Things you don't know E-Book

Nikolai Ezekiel

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 495

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Half-brothers Joshi and Patrick spend their youth together with their single father. Their relationship is complicated, yet they are connected - and more deeply than it initially appears from the outside. Only gradually does it become clear how much guilt and shame this relationship is burdened with and how the serious events affect Joshi's life in particular. What has happened over the years remains hidden for a long time and Joshi ultimately finds himself in the drug scene. He experiences things that throw him completely off course. And it is only the social worker Leo who manages to bring about a drastic positive change in Joshi's life.

Leseprobe

Prologue

Monday, April 11, 2011

9:45 a.m.

The rays of the spring sun fell through the sparsely leafy branches onto the paving of the schoolyard, where Patrick was squatting alone on a brick wall and staring at the ground. The shouts of sixth graders playing soccer echoed over to him. Laughter and screaming. In between, the occasional birdsong. The usual soundtrack of every school break.

Lost in thought, Patrick pushed stones and sand from left to right with his sneaker, while the army of ants at his feet frantically tried to dig out their collapsing burrows. Patrick raised his head and let his gaze wander around. Seemingly aimlessly. But he knew exactly what he was looking for. For whom.

As always, Joshi was accompanied by the red-haired twins.

The three of them were standing not far from the table tennis tables in the far corner of the courtyard, sharing a bar of chocolate from the cafeteria's snack machine. The little boy was behaving as usual. As if nothing had happened last night. As if his childish mind had already erased what he had experienced. Repressed it. Like a bad dream.

Patrick clasped his strong hands together, on which the first blond hairs had started to sprout a few weeks ago.

Or had he just dreamed it all himself?

No.

He could still feel what had happened with every fiber of his body.

His head may have been blank as if his memory lay behind a veil of fog that did not allow him to make out any precise details. But his body remembered everything. Every minute of it.

"What's wrong with you, today? Where are you?"

Patrick flinched when Benjin grabbed him by the broad shoulders from behind. The Southern American accent in his confident voice was unmistakable.

"Everyone is waiting for you at the sports hall. And you're sitting here all alone doing ... what exactly?"

Benjin sank down next to him on the little wall and Patrick allowed him to put his arm around his shoulders. The pair of ice-blue eyes looked at him piercingly.

Patrick hated that look.

Ever since Benjin had joined his class last summer, he had strongly suspected that this far too handsome boy could read minds. An ability that came at a damned inconvenient time for Patrick. Benjin's hand cupped his friend's strong neck and he got goosebumps.

"Tell me ... what's going on?"

The words resonated with compassion. But Patrick knew it wasn't real. Benjin was calculating. In everything he said or did.

He nodded in Joshi's direction with interest.

"Is something wrong with your little brother?"

Patrick's heart began to pound.

Did Benjin notice a change in the little one?

How insistently he looked at him.

Patrick hastily stood up, shook off Benjin's hand, and knocked some sand off the bottom of his pants.

"Never mind, let's go. You said the others were waiting."

Benjamin's eyes followed Patrick's eleven-year-old half-brother as he walked alone across the schoolyard back to the main entrance. His Afro curls bobbed up and down carefree.

"Pretty boy, your brother," he remarked in a casual tone that sounded like a threat to Patrick's ears.

Pretty boy.

He just nodded.

2:02 pm

That afternoon, Patrick walked the long way home from school. He needed time for himself. Time to think. And the monotonous activity of walking, the rhythm of his steps repeating themselves ten thousand times in the same way were perfect for this. Pace and stride length on autopilot. Without having to waste any of his cerebral capacity. He had chosen his usual route along the Elbe. A two-hour walk, which he had often done on days like today. Whenever the emptiness inside him threatened to build up into the familiar pressure wave. Whenever he feared he might lose control.

Just like yesterday.

The indescribable intoxication that Patrick had fallen into without any warning had frightened him. It had never been this bad before.

And the scary thing was:

He wanted it to happen again!

The consuming hunger inside him had been stronger than the shame and fear with which he had had to pay for what had happened. Stronger than the guilt that had kept him awake all night. And which still tormented him.

Over the last few years, Patrick had found ways and means to fill the oppressive emptiness within himself. Escaping into a series marathon was just as much a remedy as excessive strength training, after which Patrick sometimes couldn't move for days without pain. And he now also met girls from time to time. They seemed to be more interested in him over the past few months than he was used to. Which was probably not least due to his friendship with Benjin. But Patrick didn't care. He wasn't looking for a woman for life. Just for the feeling of visibility. At least for a brief moment.

As he placed his feet on the concrete-hard sand of the riverbank without leaving a mark, Patrick looked out over the water. A fully laden container ship lay belly down in the brownish-brown sludge, rolling up the channel towards the harbor. The air smelled of silt and seaweed.

A promenade mongrel came leaping towards Patrick from the side and scampered past him, yapping, causing him to interrupt the clockwork of his steps for a heartbeat. A boy of primary school age followed the mutt at his heels. His child's voice called out the name of the ugly animal over and over again.

"Sid! Sid, stay here...! Stay here! Sid!"

Patrick looked at the two of them inconspicuously without turning his head and hesitantly started moving again. As if the sight of the strange boy had burst a bubble in his head, the events of the past week began to flicker unbidden and in razor-sharp images across the screen in Patrick's consciousness.

Joshi unwrapped his older brother's birthday present at the breakfast table on Tuesdays, over cornflakes and chocolate cake. First of all. Even before their father's two parcels. An Irish green sweater had emerged from under the paper. It had a print of the round-nosed dinosaur Yoshi from the world of Super Mario on the back, which the little boy had hugged so exuberantly that Patrick's heart fluttered with affection at the mere memory.

That had been the moment when the electrical tension had started to build up inside him. Bit by bit. A little more every day. This tingling sensation. This unspeakable, euphoric feeling.

Patrick climbed along the algae-covered bank stones and crossed over a muddy rivulet, stumbling briefly.

He knew that another loss of control could cost him his head. And yet the certainty remained in him that this danger would not be able to stop him if the alternative was to die of thirst in the desert of his soul.

His cell phone beeped.

