Page 86 of Dark Room Junkie

“Thanks.”

The guitarist patted me on the shoulder and approached his friends in the lounge. The other three were still on the stage, but when Tom saw me, he came over.

“Alex. Hello.”

“Hey,” I said, looking past him to the seven-feet-tall guy. “You have a new bassist?”

Tom shook his head, his dark curls swaying. “Dani is actually the replacement for next year, but since Noé...” He trailed off and waved to Claude.

“Where’s Noé?” I asked, concerned. “Is he okay?”

“I doubt it.”

“Why?”

Tom picked up his glass of water and took a sip. Then he looked at me with a scrutinizing gaze. “His mother died a week ago.”

“What?” It felt like someone had hit me over the head with a board. “But... His mother?” She couldn’t be that old yet; Noé was only twenty-three.

“She was a junkie,” Tom said softly. “And a pretty bad one at that. He was with me, and I helped him with some official matters. The funeral was yesterday, and since then, I haven’t heard from him. He somehow closed himself off completely.”

Tom’s voice was full of concern for his friend, and a fear spread within me that I couldn’t quite grasp. “Where is he?”

Tom shrugged helplessly. “I suppose at home. I don’t know. I can’t reach him anymore, so I had to call Dani at short notice.”

“Will you tell me where he lives?”

My heart pounded wildly in my chest again in anticipation, but Tom narrowed his eyes, regarding me with suspicion.

“I’m just worried about him,” I justified, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

“How are you? Heard you were in the hospital.”

“I’m getting better.”

“Chris mentioned something about a day clinic?”

I rolled my eyes. “So that got around. Great.”

“Not at all,” Tom said in a reassuring tone. “Only Noé, Marco, and I know about it. Noé felt guilty when he heard about it.”

“He ... no, he doesn’t have to.”

“He seems to have deeper feelings for you than he would admit to himself.”

At those words, warmth spread through my heart, and my nervousness subsided. “Some things have come up. Family stuff. Nasty story. And I couldn’t deal with it. The coke thing... I had that before,” I said, briefly showing Tom the scar on my forearm. “I didn’t develop an addiction, because I spiral out of control too quickly every time. I just want to forget and stop feeling crappy all the time.”

“You seem so composed on the outside, but you’re really not.”

“Unfortunately not.”

Tom’s face lit up with a nostalgic smile. “I lived on the streets for a while because I couldn’t stay away from drugs. I was 14 when I first shot up. And 19 when I went to prison.”

“You?” I said surprised.

“I turned it around. I was lucky enough to meet the right people. Just like Noé.”

“Where did you meet him?”

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