From the beginning E-Book

Elias J. Connor

• Herausgeber: FINN Books Edition FireFly
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

He is 18 when he meets Noemi, who is the same age. Everything is blooming, full of roses, and he is happy to have found true love. Noemi stays with Leon through thick and thin. They do a lot, are often together and have many common interests. It's not important to him that he's a boy from a good family and Noemi comes from the prefabricated housing estate on the outskirts of town. And it doesn't seem unusual to him that Noemi doesn't want him to visit her there. But when he tries to surprise her one evening, he discovers her dark secret: not only is she overwhelmed with raising her younger sister Cassandra, she is also a member of a gang that takes drugs. Faster than he can think, Leon finds himself in the middle of a drug swamp and becomes an addicted drug dealer himself in his attempt to free Noemi from it... A gripping, oppressive thriller set in the drug world that tells the story of a desperate young man who goes through hell for the love of his life.

Leseprobe

Elias J. Connor

From the beginning

Inhaltsverzeichnis

Dedication

Chapter 1 - Voices in the distance

Chapter 2 - Neon lights

Chapter 3 - Who are you?

Chapter 4 - The end of the rainbow

Chapter 5 - Dispute with parents

Chapter 6 - The secret visit

Chapter 7 - I want to dance

Chapter 8 - Noemi's little sister

Chapter 9 - Those pleading eyes

Chapter 10 - Sniper

Chapter 11 - The flap of the butterfly's wings

Chapter 12 - Me too

Chapter 13 - In other worlds

Chapter 14 - In hell

Chapter 15 - Alone at night

Chapter 16 - Clean

Chapter 17 - Like holidays

Chapter 18 - Night and fog

Chapter 19 - Back in hell

Chapter 20 - Looking for Noemi

Chapter 21 - In his hand

Chapter 22 - With love, Leon

About the author Elias J. Connor

Impressum

Dedication

For Jana.

My companion and loyal soul.

Thank you for existing.

Chapter 1 - Voices in the distance

I'm sitting on the chair and I'm pretty nervous. Of course I wouldn't say it at home, that much is clear. My parents have a lot of integrity. Everything has to be right, everything has to be in the right place. Life must proceed in an orderly manner. I just don't feel like the trouble that could come my way.

Well, but I've been unexcused for a week. And I could have imagined that this wouldn't go unnoticed by my boss. Now I'm sitting here in this chair waiting for him to walk in the door and give me my disciplinary action.

The job isn't actually that bad. I've been doing community service here in the nursing home for three months, and the people here are actually pretty cool. Some of them don't even look like they're 70 or 80 years old. They are so full of joy of life. You don't feel pushed out at all. Yes, some of them really blossom here. I often think to myself, man, when I get that old, I want to be as full of joy for life.

But I was kind of on the go last week and didn't have time to work. I didn't come out in the morning. And then at lunchtime I forgot to call. Maybe intentionally, I don't know for sure. When I thought about it again in the evening, I was already hanging out in the pub or disco again. I like to have a drink every now and then. Not too much, but maybe ten or twelve glasses. At 18 years old, I can too. But last week I probably overdid it a bit and now I'm in disciplinary proceedings.

I just take out the bottle of water from my bag to put out the fire that I still have from the night before. Then Mr. Schrödel comes in.

“Hello, Leon, how are you?” he asks very politely. You almost can't understand him behind his bushy beard. If you wanted to describe him, the character of Catweasel would probably come closest to him.

“Yes, it works,” I answer.

“Well, then let’s take your personal details,” he begins.

I am annoyed. I let out a loud breath and glare at Mr. Schrödel.

“You know my personal details,” I say. “You referred me to the department three months ago, I was here in your office for the initial interview.”

Mr. Schrödel acts as if he hadn't heard me at all.

“Name?” he asks.

“Leon,” I say annoyed.

“The full name.”

“Leon Ludwig,” I answer.

“Address?” he wants to know.

He knows them too, but he still asks me.

“Villa Kunterbunt 7003,” I whisper.

“Again, please, I didn’t understand you.”