Patrick pulled it out of his trouser pocket and read the short message from his father as he walked, without leaving the beat of his steps.

- can you take care of Jonathan tonight?

still have a meeting at 8 pm

As always ...

Patrick typed while squinting one eye at the ground at his feet.

- clear

I'll stick with Joshi.

6:00 pm

Sophie, the twins' mother, delivered Jonathan home on time. The smile on her lips was as obliging as ever. So the little one hadn't told her anything. Otherwise, she would probably have spat in Patrick's face.

He smiled back.

"Thank you for driving it."

"Oh, no problem at all," Sophie stroked a fiery red strand of hair behind her ear, leaving no doubt as to who her two daughters had inherited their striking hair color.

"Have a nice evening and best wishes to Volker!"

"I'll pass the word. See you then!"

Patrick listened to the purring of the car engine that accompanied Sophie's disappearance from the property and used his foot to push aside Joshi's shoes that had been carelessly thrown into the entrance area so that her father wouldn't trip over them later in the dark.

"What do you think of spaghetti?" he asked his brother and went ahead into the kitchen, where the little boy followed him with bouncy steps. Patrick grinned.

"And then we watch TV while we eat and put our feet up on the table! Have you done your homework with Kalle and Marie yet?"

With the last sentence, he looked down at Joshi, who was just pushing past him to pull himself up onto the rustic top of the dining table, as was his habit, and from there let his legs dangle in the air.

"We only had math on."

"And you did that together?"

Joshi nodded eagerly, whereupon Patrick reached out and tousled his half-brother's curls.

"Good boy."

Jonathan wiped his hair out of his eyes.

"Is there also tomato sauce?"

"If that's what you want."

"And sprinkled cheese?"

"Of course!" Patrick raised his eyebrows in mock incomprehension, "Pasta without cheese? Where do you get that?" Jonathan's giggle made Patrick's smile widen a little more and he felt something tingling deep inside him.

No. Not now!

Patrick dug out a packet of spaghetti, filled a stainless steel pot with water, and switched on the hob with the crackle of the knob.

He had to breathe! Breathe deeply.

He had everything under control. Nothing would happen. Not today.

Patrick tried to believe himself while his voice spoke silently to him. He glanced furtively at Joshi. He watched his feet swing back and forth in the green striped socks while his brother talked about some Playstation game he'd met his friends today.

You're safe tonight, Patrick whispered in his mind.

I promise. I have everything under control.

Chapter 1

Saturday, September 19, 2014

23:05

Joshi was awake. Far too awake for this time of day. And far too awake for a teen party.

The booming loud music from the living room was not only easily audible throughout the house, but could also be felt thanks to the bass-heavy system.

And Joshi loved it!

Without even the slightest stagger, he crossed the luxuriously equipped kitchen and opened the fridge, the handle of which was already covered in sticky fingerprints.

The alcohol supply had dwindled considerably throughout the evening. But Joshi felt completely sober. He had no idea how many beers he had just pulled out of the bottom shelf.

The coke kept his head cold and clear. Without it, he would have fallen asleep in some corner by now.

But Joshi didn't want to sleep now!

He placed one of the open bottles on the work surface for Tracy, while her fingers played dreamily with the felted locks sticking out in all directions from Joshi's head.

Tracy was Joshi's first real girlfriend. And he was damn proud that this beautiful girl had chosen him, of all people, to be with her. Even though he was only fourteen and she was almost an adult at sixteen. This princess with the straight, blue-black hair and eyes as gracefully shaped as a cat's. Tracy's lips pressed against his.

They tasted of strawberry lip gloss and beer.

"No fiddling in the kitchen!"

Several of Tracy's classmates came staggering in, roaring, and pushed the couple aside to help themselves to the fridge. One of them punched Joshi in the lanky arm.

"Don't you have to go to bed, kiddo?"

He towered over Joshi by at least twenty centimetres. And he wished once again that he had inherited his father's imposing stature.

"What's wrong with you, Tracy? You can have any man you want ..." He suppressed a belch and looked down at Joshi again, his eyebrows furrowed uncomprehendingly. "And then you takehim?"

How pathetic drunks looked ... Joshi briefly considered whether he should say something back, but then shut up.

"What do you want with a child? Is that even allowed?"

The guy laughed as if he had made the joke of the century.

What the fuck was he talking about?

And what was with the stupid grinning of his friends? Did they also think Joshi was a kid when they secretly bought their weed from him at school?

"Butyou thinkyou're a man, don't you?" snorted Tracy, shaking her head and taking Joshi by the hand to push past the boys. "The little kids here are you ..."

Joshi let his girlfriend drag him out of the kitchen and gave the stupid-looking guys the middle finger as he walked past.

What losers.He,Joshi, was the one with the pretty girlfriend!

They should all fuck themselves.

Dozens of party guests were standing all over the house. They had lined up along the walls with their drinks and Joshi's fingers clasped Tracy's hand as if he was afraid someone would take it away from him. He let her pull him into the living room, where the music was so loud that it almost shattered Joshi's eardrums. Carelessly, they put their beer bottles down on the nearest table.

All the seating had been pushed aside and the carpets rolled up, and a huge, glittering silver sixteen was floating above the resulting dance floor. Fairy lights flashed everywhere and the confetti lying around made the floor slippery under their feet. Paper streamers wound around lampshades hanging freely in the room and adorned the necks of some of the girls.

Tracy put two glow sticks around Joshi's wrist and he clasped her hands with his. Their fingers nestled together like yin and yang. Hers white like the first blossoms in spring. His brown like mahogany.

Tracy's hips moved smoothly to the beat coming from two cabinet-sized speakers, and Joshi matched his steps to hers without thinking about it.

While most boys his age would never have voluntarily moved their pubescent bodies onto a dance floor to swing their limbs back and forth, Joshi was in his element here.

Dancing.

For as long as he could remember, nothing could have given him a more intense feeling of freedom thanthat. Immersed in the beat of the music, he could simply forget everything for a moment. Escape from his body, through the rhythm of someone else's heart. A heart that was not full of fear.

