The sonorous voice of the ocean serenaded him as he sat alone on the breakwater. It was bizarre that he could still find comfort in the entity that almost became his suicide accomplice- volunteering at a critical moment to sink his soul and then, screamed at him to run far away from impending doom.

A schizophrenic creature the ocean was. And Joe found a sense of kinship with it. It reminded him brutally at how he almost penned the last chapter of his life, leaving the rest of the pages to soak in anguished tears.

He had vanquished that darkness only to be vacuumed into a new one, a tiring process that he wanted to let go and yet, he was so terribly drawn to slither in the mud.

"Hello there, my fair-weathered friend…" Shane scowled at him. Joe tilted his head up and animated human beings sensitized the numbness of his mind. Shane, Craig and Wayne were in various positions outside his dorm room, brushing the walls with a fresh coat of cheap white paint lethargically. Not professionals and definitely not enthusiastic about the task, they allowed fat blotches of white paint to plop onto the grey concrete below, stamping marks of carelessness permanently.

The hall master would not be pleased at all.

"Grab a brush and start painting, yah?" Craig pointed to a paintbrush abandoned next to a metal bucket filled with the color of purity marred by specks of rust. Joe found himself mesmerized by the still, circular canvas. Snapping himself out of the trance when he could gain some control of his mental focus, he halted the practice of association and began to survey the damage done by the pranksters.

He grimaced at the murderous slander being sprayed onto the walls. Red painted woods with invisible hooks that attached themselves to his flesh and ripped away.

Maybe the original evil was not bested after all. He shuddered at that thought. As his sight stretched across the blue horizon- the waters sparkling with the blessing of day break- he deliberately avoided even catching glimpses of the big cliff. He could not bear to, it frightened him too much still.

Why did he return? Maybe it was the song of the undulating waves, crashing on the backs of one another. Maybe it was the caresses of the salty breeze- ghostly hands that stroke him, weathering away the dirt he saw being reborn over and over again on his skin.

Maybe it was just him, needing to punish himself with the sight of the grave that was almost his.

Groggily, he stumbled heavily over to forlorn paintbrush, picked it up, dipped it into the paint and watched some rust flecks being consumed by the sheer thickness of the colored mixture. Willing his mind to avoid registering the hurtful, evil vulgarization of his name, he rerouted all energies for mental activities to drawing nice, big circles onto the wall.

He would draw the perfect circle without the aid of the compass. He was stoically determined to.

Because two weeks ago, the song of the ocean was the chant of curses; a rancor being corrupting his shattered soul. And the wind- the wind froze his bones, making him feel dead even before he already was.

However, everything was back to normal at that moment. The ocean had repented and was soothing him again. He thought about many things; reflected on his life.

Sometimes a smile would grace his lips; most of the time, the longing brought a twisting to his chest.

He mourned for his past, despised his present and was cynical of his future.

His future- a big, black vacuum. Not even filled with nothingness.

And when he was done reflecting, he thought about her.

"Who the hell did you piss off this time? Huh? Dragging us down with you…" Shane growled angrily, swiping at the wall with irate strokes. "As if losing our job at Storm was not enough…"

He would have said more had Wayne not cast a sharp glance at him, demanding he shut his trap.

"Nobody. So, you guys found new gigs?" Joe had quite a lot of livid retorts to throw back at Shane but they would all sound empty- hollow in their meaningless violence. Besides, he was tired and concentrating really hard on his perfect circle.

"Hey baby…" She sat down beside him and cuddled up close. He smiled for he knew she would return. He only wanted to know why she would return only when he was alone. He turned and gazed into her sultry gray eyes, the gray eyes that would keep him entranced.

"What took you so long?"

"I’m sorry. I had some things to do… but now I’m back." She planted a kiss on his cheek. Her kiss was so cold, light as the breeze. She must be freezing.

"For good?" He asked hopefully, taking off his jacket to swing around her slim shoulders. She wrapped herself with the denim covering already heated up by his own body warmth and nodded.

"If you want me to. I’ll stay here forever."

He wept then, missing her so much. He wanted to embrace her but he was afraid he would disintegrate the dream. Only that now, she was not a dream. She was right beside him and she would listen to him.

