Date: Mon, 12 May 2014 04:54:30 +0700
From: Robert Glass <robxglass@gmail.com>
Subject: The Virgin Joseph part 19

All right reserved. Any unauthorized use is prohibited. This is a
fiction. Any resemblance to people and/or events is coincidental. If
reading this deemed illegal to you, I implore you to stop. If it offends
you, please do not read on.

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PART 19


Someone was incessantly calling for Joe, Tom could hear it. In his hell of
a hangover, it sounded painful.  Making the last turn down the hallway he
could see that Sam was already there; the calls came from him. Sam stopped,
feeling the presence of Tom. Both of them stood there outside Joe's door,
where they were struggling to put on their clothes just the night before,
after Joe cruelly kicked them out. That wasn't too cruel. What Tom did was
cruel, and he did it with the man he was facing. Tom was ashamed; he could
sense that Sam was too.

"He's not answering, isn't he?" Tom asked.

"No," Sam answered in short. "I've been here for an hour. He wakes up at
seven, so I came. He didn't answer since then. His phone is dead, I
think. I couldn't get through."

They stood there in silence, just like the night before when Sam dropped
his PS4 off for Joe. Only this time the two men were rendered with
guilt. Also, hangover.

"Joseph," Tom called. "It's me, Tom. I need to talk to you. I... I need to
apologize," he shouted.

There was no reaction whatsoever. The other side was completely silent. No
footsteps, no doors open or closed, not a sound of moving furniture, no
water drops. "It's been like this the whole time," Sam said.  "Do you think
he's okay? Or home at all?" Sam proceeded to bang the door, and Tom's
pumping head could not handle that anymore.

"I don't know. One way to find out," Tom said as he intently looking at
Sam. He was worried, just like Sam. Bad thoughts ran through his mind, all
the 'what if's. Tom never saw Joe as a suicidal person, but what if he was?
He produced a key.

"I know where he hides his spare key," Sam said urgently.

"I have his key." Tom dug into his jean pocket and found it. He stopped
himself before he inserted his key to the slot. He knew that Joe wouldn't
appreciate him barging in, not after what he did last night. On the other
hand, Sam's questioning Joe's wellbeing got him worried. Tom did insert the
key and unlocked the door, just before Sam started to open his mouth again.

They went in and stopped. Tom might not think that Joe was suicidal, but
from what he witnessed last night, there was a chance that Joe could be
homicidal. After waiting for mere two seconds in anticipation of Joe's
assault, Tom relaxed his shoulder. He finally could let himself observe the
apartment. Perhaps everything was still there. The coffee table was clean,
although he didn't remember cleaning it before he... did that stupid
thing. The wooden debris was intact, just outside of Joe's opened bedroom
door. The bedroom itself was empty.

"Joe?" Sam called.

Tom didn't waste time calling for Joe, he went right to the bedroom. He
thought maybe Joe was sleeping on the floor, next to the far side of the
bed. He wasn't there. He checked under the bed. He checked the
closet. Joseph was not at those places too. Tom was beyond frustrated that
he felt the urge to cry.  Behind him he could here Sam gasped.

"Joseph!" Sam shouted, with a lot more urgency.

Tom ran the short span between Joe's bedroom windows to the bathroom. What
he found devastated him. Joe was sitting on the toilet with the lid open,
looking like he just survived a war. He was still wearing his shirt and
jeans from last night, all reeked with alcohol, vomit and urine. His hair
was disheveled, his breathing heavy. Joe's glasses were nowhere to be
found. Scattered on the floor were Joe's jacket and shoes, not to mention
several empty bottles of hard liquor, some intact, some broken, and
cigarette butts. The pinkish smear on the floor must be from Joe's wounded
feet.

Tom bolted into the bathroom, shoving Sam aside on his way. Sam was
immobilized by the whole sight, he wouldn't be of much use, Tom
thought. Tom shook Joe's shoulder, called his name, stroked his hair; but
Joe just stirred a little. Joe's first real reaction happened only when Tom
carried him to the shower.

"Let me go," Joe said. His pronunciation was clear but his voice was
hoarse.

"I'm just going to clean you, okay?" Tom said, as soothing as he could
under the panic.

"Put me down!" Joe looked up to Tom, his bloodshot eyes still showing fury.

"I'm just cleaning you, okay? I'll put you down soon."

Before Joe could respond, Tom showered him with cold water. Tom was of
course wet too, but it didn't come across his mind. He had to stop Joe from
his weak attempt to struggle with just soothing words.  When Joe calmed
down, Tom finally could rest him on the old, creaking tub.

