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He gulped down air as if it were at least Class A alcohol. As if it were a drop of whisky after dinner. Which burns his throat harder with every second. Which will be the cause of tomorrow's hangover. Which, probably, will be his death . Which will lead him in polished shoes to the coffin and place him in the free embrace of the clouds, so that he will never experience worries or failures. But before that happens, he will go through hell , fighting for the next breath. As if he still wanted to live. As if he ever cared .
He felt anxiety growing inside him since the morning. It lived inside him, being a little monster ー he imagined him like all the terrors in his childhood, the monster faces shown in fairy tales, with pointed noses, unshaven faces and greasy hair. The villain archetype. Sometimes it lived in the heart, sometimes in the head, sometimes in the lungs or in the liver. Sometimes in his eyes, stomach, intestines. It controlled the nervous system and paralyzed.
He lay on his back on the couch and tried to calm his racing breathing. He felt completely shallow. As if he were floating on water, not even feeling his own body. It didn't exist . He was only his head.
“Have you tampered with the cables?” Jure entered the room, but he got hit in the face with deafness. Bojan was constantly dreaming sleeplessly.
“What?”
He answered after a while. He didn’t even hear the drummer's questions, which tried to break through his metal facade.
“God, Bojan, don’t scare me like that! You looked possessed. Kris can’t find his amplifier cable, unfortunately Jan has different input. Shit, I told him, “always have one for a rainy day”, but no one listened to me, because why would they?... Have you seen it? It's the kickass neon red one.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck.”
“Awesome, live in your own, damn, world! If you start to care about anything, please go downstairs and visit your friends who, unlike you, are trying to do something useful.” Jure said.
It wasn't supposed to sound like that. It's a fact that he wanted to reprimand Bojan for his "laziness", but it was supposed to remain a joke. However, like a monster, it freed itself from shackles, turning into envy.
“Get the fuck out of here to do your productive things, in that case.”
He wanted to SCREAM. Shatter something. Glass which would splash nicely on the floor, creating a beautiful, quite abstract, stained glass. A mosaic of burnt sand and blood.
Bojan’s demons were with him again and he couldn't face them. Just to say hello to them, a piece of cake, to exchange a few words, to be just a welcoming committee that checks the condition of the neighborhood from time to time, but they required serious bonding. Scout knot.
He was never a scout, summer camps were too expensive; instead of buying a uniform, his parents paid for his first acoustic guitar.
Hopefully, there was someone nearby who was carefully ironing all the badges.
“Bojan didn’t see anything, didn’t hear anything, he generally didn't give a shit. We can surely disband ourselves, let’s turn Joker Out into One Direction and promise a comeback, but obviously our little singer would fulfill his suicidal tendencies before that happens.”
Everyone was sarcastic. Everyone had had enough. The concerts were exhausting, the amount of beer was unbearable, the notes didn't want to stick together, and Bojan was probably dying. Although, it must be admitted, this is material for a great new single about mental suffering.
“Screw it, I’m going to bed.” Kris announced, bags under his eyes revealed sleepless nights. He stayed up late again playing solitaire, because it was the only activity that allowed him to rest from the thoughts swirling madly in his head.
“I need some caffeine.” said Jan, reaching for a now cold cup of espresso. Just a moment and he would have poured it over his stupid head. Everyone knew he would reach for another one soon. And another one. And then he'll digest them, accompanied by a cigarette. A five-star rocker's meal.
“YOUUU CANNNN SUCKKK MYYY DIIIICK!” Jure shouted, beating his drums. He almost broke the chopsticks, but that doesn't matter. With the amount of wood he used, he could already build a cabin in the forest, preferably on the other side of Europe, somewhere in freezing Iceland, where he could finally hug bears and go crazy as much as he wanted. He would give them the best hugs, because deep inside he was so tragically lonely that it was the only thing keeping him afloat. Barely, but kept.
In the middle of it all stood Nace. He still didn't take the bass off his lap but moved the tuners, tuning and untuning the bass again. Again. And again.
Sometimes they had days like that, though they were happening more and more often lately. Mostly, Joker Out’s life was pure fun, and they were each other's best friends ‘til death or anything that’s after, but there were nights when each of them hated themselves individually, and together they were a mixture that could have been more like a goulash in the school cafeteria, made from the whole week's leftovers, than the vegetable soup Jure's mother made after concerts in Ljubljana.
It was completely normal, although Nace, in a fatherly way, would like everyone to immediately make up. Or at least feel better. At least a little. All sweetness and light, what a man!
“Get, the fuck, out of here” that was funny. Bojan could recognize each one only by their footsteps. He still lay there with his face pressed into the pillow. Maybe it'd strangle him if he tried hard enough.