When Tracy disappeared to her room with her best friends to discuss some secrets, as Joshi suspected, he joined his best friend in the garden for a short breather. It smelled of fire and grilled sausages and Joshi exchanged a few jittery words with Kalle over a cigarette, which in plain language meant that he babbled at her for ten minutes without a dot or a comma. Then he disappeared for another tiny line in the loo.

The cocaine had cost him a fortune. But Joshi had wanted something special for his princess's birthday party. And to be honest, he had also been a little scared of meeting all of Tracy's older friends in one place. Which was why it had seemed advisable to take a little self-assurance through his nose into his brain.

And his plan had worked.

The evening went almost perfectly!

At one o'clock, however, the house began to empty. More and more people were going home and Kalle and Marie had to leave too. Their mother would be driving up to the house in a few minutes and the twins didn't want to risk the embarrassment of Sophie ringing the front doorbell.

Joshi tried to persuade Kalle to stay a little longer in another monologue. But his best friend just patted him on the shoulder without responding. When he tried to run back into the house without saying goodbye, she held him by the arm.

Her braid braided tightly back against her scalp and the red and white tank top she was wearing gave her the look of a boxer about to drag Joshi out of the ring.

"You can also crash with us," she suggested, "a little sleep wouldn't do you any harm."

Joshi waved him off. He could feel that the cocaine had made him completely over-excited. But he had no intention of coming down to earth just yet.

"Nah, I'm still staying here."

He snatched the cigarette from Kalle's fingers, whereupon she quickly popped a peppermint chewing gum into her mouth. Her sister Marie came running across the lawn towards them. Sneakers and socks in her left hand, her red curls dancing on her shoulders as if they were spirals of copper. Kalle patted Joshi hard on the back to say goodbye.

"Well, see you on Monday then!"

She turned around as she walked and held her clenched fist to her ear with her thumb and little finger spread apart.

"And call if you need a bed after all."

1:37 pm

Shortly after half past one, Tracy's birthday party was abruptly ended by her parents coming home. They kindly but firmly escorted the party-goers out, called a cab for one of Tracy's friends, who could barely walk straight, and made sure that none of the girls went home alone.

Joshi grabbed a large garbage bag and began diligently collecting empty bottles and packaging. Hopefully, helping to tidy up would give him a reprieve and justify his staying for at least another half an hour. By then, his girlfriend would surely have persuaded her parents to let Joshi spend the night with them.

But when the subject of fifty returnable bottles and two full bin liners came up later, Mr. Cheng was anything but enthusiastic about his daughter's suggestion. With a blatantly disapproving look, he eyed Joshi, who had started wiping down all the work surfaces in the large kitchen. Nervously, he knocked over several empty glass bottles, which rolled clanking across the tiles.

Mr. Cheng took his daughter aside in the hallway and spoke to her quietly. In a mixture of Mandarin and German. But Joshi heard enough to understand that he was no longer welcome here.

"I think it's better if Jonathan goes home now and gets a good night's sleep. Your mother and I have made ourselves clear about drugs at your party, I'd like to think..."

He pointed unobtrusively at Joshi, who was wiping the wooden kitchen table for the fourth time and straining his ears.

Damn ... was it that obvious that he was on it?

There was so much innocence in Tracy's reply that it sounded unbelievable.

"But Joshi hasn't taken anything, Dad. He just had a little too much to drink."

"Jonathan is fourteen and shouldn't even be drinking alcohol yet!" said Mr. Cheng quietly. "He's not the boy I want you to be, little girl."

"You don't even know him!"

"Exactly. And that's why I don't want him to spend the night here. I'm going to drive him home now."

Unnoticed by both of them, Joshi had stepped out into the hallway and cleared his throat. He stood straight as a candle and looked at Tracy's father with a steady gaze.

"You don't need to drive me. I walk."

His smoky voice had a gruff undertone that could not be ignored. And when Mr. Cheng took a step towards him to accompany him to the door, Joshi raised his hands defensively.

"Thanks, I know the way out. Good night."

Tracy pinched her lips together and followed Joshi down the hall to the front door.

"I'm sorry," she whispered contritely as she put her arms around his neck to say goodbye. She glanced over her shoulder, but her father had not followed them. He had probably gone to her mother in the living room.

"So, is Dad right?"

"What ... with what?"

"Are you kidding me?"

Joshi stroked a silky strand of hair behind Tracy's ear.

"I'm sorry, really..." he mumbled ruefully, "I know, I promised."

"Yeah, you did. No coke or any of that shit at my party!"

A small, angry wrinkle formed above her nose.

"Why can't you leave it alonefor once?"

"I've already said I'm sorry ..."

Tracy turned her head to the side, pouting, but Joshi gave her a tentative kiss on the cheek.

"Forgive me ... I'll make it up to you, okay?"

Tracy nodded hesitantly.

"Okay..."

"See you tomorrow?"

2:14 a.m.

Joshi pulled out his cell phone and dialed Kalle's number. The wind carried the smell of warm pine needles up the road, the scent of earth and approaching rain.

How good that he had a plan B to spend the night!

The dial tone rang in his ear. Five times. Six times. After the tenth ring, the voicemail went off.

Damn. Again.

Tuuut. Tuut. Hello, this is the mailbox of ...

"Fuck ..."

Cursing, Joshi pocketed his cell phone again. He put his head back and looked up at the yawning, empty night sky. Not a single star was visible.

He didn't want to go home.

Patrick was on home leave in Hamburg this weekend. And usually, Joshi always went straight to Marie and Kalle on these weekends to avoid having to meet him. But this time he had speculated on Tracy's bed.

How stupid of him!

Now he was standing here. Alone. Among all the familiar detached houses and villas with their pretty front gardens, high fences, and dark windows. Joshi searched his trouser pockets unsuccessfully for one last cigarette.

What a shitty end to the evening. The euphoria had faded and Joshi suddenly felt terribly lonely. Weak and defenceless. The shadows out here seemed to reach for him like thin fingers. And now that the effects of the cocaine were wearing off, he could feel the alcohol in his body.

Far too much of it.

He made another useless attempt to reach Kalle via WhatsApp.