"Ness, I… Do you still want me? Like this?" He shrugged slightly with his arms half-outstretched in awkward offering, indicating how little he had- the pathetic residue of the Joe she fell in love with before.

"I love you." Her whisper blew into his ears like the breath of the wind carrying the message that he so desperately needed to hear.

"Actually, yes, at Arachno." Wayne answered him good-naturedly. "It’s a nice environment. I think in a way, everything works out fine. We do lack a skillful keyboardist called Joe Hardy…" His hinting trailed off as he winked at Joe who let out a small laugh and started dotting the wall. The perfect circle was too obscure a shape to duplicate thus he gave up.

"Who’s trying to be an artist. Can you stop playing and start painting? I don’t want to waste my whole morning here! It’s either this or eight hundred bucks! Goodness knows why I put up with a roommate like you!" Shane threw his brush down and kicked an empty bucket, sending it clattering down the hallway. "You and your tirades!"

"Stop it Shane!" Wayne commanded, taking control of the situation. "We’re all here to help, all right? It’s almost done…"

"It’s not this!" Shane gestured to the wall. "It was last night! He actually kept a secret box of liquor under his bed when the both of us had a deal to stay sober and he broke it! If Mina knows about it…"

So, is that where I got drunk?

No… my van’s not here either… I remembered going down to Bay Alley…

"You’re not going to tell Mina." Joe stopped whatever he was doing and glared at Shane- cool blue flames danced in his eyes. "It’s none of your f…"

"Oh yes it is… Mina doesn’t need her heart broken by a guy like you." Shane retorted, revealing what he knew. Joe closed his eyes, dropped the brush on the floor and sucked in a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fist simultaneously.

"You want to beat me up, Joe?" Shane taunted and Joe could sense him edging closer. Molten lava bubbled and boiled in him. If Shane wanted to see an explosion, Joe would gladly oblige.

His eyes shot opened and his fist was raised, only to be pulled back by someone else- Craig.

Wayne pushed Shane back as well.

"The both of you cool down. Mina can wait but this matter can’t, ok? It’s Joe’s private life, Shane. Show some respect… back off." Craig spoke up and Joe was mildly surprised at Craig’s defense of him. He relaxed his anger and Craig released his hand.

Shane calmed down as well, averting his eyes away from Joe, his chest heaving with a latent fume, the leftover of his outburst.

"I’m sorry." He muttered, biting his lips.

"Me too." Joe groused. Wayne clucked his tongue in disgust at their childish actions while Joe felt Craig resuming painting the wall in typical nonchalance.

He turned towards her but she was already gone. The sun winked through the clouds.

And his jacket laid in a bundle on the breakwater just next to him.

Bending down, Joe picked up the brush and begin to properly paint the wall this time round. Shane did the same as well and the tense silence was only breached by the occasional song being hummed by Wayne.

But he knew she would return. She just… had some things to do.

***

 

"… Wait! I may not look it but I’ve got a diploma in piano from ABRSM and I do play classical music, I just don’t like them…" Joe tried to reason with the hotel manager of the posh Bayport Meridian who gave him a sidelong glance- the distaste that was being announced on his demeanor was akin to that of a haughty aristocrat faced with an unkempt street urchin.

 

"I’m sorry. No can do." He spoke from the corner of his lips before dismissing Joe all together, switching his focus back to smiling and nodding at the occasional guest who walked pass where he stood- a few feet away from the counter.

 

"You didn’t even hear me play! Alright, I’ll wear a suit." Joe thought he was making a huge sacrifice by offering to disguise himself literally as a penguin. If it was not to pay off the damages, he would not have begged the manager as he did then.

 

The whole morning work which stretched into the sweltering mid-afternoon was rejected by the hall master. He had told them that the quality of paint job could not blend in with the rest of the "professional" strokes and decided that they would have to settle the bill for the painters that he was going to hire.

 

Joe was incensed and stormed dirty shoe prints all over the dried parts of their painting efforts. "There! Now it meshes well perfectly with the pathetic ‘rest of the professional strokes!’"