I let out a loud sigh.

“Hahnenweg 7 in Düsseldorf,” I then answer.

“Well, Leon, you know why you’re here today?”

I nod silently.

“You haven’t shown up at your office since Tuesday last week. “Three weeks ago you had already missed a day at the nursing home without an excuse, and now you haven’t even reported there in the last week.”

“You know, I can say in my defense that I was actually intended for a job in the office of the Federal Office for…” I begin, but am then interrupted by Mr. Schrödel.

“Community service is a very serious matter that should be taken seriously today, at the end of the first decade of the new millennium, simply because it could soon be eliminated. And then people like those you look after are even more dependent on people like you. You can no longer afford such a lapse. Anyone who does a voluntary year is an important part of our society.”

“But that also means that people like me can still be replaced today,” I interject.

“Do you really want to risk your job?” asks Mr. Schrödel. “Do you know what the penalty is for non-compliance with the guidelines? If we were in the Bundeswehr – which, by the way, is soon to be converted into a professional army – that would be tantamount to desertion.”

I let out an annoyed sigh. “For God’s sake, then tell me what you expect from me.”

“I expect you to be aware of the possible consequences in the future if something like this happens again. I expect that you will no longer be absent without excuse and that you will provide a medical certificate for each absence. You will apologize in writing to me, to the home management and separately to the Federal Office. Understood?"

Is that supposed to be all? Write a letter, or several on my own, saying: I was a naughty, bad boy? That should be possible.

“Was that it?” I want to know.

“For now, yes.”

In the middle of the conversation, Mr. Schrödel unpacks a banana and begins to peel it.

“And I advise you to cut out the alcohol. I smell that you drank yesterday.”

“It won’t happen again,” I then give in, hoping that this stupid disciplinary procedure will soon be over. I get up to leave when Mr. Schrödel turns to me again and looks at me with serious eyes from his executive chair. “I will inform your parents,” he then says.

Such bloody rubbish. Now I've really got the shit going. I was hoping they wouldn't find out. But now he's going to call them, and I don't even want to think about what would happen to me at home. It would really be better not to show up there today, I think to myself. My goodness, I'm 18. I can do whatever I want. So for me that means going to the nearest bar and drinking two or three Alt. Maybe a little more.

It's evening now, it must be around ten o'clock. I sit here in the bar and don't talk most of the time. I'm dozing with my beer. I'm free tomorrow anyway... I am, right? It's Saturday tomorrow, isn't it? I'm already so foggy that I don't know exactly what day it is. But I'm actually not interested in that at all.

I can't remember what music was playing when I saw those eyes for the first time. I can't remember what the guy next to me says when she comes in. I just hear him say something, but his words are completely drowned out by my heartbeat. I actually don't see what's happening around me anymore. But then this girl suddenly sits down next to me. When I look over at her I see this purple dress she's wearing. I look into her eyes and without saying anything, I pull the top sleeve of this dress.

"Hey," she makes nervous.

“Sorry,” I say, hoping she doesn’t notice I already have one in my tea. “Is that silk?”

“I have to,” says the girl. “If that’s what it feels like.”

“Yes, it does,” I indicate. I don't know what she ordered anymore. But I then tell the waiter to write her drink on me.

She looks at me.

“Do you think I need to be invited?” she asks. "Do I look like that?"

I snort. It wasn't planned that way. Actually, it wasn't planned at all. But I can't get her out of my head from the first second. I decide to simply ignore their objections.

“There’s a party tomorrow at the disco in the center,” I start. “You know that huge discotheque in the old town, what’s it called?”

She looks at me with wide eyes. Then she laughs kindly.

“Listen, if you're going to hit on me, then maybe you should be a little more prepared if you're going to take me to a disco. You should already know the name.”

She then finishes her drink and then gives the waiter a fiver. Finally she gets up, gives me another nice smile and leaves the restaurant just as mysteriously as she came in.

I don't even know her name. I haven't even managed to at least get her name out of her. I feel like I don't really notice anything anymore.

All I have in my head on the way home is the smell of her perfume, her long hair and her purple silk dress.