Maybe she doesn't even want to hear the cell phone? It whispered hostilely in Joshi's head, maybe she's fed up with you and your eternal unreliability.

Should Joshi try Marie?

He hesitated. No, I'd rather not.

Footsteps sounded behind him and Joshi turned towards the noise to see who was coming. But the street was empty. He quickened his pace and fell into a kind of trot, his feet a little wobbly on the uneven sidewalk. The rustling of the leaves above him became an ominous whisper and Joshi broke out in a sweat.

"Relax," he whispered to himself, "there's no one here."

The growling of a dog at his back, which made him flinch in fright, turned out to be the rattling of a Vespa, which was leisurely passing him.

Joshi ran on.

The squeak of the garden gate and the crunch of the gravel-strewn path under his new Nikes were far too loud as he stumbled onto the property that was his home. The seventies detached house was lit by a single lamp on the beige brick façade and the large windows, so inviting in daylight, now looked out into the garden like dark caves. The front door with its arched mullioned windows and tarnished brass handle seemed to Joshi like the gateway to the underworld.

His heart was beating up to his neck.

This fucking panic!

Joshi tried to calm himself down and listened, his front door key in his cold, sweaty fist. There was no sound from the kitchen and nothing from the open bathroom window.

Joshi took a deep breath.

Dead silence.

Maybe Patrick was with his old school friends tonight? Joshi would just slip into the house, get his jacket and toothbrush and then fuck off to Kalle's until Monday. He would somehow manage the night until tomorrow morning. Down on the Elbe beach. He could steal a pack of cigarettes from his father's stash ...

Joshi silently unlocked the door and tiptoed inside without even turning on the flashlight function on his smartphone. Rustling quietly, he took his jacket from the coat rack and put it on as his gaze fell on his father's coat.

Was Volker already back home?

Joshi hadn't expected to return until midday tomorrow. From Beijing.

He reached for the wallet sticking out of one of the coat pockets and looked inside. There wasn't much in it, but the absence of ten euros wouldn't be noticed. Joshi quickly folded the bill into his trouser pocket.

"Well, who have we here?"

A hand clamped down on Joshi's mouth and a deep laugh rang in his ear as Patrick's muscular arm wrapped around his chest like a vise.

"Long time no see, little brother..."

He heard the familiar smile in Patrick's voice. The arm around his ribs loosened and Joshi pulled his hand away from his face, gasping for air. Numbness spread through his limbs.

Why had he come here?

WHY?!

Joshi wheeled around and involuntarily put a step between himself and the gray eyes that looked down at him without blinking. Sparse light fell on the striking features and Patrick's soldier's haircut, which was neatly shaved and flowed into the broad nape of his neck. Laugh lines formed in the corners of his half-brother's eyes, but Joshi knew from experience that these were by no means a sign of the all-clear. Panic was beginning to separate him from his own body, paralyzing his lungs.

Patrick was the epitome of his fear.

Joshi used to look up to him. To his big brother, who had naturally taken on her role for him after the death of Joshi's mother. Whether it was making bread for school in the morning, doing his homework in the afternoon, or brushing his teeth in the evening. Patrick hadalwaysbeen there. And Joshi had adored him!

Until fear came between them.

Joshi stumbled backwards towards the living room.

"You… you are back..." he stammered, trying to find something to say as Patrick began to close the gap between them again. A thick lump closed Joshi's throat from the inside and a few drops of sweat trickled down his forehead.

"Looks like it." Patrick leaned against the doorframe of the living room with his arms folded. And Joshi could see his jaw muscles bulging out from under his clean-shaven cheeks. His big brother stared at him with a look that Joshi knew all too well. From his waking hours as well as from his nightmares.

Patrick's attention flitted to Joshi's fingers, slippery with sweat, clutching the wood of the chest of drawers at his back. Frozen like the limbs of a trapped animal.

Joshi wondered whether he should shout. Call for help. If Volker was upstairs in his bed and asleep, he would surely hear him and come down.

But Joshi remained silent.

As always.

Sunday, September 20, 2014

12:30 p.m.

Joshi's windpipe still felt like a crushed straw as he woke from the sleep the tiny, salmon-colored pills had forced him into. Two of them, 200 mg quetiapine. If things went well, Joshi could sleep through twenty-four hours with them without dreaming.

But this time things went less well.

The unpleasant burning sensation in his throat and the pain when swallowing reminded him all too clearly of the previous night and prevented him from sleeping any longer.

Joshi had bent over the toilet bowl three times in a row. He rammed his fingers down his throat and threw up until he thought he could taste the blood on his tongue. The thought made him feel sick again.

Joshi squinted at the iPhone next to his pillow.

Three unread messages from Tracy, as well as two phone calls. Five messages from Kalle and three from other people from his school.

Without even unlocking the cell phone, Joshi threw it at the foot of his bed and pulled the covers over his head. He curled up and hid his face in his arms. He felt for the white and yellow wooden beads that were neatly threaded around his left wrist as if he could hold on to them.

"Mom..."

White and yellow.

"Sun and lemon ice cream," Vivienne had replied with a smile when Joshi had once asked her about her favorite colors.

Yellow and white.

The bracelet had been a piece of jewelry from her homeland. Hand-painted beads, held together by a tiny golden clasp that had shone in the sun back then. Now it was dull and tarnished, worn like the rest of the bracelet, which Joshi had not taken off once since Vivienne's death.

A loud knock on his door made him jump.

"Jonathan?" asked the tired voice of his father, who had probably just got up himself.

"Jonathan, there's a Tracy on the phone for you, will you come out here?"

Joshi did not react. His muscles felt as if they weighed tons. He wasn't even able to turn to the other side, even though his neck hurt like hell and a different position would certainly have made it better.

He closed his eyes again, ignored the nausea in his stomach, and, without looking, fumbled a Palladon out of the box under his pillow to choke it down. For the pain. Against that disgusting, familiar pain.

His body, dehydrated from the alcohol and weakened from vomiting, demanded water. But Joshi couldn't and wouldn't give it to him. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

"Hey, Jonathan..."

His father's voice became increasingly distant in Joshi's consciousness. A thick layer of absorbent cotton enveloped his head and allowed sleep to return. Numb and numb.