“I’ll open a window at least, so you won’t feel stuffy.”
“I do not need your help.”
He turned his ass towards him and sighed deeply. He wanted to rip out all the hair from his head, if only the physical pain would dissolve his thoughts. Scratch out his eyes, if only his body would occupy itself with something other than the constant pressure on his psyche. A fucking hamster on a wheel, which fueled all the bad thoughts in his brain.
“Bojan...”
His name was welcomed in Nace’s mouth. But burning. Not as an anchor that might hold him up as he sank, but at least as a thermal suit that would keep him warm for a short while.
“I said, get the fuck out of here.”
“Could you stop swearing for a while? I understand, you feel like shit, but you behave as a little child whose heard the word “fuck” for the first time.”
“You are not my father.” he spat venom at him.
He wanted to be left alone. He wanted to float alone on that fucking door in the middle of the ocean because he knew it wouldn't hold two people. He knew if he let anyone in, they'd both drown. It wasn't the nicest place in the world, well, he'd rather be somewhere else, but it was the only reality he knew.
If only he could have foreseen that he would not have to take anyone with him on that miserable piece of wood. Someone else would come in a boat to rescue him.
“ Bebo.” touched his arm. This nickname, sweet as honey in the mouth, momentarily threw Bojan off guard. It was a pity that it quickly became sour. The bitter taste ruined everything. Grapefruits look exactly like oranges from the outside.
Znaj, bebo, znaj. Celu noć sam plakao zbog tebe.
“Don’t touch me! You moterfucker!” he quickly broke away and moved to the other end of the couch. “I want to be alone! Alone! Aloooonee! Alone ...”
The scream tore at the lungs. And the hearts.
Nace knelt down.
“Bojan, please, let me help you. We talked about this before, you can't lock yourself away because it will only get worse. If you don't want to talk, that's fine, I'll stay here with you in silence, even on the other side of the room. I won't touch you if you don't want me to. I won't do anything against you. But let me stay here, I beg you. As much time as you need. We don't have to do any rehearsal today, we don't have to do anything sensible if you don't want to. We can have the day off. Please, I just want to know that you're safe here. That you’re not hurting yourself anymore .”
Nace's eyes saw pain.
He saw that Bojan was SUFFERING.
He just wanted to help him. Just soothe him.
Nothing more.
Nothing more.
“Look at me.”
“You don't understand anything. You don't understand anything!”
“I want to understand you. I want you to let me understand you so much. So that you know that I'm here for you, no matter what. You can push me away as much as you want, you can be rude and rebellious, but I'll always be there, Bojč, because I care about you.”
Bojan was paranoid and staring into Nace’s eyes. He looked like a drug addict in rehab who needed a shot right away. Something to make him forget. Something that would later make him feel worse, but at least for a moment he would be calm. Just give me five minutes in heaven and I promise I will be ready to live through the entire universe in hell.
“You are falling apart and I can see it. I can see that you can't cope, that the situation is awful, that you're fed up with your body and your mind. I can see that you are suffering, Bebo, and it hurts me that I can't help you.”
Bojan was silent. After a few minutes, he began to cry.
It was a real sobbing. Heartbreaking. He began to shake, unable to stay still.
He just wanted peace. Was he asking for so much?
He wanted to scream. Not so much as to shatter a glass, but so much as to make the entire earth split beneath him and the ocean become his new mother. Scream so much as to feel nothing. Scream so much as to cause his body pain. Scream so much as to break his jaw. He was pissed off. He was unreal. He was there and gone, and nothing could bring him back. He couldn't be glued back together, he was ripped apart to the smallest seam.
Every bone in his body ached. He couldn't even hear his own breathing anymore, but he knew it was wheezing. His lungs were convulsing in rhythm with his plea for freedom. Was this a panic attack? Was this enough of a sign that he couldn't cope? What else could he do to finally break free?
This poor couch was TOO much like a coffin.
Suddenly, silence.
Nace's arms wrapped tightly around him, so that he felt nothing but them. They grounded him. They gave him a home he had never had in his life, one that even thinking about was completely ungodly. And hopeless.
He began to cry even harder, if that was even possible, until he felt no tears. He had nothing inside him, he was empty, like a plastic toy with no interior, making that funny sound when it fell to the floor.
He didn't even hear Nace humming to him. It was one of the more well-known lullabies, the one for babies, the one you used when you were screaming at the top of your lungs. It had a surprisingly similar feel to Der Erlkönig , so it should inspire more terror than peace, but somehow it worked. It was like warm milk.
“Nace...”
“Hmmm?”
