padam - a jan peteh pov story

4

Insecurity engulfed me that night; that feeling that you need to sleep away, yet your body won't permit you to do so. The aura that lingers near enough to your face that you can feel its breath exhaling hotly onto you. The superstition that forces you to check your surroundings repeatedly until you inevitably fall apart.

It was typical of me to have problems sleeping after drinking, especially in the warm weather that consumed the city during the summertime. Sprawled on my bed, staring pointlessly towards the ceiling, I lifted my phone once more to check my notifications, hoping for something to reassure me that everything was fine. Yet the boys had been radio silent since I'd left Jure's, each person too scared to make a move in fear they would aggravate someone else. Each action we took could throw us further into a pile of hot coals.

'What the fuck are we meant to do now?' I blurted, the question that had been on everyone's lips yet had been too scared to voice. We had been silent for half an hour now, the time dragging as we attempted to distract ourselves in any way possible; Nace had been daydreaming with his eyes fixated on the wall, Jure had been picking at a stray thread on his jeans.

Kris shrugged, having quickly sobered up after Bojan's shouting session. 'He'll be fine by the morning. He was drunk and pissed off, for whatever reason.'

Before I had chance to say my piece, Jure cut in, clearing his throat. 'Jan was right. He's been off since Zagreb.'

'What happened at Zagreb to fuck him off, though?' Kris interrogated, looking around the rest of us like we may suddenly cough up an answer.

'A lot happened at Zagreb.' I reminded him, flicking my mind back through the night, bringing back memories I didn't want to relive. Where the dynamic had felt so cold, where we had felt less familiar and more like we were being forced to tolerate each other.

'Maybe it was your shitty singing, Jan.' Nace laughed, yet quickly quietened after remembering how serious this was.

'It could've been.' Kris agreed absently, nodding towards the floor. Yet even he knew that there had to be something else. Suddenly focused, he looked around the group as he made a suggestion. 'It could honestly revolve around Lilia a lot more than we think.'

'How?' I pressed, refusing to see a way where the bane of the problem was external to the band. Refusing to see a way where Lilia had done anything wrong.

'I don't know. Is there another plausible way, Jan?' he fired back, not necessarily angrily, but definitely with firmness.

'She has nothing to do with this.' I countered.

'You don't know that.'

'That night, I said I was moving on, that was when I sorted everything. So how,' I took a breath, intensifying my eye contact with Kris, 'could it have anything to do with it?'

'I don't think it was to do with that, either.' Nace input. 'He was off with me, too.'

'Don't you think that's too much of a coincidence?'

My fingers ached to type, to tell Lilia everything that was happening and hope she could come up with a solution. Yet her indirect involvement discouraged me from saying anything - I couldn't stress her out, I wouldn't stress her out. She was probably on a plane now, drifting through the clouds, listening to music or reading one of those books she enjoyed. She was oblivious to how I felt; I would keep it that way.

Although my mind was storming with ideas, questions, and urges, I struggled through the rest of the night tossing and turning consistently without contacting anyone. And, as the dizziness of the hangover set in along with the moon's departure, I became proud of my ability to hold myself back.