Joe knew the hall master was just nit-picking, looking for all sorts of excuses to throw him out of the hostel block. Well, maybe he would leave but he could not leave Shane in huge debt.

The manager threw him the exasperated look of someone trying to be understood but failing miserably. "It’s you, sonny. I’m sorry. But this is the best hotel in the whole of Bayport. A five-star hotel even. We don’t hire the likes of you. Maybe you can try some of the pubs down Bay Alley…"

Joe threw his gloved hands up in the air and strode away before the manager could finish. He knew he was not welcomed but a hotel lounge pianist definitely commanded a better salary than someone who played in the pubs. Besides, owing to the astronomical price of alcoholic beverages in hotels, he would be at least insulated somewhat from the seductive, hooking smile of temptation.

Insulated somewhat. How am I going to raise $800+++ in a week’s time?

Shane’s already packing. So should I.

"Ah this place is so clean… so beautiful… no disgusting insects flying around… not like my poor sister’s house…" Joe overheard a plump, prosperous old madam as he neared her, commenting in crisp Queen’s diction to her immaculately dressed companion, a young, dashing man of about twenty-five and an evil look flitted across his face.

"Arghh! A cockroach!" Joe suddenly hollered, indicating wildly at a spot near a sleek metallic dustbin. "Two! Two cockroaches!"

The madam jumped, clutching the hand of her companion tightly " Keep those vermin away from me! Cockroaches!!! I CAN’T STAND COCKROACHES!"

The companion tried to pacify her but failed as she hilariously screeched loudly away about the cockroaches that Joe suggested; that she had not even seen. The manager, soon aware of the commotion immediately ran over and apologized profusely. By the time he reached them, Joe was already whistling out of the hotel’s entrance.

When he was at the steps leading to the revolving door, he turned around and sniggered at the sight of the pompous manager offering soft, white tissues to the clearly distraught "noblewoman" who was gradually calming down, exchanging her hysteria with indignance.

Oh goody, goody gosh!

Smack!

"Hey! Watch it!" Joe barked as he spun around, flustered by the rock he had bumped into. The sudden human contact unnerved him and sent his heart palpitating way out of control.

"Joe?"

"Brian Hooper, right?" the DA questioned Joe’s ex-best friend who was on the stand. The blond headed jock nodded and Joe bristled, just seeing him.

"Yes." Brian averted his eyes from Joe’s fixated, vacant look. It was uncomfortable, more uncomfortable than a glare.

"Did you have a fling with Vanessa Bender about a month before the victim passed away?"

"Yes."

The world slipped away from him, until he was standing on a lone stage and with his ex-best-friend. The spotlight glared harshly on the both of them, highlighting the dark circles under both their eyes- proof of many sleepless nights under the same detached night sky.

There was no audience, no theatre. Just the solitary stage -floating in the vast, empty space.

"Wow… I was… I thought of visiting your family…"

And discomfiture, on Brian’s part. No, Brian. The friendly nickname somehow did not sound right to Joe anymore. Only friends called each other endearing nicknames.

"Brian? You don’t look like a Brian. Uh uh… I think you’re more like a Beef Jerky!" Five year old Joey decided pretty cruelly.

"No! Am not!" Five year old Brian Hooper objected, stamping his left foot, sending sand from the playground pelting on their shins.

"Beef Jerky!" Joey insisted, sticking out his tongue after he made his stand.

"Shut up!" Brian shoved Joey who staggered backwards but was not deterred.

"Beef! Beef! Beef… Biff, Biff…" He chanted as he ran like the wind away from the newcomer who intruded on his turf to the safety of his brother’s side.

The newcomer was huge!

"But… my mom… she said it may not be that great an idea… believe me Joe, I…"

Was the course of his life already decided upon and he was just an actor unable to break away from the fate that was just one, tedious repetition of dread, after dread? Could not those who went away- those who left while they could still bear to walk from the wreckage and the pain- stay away forever?

Why must he return? To see me groveling in my own vomit?

Fans of rage stroked resolutely, determined to stoke the forgotten fire, willing it to blaze like a beacon- not of hope but of a portent of something sinister bubbling and churning beneath the pillar of flame.