That was the best way.

That was the only thing he wanted now.

Chapter 2

Monday, September 21, 2014

7:28 am

Joshi woke up after almost twenty-seven hours of sleep.

Dude, he felt like shit.

Renewed nausea drove him out of bed and he staggered with weak knees to his barricaded door, tugged at the wastepaper basket he had wedged between the door handle and his chest of drawers, and braced himself against the bulky piece of furniture.

It always looked so easy in movies. An armchair was simply placed under the handle and the blockade was complete. No shit ...

Joshi opened the door a crack, squinted over to Patrick's room to make sure it was locked, and ran off. Before he had even reached the bathroom, an unpleasant amount of saliva began to collect in his mouth and rising stomach acid ate its way down his gullet. He pinched his lips together tightly to avoid throwing up on the hall carpet as he ran. Once in the bathroom, he slammed the door behind him, locked it and half stumbled over to the toilet on all fours. He flipped the lid up and was immediately shaken by painful retching cramps, which barely revealed anything.

When it finally stopped after a few minutes, Joshi slumped down on the floor. He rested his forehead on his bent knees. He felt as if someone had forcibly turned his insides inside out. Everything hurt.

The ringtone of his cell phone sounded from far away in his room. But Joshi didn't move. He didn't want to talk to anyone. Never again. Scraps of memory returned to his consciousness unbidden.

Tracy's birthday party. Her smile. Her hands on Joshi's cheeks. And his cocaine-soaked smugness. Tracy had danced with him.

And then he had walked home alone.

Straight into Patrick's arms.

Joshi pressed his head harder against his kneecaps and felt the knot of fear in his stomach. The pressure in his chest, as if Patrick was still cutting off his air.

In slow motion, Joshi pulled himself up from the floor. In front of the mirror above the sink, he slipped his T-shirt over his head and examined the damage his brother had done this time.

As always, his face had been spared. Only the shadows around his sleep-clogged eyes were even darker than usual.

Joshi avoided his gaze and looked at his shoulders instead. The narrow chest. What the mirror image revealed of his legs. And his arms.

His weak arms.

On his weak, small body.

Deep purple discoloration adorned Joshi's still hairless teenage skin on his wrists and thighs. He lifted a hand to feel his neck. The part of his body that would be the hardest to hide. Dark bruises lined up a few centimeters above his collarbones. Burned in as if Patrick's fingers, which had closed around his windpipe, had been made of hot coals.

Joshi turned away. He took a few sips from the tap and half-heartedly washed his face. He wanted to go back to bed. Back to oblivion. There were still four tablets of Quetiapine left and he would be able to sleep with them for another day.

With the crumpled T-shirt in his hand, Joshi turned the key in the lock again and was about to sneak back into the hallway when he heard it.

The quiet but unmistakable squeak of Patrick's bedroom door. Caused by the upper, slightly warped hinge. The sound covered Joshi from head to toe with goose bumps and his sweaty fingers clutched the handle in his hand as he tried to silently lock it again.

Please, he begged silently. Please stay where you are.

Placing one ear against the wood veneer, he breathed as shallowly as he could. He heard the buckles of Patrick's military rucksack rattle as his brother heaved the pack onto his broad back and recognized the rustling of the sturdy uniform fabric. One of the countless sounds that had imprinted themselves on Joshi's memory like warning signals. Simply because Patrick was the one who made them.

Joshi heard Patrick lacing up his boots outside the door. The clacking of the laces on the leathery shafts. The jingling of Patrick's bunch of keys. Four keys on a metal key ring without a fob.

Over the years, Joshi had learned to read Patrick's mood from all the sounds that surrounded him. By the volume of his footsteps. By his laughter. Sometimes even by the way his brother breathed.

The least dangerous thing was always the same sounds from Patrick's routine mode. And these fortunately determined a large part of his everyday life. Even now, when Patrick only comes to visit every few weeks or months. Even as a child, he had loved fixed routines. Their security. Their predictability. Something that Joshi benefited from. He always knew where his brother was and where he was going next. And if Patrick went to the bathroom within half an hour of coming home or straight after getting up, whether in the morning or the middle of the night, Joshi was out of danger.

Logical. Jerking off in the shower is also relaxing.

Grim stamping or swearing was always just as harmless. When Patrick had come stomping up the stairs after school to get his sports bag, he had usually disappeared to the gym for several hours afterwards. And Joshi had had nothing more to fear.

Threat sounded different. It was quiet. Unpredictable.

When Patrick roamed the lower rooms of the house for no apparent reason, like a caged panther, it became dangerous for Joshi. On those days, he could almost feel his brother actively avoiding the upper floor. As if he was trying to keep a safe distance from Joshi. He would put his feet down almost silently with every step. Moved things from left to right. Turned the TV on and off several times. Or ran into the kitchen again and again to open the fridge, which he then closed again without having achieved anything.

All these noises, as well as the twitching of Patrick's jaw muscles when he looked at Joshi, unconscious suspension of his breath, or nervous clicking of his fingers, were very clear signs that something was about to happen. They were like the hissing of a pressurized valve that was about to explode at any moment.

Patrick's good mood days were just as thin ice. Springy footsteps coming up the stairs and laughing eyes that had invited Joshi to play as a child could mean anything in the hours that followed. Even an uncalculated outbreak of violence. The risk was fifty percent. However, if Patrick ran his fingers through his short hair more often than usual, bounced his leg while sitting, or came conspicuously close to Joshi, the risk increased to seventy to eighty percent.

The squeak of the door sounded again. Followed by a muffled clack. And Joshi prayed that he would hear Patrick's footsteps on the steps downstairs next. But it remained silent.

Three seconds.

Four seconds.

Five seconds.

Then the footsteps came straight towards him.

Dizziness seized Joshi. A panicked sob threatened to rise from inside him and he pressed his hand, damp with sweat, over his mouth to stifle the sound.

No ... please. Just get out of here!

He wanted to back away from the door, to get to safety in case Patrick tried to force the lock open. But he was unable to move. He counted his heartbeats in his head until Patrick's hand reached for the door handle and pushed it down until his weight leaned against the door leaf.

