be sitting at the welfare office, and then they would probably force me to continue living in this apartment.

The nightmare!

I spent the whole day in the kebab shop, chatting a bit with Serkan, watching a few episodes of Turkish telenovelas, and trying to be optimistic. But outside, it was already dark again, people were now coming in for dinner, and I still hadn’t found a place to stay for the night.

I need to get out of here.

When I packed up my things, I spotted the benzos in my backpack. I could sell a few of them and get a room. I immediately dismissed the idea. That was not a long-term solution, but just for one night. With my mother’s death, my source, Romero, had dried up.

Completely absent-minded, I walked along Langstrasse like a ghost, with no idea where to go. Meanwhile, people were streaming into the bars or standing in groups on the street, smoking. I shivered and tried to control my fear.

Ever since I was a child, I feared the cold, waiting outside in the winter for my mother because she wouldn’t give me a key. It gnawed at me down to the bones, awakening a craving in me like I hadn’t felt in a long time. The monster pounded against the bars again, screaming for a fix. For alcohol or something else that would give me relief because the pressure was becoming unbearable.

Out of nowhere, someone grabbed me by the shoulder and a grinning face appeared beside me. “Noé! Nice to see you again?”

“Pascal,” I said, surprised. I hadn’t been able to message him because I didn’t have his number. He was nice and had given me his coat last year. Just that memory made it easy for me to smile at him. He was with two guys I didn’t know.

“We’re heading to the Olé-Olé-Bar. Wanna come?”

“I’m short on cash.”

“Oh, really? Come on, I’ll treat you. Just got my bonus.” He put his arm around my shoulders and pointed to his two colleagues. “These are Liam and Anton. We work together.”

“Hi!” Liam said, and Anton just nodded at me as he lit a cigarette.

Me and three investment bankers. Wonder how this’ll turn out?

But Pascal was okay. I’d crashed at his place a few times last winter and knew what he was about. But just thinking about it made my stomach knot up.

Maybe we’ll skip the sex tonight, I told myself, and my body relaxed again. Maybe I could crash at his place without anything happening.

You’re not that naive.

The bar was buzzing, probably because of the upcoming holidays. It was packed, and we squeezed into a recently vacated standing table.

“What are you drinking?” Pascal asked, close to my ear.

The craving inside me screamed, and I suppressed it. “Water.”

“What?” Pascal cast a puzzled glance in my direction and grimaced. Then he walked to the bar with Anton, leaving me alone with Liam.

I forced a smile and was glad when the blond banker asked how I knew Pascal. I was good at small talk, and I started to loosen up a bit. Liam didn’t seem like a stuck-up snob, and I felt more at ease.

While in the midst of talking, Pascal appeared and handed me a glass. “Here!” He clinked his glass against mine so hard it almost fell out of my hand.

I eyed the caramel-colored liquid suspiciously. “That’s not water.”

“Oh, come on! Nobody drinks water here! You can get that for free in the bathroom.”

The monster inside me cheered, and reason froze with fear. I brought the glass to my nose and smelled the whiskey.

Dammit. Is this fate?

“Cheers!” Pascal exclaimed.

Yeah, my life was sinking like a broken ship. And I knew that if I drank that, it would end up in an endless whirlpool. But at least my life would somehow be bearable.

So I drank.

Fireworks exploded inside me. The fluids raced through my veins like gold, and the spirits of life danced. My body had longed for this, and now, with just one sip, the world seemed right again and everything would be okay.

It wasn’t the last glass I drank, and with each one, I distanced myself more from the crap I was actually in. Even when Pascal told me they were staying until closing time, and heading straight to the airport, I didn’t mind being left without a bed. I got wasted and justified it by saying it was my birthday today. For a brief moment, the world was back in order, and I didn’t want to lose that.

Pascal told me about his work and gave me his number. “Hit me up if you need anything,” he said with a wink. I nodded, my gaze wandering to Liam and Anton. Did they know what Pascal usually got up to?

“Bro!” someone called out and slapped me on the shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

It took me a moment for my blurred vision to clear, and I recognized the person standing next to me.

“Juri-Rock,” I said with a heavy tongue. “Hey.”

Juri introduced himself to the others and turned back to me. “Celebrating your birthday here, huh?”

Internally, I facepalmed. The only person who knew about it was blabbing it to everyone. This day wasn’t that important to me. But using it as an excuse came in handy, of course.

“It’s your birthday today?” Pascal asked, surprised, raising his eyebrows almost accusingly.

“Well,” Juri interjected, glancing at one of the hundred clocks hanging above us. “Yesterday.”

“Then I’ll buy another round!” Pascal exclaimed. “Come on, join us!”

Juri was with a blond guy around the same age whom I didn’t know. Judging by his sour expression, he wasn’t thrilled about joining our group, but Juri insisted they toast with us for a moment. Pascal bought a round of tequila, and Juri offered a shot to his companion too. We toasted and drank.

“I’ll be right over there at the bar, Stoney,” Juri said right next to my ear.

The concern in his voice was unmistakable. I nodded gratefully. Just his presence calmed me down. Knowing he was there made everything bearable.