He stopped his hands from clenching into fists of fury. A deadness, like that of still waters before a torrential wave, covered him possessively.

Smile.

He smiled, friendly; accepting.

Go on, greet him.

"Hello, Br… Biff." He caught himself. Friends called each other by their endearing nicknames.

Invite him for something…

"It’s been some time. Care for coffee?" His tone was as amiable as he could managed. Shrugging, he nodded towards the direction of where he remembered Star Bucks to be, if it was still standing.

Now, that’s a good boy.

"Hey Biff! Sorry, it’s Tony’s fault… the party…oh… ahm…. Hi Joe!" Chet raced up to Brian and only saw Joe when the giant moved a step sideways, revealing the miserable shadow of the quarterback who used to play with him on the same team.

Joe smiled even wider, getting very used to his new role in life- the actor who would script his own lines.

That’s right. Write your own dialogues. You’re done speaking his.

***

"Coffee…" Joe beamed at Chet, Tony and Brian who were all seated at the al fresco section of Star Bucks. In his right hand, four cups of Frappucinos on a plastic brown tray balanced expertly; on his left, serviettes were clutched much tighter than necessary.

He had offered to treat them. And he would not take no for an answer.

"Joe, we can’t…"

"Hey, an old friend of ours is back. I just want to make him feel… comfortable."

He slide the tray on the table and slipped into the seat beside Chet, still grinning away, wearing his old self like a required but detested second skin.

Old, new. New, old. La la da la la. It doesn’t matter anymore, Joey.

Ooh boy. This is so fun.

"Blackforest for me… and the rest of you can go identify your own." Joe grabbed his drink from the tray and swirled the whip cream into the blended coffee cocktail with feigned enthusiasm. The smell wafted to his nose and made him sick. Maybe coffee was the most fragrant drink in the entire Universe for many, especially those who needed it to flow through their systems for the animation of muscles.

To Joe, it was absolutely revolting- triggering nausea; triggering hate.

"Ah! Coffee…" Chet sipped his drink which name Joe’s tongue had tripped over twice whilst he was ordering those four cups of brown poison.

"Yah… coffee…" Tony parroted and the two smart young men who suddenly morphed into two idiots owing to their unease began sipping their Frappucinos with too much gusto. So much so that Chet swallowed too fast and choked.

"There! You’re all right!" Joe clapped Chet’s back heavily, causing Chet’s torso to double over the table top and gag. Joe twisted his lips in sarcastic mirth. Tony and Brian looked on, their eyes shifting from the friendly scene in front of them to each other. A message of worry passed between the both of them and Joe smiled a tad too saccharinely. Brian averted his glance while Tony fiddled with his straw.

"You’re too much, buddy." Chet finally caught his breath; his complexion reddened from the lack of air. Joe let out a sharp laugh that sounded more like a strained sob as it piercingly cut through the air, bleeding out more molecules of tenseness.

"So... since none of you are going to feel good sitting here anyway, let me make you feel worse. What party?" Joe asked casually, his brows arched as he sipped the abomination of a blended cocktail with the finesse of a cat. His smile was cordial but his glare bore down deep into Brian. A year of hatred, simmering in that dark little corner of his mind, was finally allowed to boil and rumble- its acidic fumes reached out with gnarled, slender fingers- scarred and hideous- to corrode the pits of Brian’s soul.

No. He could not see it coming too.

Oh yes. He is to be blamed for everything.

I am. I am to be blamed for everything.

It was his turn to avert his eyes.

"Hmm… what party?" Chet asked in all guilelessness, still playing the fool. Joe should be pissed, he wondered why he was not that peeved.

"C’mon, Chet, I heard it just now. A party, your birthday. Do you think I’m stupid?" Joe groused, setting his coffee aside, making no more pretense that he was enjoying the blasted drink.

"Oh…" Chet answered in a small voice. Tony gulped down more coffee while Brian just stared at his drink.

I kicked three, moronic cats and snipped their tails off.

"I’m ok… you can tell me." Joe assured them as convincingly as he could manage. In his heart though, another cauldron of hydrochloric acid bubbled.