Seven, eight, nine, ten ... eleven, twelve ...

But nothing happened. The handle didn't move an inch under Joshi's fingers and his ears pricked up like those of a scenting animal. He heard his brother's suppressed breathing. Very close.

The wall tiles began to flicker before Joshi's eyes and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold his breath for much longer. He could feel Patrick through the door leaf. Not a hand's breadth away from him.

Why don't you just leave me alone?

Joshi paused, listening, while he thought he could hear his brother's fingertips brushing against the grain of the veneer. From top to bottom and back up again, as if he were touching a marble sculpture whose forms he had to feel under his skin because just looking at it was not enough.

Furtive. Ashamed. Starting with Joshi's face. Then along his body. And Joshi felt the hands on his skin, like an echo.

He closed his eyes. Single tears dripped onto the fingers above his mouth and he couldn't help but inhale with quivering nostrils. The sound echoed through the tiled room and Joshi knew that Patrick had heard it.

The disgusting feeling of shame joined the fear. The pain of humiliation that Patrick constantly carried with him, like a creature from hell circling him. And which cast a shadow over Joshi every time he came near Patrick. Through glances that burned his skin. Through touches that he knew were forbidden. Which he knew had to remain secret.

A loud horn sounded. Two trumpet sounds in close succession from the street, which made Patrick flinch in the hallway. It was probably one of his friends coming to pick him up.

Patrick stirred.

The side of Joshi's face pressed against the door had already fallen asleep. Tense breathing and the rustling of fabric reached his numb ear and he counted his heartbeats again, hoping that Patrick would disappear now.

Five, six, seven, eight, nine.

"I'm sorry."

Patrick squeezed the words out at the top of his lungs and Joshi wasn't sure if he had heard them correctly.

What ...?

But Patrick did not repeat it.

He left.

At last.

Joshi noticed the unsteadiness of his steps on the stairs and didn't dare move until the sound of the front door closing relieved the pressure in his chest. A car door slammed and an engine roared.

Joshi sank back onto the bathroom tiles with wobbly knees.

And cried.

Tuesday, September 22, 2014

9:41 a.m.

"Hey Joshi ..."

Kalle's hug was a little tighter than usual. Her eyes were filled with foreboding as Joshi came shuffling into the crowded schoolyard for the first big break. He was very casual, with a fag in the corner of his mouth and the hood of his white hoodie on his hair.

But Kalle must have noticed the dark circles under his eyes. Besides, there was no reason to wear a sweater in these temperatures.

"What's up?"

Joshi stubbed out his cigarette in the nearest garbage can before the break supervisor could reprimand him.

"Tracy's pissed off because you haven't contacted her since her party," Kalle brought him up to date on the day.

"But I'm sure you know that yourself."

Joshi nodded and followed her towards the sports hall. He had completely forgotten that gym class was on the schedule for the third and fourth periods on Tuesdays.

He could have waited until the next break ...

But never mind.

At least the PE lesson was with Kalle's class, to which Joshi had also belonged before he was left behind.

"Have you written to her yet?"

"Nope. Didn't know what ..."

"Why don't you say you were grounded? And your father would have confiscated your cell phone," Kalle suggested.

"Why should he have done that? He wasn't even there."

She adjusted her rucksack.

"Tracy doesn't know that, does she? Just say he told you not to go to her party. Because of the F in math."

She grinned mischievously and nudged Joshi as she walked.

"Then she'll probably still think it's romantic that you ran away from home just to come to her party."

Joshi looked at Kalle with a wry smile.

"Why don'tyouhave a girlfriend?"

"I just have standards, unlike you."

"Oh, shut up...!"

Joshi pushed her. And Kalle, who was almost a head taller than him, put him in a headlock with a trained grip. She jokingly rubbed her knuckles across his skull and Joshi began to scream theatrically, laughing at the same time, his hoarse voice breaking into a barely audible squeak. He grabbed one of Kalle's legs to throw her off balance.

He was somehow grateful to his friend for trying to distract him in her way. Kalle knew that if Joshi wanted to talk, he would. Even if that was never the case.

"Well, I'll see you soon."

With a final nudge against Kalle's arm, Joshi followed the boys from his class into the stuffy changing room, which reeked of old foot sweat. Giggling girls' voices reached his ears through the wall and Joshi sat down, his eyes fixed on the floor, while the other boys began to change, chattering happily.

"Jonathan Kelani, where's your sports kit?"

The PE teacher's voice was a mixture of exasperated reproach and resignation as Joshi and his classmates trotted into the hall in their socks.

He looked over at Marie, who was whispering something to Kalle a few meters away. She had turned her back to Joshi. And he couldn't stop his gaze from lingering on her sport-trained bottom, which had recently been tucked into increasingly tight sports shorts. Kalle winked at him and Joshi looked away, caught off guard.

"Fo..., forgot," he stuttered in response to the teacher's question and didn't know where to look for a moment.

"Got the day mixed up."

Mrs. Schröder nodded.

"Okay. Do you have a T-shirt underneath? Then you can still take part for all I care."

Joshi hesitated.

"Yes ... but I'm not doing so well ..."

His teacher sighed. She didn't believe him.

"Then at least help me set up so I don't have to give you a six," she offered Joshi and he agreed wordlessly.

Despite stabbing pains in his abdomen and ribs, he energetically lent a hand. He dragged soft floor mats and benches across the uncomfortably hot gym, stacked boxes on top of each other, and fetched a softball from the net in the far corner of the equipment shed so that the others could start playing.

When he dropped to the ground at the edge to watch the others warm up, he was already completely soaked with sweat under his far too warm sweater. The thick fabric was sticking to his skin and he stank of sweat.

What a load of crap.

He inconspicuously wiped the damp film from his forehead with a sleeve while Mrs. Schröder's whistle blew. The two classes started moving.

They trotted in a large circle around the set-up equipment and Kalle held out his hand to Joshi every time they passed so that he could give them a high-five. Twice, three times. After ten rounds, the teacher thought the sweaty teenagers had warmed up enough and divided them into two groups.