“ Nace...? ”
Was he whining? He didn't know. The bassist's name was the only thing he could grasp. He couldn't remember anything else. Nothing more than his name. It was the last thing he had left after the internal apocalypse. So this is what the end of the world looks like? The last name that comes to your mind and nothing more, because nothing else exists anymore, your life will never be the same, and everything you know has dissolved with the hope of a better tomorrow. But at least you have that one name left. You don't even know who it belongs to, if you know this person, but it's the best thing that could have happened to you.
He knew that if the world ended, Nace would be there for him. Even if Bojan didn't want it, even if he would have braced himself with his hands and feet, Nace would be there for him in his, their, last moments, because his heart was made of pure gold. Because his heart functioned so that the singer's head wouldn't have to. Because his heart beat when Bojan's couldn't. And when he couldn't breathe, Nace would not only be his lungs, but he would also help him get his own lungs back so he could get back on his feet.
“Yes?”
Just put your lips on mine. Put your lips on mine. Put. Your. Lips. On. Mine.
He didn't answer. He didn't even want to speak. Besides, it wouldn't have made any sense anyway.
“Do you want to go to bed?”
A quiet murmur of approval. Bojan wanted to get up, but he was immediately lifted and HOLD in the bassist's arms. He wrapped him in his limp limbs, and Nace carried him down the stairs, as if no one could hurt him in his arms. Even if they were against every person, Nace would protect him until the end of their shared universe. And one more day , just to be sure, so that he wouldn't fall apart completely.
He landed on something soft. For a moment he couldn't feel anything around him, and then he felt everything. All the absence. He searched for the arm next to him, as if he were completely blind.
“Nacko?”
“Shh, shhhh... Everything's okay.”
“Am I a bad person ?”
He felt stupid. Not helpless, not frustrated with himself, not pathetic, not even sad. Just stupid. Like he wasn't a grown man and couldn't handle his own adult problems, which everyone had.
“Of course you're not . You can't think of yourself like that. You're wonderful, you're valuable. I'm so glad I met you, you don't even know how much. You're not bad. You're just hurt.” Nace started drawing small patterns on the singer's arm.
Bojan wanted to sink into the ground, knowing that he needed another person to calm his racing heart.
He dug his nails into his arm.
“Boki...”
He remembered Nace pressing him against the steamy shower wall and at that moment he wanted to puke. He could feel all the traces on his skin, that pleasant pain, being outside his own head. Just a few days ago they had fucked like crazy, if they weren't friends - they would never meet again, and even if they were, Bojan would make sure that he didn't linger on his "lover" for longer than necessary. He didn't want to be obsessive, but the same person whose dick he had inside him a few days ago was now acting as if he was the most precious thing in his life. After he had a nervous breakdown. Constantly in a state of panic attacks that could have killed him.
Fuck. Nace shouldn't be taking care of him. Nace should have scolded him for wanting too much attention, especially a few days ago, when he could have gotten on his knees for him and given him the best blowjob of his miserable existence. Nace should have been sick of him, should have... should have told him, like everyone else who had tried to get Bojan before, that he's too much to handle.
Bojan simply felt dirty, that he tried to soothe his mental problems with sex. Instead of going to therapy, he preferred to wait until he exploded. And only detuned for a second, precisely when he was held by the bassist. Instead of inner peace, he preferred to get a momentary shot of dopamine. That instead of curing the problem, he silenced it only for a moment, only to return with double the force. That once, when it was similar, he tried every kind of drug he could get in Slovenia, because instead of feeling everything, he wanted to feel nothing in the end. And he didn't even realize that the white powders were detuning him even more, that they were the reason he was sinking into this swamp. But why did it all come back, when he had been clean for a long time?
He would never achieve complete silence. “Zen” would never be his, nirvana was just a blind deception through a life of torment. But if he was going to die, please let Nace be his death.
Jordan ran his hand through the singer’s sweaty hair.
“I think we’ll have something warm to drink. And eat.”
Nace wanted to get up, but was immediately pinned to the wall by disarming brown eyes. How could he leave him like this? How could he leave for even a second and let Bojan fall apart?
– I'll text Jan, Kris and Jure are probably already dozing off...
Nacko
Would you be so kind as to make two cups of tea?
