Call Unanswered

     Slavomir was not one to leave a phone call unanswered.

     For Luca, it was no mere opinion, but a solid fact. Nothing out of the ordinary, considering the modern age needs– but it always seemed that Slavomir would indulge in a little bit more technology than usual. Sometimes, when there was downtime for the couple with no concerns or goals, Luca would see Slavomir’s eyes drift away to stare at his screen for hours at a time. Sometimes he would flip the device around, and show Luca an interesting picture or amusing clip, but besides that, Slavomir took his screen time seriously.

     It was rare to see him away from his phone. When there was a concern or goal to take his attention, Luca would spot Slavomir’s phone safely nestled inside his pocket, or resting at a table at arm's reach. Where there was a text that would introduce itself with a chirp Slavomir would glance at it to respond later, if he was not to respond right away. And when there was a call, which usually indicated a more pressing matter, Slavomir would be quick to pick up. Luca himself was more biased towards the impersonal nature of a phone call, but Slavomir would usually stand his ground:

     ‘If you need something at the moment, calling’s faster than text,’ he had once told Luca, shrugging it off. ‘No bullshit misunderstandings, you know? It’s just picking up a goddamn button.‘

     And yet. in the middle of a winter night, Slavomir was not picking up his goddamn phone.

     Luca went to wet his lips with coffee and cursed once realizing his cup was empty. The drink had come and gone in less than ten minutes of waiting around in his car, already neatly parked next to Slavomir’s apartment. Not his drink of choice, especially when tense to his core, but the warmth would have to do.

     Another text message prompting Slavomir to pick up. Luca stared back at the two gray checkmarks, trying to contain himself from looking at the last activity log once again. The last four times he had, they had all shown the same: Three hours ago. Very unlike Slavomir. Luca sighed, fingers too chilly to keep up sliding across the glass screen, and decided to take more direct action. He had already driven so far, after all.

     Slavomir’s apartment complex greeted him all the same, grey and cold and cramped. Luca climbed up two flights of stairs, cursing under his breath at how the concrete chilled him to the core, and hoped that Slavomir’s apartment would be warmer.

     “It’s me,” Luca called out, knocking hard on the door to try and make as much noise as possible. Whatever Slavomir was doing, it was probably not sleeping with music blasting from behind the door. A good reason as to why he hadn’t heard his phone, maybe?

     Luca waited about thirty seconds, enough for the song to dip down and play a second one. He tried again, with similar results. There was no sign and movement, even when the lights were on, and the more he knocked, the more dread started to set. There was no mistaking, Slavomir was home.

     A feeling of dread started to set in, a sort of sixth sense that came with his profession. Luca told himself that Slavomir was smart enough not to get into trouble, but his hands were shaking when he knocked on the door for a third time. He hesitated on reaching for his weapon, the familiar weight on his right pocket– but right before he was to decide on wielding it or not, the door opened up. It seemed like it had been unlocked. There was something very, very wrong.

     Clouded by panic, he rushed into the house, unarmed, and hyperaware. The smell of smoke and something akin to acid filled his nose, and Luca knew what had happened before even setting foot inside Slavomir’s room.

     Most say that when faced with a harsh reality, the world slows down around you, like a movie. But for Luca, it was more like a photograph: terror, frozen in time, framed by the image of Slavomir’s body.

     Because the man’s skin was pale, but at that moment, it was something beyond sickly. There was a blue tinge around the edges of Slavomir’s nose and mouth, framing a thin string of saliva trailing down his chin. Slavomir’s eyes, unfocused, twinged slightly at the sound, and just for a moment, he seemed to be looking out for his help.

      Luca was shaking. His path towards Slavomir’s body was obstacled by the sharp crunching of glass, having the man almost trip with a used syringe. He pressed forward, and without any direct awareness of his limbs, he found himself kneeling at his side. Slavomir’s eyes were still open, but Luca feared the worst. With his hand shaking, he reached forward, and pressed two fingers at the side of his neck, looking for a pulse that–

     “L.. Luca?”

     The moment Slavomir’s consciousness returned, even when weak and blinking, Luca’s entire body felt like collapsing. Slavomir was still alive, which was a shot of relief akin to pure, unadulterated adrenaline. At the same time, it felt like a dark, sick fucking joke.

     “What the fuck were you thinking?” Luca barked out, in place of thanking a God he did not believe in, “You fucking idiot– you did too much.”