At home I sit on the bed. I fold my arms behind me and lie on my back on my blanket. I've already forgotten today's trouble and I've successfully avoided my parents, who were already asleep when I arrived.

Who was this mysterious girl? I want to see her again. I want that at any price.

Chapter 2 - Neon lights

I'm waiting.

But instead of scolding me, my father just looks at me silently. He knows full well that I can stand it even less than when he says something and I then shout back, telling him that it's my shitty life and it's none of his business whether I skip work or miss work for whatever reason .

But he just sits there at the kitchen table in our magnificent villa and looks at me. He looks at me very seriously.

"So, what do you have to say in your defense?" he asks.

I gasp and start to say something to him, but he interrupts me at the same time.

“You had a disciplinary hearing last week. You had to apologize to every possible place, and in writing. And now you’ve been missing two days again because you have nothing better to do than carry your money to the pub?”

“I went to the doctor, I have a certificate,” I interject.

My father scratches his bald head. “You get 1000 euros from us every month. You don't even have to work and you can concentrate fully on your studies, which you will hopefully start after your community service. Then the little bit of work in the nursing home isn't asking too much. Why are you letting yourself down like that?”

“I won’t let myself down,” I reply. “I didn’t feel well and went to the doctor, officially.”

"Boy, we both know the reason you're feeling sick was your drinking," he says.

God, he can always express himself like that. How I hate that. He never uses words like “shit,” “fuck,” or “poop.”

“Man,” I indicate. “I didn’t drink too much.”

“You should think about whether you might have a drinking problem,” he interjects. “There are places that can help you. No matter what it costs.”

Clear. Maintaining the good looks of the family. Maintain the good appearance that you come from a good family. That's what he cares about. Not more.

“I don’t need help,” I say matter-of-factly. “I’m 18 and I can do whatever I want.”

“As long as you have your feet under my table…” he begins.

“I’m not interested,” I interrupt him. “Every time you come with the lyre, as long as I have my feet under your table. My goodness, I have a life. I just don't have as much integrity as you, where everything follows strict rules and you even fuck according to the timetable, if at all.

“I ask myself such words,” says the father sternly. “We don’t talk like that in this family, especially not about mother and me.”

“Lick me!” I get up and walk towards the front door. "I'm off. Don’t feel like having conversations like that.”

Exasperated, I can still hear my father panting and shouting something after me, but I no longer notice it.

Today is a warm summer evening. I sit in my Audi convertible, put the roof down and then turn the system on very loud. Then I'll drive off.

There's supposed to be a lot going on at the disco today. It's not the weekend, but they always have events during the week. Bands usually play there or they have theme parties with cute students that I could get to know there. Yes, that would be something. Then maybe I could tow one today and take it home with me. I would look forward to seeing my parents' faces the next morning. They think that I'm not capable of having a real relationship anyway, with my changing sexual partners, where no relationship lasts longer than three months.

Ha. Others have one night stands. I've had relationships for at least three months, I think to myself, and I can already see my father bombarding this girl with numerous questions.

What the fuck, comes to mind as I park my car. Let's see what's going on tonight.

I have to go out again tomorrow, but that doesn't interest me right now.

As I turn off the system and brush my hair again, three or four girls rush past my car.

“Cool car,” says one.

“Nice sound,” says another.

I grin at her.

Well, some situations don't even require any preparation or special knowledge. My art of flirting is that I just let things happen to me and don't think too much about what I might say or what she might say. It's actually almost automatic that the right saying always comes out of me at the right moment.

I enter the disco, and despite the fact that my car is parked outside in the parking lot and I have a real problem when I have to drive home afterwards, I order a large beer and a glass of beer. I immediately drink it down and immediately feel even better, even bigger than I already am.

“Same again,” I say to the waiter.

Barely a second later, the girl who was just walking past the car outside rushes around the corner.

“So, how are you?” I ask her. She looks at me kindly. “Where are your friends?” I then want to know.

“Dancing,” she replies. “Do you feel like it too?”

“Well, sure,” I say. And then I gallantly put my hand on the girl's shoulder and lead her to the dance floor.