It was around two in the morning when someone unexpectedly approached me from the side. This time, however, the situation quickly turned unpleasant. The man yanked me out of the bar by the collar and pressed me against the wall outside.

“What?” I wasn’t capable of much more, already drunk as I was.

“You sold me expired benzos!” the guy yelled.

I felt his spit on my face and turned my head away. “What’s that got to do with me?” I mumbled, trying to free myself from him.

But the guy held onto me tightly and even shoved his forearm against my throat. “I want my money back.”

“No refunds,” I slurred. “Anyone could come up with that excuse.”

“You think you can scam me here!” the guy shouted, then swung and landed a right hook on me.

Shit! My head snapped to the side and I collapsed. When no more blows came, I cautiously looked up. It wasn’t much of a surprise to see Juri beating the guy up. He had never shied away from a fight.

“Are you okay?” Pascal asked, helping me up.

I nodded and touched my split lip. But I was too far gone to feel any pain. Staggering, I leaned back against the wall and tucked the loose strands behind my ear.

“You should get some sleep,” Pascal said kindly.

I wanted to ask, “Where?” but lacked the strength to say it out loud.

At least my silence made Juri alert. He kicked the attacker in the stomach one more time and left him lying. “I’ll take care of Noé,” he said to Pascal. “Can you bring me his backpack?”

“Sure.”

As soon as Pascal disappeared inside, Juri approached. “I told you, hit me up if you need anything. Seems like you have amnesia.”

“You said you were with Romero.”

“So what? It’s better than what you’ve got.”

“What about your guy?” I slurred, knowing his companion had overheard everything and stood there with a questioning look the whole time.

“Sorry, but I have to take him home,” Juri said to the blond guy.

“You’re just leaving me here? We had ...” The poor guy was completely taken aback.

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

Pascal returned with my backpack, which Juri immediately took. I didn’t pay attention anymore, just raised my hand in a greeting and started walking. Unfortunately, I almost tripped over my own feet, so Juri took my arm over his shoulder and made sure I didn’t fall.

“I don’t want to go to Romero’s,” I murmured close to his neck. “He was my mother’s dealer.”

“Where then? Home?”

I almost collapsed again.

“Come on, Stoney,” he said, guiding me into an alley. “I just want to help you. And as messed up as you look, you could use all the help you can get.”

As much as I tried to focus on something else, on Juri’s scent or the soft fabric of his knee-length coat, a heavy sadness overwhelmed me. “My mother is dead,” I whispered.

Juri stopped and searched my gaze. “I know, Bro. I’m sorry.” Then he hugged me, put his hand on my head, and held me for a while. I leaned on his shoulder and wondered why I still hadn’t cried since that night when they carried the body out of the apartment. There was a tight knot in my chest, but even now, completely wasted, the tears didn’t come.

Eventually, we arrived at Romero’s Erotic World. After spending so many hours there as a kid, it hadn’t been my intention to ever step foot in this house again. With Juri’s help, I struggled up the stairs to the fourth floor. When we finally arrived, Romero was already waiting for us, holding the key in his hand. He also lived here, and the way he stood indicated he had heard us and was waiting for us.

“What’s going on here?” he asked suspiciously as Juri leaned me against the wall next to the door and pulled out the key.

“Hey, Romero,” I slurred.

“He’s completely wasted,” Romero said, coming closer and lifting my chin. “What have you done to him?”

“Nothing,” Juri replied calmly.

“Did you beat up Guapo?”

“No.”

“And what’s he doing here?”

“He just needs a bed to crash.”

Romero narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “No.”

“What?” Juri turned around.

“I know how this works, kid! Guapo moves in and won’t leave anytime soon. But this isn’t a shelter. A bed in this house costs money.”

“You’re impossible, Romero!” Juri exclaimed. “Just look at him! Does he look like he can pay rent? If anything, you owe him! You were the one supplying Dana with the stuff.”

“Are you serious?” Romero snapped back. “I only gave her the good stuff! You know that better than anyone!”

I barely registered what was happening, but when my knees gave out, it was Romero who caught me in time and prevented me from tumbling down the stairs. I clung to him and grimaced in pain; I had completely forgotten about my injured hand.

“Sorry, Guapo,” Romero said, his voice suddenly dripping with compassion. “But I can’t let you stay here for free. That kind of thing spreads, and it’s not good.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“He’ll pay eventually,” Juri interjected.

“If you don’t have money, you can pay me another way,” Romero said with a suggestive smile, then even wiggled his eyebrows.

“No, I’m not gonna screw you, and I’m not gonna let you screw me. I don’t do that kind of thing.”

“Oh, Guapo, we both know you’re not a saint. And we both know what you do.”

“But I don’t do it for money.”

“No, you do it for a warm bed. Isn’t that right? Your false pride is out of place here.”

Juri groaned and pulled out his wallet. “How much do you want? Here! A hundred should be enough for now. And now leave us alone, Romero.”

The Venezuelan raised an eyebrow and pocketed the money. “Rest well, Guapo,” he said in a sing-song voice and disappeared into his apartment.

“Come on.”

Juri opened the door and brought me inside.