I compose a message.
Julian, have you left already? Can I ask you a favour? The lads here are being so noisy. I’m kind of freaking out. Can I come and hang out with you again? Your energy is so calming to be around. Tell me to piss off if this is inconvenient. I’m tripping balls a bit. I should have thought about this beforehand.
You know where my hotel is, Nat?
Around the corner from here somewhere?
I’ll send you a location pin. Or hey, come downstairs and outside. I’ll come back and collect you.
You sure?
Yeah. It’s no problem. It’ll pass too, don’t worry.
I know. I feel a bit wwwaaaaahhhhhh.
You are a wwwaaaaahhhhh alright.
Hey. I don’t even know what that is.
I’ll be there in seven minutes, Nat. Hang tight.
Thanks, Jules.
I re-read the messages. They beat on the screen like a heart.
Seven minutes later, Julian waits for me in the lobby of the hostel. I hold his arm, grateful.
‘Do I look fucked?’ I ask.
‘I’d be slightly lying if I said no. It’s only because I know the signs. The pupils and that.’
‘I’m tripping so bad, Julian,’ I say. ‘Everything has a wave of colour coming off it. It’s like a bloody cliché with the trippy colours. Fucking hell. When does it wear off? I feel like I’m seeing the mysteries of the universe unravel and rewind and then play again but I’m not quite seeing it. I’m on the edge of seeing it.’
‘I don’t know, Natalie,’ he says.
We walk across the yard and down the fancy street, take a right to his hotel. A porter in fine threads opens the door for us. I feel like a backpacker but Julian’s in casual clothes too.
‘This place is so swanky,’ I say and get distracted by the chandelier in the hall which vibes purple and blue, then green, pink, yellow. ‘I’m going to explode with all these colours and waves. People are walking like they’re puppets too. Maybe they are puppets? Capitalist ones?’
‘Shush till we get up to the room, okay, Natalie, no need to insult the guests.’
‘Sorry.’
We take the lift to his bedroom on the eighth floor. He moves his stuff off the other bed and tells me to lie down.
‘You’re not going to do anything to me?’
‘No, Natalie, I’m not. I’ll put on some meditation music, but I’ll also be working. You relax, okay? This will all pass soon.’
He says to flick the lamp off if I want, he’ll have enough light at his desk.
‘Do you trust me, Julian? I am under the influence.’
‘Yeah, call me crazy but I do. I know you’re sweet and open. Honest.’
‘I am honest, look at the state of me to be presenting myself like this to you.’
He works in the corner, studying and typing things up. I breathe with the music and watch him. My trip loses its intensity. Form is not to be trusted yet. Matter still swirls colourful energy. In the dark, I wonder about the shape of him at his desk; I haven’t seen it this way before, on the plane or even on the boat earlier in the day. Something about his shape is odd. I can’t put my finger on what it is, maybe I’m hallucinating still.
‘Just going to use the bathroom,’ I say.
His toothbrush is charging and his toothpaste, shaving gel and razor are all on the top of the sink basin. He has face oils, body oils, essential oils and other lotions wrapped up in a washbag. I am impressed with his organic range.
I try to pee but it takes ages and is so uncomfortable. Objects aren’t colourful or psychedelic anymore but I’m sensing things halfway between my mind’s eye and my eyesight, shapes growing in the mosaic tiles, the wall swallowing itself. He has lots of other creams and potions, Vaseline, inflammation tablets, blister plasters. All these products. Is he some sort of American psycho but an English version? British psycho.
‘Are you okay in there?’ He raps on the door.
I get such a fright that I knock some pills; I’m not sure what they’re for.
‘Yep.’
‘You sure? I’m worried.’
‘I can’t pee. I’ve tried for ages. Everything feels weird. Okay, I’ll be out in a sec.’
‘I’m ordering room service, is there anything you’d eat? When is the last time you ate?’
‘Well, I ate some mushrooms about four hours ago.’
He chuckles. ‘I’ll order fries for you? Will you eat them?’
‘Yeah, thanks, Julian.’
After eating, the trip wears off. My face almost feels normal again.
Julian turns the TV on. We watch some news in Dutch, some CNN.
‘Any music?’ I ask
Julian flicks around and finds a pop station. We sit in silence and watch the music videos.
‘Thanks for helping me out,’ I say. ‘You’re a decent man.’
‘You’re a wild woman.’
‘I suppose I’ll head off so. Thanks again.’
‘Do you want to wait? There’s a spare bed and, like, it might not be fully faded, there’s still a chance you’ll freak again.’
‘Is there?’
‘Well, maybe not. But the offer stands if you want to stay here for the night. No funny business.’
‘Like a sleepover?’
He laughs hard. ‘Yes, Natalie, like a sleepover.’
‘Okay,’ I say and watch him again. He goes into the bathroom, and I can hear his puttering around. He comes out wearing the clothes he went in with and sleeps in them in the bed across from me. I can’t say anything, I’m wearing the same clothes too.
In the morning, we laugh about the night and I’m so happy it’s over.
‘I will never, ever do that shit again,’ I say. ‘Thanks for looking after me.’
‘You got to stop with the thanks. People helped me out before when I needed them, it’s okay. Do you want something to eat? I can order up or you can take breakfast downstairs?’
‘There’s a café around the corner. Would you let me treat you to a coffee before I go, to show my appreciation?’
‘But my expenses cover—’
‘Please let me get you something, to say thanks. I’m sorry, last night was a bit hairy. I don’t know why impulses get the better of me sometimes.’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t judge yourself so harshly.’
‘What?’
‘You’re too hard on yourself. Things are what they are. It’s done. It was an experience. That’s it.’
I feel ropey on the street. The small café on the corner stinks of weed.
‘I hate the smell of this stuff.’
‘Me too,’ he says, ‘but the oil is good.’
‘You love oils, do you? Some collection in your bathroom.’
He gives me a closed mouthed smile and shrugs as in, what-can-I-say. ‘Look I don’t want to inhale the second-hand weed. I don’t want to get the munchies. I can’t, in fact, get the munchies.’
‘Weed makes me paranoid,’ I say.
‘Should we go somewhere that doesn’t smell of weed since neither of us like it?’
‘Yes.’
We order from a hipster coffee van and sit on a bench to drink it. The morning is fresh. I can’t stop smiling.
Julian kisses my cheek at the hostel door. My cheek tingles. I am thirteen again.
Later Julian texts to ask if I’m okay.
Yes, much better.
He asks,
Do you want to go for dinner?
I reply,
Date?
with a tongue-out emoji.
He sends back the blushing emoji,
Yes, if you’d like?
I smile re-reading his messages. Desire strokes me.