Conversations; All In Blue

One

He knew he should have bought a new car.

As dust flared up behind him he couldn't resist putting the top down though. The fresh scent of saline whipped through his hair and he smiled for the first time in a long time. The six weeks in the hospital had evidently done him some good. The smile felt real and he didn't even have to force it. It came from witin and was for no one but himself. There was no one to see the façade, the false happiness, the glamourous pretence.

It was just Junhui and the wind in his hair as his car sped along the dusty coastal road towards a place he owned but had never been.

When he'd finally broken down, his manager finding him unconscious in a pool of his own vomit, it was the last straw. His career was in tatters, his reputation shattered, his friendships all destroyed. He'd slipped so slowly, a pill here or there, something to take the edge off. Then it was someitng to stave off the hunger and keep him buzzing through another endless photo shoot. Then it was something to bring him down again and help him sleep afterwards. Then it was all the time, morning and night, days on and days off. The spiral of his career downward had been swift and savage. Within a year he'd gone from the most in demand male model in Asia to drying out in a special drug ward.

He was lucky in a lot of ways. His Manager, his best friend and constant in his life, had protected him from himself as best he could. His assets were mostly intact and, while his reputation and career had been shredded, his bank account wasn't completely emptied. When he was released from the hospital and he met with his Manager to review his assets he was surprised to see the small seaside cottage on the list. He'd never been so glad to have someone else overseeing his investments and, while there were a few properties on the list, none intrigued him like the idea of a beach house.

"It was a steal and it will increase in value," Minghao told him as they sat across from each other. "It's in pretty bad condition but it just needs a little love and care."

His Manager was stylish as always, suited to perfection, hair and jewellery impeccable. Junhui was sallow and drawn, his complexion spotty and dry, his hair a mess. He was all dark roots and dark circles but at least he was sober now. At least he was alive. "I want to see it," he said on spur of the moment and Minghao nodded. "I want to get away, take three months off, rebuild my life and this would be the perfect place." "I'll get the keys," was all Minghao said. He knew how much Junhui needed it.

A week later he was headed to a place he'd never been to live in a house he'd never seen before. The spotlight had lost its allure and for once Junhui wanted to just go somewhere where no one knew his name and no one cared who he was. Most of all, for his own sake, he wanted to go somewhere where he wouldn't be able to score drugs at the drop of a hat. The city was a dangerous place for him and the hospital stay had cleansed his system of the most immediate effects but it was his mind which he had to work on.

His body was healing. His mind would take longer.

He didn't know if his heart ever would.

As his car hit the bitumen of the towns main road he slowed down. As he drove past a small group of men they all turned and stared and he quickly put the top back up on his car. He should have realised how much it would make him stand out and the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention. Junhui was sure he'd had enough attention to last him for a lifetime. The navigation system guided him along the street, past a coffee shop and a bookstore, a grocery shop and a hardware shop. Finally he turned at the end and when he stopped the car he almost stopped breathing.

It was spectacular. The little beach house was weathered and fading. The white and blue paint was peeling and falling off in patches and weeds stood waist high in the tiny front yard. There was even a picket fence, white and splintered, and what looked like a stone path under the weeds leading from the front porch all the way to the gate hanging off its hinges.

And then there was the beach.

White sand stretched for miles and the ocean lapped gently at the shore. As Junhui walked across the damp sand in his Gucci loafers his hair whipped up again and he inhaled and exhaled deeply. This was a place he could learn to breathe again.

Sunlight sparkled off every surface as far as his eyes could see. Nothing could be heard but the easy ebb and flow of the tide against the sand and a car far off in the distance. It couldn't be any further away from the thumping bass and headache inducing lights of the party scene he'd left behind.

A gull suddenly squalled overhead and Junhui was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to kick off his shoes and run. To run along the waters edge, wild and carefree, like he remembered from his childhood. That indescribable feeling of just running, not towards anything, not away from anything, just running for the joy and exhilaration.

It made him want to reclaim who he was under all the makeup and the clothing, behind the mask of perfection and pretence, who he was without the drinking and drugs. Who he'd once been, running barefoot and joyous, living life in the moment without insecurities or fears.

He toed his shoes off and ignored the flick of sand landing all over the expensive grained leather. He dug his bare feet deep into the wet sand and let the harsh sting bring him back to earth.

It was grounding and he knew then, in that crystal clear moment, he'd done the right thing.

This place was healing.