If anyone knows how to fuck, it's her. My goodness, she can dance. And I stand next to her almost motionless, but in my advanced drunken state I feel like a great dancer.

After a while a guy comes along and starts talking to her. I give her a friendly nod and curl up at the counter again.

I watch some of the girls who are here as I drink more and more, ignoring the fact that I have to work tomorrow and am driving here.

But no one can get to her.

None of them could give me the magic that I felt when I first saw them. I just can't get her long, blonde hair out of my head. The scent of her perfume still lingers in my nose, as if she were sitting next to me and I could smell her. And then her deep blue eyes - man, oh, man, the world has never seen anything like that.

It's been almost a week since I met her in the pub. And I thought about who she could be or where I could find her. But I didn't find her.

I still don't even know her name.

Shit, I think to myself. With her, I could really imagine that. Not just because she's pretty. Maybe even a corner too pretty. She is so different from the others. Her demeanor, her whole manner, every word she says - she's so... I can't describe it and I can't find a word for it. But something makes me can't get her out of my head. If someone were to ask me what I like about her, I would answer: Everything.

I'm already very drunk and have already had at least ten beers and ten short drinks when a band comes on stage. I don't even know what band this is. But then I suddenly feel called upon to sneak up to the top of the stage, wander around behind the scenes and finally end up on stage.

Now everyone is looking at me. I'm standing up here and everyone is looking at me.

“We have a guest here,” I hear the band’s singer say. "What is your name?"

“Leon,” I slur.

“Okay, Leon, your audience,” says the singer. “Audience, this is Leon.”

The crowd claps.

Either they're as drunk as I am, or they really think I'm about to do something.

“Leon, would you like to sing along to our next song?” the singer asks me.

“Sure,” I stammer. “I’m a great singer.”

And then the song starts. I don't know if I know it, but in my drunken head I just sing along and stammer out the words that the singer is singing, in the completely wrong tone of course.

Within the first few seconds of the track playing, I feel completely dim and start to falter.

I hear the crowd roaring. I don't know if they're singing along or if they're laughing at me and even applauding me away.

The flickering of the neon lights reaches my eyes, but soon it's just a flicker. I don't notice anything anymore, I don't notice anything anymore. And the fact that I don't think about anything anymore and don't worry about the consequences of what's happening doesn't matter right now. I just stand up there staggering and see the flickering neon lights pulsating.

Suddenly she is standing in front of me. She stands in the audience, in the middle of the roaring crowd, and looks me straight in the eyes.

No doubt, it is her. I could never forget those eyes. And now she's standing there looking at me. And she smiles.

That's the last thing I see before I collapse.

The light is bright and white. It shines through my eyes even though I still have them closed.

Man, I feel so sick.

Where am I?

I feel that I am lying softly. Wherever I am now, I'm lying on some soft surface. And it smells strange here, so like medicine and so sterile.

“He doesn’t have any serious injuries, just a few bruises,” I hear someone say.

“What happened?” says a voice that sounds familiar.

“A young woman brought him here last night. “She didn’t want to tell us her name,” someone says again.

It's funny, I'm completely absent-minded, but I can hear the individual snippets of the conversation very well.

However, I don't feel able to react in any way to what I've heard.

“Can we take him home?” I hear the familiar voice from before again.

“We want to keep him here for another day or two for observation unless you demand that he be released.”

Apparently whoever says that must be a doctor or something. And I apparently have to lie in a doctor's office, or worse, in a hospital.

Why? What just happened?

I'm thinking frantically, but somehow I can't do it.

What's the last thing I remember? What only?

Suddenly the scales fall from my eyes.

She.

This unknown, strange girl I've seen twice before. Last week in the pub, and yesterday I must have seen her at the disco. But what happened?

I carefully open my eyes and then look into my father's puzzled face.

“Boy, how are you?” he asks me straight away.

But I can't say a word. I just stammer some expletives, I think, to describe my pain. He just looks at me and, thank God, doesn't ask any more questions.

“We’ll take him with us,” I hear him say.