"Sam, find Alka-Seltzer, NOW!" Tom ordered.

Sam stammered for a while before he managed to say, "Okay," and bolted out
the door.

Tom found himself on his knees, hovering over Joe. The last time they were
in that position was in Tom's bathroom, right after he hurt Joe, for an
entirely different reason. Tom was defeated. It seemed like all he could do
was hurting Joe. He reached for Joe's hair, to remove it from his face. Joe
flinched, Tom stopped. Then Tom felt defeated again. He then just reached
down to Joe's shirt, to unbutton it and remove it. Joe resisted so Tom had
to hold him down a little.

"It's okay, babe. I just want to clean you up."

Joe opened his eyes and looked at Tom. That was the first time they made an
eye contact. "Don't call me babe," Joe said, still cold and flat. He then
closed his eyes again, resting.

It was a dagger through Tom's heart. He fell back, sitting in the tub. He
totally screwed up. He could feel a single tear crawling on his face,
warmer than the water that rained over him. Then he couldn't stop himself
from crying, silently. However, it was not the moment for Tom to think
about himself. He just braced himself up and continued undressing Joe,
without meeting much resistance.

Sam came back just as Tom finished showering Joe. Tom was fully clothed and
soaking wet, Joe was naked and already dry. Tom carried Joe to his bedroom,
putting him on the bed sitting up. "Sam, give me the Seltzer and a glass of
water."

Sam stumbled on his way, thankfully not making any more damage. He handed
the requested items to Tom without a word.

"Joe, drink this," Tom said. He dropped the effervescent tablet into the
glass of water and handed it to Joe. Joe did not respond. Tom shook his
shoulder, thinking that Joe fell asleep. Joe didn't, he shook his shoulders
to keep Tom from touching him. Tom tried to force the drink to Joe but Joe
resisted more violently. "Sam, hold his arms. He has to drink this."

Wordlessly Sam rushed onto the bed, sat over Joe's legs and pin his arms
down. Meanwhile, Tom pulled Joe's back from the headboard and let his head
fall back. He slowly poured the drink to Joe. Thankfully, Joe didn't
resist, not much anyway. He choked a little, not too much to cause concern,
enough to distract him from kicking Sam in the balls when he got up. Joe
lost his energy right after, thankfully; now he could get some sleep.

The two other men had a lot of cleaning up to do. The bathroom was made of
hellfire. The broken chair was yet to be attended. Joe's feet were still
bleeding. It was quite a mess Joe made, quite a mess Tom and Sam
caused. Both of them didn't talk much, only passing, "Hand me the broom,"
or "I'll take the trash out," to each other. It was awkward between the
two, and messy. What the hell did they do? Sam knew.


***


Joe was awakened by a rumble somewhere outside. He just wanted to sleep but
it was getting louder.  The warmth his blanket offered didn't match the
noise. Everything was physically hurting him. The daylight was abusing his
eyes. His feet felt like it was severed and sewn back with barbed wire. The
commotion, ultimately, was the one that kept him from his much needed
sleep.

"SHUT UP!" Joe shouted on top of his lungs. His throat was in pain but Joe
didn't care.

Whatever made the noise stopped. Joe could relax again. Not long after two
large figure appeared on Joe's bedroom door. One was Tom and the other was
Sam. As his vision became clearer, Joe could see that both men were
disheveled; both trying to straighten themselves. He was wide awake
now. His disgust and anger drove him to sit on his bed, lightheaded and
heavy headed at the same time.

"Joe, are you okay?" Sam asked as he approached. Joe raised a finger with a
command. Sam got the message.

Putting his feet on the floor, Joe winced. His feet really hurt. The pain
on both ends of his body was unbearable. Still, it didn't stop him from
standing up. The bandage on both feet made it difficult; he slipped and
fell on his knees and hands.

"Joe!" Sam ran forward.

"DO NOT TOUCH ME!" Joe shouted, this time with hollow voice. He breathed
hard.

"Joseph, I swear nothing happened last night. We just... we just fell
asleep... before anything happens."  Sam was trying his best to explain the
occurrence as he slowly stepped back to the door. Next to him Tom was still
silent and frozen.

Joe lifted his knees then gingerly let the floor left his hands. Once he
was wobbly standing up, he sprinted forward and landed a punch on Sam's
left cheek. Sam was thrown to the wall behind him and fell to the floor.

"You will not speak." Joe's voice was almost a whisper, a deadly one.

