The Beginning of The Confusion
Wellingtons
His life was filled with forced moments. He forgot the mundane things he was supposed to do and merely let instinct take over. Brushing his teeth, making his bed, dressing himself. He couldn't remember doing anything until he found himself at the beach. Yet again.
Simon.
Sakai.
Park Junho.
Did it matter?
A man who used to be someone but now merely an entity.
He didn't know what it was that attracted him to the beach. Maybe it was the smell. The smell of salt that lingered in the air and made its way into your clothes, your hair.
Maybe it was the silence. The peace in knowing solitude, hearing only the splashes of waves onto rocks, the squawking of the seagulls.
Or maybe it was because it was where he had met her. The girl with the perpetual smile on her face even the time when he had shouted at her, when he had said such horrible things. The smile still stayed. And it wouldn't go away.
When he first met her in that state of confusion, his thoughts jumbled even further. Maybe that was what made him fall hard for her in the first place.
"What are you doing here? This is a private beach."
"What are you doing here? All alone," she said smiling.
Smiling, forever smiling.
-
"You wanna drink?" his 'friend' asked, knowing fully well that he couldn't take in any alcohol in his new body. Yet, he politely declined, no evidence of irritation on his perfect features.
He looked around the morbid surroundings. It was a sickening scene, something that he used to enjoy to forget the pain. Something that he indulged in to keep from seeing pitying looks from the others. After all, he was the nightclub king.
He was a high flyer. He was the kind of guy who got straight A's, good looking, played sports well, every girl's dream guy. Money was no issue, he totaled cars for the fun of it, choosing to cover it himself rather than the insurance.
He smiled a little, turning the empty shot glass with his fingers. Money. The religion of money, he scoffed. Such superficiality. He thrived among the materialistic. But everyday, before he turned in to bed, he would be reminded of the trio and how they forced him to stay alive.
Her gale laughter brought an unexplainable warmth. His cheeks flushed despite the fact that it was January and they were metres up, in the lighthouse by the beach.
"Why do you keep smiling?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" she turned to him purposely smiling brighter.
He tried not to grin back but failed, "There. That smile. It's always there."
"Why shouldn't it be?"
"Do you smile when you're angry?" he asked incredulously.
She laughed again, "I smile more when I'm angry. There's no use being angry, Daniel. If you're going to spend your time being angry, you're going to lead a pitiful life."
His voice tightened, "I already lead a pitiful life."
A pause.
She reached over and ruffled his hair. "Not to me, you're not."
Not to me, you're not.
Not to me, you're not.
Without saying anything, he just stood up and left, ignoring the jeering of his buddies. He smiled wryly to himself. It was time for an ice-lolly.
Comments