Bojan almost died
I meannn
He had a really bad panic attack and I don't want to leave him alone
Bring some chocolate pls, it's in the cabinet above the counter
Thanks
Janči
no problem, mr. Loverman
give me a second
Nacko
Also, pick the mug with Moomins, he needs his comfort thing
I left it washed near the sink
:)
Lamp, carpet, window, door, abandoned shoes by the door frame. Pillowcases were soft under his hands. The bedding was pleasantly cool and pleasant to the touch. Nace's arm. His own legs, which refused to obey him. The sheet smelled of cheap washing powder and wet hair. As usual, Nace sprayed himself with his favorite musky cologne, and also used that nice cream deodorant. Jan would bring a stunningly sweet tea in a moment, because everyone knew that Bojan is used to a lot of sugar, even when he drinks the fruity ones. Because of that, they thought he was a child.
Everything would be fine. The lungs were starting to be part of the whole body, not just a miserable shell. The heart was pumping blood in a steady rhythm.
A knock on the door.
Jordan stood up, and in a moment he was holding two cups of tea, a plate with three strips of hazelnut chocolate, and the rest of the vanilla biscuits.
Bojan lunged at the food like an animal.
“Calm down, or you'll choke.”
He didn't even realize how hungry he was. When was the last time he ate something? Jan and Jure invited him to a Japanese restaurant two days ago... but he turned them down because he had a terrible migraine and could only take painkillers. Yesterday he grabbed some salad that Kris left in the fridge, right? Or was it today? He was definitely at a burger place last week... And what day is it today? How long has it really been since "last week"?
It all tasted like paper. At least it was familiar enough, flat enough, tasteless enough that he wouldn't throw up from it.
His condition was starting to improve imperceptibly. A blush was creeping onto his cheeks.
He's all right now. He'll manage, because he's always managed. He's learned the mechanisms that have protected him. So why did he need help? Why did he feel so weak? Couldn't he just hide in his shelter and survive . Even though the house built of cardboard is slowly falling apart, and someone recently broke all the windows in it. If only there was a place for him built of brick... Of bronze. Where's his exegi monumentum ?
“Will you stay?”
“What do you mean?” the bassist looked at him searchingly, his eyes dim behind his glasses. God, he loved it when Nace wore glasses, he looked so much like home in them.
“I... don't know. Will you stay here with me? Tonight... Tonight. I know you were supposed to go to your apartment, but...”
“I'll stay.”
His smile was worth more than the entire galaxy.
“I don't want to be alone.” he was always so scared of darkness.
“You don't have to, you know you don't. You never have to be alone, especially when you're hurt. Promise me you'll let me help you, that I can help you , please. I don't want anything else.”
“Thank you.”
“You don't have to thank me for anything.”
“I'm so happy to have you. Fuck. So happy.”
Everything else can melt away.
Bojan reached for the tea, and its pleasant warmth protected his hands like a woolen blanket.
“Be careful not to burn yourself.”
This remark was too fatherly, like a jab, almost like a reminder to Bojan that he was helpless. But coming from Nace, it meant no more and no less than the usual “I love you,” which was even better than the traditional one. Before Cvjetićanin was saturated, he had seen them everywhere, but all these peculiar forms coming out of Nace’s mouth sounded different, sweeter, and contained more feeling.
Is this what love looks like?
EXTRA
Super shagadelic rokenrol stars
Jurček
Guys...
Janči
Jure Motherfucking Maček...
What did you do
Jurček
Is Bojan online?
Nacko
He’s sleeping rn
Jurček
LIKE, I BROKE HIS FAV MUG
CORPSE ARE ON KITCHEN FLOOR
I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO
Krisko Pisko
shit, i wouldn’t like to be in your shoes
may the Mother of God protect you from all the evil that will come your way
in the near future, the earth will open up under your feet and the 4 horsemen of the apocalypse will appear
Nace
Be a responsible adult
Jurček
I’M SORRY IT WAS AN ACCIDENT
I WILL BUY HIM 10 OTHER MUGS IF I NEED TO
Janči
that was a gift from Jere
from fucking Finland
LIMITED EDITION
Krisko Pisko
know that i loved you, Jure
you were like a brother to me
my father was very fond of you too
you were always such a good man
Jurček
I WILL BE FUCKING DEAD TOMORROW
Nacko
Wait...
This mug is still on night stand
I didn’t take it out
Jurček
SHIT
IT’S POSSIBLE THAT IN A HEATED MOMENT I MISTOOK MOOMINS WITH SMURFS
...
Yes, it’s smurfs
Srry for confusion :)
Krisko Pisko
HOW COULD YOU MISTOOK MOOMINS WITH SMURFS?
Jurček
I’M GONNA BE ALIVE
How wonderful
Janči
so are you telling me that you BROKE MY FAVOURITE MUG?!?!????
Jurček
OOPS
Nacko
I will buy you pretty grave candle
2 hours later
Boki superstar
It’s a good idea to put on kitchen’s door sign with “do not enter if you are Jure”