Page 100 of Dark Room Junkie

“Listen,” Juri said, stepping closer. “I picked him up on Tuesday. He was out with some guys and already plastered. So I took him with me and made sure he could rest. He was in a terrible state and hasn’t been doing good since then, but you guys wanted him on stage tonight no matter what. Without drugs, it wouldn’t have worked out. So don’t come at me!”

Drugs?

Oh no, Noé.

In a split second, the hall lights and music went out. The audience crowded toward the stage, and it became a bit more comfortable at the bar.

“I’d say mission accomplished,” Juri added smugly as Chris and Marco took the stage.

“He’s not up there yet,” Tom retorted, his jaw clenched.

Lukas and Ramon emerged with their guitars, and the audience cheered. Once everyone was ready, Chris struck a chord, and like a storm, the band started. I stood there holding my breath, clutching my camera, and staring at the stage.

Where is he?

I glanced uncertainly at Tom. Judging by his grim expression, he was feeling the same way as I was. The band thundered into the Exil like a train, unstoppable like a bulldozer. My heart raced, and I wiped the sweat from my forehead.

And suddenly, he was on the stage.

The music made way for him, and with a distorted scream, he greeted the audience. People screamed with excitement and jumped up and down to the beat of the music. Noé whirled around and started singing.

I exhaled and breathed in shakily. Then I wiped my mouth and glanced briefly at Tom. Relief was written all over his face too, and I could see the tension leaving him. He shook his head, turned around, and waved to the woman behind the bar.

My gaze fell on this Juri, who never took his eyes off Noé and seemed as confident as any of us. At first glance, he had given me a more than gloomy impression, but now he radiated with joy and pride. It apparently wasn’t hard for him to enjoy the concert, so I tried to do the same. After all, I had to admit, the start was more than successful. And the audience was fully engaged with the next songs.

Noé put on a show that was no less impressive than the album release party. Like a predator stalking its prey, he prowled the stage, mesmerizing the audience with his performance. Until now, I wasn’t sure if he had even seen me. And I didn’t know if it was a good idea to take pictures of the band. As I looked at the camera, Tom appeared beside me, his hand on my arm. He shook his head, and I understood.

The longer I watched Noé, the more I realized he was pretty messed up. And with each song they finished, my trained eye saw the effects of the drugs wearing off, and it became increasingly difficult for him to maintain the facade of the charismatic frontman. I saw the exhaustion in his eyes, heard a sadness in his voice, and felt firsthand how much he was suffering. With all his might, he screamed out his anger, pushing his voice to its limits, yet the pressure within him seemed relentless.

As the concert neared its end, he withdrew more and more between songs, so Lukas announced the songs or introduced the band with Marco. Meanwhile, Noé stood in front of the drums, with his back to the audience, drinking from a white cup. The way he drank suggested that it wasn’t water.

Where there had been fear before the concert about whether he would even show up, now the question was rather whether he would last until the end. Although he was good at pretending, I could see through him when he realized that I had seen him, and behind his facade, everything was pitch dark.

“Guys!” Marco called into the microphone, and the audience cheered. “Are you in the mood for some feelings?”

The responses were clear, but then Noé turned to the bassist and said something to him. Marco frowned, looking puzzled at his bandmates. I knew which song Marco had just wanted to announce. It was the only ballad in their repertoire. But before Chris could strike the sticks together and count in for Lukas, Noé turned back to the audience and raised his cup as if to toast with the people.

“Fuck feelings!” he yelled and took a sip.

The audience followed suit. Marco looked puzzled at Chris, who shrugged helplessly.

“We’ll skip that song. What’s next?” Noé pushed his hair back, leaned on the microphone stand, and glanced at the setlist on the floor. “You can have it all.” With a circular hand gesture, he signaled to the band to start.

“Damn,” Tom groaned beside me.

Fuck feelings? Is he serious?But the longer I watched Noé, the clearer it became to me that he was completely messed up in that regard.

He put on a show like no other, engaged the audience, and let them witness his vulnerability, but then there were also these moments when he retreated into an impenetrable armor of icy coldness and rejection, pushing away even Marco when he got too close with his bass.

Every song they completed was a relief for me—and visibly also for the band. They were good. They delivered a pretty flawless show because the audience either didn’t notice that Noé’s inner struggle was real or simply ignored it. Perhaps it was precisely this tension that made the room boil.

I would have preferred to run away because I couldn’t bear to watch it any longer, but at the same time, Noé seemed like a magnet. Not only me, but the entire audience was wrapped around his finger with his demeanor. And it was precisely this power that threatened to tear him apart with each subsequent song.

Again and again, I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t. Because if it came to that point, I didn’t want to abandon him. I would have collected every splinter if it meant being even a little help to him.

The air was downright electrified as Marco announced the last song. Noé had become a ticking time bomb by now, which unfortunately only fueled the tension in the room even more. The audience craved more from him. They were so captivated by Noé that they did whatever he asked of them. In a trance, the crowd jumped up and down, barely manageable. When Lukas let the song fade out with his distorted guitar, cheers broke out, and people applauded wildly. But Noé didn’t seem to care anymore. He let the microphone drop to the ground and staggered through the door into the backstage area.

The band knew there would be no encore because they thanked the audience profusely and also left the stage. My pulse was going crazy, and I was only dominated by one single thought.

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