Chet exchanged glances with Tony who shrugged and gave Joe a big, wide smile. "Chet’s thinking of throwing a birthday party on his birthday… we don’t mean it to disrespect Vanessa… we just want to… there’s…"

"Too many tears, Joe." Brian looked up finally, his eyes glazed over with unspoken sorrow. Joe cocked his head to one side, thinking of many things; thinking of nothing.

Tears? What tears? He’s entitled to none! NONE!

The atmosphere conceived- heavily pregnant with the presage of something bad.

Joe wanted to laugh again, this time at his ex-friends’ unnecessary fear.

A party? If they want a party, they can have a party. Who cares? No one does… it’s just something to sweep under the rug.

"There’s no need to be so melodramatic, guys. A party… we need some good cheer, don’t we?" Joe decided that he could be generous and let go of the stranglehold he held them in, choking air out of the café. He almost heard Chet heave a huge sigh of relief and watched Tony’s mien relax.

Brian, though, observed Joe with a weird look; the look of someone who was startled by what he had heard. And something else, something he recognized in Frank.

Concern. Genuine, heartfelt concern.

Stung by the apparent friendship that Brian still harbored towards him, Joe only felt more weighed down by betrayal. The perfidious act could never be forgotten, no matter how Brian tried to compensate. He could compensate forever but Joe could never count him as a friend again.

"So, you guys need help? I can lend you the services of my van and even be your driver if you need to buy food in cartons… knowing you, Chet, that would most likely be the case." Joe volunteered affably and Chet gave him the old, "funny; ha-ha" look.

He hoped with all his heart Chet would refuse him. The offer was not out of goodwill. It was simply done because it seemed natural, at least natural for him to volunteer a year ago.

"It’s going to be healthy party. Alfalfa sprouts and the works! No salad cream allowed." Chet nodded resolutely. "We are all going to help Chet be able to see a flat stomach as he turns twenty- one."

Tony laughed slightly and Brian shook his head.

"Exercise, man… it’s the only way to slim down… healthily." Brian advised Chet who most probably heard the rhetoric once too often. A truism that was actually proven but being so cliché, it was often received with weary eyes and skepticism.

"Or you can simply get rolled over by a truck. You’ll be flat in no time." Joe suggested helpfully, causing Chet to groan audibly.

"You have to stop being morbid, Joe… but it’s nice to see you smiling again. Frank told you about it, huh?"

About what?

"…it’s not a battle you have to fight alone…and I’ll explain to you… something I’ve found out…"

"Excuse me?" Joe felt his pulse quicken as the horrible gut feeling disturbed him.

Traitors. All traitors.

They know! They know about it! About…

And he told Chet! He told…

"Oh… he did not tell you about what he found out?" Chet shrunk in Joe’s eyes as his voice grew smaller but Joe was not seeing Chet or anyone anymore. White spots assaulted his vision as his breathing grew heavier and more laborious.

The air. It was rapidly depleting.

"You know? You know about it? He told you?" Joe clenched his fist under the table, feeling his muscles all tensed. Chet stared at him, slack-jawed. The gaping chasm sprung forth sputters of fear and speechlessness.

"Ah… ah…"

"Yes. I think Frank had a sort of graphic discussion with him about it…" Tony interjected, trying to rescue Chet from his mute spell.

Joe just wanted to faint but he was not permitted the escape that movie characters seemed so easily disposed to when they were overwhelmed with conflicting, potent emotions.

So he calmly stood up.

"I think I’ll go and discuss it with Frank myself. Thanks Chet… and your party’s going to be great." He spoke steadily, his mien serene.

Walking away from the table, he had the most stupid smile plastered on his smile.

The honks of the cars were ignored as he crossed the road heedless of his safety. Him and Frank. Two brothers. Closer than twins to many. A closeness of two souls, joined together by an umbilical cord, transferring trust and brotherly love to each other.

A closeness that baffled their parents and instigated envy in their sister.

Traitor.

He took a scissors and snipped the cord.

Traitor.

He watched the trust spill onto the dusty ground from the severed cord, covered with grime and virulent dirt.

Traitor.

And cracks ran all over an image of his brother before shattering under the pressure of his anger into minute pieces in his pot-holed mind.

Traitor.