Tobe never asked for help. Not even in true emergencies, when he felt the cold steel of a gun on his forehead, or when his own blood blocked his breath. His pride was as vital to him as the oxygen in his lungs, and it was as easy to hurt as the fragile skin of a newborn. Difficult to admire, impossible to ridicule, empty pride that he represented in those sharp eyes and in his firm posture, his face always raised with an air of superiority. Garu had always wondered how someone could become so obsessed with his own image, with such a bland ego… he just couldn't understand.
On that gray night, with a light drizzle and wind beating his bare arms, Garu sped down the highway on his motorcycle. Tiny drops of water hit the helmet's visor and blurred his vision, to the point where he instinctively turned curves and was guided by the yellowish lights of the lightposts; he thanked some god that the streets were completely empty, as an accident would be inevitable at that speed. At that time Garu could only fly over the asphalt, leaving tracks of wind and water that were blurred in the mist.
His motorcycle hisses in pain when he hits the brakes, parking in front of the building where Tobe lived. Goosebumps covered his entire body, partly from the cold and the adrenaline. Garu took off his helmet and hung it over the handlebars, sweat mingling with the raindrops, and ran toward the entrance, hurrying up the stairs to the third floor.
Garu didn't understand many things about Tobe. That need to expose himself to danger without thinking twice, to risk his life for free, with nothing to gain or lose. He felt his despair, he sensed a tragic end, but he would not intervene without permission. The relationship between them was murky, without demarcated limits, with nothing to rescue ... both chose to let the other do his thing.
That night Tobe had called him on his cell phone, asking him to come with him immediately, and he had just cut off. Twenty years of an unstable, proud mind, he hadn't endured a night without company anymore.
Garu opens the door to Tobe's apartment, which was unlocked. It was dark inside; he couldn't even see where he was stepping. Garu traces the wall with his hand, searching for the light switch. A foul odor hung in the enclosed air, sour rot attacking his nostrils. He tries to calm his breathing, paying attention to the silence, there was no noise coming from inside.
A depressive maniac, was what he thought of Tobe. He was betting his life at random as if it was worth nothing, as if it were infinite; begging for cheap thrills, for instant gratification that he paid for himself with blood and years of life. It had been that way since they were teenagers, and as much as Garu wanted to lengthen the distance between them, it was an unbreakable relationship.
Garu turns on the light, which he blinks for a second before turning on. Garbage bags are piled up by the door, some unopened, giving off the repulsive stench that contaminated the entire apartment. With a disgusted smirk, Garu crossed the narrow corridor to the living room, turned on the light, and was engrossed for a second.
Sitting on the sofa, wearing only a sleeveless shirt and boxers, Tobe was inert with his head on the backrest, his eyes half-open but unconscious, with crimson threads running from his nose, over his lips and dripping down his chin. .
On the coffee table, waiting patiently, the powdered ivory that Garu hated with all his being was lined up in faded white strokes, Tobe's student card to one side, dusty, dirty.
Garu runs towards Tobe, his racing pulse pounding in his ears. He brings his face close to his and his relief soothes his churning insides when he hears a weak but present breath; inhale residual whitish dirt, exhale clotted blood. The red tears that had fallen into his lap inked the fabrics of his clothes, mimicking a stab to his stomach. His eyelids were barely open, hiding his dilated pupils and exposing only the whitish retina scrawled with fine, deep red arteries.
He can't call an ambulance, considering the circumstances. Garu's lips curl up in disgust. He sits on the couch next to Tobe's motionless body, resting his elbows on his knees as he buries his face in his palms.
He didn't understand it. Maybe he could never understand.