1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | Epilogue
11 - Déjà vu
Justin and Brian’s POV
Rated PG-13 (just some language;))
******************
Justin
I reach the street and can hardly breathe. I lean over, sucking in deep breaths
of frigid air that sting my lungs and make my chest burn. My head is swirling
with a million thoughts and I can hardly focus to concentrate on even one of
them. Why does he have this affect on me? Why do I have to love such a masochistic,
crazy bastard? How could I ever think I could go through this again? How could
I ever believe he’d love me in the end? What the hell is wrong with me? What
the hell is wrong with him?
His voice breaks through my muddled thoughts, “Justin? Justin?” I turn around,
but there’s no one there. Jesus! Now he’s making me crazy. But, then I hear
it again, plain as day, “Justin! Are you fucking down there?” It takes me a
minute, but I realize it’s coming from the speaker by the door. I stand stock-still
and don’t make a sound, I haven’t decided if I want him to know I’m here.
“I know you’re there, I can see you from the window.” Busted.
“What?” My voice is low, but I know he hears me.
Awaiting a response, the door to his building swings open and I’m surprised
to see the blond from upstairs. The one with the small, tight build and bright
blue eyes; the one that looks so much like me I could be sick on the pavement.
It wasn’t enough to go and get his dick sucked. It wasn’t enough to bring a
trick home, the bitch had to go and get a carbon copy of me.
What’s that saying? Imitation is the highest form of flattery? God, what bullshit.
Brian
I know he’s down there. I know he hears me. I know he just saw that perfectly
hot piece of ass I brought home walk out of here. If he doesn’t come talk to
me I’m going to go down there and rip him a new asshole, and not in the good
way. I’m so fucking tired of the melodrama. If he’s with Eth…someone else, then
why is he here? Why has he been fucking bothering to be friends with me all
of this time? What was he hoping to achieve? Did he think that someday we'd
sip lattés at Starbucks and talk about how great our respective boyfriends are?
Jesus. This kid is a total head case. If he thought I wanted him for more than
sex he was wrong. Okay, not totally wrong. I do want him for more than sex,
but I want the sex.
“Justin?” I repeat myself and then hear him answer back with a quiet ‘what.’
I can’t help wincing when I hear the sadness in his voice. Since I'm alone,
I allow myself that physical reaction. I don’t know how or why he still has
such an affect on me, but deep, dark parts of myself that I’m really good at
hiding fear he always will.
“Come up here.” I try to keep my obvious anger out of my voice. I do want to
talk to him, I guess he left Ethan to come here and find me. And by the looks
of it he’d waited here for a while. I guess I can give him a chance to explain,
after I yell at him a little bit. Fucker.
“I can’t,” he’s still whispering. His voice makes me wince again.
“Justin…” I say in that tone of voice that lets him know I have more to say
and can’t bring myself to do it. It’s a tone he’s heard a million times before.
I wonder if he still remembers what it sounds like?
“Brian…” he replies, his tone telling me I better spit it out or he’s walking
away. I guess he can still read me.
“What was he doing there?” I lean my head against the wall above the speaker
and hold the button down so Justin will be able to hear me.
There is long pause, seems like a million years; I can feel my neck tense and
my temperature rise. I don’t know if I’m nervous or pissed off, but I’m something.
Then the boy finally speaks.
“He goes to school there Brian, he had a showcase and he came up to talk to
me. I haven’t seen him in months, haven’t even…God, why should it matter? Does
it matter? Do you even care Brian?”
“I…,” I what? I don’t know what I feel. I guess relieved that they aren’t together,
according to Justin, and I don’t think he’d lie to me, not after all of this.
“You what?” He bites back sharply. His voice is crystal clear now, his lips
must be right on top of the speaker downstairs. I still have no answer, so I
do the only thing I can. I press the buzzer to indicate that I want him upstairs.
God how I want him upstairs…maybe forever.
Ball's in your court, Sunshine.
Justin
What a fucker! I hear the buzzer after I've waited for a fucking answer from
Brian, some sign that he actually gives a shit if I live or die. He knows I
can’t resist coming up there. He knows I can’t resist him. He must totally get
off on this power he has over me. And the sick part is, I acknowledge it and
I participate in it. Well I used to. I used to.
I’m not going up. I want to go up, can’t deny that. But, I won’t. Fuck Brian.
Fuck this mess we’ve made of each other. Fuck being in love. Fuck it all. This
fucking sucks and I hate it. I hate being sad all the time. I hate the fact
that I feel like my whole fucking life revolves around what Brian does or does
not feel for me.
The walk to the bus stop is so long I think I'll die from exhaustion. In reality,
the walk is all of four blocks. Dragging my feet the whole way, I look like
a pathetic mess by the time I climb the stairs into the monstrosity and settle
myself in an old, uncomfortable seat right behind the driver.