On the floor Sam was coughing and spitting blood. Behind Joe, Tom stood
still. He was stunned that a man as small as Joe could knock a guy as big
as Sam out just with a single punch. When Joe turned around Tom could see
rage filled his eyes. His own eyes were filled with fear and surprise. Then
those eyes were closed and reopened when he hit the floor. Joe gave him an
uppercut and Tom fell inside Joe's bedroom. Joe's violent ways were
frightening!

"I don't need any of your explanations." Joe heaved violently. His anger
was yet to be controlled. "Get the fuck out of here!"

"Joseph, I'm telling you the truth." Sam defended. It was utterly pathetic
of him. "We didn't do anything."

"Joe, I'm so sorry," Tom said. "I was drunk. I didn't mean for any of this
to happen."

It was getting more and more disgusting; two disgusting men disgustingly
asking for forgiveness. Joe was having none of it. It was
unacceptable. "Get. The fuck. Out!" he commanded. Joe stood still at the
threshold. Tom stood up, avoiding eye contact. Sam was pleading with his
eyes. Joe rubbed his hand, having none of it. None at all. He saw it so the
two got out of his house.

"Joe..." Outside the apartment door, Sam tried one last time.

"Just give me the keys. Both of you," Joe shot back. Now they know that it
was the end of the discussion.  The end of their relationships.


***


Joe woke up, again at seven. It was dark outside and cold too. It felt like
there was a spear going through Joe's head. His right hand was swollen and
pulsing. His feet felt better; it was the only part of him that didn't feel
pain. Everything else was aching. His heart had it the worst.

His phone was dead, completely drained out of power. It immediately turned
on as he plugged it in. He got hundreds of messages but he was not in the
mood to read any of it. The clock said 19:04 instead of 7:04. It was seven
in the night. How the hell was he going to wake up for work on Monday? He
already overslept the whole Saturday. He only had one day to fix his
schedule; one day to fix his heart.

His heart. It was made of shit; it felt like it. His boyfriend and his best
friend broke it. Two of the most important people in his life managed to
convince him to hand them his heart and decided to play with it until it
was torn apart. Joseph gave away his love to them. Worse, he gave away his
trust to them. Tina Turner was right. "Who needs a heart when a heart can
be broken?"

"Well, at least it's broken now. I can't get damaged any more than this,"
Joe thought. It was false positivity, the only way he got through
everything in his life. Through his undeservingly lonely childhood, through
name callings, through many unrequited love, through his brother leaving;
it was the way he cope. He made it possible to dismiss his shattered
emotion and move on with a more stable appearance.  This was the time to
summon that ability.

He took his phone and tapped the contacts icon. "J", "U", "S". Justin's
number was not there. Yeah, he deleted it from the cloud and his life, but
not from his memory. Doubts didn't stop him from punching in the
number. Looking at the array of digits displayed on the screen, he had a
second thought. There is no way he was going to let the new Joseph
dissipate. One call would cancel everything he had done for almost a
year. Doubt did stop him from pressing the call button.

He left his phone on the table and got up. His throat was still dry as he
did not get some drink when he kicked Tom and Sam out. It was probably six
hours ago. Twelve hours ago, Tom cleaned and carried him from the
bathroom. Eighteen hours ago he saw Tom and Sam together in his bed,
naked. Twenty four hours ago he boarded the plane, pissed that it was
delayed and excited to see his boyfriend. He was happy twenty four hours
ago, and things were normal. Now the illusion has given up, giving way for
the truth to prance around. He needed to drink, water and alcohol.

His kitchen was empty. Those scumbags probably took every bottle away. Joe
went back to his room, hoping Sam dropped his cigarette somewhere. No such
luck. He went back to the kitchen and finally drenched his throat. Water
did not disappoint him, unlike men.

Putting on his jeans, long sleeves, hooded jacket, running shoes and
wallet, he went out, leaving his phone still plugged in to the wall. He
needed alcohol, to get through this and to sleep. He prayed to God that he
would not run into Sam at this moment, his right hand hurt too much and his
left hand didn't have the same ability to hurt. He probably should have
brought his phone with him because he did not know where the nearest liquor
store was. He just walked around until he found one. And he did. Two
minutes later he got out empty handed. Booze was expensive. His feet also
started to hurt again.

"Burnham Park," he said to the driver. It was the last time he spoke that
night. He wanted some time alone, free from the threat of anyone seeing
him. Maybe he could just dive into the lake and drown himself, or he could
get out and let himself die of hypothermia and pneumonia, he didn't know;
he did not have any fixed plan. Just Burnham Park.