     “It wasn’t hitting,” Slavomir replied. His voice was slurred, mouth dry and heaving, but he was able to form a cohesive sentence, “I should have… ordered more. I… didn't think I did enough.”

     “Are you fucking with me right now?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It didn’t matter if Slavomir’s comment was a joke or an excuse. Luca felt like throwing up, “You fucking IDIOT, if I hadn’t come here– why didn’t you call me–?”

     The response was worse than Luca could have imagined, “I… can’t move my arm.”

     Shit. Luca scrambled to take his phone out of his pocket, the music barely drowning out the sound of it being unlocked.

     “You’ll be okay,” he whispered, his other hand squeezing Slavomir’s. “Shit, I swear, I will make sure you are okay. I am here.

     “Don’t… no ambulance, ” Slavomir croaked out.

     “What are you, stupid?” Luca was shivering just as much as Slavomir was, if not more. Words would not process as they should, instead focusing all his attention on the screen before him– Choosing a contact, sharing a location, pressing an emergency button set up by a trusted ally. Then, typing out a single text, just two letters: OD. “I’ll have one of my guys here as soon as fucking possible– shit, they better be here fucking fast.”

     “What, not a–” a cough,  “–a fan of this album?”

     Right, the music. Knowing it would only make both their moods worse, Luca fell blindly around the couch above Slavomir’s head, trying to locate– there, his phone. The music stopped after a couple of clicks, and what followed was an eerie sort of quiet, only broken by very hitched breathing.

     If it was Slavomir’s or his own, Luca couldn’t tell.

     Reaching out to hold onto Slavomir’s hand, he felt the skin clammy, and upon further inspection, he realized the bed of Slavomir’s nails was turning blue. Being born to a bloodline of crime, Luca had been witness to far worse dealings, sensations, and sights– yet the touch was enough to make him physically react, repelling if just a little bit.

     Slavomir had the audacity to laugh.

     “‘M fine,” the man said simply, in a tone of voice that betrayed the lie.

     “You will be,” Luca hissed out, pushing past his panic and nausea and holding him close. He pressed Slavomir’s back against his chest, propped his body up, and tore on his zipp-up, aiding his airway as much as he could, “I fucking swear, Hlasny. You better not die on me, cause as soon as you’re better, I’m killing you myself.”

     Another laugh, though this time weaker. Slavomir parted his lips to say something, but this time no noise came out. Shit.

     Luca’s phone now lay abandoned on the floor, but by the way that the screen kept lighting up with notifications, his distress call had been heard loud and clear. All explanations could be done once Slavomir was safe, this stupid fucking drug out of his system.

     As he held Slavomir closer, Luca cursed himself again and again for not bringing something that could help revert the effects. This was not the first time he had found a person in the middle of a crisis, it came with the job. It also wasn’t the first time he had seen Slavomir walk the overdose tightrope, either. Of course, it fucking wasn’t.

     Luca knew Slavomir had a problem, they all did. Drugs were a poison that clawed at the hosts’ impulses, promising a rush more sobering than sobriety itself. He knew the risks, they both did– because their empire was no business without addiction. Luca had managed to escape its claws. Slavomir had not.

     “I won’t let you die on me,” Luca said once again, repeating it like a mantra. All anger had boiled away into fear, and all that remained was an empty shell of a prayer. “I won’t let you die on me, Slavomir. I fucking swear it. Please, please don’t die on me.”

     Slavomir squeezed his hand but said nothing else. The body was prone to shield itself from unsavory consequences, and you could not feel pain and fear when you were unconscious. Luca forced himself to say that was normal, even in such an urgent situation. All he could do was wait.

     He would do better. Not Slavomir, but Luca himself– he would do better to aid his partner to escape that poison, little by little, to make sure that none of this ever fucking happened again. Fuck the business, fuck the money, fuck this lifestyle that they had built in the dark. Because Slavomir, broken as Luca was, deserved more. And Luca swore he would give it to him.

     “I love you,” he whispered, hand squeezing Slavomir’s wrist. Luca’s brain had disassociated from the rest of the outside world to the point where he barely heard the sound of people rushing up the stairs. For now, all that mattered was Slavomir’s pulse, a fleeting witness that he was still alive. “You will be okay. I will make sure of it.”

     A promise he hoped he could keep.