THE NIGHT is cold, but it isn’t as dark as I expected, and it’s easy enough to make my way to John’s place when I don’t think too much about it. My mind is occupied with warning him about what’s going to happen. Maybe if he doesn’t get involved with Sam, he’ll be okay. Maybe if he goes home, he’ll be okay. I wish I had asked Levi how John died exactly—that seems important information to have now. That might convince him. Of course unlike Levi, he has no reason not to believe me.
I’m standing in front of his door before I know it and deciding whether to knock or not. I don’t know if I’d like to know when I died but not the reason why.
But I’m already here. And I don’t have anywhere else to go.
I take a deep breath before I knock on the door. It opens when I touch it. I can hear voices and laughter coming from inside and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to invite myself in, but this is important. I don’t think it can wait.
“Hello?”
I say it a little more quietly than I intended to. No one acknowledges it.
“Fuck it,” I say under my breath. If facing John’s friends is what I need to do to make sure he doesn’t die when he’s all of thirty, then that’s what I’m going to do.
I start climbing the stairs, and take deep breaths to keep myself from having a panic attack. I pause on the last step, not really sure what to do. His flat smells like weed and alcohol, and I can see a cloud of smoke in front of me.
I guess there’s nothing to do but push forward now that I’m here.
I take the last step, inhaling as I do, and I clear my throat.
That does absolutely nothing.
I can count about a dozen people, all of whom are talking to one another and paying zero attention to me. I didn’t expect John to be having a party—he never really struck me as the party-throwing type—but now that he is, I really don’t know what to do. I could try to blend in, but I’m not really dressed for the occasion.
I walk into the room. Everyone is still ignoring me, which is okay, I don’t want John’s friends to spot me before he does.
He’s standing around talking to three people. I recognize him from the back, from his mohawk, from the way he’s standing. I walk up to him and put my hand on his shoulder.
He turns to look at me. His eyes widen. They’re still green and big and real.
“Damien,” he says. He’s slurring. “You’re here.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m here.”
He nods. “My friends,” he says. He doesn’t move at all so I can’t see them. “Damien.”
“I need to talk to you,” I say.
“No,” he says.
“No?”
“No,” he repeats. He puts his arm around me and kisses my cheek. I don’t really know how to react so I just stand there. “Stay here. Meet my friends. They’ll like you.”
For the first time since I got here, I notice that his friends are staring at me. They’re all looking right at me, right at us, not saying anything.
“Hi,” I say. Not one of them says a single thing. His arm is still around me and he’s balancing his weight on me. He’s not just drunk, though I’m not sure what he’s actually on. “Um, we work together.”
“Sometimes,” John says. “He’s seeing someone.”
One of his friends laughs. He has bleached-blond hair and prominent cheekbones. He could probably be a model, hell, he probably is a model.
“Fred,” he says. “These are Victor and Oscar.”
“Hi,” I say. I wonder if I should put my arm around John, who seems to be having a hard time keeping himself propped up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to crash your party. I just kind of need to talk to—”
“Shh,” John says. “Crash, pfft. You’re always welcome here. I should’ve invited you, but I didn’t know your number and I couldn’t find you in the phone book. What’s your last name?”
“Eldridge,” I reply. “I’m not in the phone book.”
He laughs. “Of course you’re not.”
“John,” I say quietly. “I really need to speak to you.”
Fred laughs. “He won’t remember. He’s off his face. Do you want a drink?”
I don’t want a drink. I want to drag John into his bedroom and tell him what’s going to happen. I want to warn him and hold him and help him sober up. I look at Fred.
“Is he okay?”
“He’ll be okay,” Fred replies. Victor and Oscar are still looking at me. “So, do you?”
I’m probably not going to be able to drag John to bed and with everyone here, I definitely can’t tell him what he’s going on. John leans his head on my shoulder and laughs.
“Yeah,” I say. “A drink sounds good.”
I SIT on John’s sofa and watch his friends mingle. John rests his head on my legs, seemingly fascinated by the back of his hand. I’m not touching him, not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t want to out him to his friends. Fred hands me a drink, and sits down next to me on the arm of the sofa.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
He nods and looks at John. “Is he always like that when he’s around you?”
I laugh, throwing my head back. “Nope,” I say. “Not even a little.”
“Oh,” he says. He takes a long drag from a cigarette he’s just lit. “I think he may have told me about you. I thought you were a girl, though.”
I swallow and look at John. His pupils are massive, almost completely covering up his green irises. “He talks about me?”
Fred shrugs. “I guess.”
We’re both quiet for a bit. I’m watching John, and Fred seems to be contemplating something.
I need to know what John’s on so I can know when to talk to him.
“What is he on?”
“Acid and cocaine,” he says. “I have a tab left if you want one.”
“An LSD tab?”
“Yeah,” he says. “No coke, though.”
“You’re high right now?”
He shrugs again. “I like acid. It makes me feel important. But cocaine isn’t my thing, and it kind of overpowers everything, so I’d rather not.”
“So you’re on acid?”
“Not if you want this tab,” he replies.
I shake my head. “No, thanks. I don’t really take psychedelics. Things are already weird enough for me.”
Fred nods. He stands up, walks to the floor and starts looking into a bag that’s propped against the legs of the coffee table. He takes out a lighter, a spoon, and a little ball of tinfoil.
I’ve seen this in movies but never in real life. I didn’t ever expect to. I don’t really want to see his friends shooting up, and I’m suddenly really grateful that John’s head is still moving around on my legs. He’s still looking at the back of his hands, his mouth kind of half-open in this weird expression, drooling all over my jeans.
“John,” Fred says. “Come here.”
I don’t even care about his friends knowing anything right now. I grab John’s hand. I know holding his hand won’t do anything, but I don’t want him to go to Fred right now. And if I can keep him from moving, I definitely will.
John’s eyes widen when I touch him. His hand moves back and he traces the outline of my hands with his palm. It’s a weird, clumsy movement, but it’s him, and he’s touching me, and he’s okay and safe and more interested in me than in Fred.
Who is staring at us.
“Sorry, mate,” I say, trying my best to sound apologetic. “He’s really out of it. I don’t think he’s getting off this sofa any time soon.”
Fred looks at me, his eyes narrow, and then he nods.