Wrong decision, the park was crowded on Saturday night. So much for time
alone. The lake front was the worst; there was no chance for him to jump
without being caught. Oh well, he was already there.  Every bench there was
filled with lovers from all ages. That or homeless people. He walked faster
only to find that every bench was occupied.

He walked faster and faster and walk became run and run became
sprint. Every step felt like a dagger cut through his feet. He needed that
pain; it distracted him from the bigger ones. Once he reached the darkest
and secluded part of the trail, he let himself fall on the ground, sliding
a few feet along the rough surface. He panted and heaved, looked up to the
leaves that blocked the light and his view of the stars.

Drama. So much drama in his life.

He did not cry; adversities had no such power on him. But for the first
time in his life he questioned his inability to do so.


***


Monday was difficult, but nothing that Joe could not handle. He didn't see
Sam in the diner, which was a good sign. It had been a long time since he
did not go to the office with Nick and Alice. And Tom. He was greeted by
Amy when he came in. She must have heard about the incident. Joe just
smiled to her, brushing the truth off. Jake was already there, as usual. He
was acting sympathetic. Great, the first two people he saw after the
unfortunate event already showed pity. It was difficult indeed.

Tom and his friends arrived fifteen minutes later. The big guy had an ugly
bruise on his jaw. He still could not look at Joe in the eyes. Joe wasn't
making it easy either. He either stared at Tom with death or avoided him
completely. Thank God that he did not have to work on the project that he
and Tom worked together in. Communicating would be hard.

He was late to realize that he was alone there, even when everyone was
there with him. Nobody was going to take his side; they were all Tom's
friend. It was decided that he should take early lunch, finish his work
early and leave before everyone else. Last Friday he promised Lucy that he
will be professional at work. He was keeping his promise. He could not let
the bad blood in his personal life affect his work.  It didn't.

However, things were different when he punched the clock.

Joe could not catch a break. As soon as he reached the sidewalk outside his
office, Tom caught up to him.

"Joseph!" he called. Joe walked on. Tom ran to forward to block Joe's way.
""Joseph, you've been avoiding me."

"Here I am, wondering why," he replied curtly. He tried to walk around Tom
but was blocked.

"We need to talk."

"You do but I don't. Now get out of my way."

"I love you, Joseph." Tom reached out for Joe's hands. The man stepped beck
and raised his arms.

"We broke up. You ended it." His face was hard, as though it was carved by
a pissed off sculptor.

Tom tried his hardest to lock his gaze at Joe's eyes but he eventually
failed. The intensity of his guilt and Joe's anger was beyond the limit of
what he could handle. His eyes fell and his body gave in. He let Joe slip
from his fingers and go. He didn't want to allow it. He could not see Joe
go away from his life forever. "So are you going to leave?"

Joe stopped, battled his decision to turn around. He chose to address the
question. "Excuse me?"

"You're going to leave, aren't you? You're going to leave me and
everyone. You're going to leave Chicago for a new city just like you left
Justin and Birmingham." He crushed his eyelids close right after he said
the last sentence. It was a harsh accusation and it was uncalled for. He
had yet to learn to shut his mouth in emotional times.

Joseph tensed. His eyes lashed out sharpest blades. "How dare you? You have
no right." The intensity of his voice made Tom wither. "I don't have to
tell you about my plans, I owe you nothing. But for your information, I am
not leaving. You are not good enough reason to do that. Goodbye!" The
finality in his delivery accompanied his initiative to walk away.

"Joseph, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that." Joseph walked on, but with
a middle finger in the air.  Tom's heart dropped. There went his last
chance. His shoulder trembled as his eyes glossed. His legs almost falter;
he had to rest his body on the nearest wall. Alice was there. She probably
saw enough to understand what was going on.

"Tom?"

"Alice," he replied. A touch grazed his shoulder. His eyes were begging for
forgiveness, directed to the wrong person. The right person did not receive
it well; Joseph did not receive it at all. The hand on his shoulder
clutched harder, pulling him closer. He gave in and crushed Alice with a
heartbreaking hug. His last defense collapsed.


___

19, and the story hasn't gone too far from last installment. Even worse
news, I don't think I can keep up with my 2-3 weeks new chapter submission
which means chapter 20 may or may not be available on time. Sorry :(

I have an email (robxglass@gmail.com) if you want to say something and I
have a blog (xglass.tumblr.com) if you want to see something. Also, my
other story, Marc and Luke:
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/relationships/marc-and-luke/

Cheers!