The rest of the day passed for Joshi as if in slow motion. It trickled by agonizingly slowly and his mood changed from lethargic to irritable.

Everything annoyed him at once!

The girlish voice of his biology teacher made him so angry that he finally got up and left the room, pretending he had to go to the toilet. Instead, he took a drag behind the science wing on the rest of a smoked joint he had found in his bag this morning. At least it helped him get through the double lesson in biology without having a screaming fit. Slouching in his chair, he pretended to rummage in his backpack for the homework he had forgotten.

Didn't he still have some coke left over from the weekend somewhere?

Yes, indeed. But only a few pitiful crumbs ...

During the breaks, Joshi secretly looked around for Tracy, who had been skillfully avoiding him all day. Always surrounded by her friends, who gave Joshi dirty looks over their shoulders, while Tracy herself consistently ignored him.

Joshi was boiling inside.

Tracy was mad at him!

Okay.

But she didn't even give him the chance to explain or apologize!

For the last two lessons, Joshi's thoughts were all about how he could get to her, while the anger in his stomach tightened into a tight knot. With each passing minute, he became more and more restless and the need to punch someone in the face grew within him!

Another joint would certainly have helped, but he had run out of weed.

Only the cocaine was still there.

When the bell finally rang at half past three, Joshi was the first to grab his things and storm out of class. He almost ran down the corridor to the toilets, while dozens of students poured out of the other classrooms to his left and right.

Joshi pulled the cabin door shut behind him and placed his cell phone on the cistern.

With quick movements that were definitely too practiced for a fourteen-year-old, he pushed a line out of the remaining coke on the display and pulled.

The effect was limited. But it would do for the moment.

He was ready!

Tracy stood with her girls in the middle of the schoolyard and greeted two boys from her parallel class with far too long hugs.

Was she already throwing herself at the next one?

Just because Joshi didn't get back to us once?

He heard himself calling her name out loud.

"Tracy!"

He would clarify the situation now, with or without spectators!

Joshi forced himself to walk slowly and headed straight for the small group.

"Tracy!"

A mixture of defiance and uncertainty appeared on her flawless face.

"Can we talk?"

Joshi came to a halt in front of her, his hands buried in his trouser pockets.

"Please."

Tracy looked at her friends as if she had to ask their permission, and the girls shook their heads in sync. One blonde, whose surprisingly large breasts immediately caught Joshi's attention, turned to him and looked down at him from above.

Jessie, if Joshi remembered correctly ...

"Tracy has been waiting foryou fortwo whole days," she announced, "now it's your turn."

Joshi gave her a look as if she wasn't quite right.

"Huh? What...?"

"You heard me."

Joshi turned to Tracy.

"I'm really sorry, okay? Can we talk for a minute, please?"

She was still hesitating.

"Do you know how stupid I felt?" she asked and Joshi heard the hurt in her voice.

"I thought you were ghosting me now because... I don't know, I did something to you or something."

"No!"

Joshi's voice was far too loud and he hurried to lower it.

"It wasn't because of you. It really wasn't! There was a ... reason."

"And that would be?"

Jessie folded her arms defensively in front of her breasts and Joshi wondered if he should use Kalle's excuse from this morning. That would be a lie, but the truth was not up for debate at all. Besides, he didn't feel like arguing with Tracy's bodyguard any longer. He wanted to talk toher.

He looked at Jessie, exasperated.

"What doyouactually want?"

The two boys behind Tracy stood up a little straighter as if they sensed trouble.

"I'm her friend," Jessie hissed back belligerently, "and friends protect each other. From losers like you!"

"Losers like me?" Joshi snorted.

"Losers trying to apologize to their girlfriend, or what?"

Jessie's voice became shrill.

"Oh, don't act so innocent here!"

She glared at Joshi and took a step towards him.

"Everyone knows you're a junkie! You don't deserve Tracy!"

"Shut up, you bitch! Don't tell me what I deserve!"

Now one of the big boys intervened. He took the reluctant Jessie by the arm and pushed her behind him. He stood up in front of Joshi with a superior expression on his face.

"Okay, that's enough now, we don't want any stress, yeah?"

The girls grabbed Tracy and pulled her away in the direction of the driveway. Away from Joshi.

"Go home and leave her alone, she doesn't want to talk to you."

The older boy sounded so patronizing that Joshi's head immediately heated up. He raised both hands and shoved them angrily in front of the boy's chest.

"Are you her father or what?"

The push that Joshi gave in response was so violent that he stumbled back and fell down. Jessie laughed spitefully a few meters away and walked off with the others. The tall boy also turned his back on Joshi as if nothing had happened and followed his friends.

A fuse blew in Joshi's brain.

Leaving his rucksack on the ground, he jumped to his feet.

The boy heard the footsteps behind him too late to fend off the approaching attack and only whirled around when the much smaller Joshi had already pounced on him. Before anyone realized what had happened, the two fell to the ground together. The boy landed on his back with full force and all the air escaped from his lungs with a wheezing cough. Joshi scraped both knees but picked himself up again in a flash and threw himself at the man lying on the ground. He punched him twice in the face with his clenched fist and the boy cried out in pain. Growling, the two wrestled with each other, elbowing each other in the face and trying to hold each other's arms.

Some pupils noticed the fight and came running over curiously. They formed a shapeless circle around the two fighters and voices were raised. A teacher, Mr. Maibaum, came hurrying across the schoolyard. The burly man in his mid-fifties pushed the group of bystanders aside and stepped into the ring. He courageously grabbed Joshi by the collar and pulled him away from the boy, who was lying on the ground with a dusty face.

"What are you doing here?" the teacher shouted in a respectful voice.

"I must not be seeing right!"

He kept a firm grip on Joshi when he tried to break away.

"That's enough now! Calm down, Jonathan! And you, Lukas ... I expected better from you!"

The boy, whose name was Lukas, sat up with difficulty and grimaced.

"The madman just came at me like that!"

"Just like that? Do you want me to punch you in the face again just like that?"

"Enough!"

Mr. Maibaum looked angrily at the two, while the bystanders gazed spellbound at the trio in their midst. But Lukas continued as if the teacher hadn't said anything.