I then have to get up from bed. I have to mechanically gather my things and get dressed. I want to get rid of this white coat I'm wearing as quickly as possible. People say things like that about people who are put in a white coat. I don't even know who put it on me.

I then have to walk to the car with my father. Then he has to invite me and we'll probably go home.

At home I have to lie down on my bed after spending what feels like half an hour in the toilet to puke in peace.

Suddenly I hear the doorbell. I don't register it, but I hear them.

I hear that someone must have opened the front door.

And suddenly there is a knock on my room door. And then the door opens.

“Leon?” I hear the sweetest voice ever heard ask.

And I look into her eyes, this angelic girl. She looks at me with a smile as she sits down on the edge of the bed next to me.

“Leon, are you okay again?” she then wants to know.

I am not powerful enough to say a word. My dream woman is sitting here on the bed with me. I can't believe my luck.

And suddenly I forget how bad I must have felt just now.

“You collapsed yesterday,” she explains. “I took you to the hospital.”

I look at her.

“Are you still in pain?” she says in a tender voice. "Can you talk?"

“I think so,” I stammer. "Who are you?"

And she strokes my head and looks deep into my eyes. Then she smiles.

“My name is Noemi.”

Now she has a name, the stranger, the unknown. Now I know her name. Naomi.

If I had known that this would change my life so much, I would have wished that today was yesterday. Or last week.

Chapter 3 - Who are you?

While she silently looks around my room, I quickly grab the sweatpants that are lying on the back of my chair next to my bed and quickly pull them on.

“Sorry about how it looks here…” is all I can manage.

“No, no, it’s okay,” she says. “You live very nicely.”

She takes a hair tie out of her trouser pocket and ties her long, blonde mane into a pretty ponytail. “Noemi…” I say. "How did you find me?"

She just grins.

"I gave your wallet to the doctor when I took you to the hospital last night."

She gets up and looks through my CDs.

“You like cool music.”

“R'n'B and rap, that's my thing. But no Aggro Berlin.”

I run to the stereo and put on a Beyoncé CD.

“Wow,” says Noemi. “This is Halo. I know."

I take Noemi by the hand and lead her to the table in my room. Then I get two energy drinks from a fridge in my room and give one of them to Noemi.

“Do you like them?” I ask.

“Yes,” she replies.

For a while we just sit there and listen to Beyoncé's words.

I still can not believe it. She is there. The girl I've been thinking about all last week. The angelic creature that I couldn't forget the sight of since our first meeting - she's sitting here at the table with me and listening to music with me. I don't have to ask her any questions. I don't need to know who she is or where she comes from. I don't need to know anything about her. All that matters is that she is here with me now, sitting in this room with me and looking at me so sweetly with her blue eyes.

Have I fallen in love?

It's not like the other women. It's not like I'm after anything, which wouldn't take long anyway. Or even a one night stand. With Noemi it's different. I can't describe this feeling, but it's something I've never experienced at the age of eighteen since I started falling in love with girls. I always knew what to say. I always knew how to express myself and put myself in the right light with the girls I came into contact with. I don't know about Noemi. As silent as a fish, I just look at her and smile.

“Hey, you’re not saying anything,” she then states.

“I’m probably still a bit dazed…” I admit.

Strange – I would have been embarrassed in front of any other girl. But with Noemi, I feel like she wouldn't see me through rose-colored glasses. I don't think I have to pretend to be anything, act cool, or pretend to be someone I'm not.

“That was a fantastic event yesterday,” she says to me. “You’re lucky you didn’t break anything when you fell off the stage.”

“I fell off the stage?” I ask in disbelief.

“But full pot,” she says. “From the first song.”

“What on earth was I doing on stage?” I ask, puzzled.

Naomi laughs.

“You tried to sing,” she says to me.

I put my hands together over my head and hold them in front of my face.

“Don’t worry,” says Noemi. “No one noticed that you couldn’t sing. When it really started, you were already lying under the stage.”

I have to laugh.

“Does this happen to you often?” she wants to know.

---ENDE DER LESEPROBE---