Callie Shaw paced Bayport University's campus anxiously, crossing from the front of the dorms to the back, gazing up at the windows, wondering which one was his, if he saw her would he come out? probably not wouldn't return phone calls wouldn't come to the phone when asked her mother had told her to stop trying but she was so worried owed it to Frank…
Chill, Cal. Breathe, girl. Steady the thoughts. Don't show up hysterical, breathing like a racehorse, he'll think you're crazy. Deep breaths. Calm. Walk to the door, ask for his room. Climb the stairs. Numbers on the doors. Steady, easy. Exude calm and concern. You are worried about him not yourself and you're reaction to him.
The room almost seemed to present itself when Callie snapped back to reality in the dorm's hallway. Easy, she repeated, the simple word reminding her of Frank, of the calm he exuded, the hand on her arm, on her back, stroking her hair. Easy. Her boyfriend had been the picture of calm, always together, never breaking under pressure. So unlike Joe.
So unlike Joe.
What would you have done if it had been reversed, Frank? If you'd lost Joe? I've wished it sometimes, and hated myself so much for wishing it, but I really can't help it. I love Joe—not like you did, but I loved him all the same. But I wish it had been him. I wish to God it had been him.
Only…I know that would have changed you. Just as your loss has changed Joe.
She knocked quickly, holding her breath, half-wishing the door wouldn't open, half-wishing the younger Hardy wouldn't be there. But as she started to turn in a frenzy of nerves the door swung inward, revealing a pale, lean Joe so changed in appearance Callie thought she must have the wrong room.
"Hi," he said, clearly surprised.
"Oh Joe…" the rush of sympathy and horror and guilt nearly drowned Callie, and her eyes filled. He frowned, then looked at the floor, clearly uncomfortable. She could not stop staring at his emaciated frame, once much huskier and thicker than his brother's. His eyes were framed by dark circles, the skin taught on the cheekbones, bangs falling over his eyes. He hid behind them now, glancing at her through them, knowing she was staring.
"I'm sorry," Callie said softly, reaching out to touch him. He pulled away, but wordlessly stood aside for her to enter the wreck of a dorm room. There were no signs of a roommate; she could not imagine how isolated he must feel.
"I tried to call first," she went on as the younger Hardy shut the door and crossed the room to sit cross-legged on the bed. "But you never…"
"…return my calls. I know. It's a bad habit." He looked out the window. "He used to bug me about it," he mumbled. They both knew who he meant. Their one real tie.
Oh Joe, you're not alone, can't you see we all miss him, we all loved him…me especially. So much. We want to be here for you. We love you too…
But as she tried to speak the words clogged in her throat, and she helplessly wiped tears away. Joe didn't move or even seem to notice.
"I'm worried," she finally began. "We all are, Joe. What's going on? Why won't you call anyone?"
"I've been busy," he mumbled, drawing his knees up.
"You look ready to die," she burst out. He glanced at her through the bang-veil.
"Did you just come here to make fun of me?"
"No," she said quickly. "I came because…everyone's worried. Really worried. And I came because you shouldn't be alone right now. You've spent too much time on your own, Joe. Why not let someone help you?"
"Because I don't need help."
Callie moved cautiously forward and sat in Joe's desk chair, facing him. He refused to meet her eyes.
"Joe, you look sick. I'm sorry, but you do. You're way too thin. And Phil said when he visited you wouldn't talk to him. You won't return our calls. And…we all know about what happened with you. What you did to yourself. Please, let us help you. We all want to. You weren't the only one who loved him, Joe…"
"What do you know?" Joe snapped, suddenly furious. "All you are was the girl Frank liked. That's it. Nothing more. You were together what, a year? Two? You don't know anything about him. About loving someone that much. Just leave."
Callie's eyes filled with tears; of pain, of rage, of despair.
"You're right," she said softly. "You're absolutely right. I'm not here to argue who had the most of Frank's love, because we both know it was you, and I'm not here to argue who knew him better, because we both know it's you. I'm here because he loved you, Joe, and he would never want you to give up on life because of him. And I'm here because, through the time I spent with Frank, I learned why he loved you and I came to love you too, as a friend. And it hurts me to think you're giving up. Because that's what you're doing."
Joe lowered his eyes, but Callie saw the wetness in them.
"I'm sorry," he whispered as she turned to go. "Don't leave. Cal…tell me you understand. Please tell me you understand. I need someone to understand…"
Callie turned back, seeing the desperation in her friend's face, the agony and weakness. Wordlessly she crossed the room, sat down, and put her arms around him, feeling the tears soaking through her shirt, Joe's sudden sobs rocking her own frame.
"I understand," she murmured, her own tears falling. "I miss him too. I think about him all the time too. I loved him too."
But Callie couldn't feel what Joe felt next; the warm arms that had protected him through the night, the arms of his brother, the arms of the boy who had meant the world to them both.