"Keep your paws off Tracy in the future, got it? Suck cock instead. That suits you better."

The boy's head flew into his neck with such a jerk that it cracked when Joshi's foot hit him full force in the face.

A horrified cry went up through the crowd.

Joshi leaped at his opponent again and struck his face like a madman. Blood shot out of the broken nose and shortly afterward covered Lukas' entire face, warm and sticky.

Chaos broke out.

Mr. Maibaum and three boys from the upper school pounced on Joshi, grabbed him by the shoulders, held his hands and all shouted at him at the same time. They dragged him away from Lukas, while two girls bent over the bloodied boy on the floor, who barely seemed to be conscious.

"I'll kill you!" Joshi shouted in rage, struggling against the hands holding him down.

"You fucking son of a bitch!"

Furious, he kicked the high school student who was clutching his left arm while everyone else looked at him in horror.

Suck cock instead. That suits you better.

Joshi's whole body began to tremble uncontrollably. Burning shame rose inside him and coursed through his veins like acid.

You can see it, he thought.

You can all see it!

Chapter 3

Friday, October 17, 2014

11:22 a.m.

Joshi's father turned onto the main road and accelerated. The new company car smelled of plastic and leather. The soft purring engine was barely audible inside the car and Joshi stared motionlessly through the windshield while Volker put the blinker on again.

"Community service," the disappointment in his father's voice was unmistakable, "do you realize that this could have turned out very differently?"

Yes, of course, he knew that.

Without Volker's lawyer, Joshi would probably have already served his first month in custody by now. Serious, intentional bodily harm was no small matter. And Joshi was of legal age at fourteen. But then again, he had a well-off father with legal representation. If Joshi had come from a financially disadvantaged family, his chances of parole would certainly have been smaller. With his skin color anyway.

However, his lawyer never tired of emphasizing that there was no reason to believe that Joshi could pose a danger to his fellow human beings in the future. And that this incident was Joshi's first conflict with the law and an isolated incident.

Well. That was only half true. But why should Joshi have denounced himself for his little drug deals at school?

Joshi hadn't been able to look at anyone present during the entire trial. Neither his father nor Lukas or his family. He had only looked up at the judge once after the verdict had been announced, before she had turned away and left the small, unadorned courtroom.

So that was it. And Joshi would now have to serve his sentence in the form of community service, while at the same time being suspended from lessons until the end of January.

"What's wrong with you?"

Volker had already asked him this question hundreds of times. And every time, the same answers flashed through Joshi's mind, but none of them came to his lips.

"I don't recognize you anymore since ... Vivienne left."

"Then you have your answer."

Joshi fumbled with his sweaty fingers for the wooden beads around his wrist. "And she's not gone. She's dead."

His father took a deep breath and exhaled without taking his eyes off the road.

"Jonathan, this can't go on forever," he said firmly, "I know how much you miss your mother. And believe me, I miss her too. Every single day."

"Oh yeah?" Joshi's voice sounded sarcastic.

Volker turned his beardless face towards him. Angular like that of his older son.

"Do you think I've forgotten her? Do you think a single day goes by when I don't think about her?"

Joshi remained silent.

A painful lump formed in his throat.

"Jonathan," the car came to a slow halt in front of a red light, "you have to learn to pull yourself together. Next time you'll get kicked out of school. And then it'll be hard to find another one that will take you in."

Joshi swallowed.

"I'll get into some kind of Assi school. I'll fit in better there anyway ..."

Volker sighed.

"No, you don't fit in there," he contradicted, "we both know that you didn't have these problems before."

But I'm not like I used to be.

Nothing is like it used to be.

Joshi's body convulsed under the rising images and he gripped the door handle to hold on to something. His head was throbbing and he just wanted to get out of this car! Home at last. To his room. Lock the door behind him and not come out for the next six months. Uncomfortably and as inconspicuously as possible, he slid back and forth in his seat. His wet and sweaty T-shirt stuck to his back.

"Okay, we'll talk later at home," Volker gave up and glanced over his shoulder, "I have to go back to the office anyway. Then I'll get us something to eat and we'll talk in peace, yeah?"

Joshi nodded mechanically. But he already knew that this conversation was not going to happen.

What could he tell his father?

The truth?

Never.

3:13 pm

Joshi was squatting on the floor in the entrance area of the swimming pool and scrolling through Instagram. He had an appointment with Kalle. The twins had training until three o'clock today. But Joshi had actually been sitting in here for almost three quarters of an hour. In the thick, chlorine-soaked air. After all, he couldn't stand it alone at home. Locked up with his thoughts spinning.

In addition to the cell phone display in front of him, there were at least a few additional distractions to keep his brain occupied. The conversations of passing pensioners. Coming from the aqua gym at "Bettina's" and now on their way to their favorite café to enjoy a Black Forest gateau and cappuccino. The squeaking sounds of a toddler's happiness echoed off the tiled walls. A girl, perhaps a year old, wrapped up in a much too warm down jacket, stopped in front of Joshi and looked at him curiously. Her chubby little fingers crossed in her mouth. Cheeks flushed from mother-child swimming. Joshi smiled cautiously at her over his smartphone and a row of her first milk teeth appeared between her well-salivated fingers. Embarrassed, the little girl looked away again and hurried back to her mom, still a little unsteady on her feet.

Joshi scrolled on.

He tried everything to avoid thinking about the movie that had been running on a continuous loop in his head since that day in September. Since the day he had broken Lukas' nose in the school playground. And the day he had been taken away by the police in front of everyone.

He still felt the sting of humiliation. Triggered by the words with which Luke had humiliated him in front of all those around him.

Suck cock instead. That suits you better.

Joshi's face grew warm. There it was again, that sickening tugging in the area around his heart. And he instantly looked left and right, as if he had to make sure that none of the people around him could see his mental movie.

Even in court this morning, Joshi had not been able to repeat Lukas' words. Even though he had been asked. He simply couldn't. The thought of the same images forming in other people's minds as in his own was unbearable to him. As if they could see into Joshi's brain the moment he uttered those two sentences.

Suck cock instead.

That suits you better.

Patrick's hands. How they held Joshi's head.