Humming along to some tune she probably made up, the driver moves through the
street of downtown Pittsburgh with the precision of a seasoned veteran. I watch
the way she handles the wheel of this huge bus, the way she changes lanes with
ease in a thing the size of an elephant. I’m very impressed. It’s good to not
be thinking about Brian for two fucking seconds. Fuck. Now I’m thinking about
him again.
“What’s
eating you, baby?” Her voice is deep and smooth and I think to myself that I’d
love to know her so I could listen to her talk all day.
“Oh nothing.” I reply in my proper, WASP-ish way, brushing all of my troubles
under the rug and putting up a smiling façade.
She laughs, heartily, from her gut, “That’s bullshit. Why don’t you just tell
me? I’m sure it’ll feel better to tell someone. 'Cause I’m guessing if you’re
on the bus alone on a Friday night, you got no one else to tell.”
I nod: she’s so right. And I don’t know why but I want to tell her so badly.
And I do. I tell this complete stranger the entire fucking story of Brian and
Justin. She isn’t bothered by the fact I’m gay. She isn’t bothered by the fact
I got my head bashed in by some crazy homophobe. She doesn’t care that Brian’s
fucked every guy in this city, probably even her husband and did excessive
amounts of drugs all the while. She doesn’t care that I cry and laugh in the same
sentence. She doesn’t mind that I ride her bus for free for half the night.
I think I’m in love.
Brian
When I finally go downstairs, at least ten minutes after I hit the buzzer, he’s
gone. Gone. The fucker left. After all that, he just walked away from me.
Fuck him. Fuck it all. It’s high time I got on with my life. Free of that
little fucking ray of sunshine.
I go back upstairs, lock and alarm the loft and pour myself a glass of my old
friend Jim. Always there for me, never talks back and never walks away when I
actually have something to say. Maybe I should date him?
Who am I kidding? I’m never dating anyone, ever. I knew the dating thing wasn’t
for me. It isn’t, won’t ever be. Justin needs a boyfriend, a someone, true
love. Things I’ll never be, never want, never say. The differences between he
and I could fill the Grand fucking Canyon. I have no clue why we ever bothered.
Well, there was the sex.
The piercing sound of my fucking phone breaks through my convoluted mental
diatribe about why Justin and I are better left apart.
“What?” I always had good phone manners.
“Brian,” his sing-songy, British-soaked version of my name makes me shake my
head, but the corners of my lips secretly turn upward. Kane has impeccable
timing.
“Ewan."
“What in God’s name are you doing home on a Friday evening at this hour?”
”Jacking off, and you?”
“It’s later here, remember? Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d leave you a rambling
message about the meaning of life, but it looks like you’re there to receive
the information in person.”
“And what IS the meaning of life?”
“Well, I didn’t have that bit worked out yet. I wasn’t expecting you to answer
the phone.”
“I’ll wait.”
“What?”
“For the meaning of life, I’ll wait.”
“Could be a long time Brian. So, you sound beat, what happened?”
“Nothing, well…no, nothing. I’m just tired. Long day at the office.”
“Bullshit, you arse! Tonight was Justin’s show, what happened?”
“I, fuck…I, do we have to talk about this?”
“No, we don’t. You can hang up on me, go sit on your bloody white couch and
drink your bottle of Jim. But talking to me doesn’t leave you hung over and
hating yourself in the morning.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“Brian,” Ewan’s voice is warning me. It’s the tone he uses when he wants me to
know I’d better start talking or he’s going to hang up. And by now, after all
this damn talking, I’m actually used to having conversations with him. I find
myself not wanting him to hang up. I hate that he knows that about me. I hate
that he knows everything about me.
“All right, keep your fucking ugly boxers on. I know you’re wearing them, plaid
or something even worse.”
“Scotty dogs.”
“What?!”
“Scotty
dogs, my boxers have little black Scotty dogs on them.”
“Dear God. And I bet they’re plaid. There has to be plaid.”
“No.” He’s too quick to answer.
“Bullshit! You have on hideous plaid Scotty dog boxers! You disgust me.”
“Brian,” there’s that warning tone again.
“Just admit it and I’ll tell you.”
“Fine. They’re green and red plaid with black Scotty dogs. My mum gave them to
me.”
“And therein lies the great difference between you and I, Ewan. Your mother
gives you plaid underwear covered in small dogs and my mother gives me the top
ten reasons I’m going to go to hell.”
“Anyway…,” his voice is soft now, he knows I’m telling the truth about my
mother and it probably saddens him, but I don’t need his fucking pity.
“So I went to see Justin’s fucking paintings, and when I pulled up he was
standing with the Fiddler, and it looked like they were together, so I left.”
“They were together, or it just looked like it?”
“It sure as hell looked like it!”
“And you left or you stormed out like an upset child?”
“Fuck you.”
“In your dreams, now tell me the real version of the story where you don’t make
yourself an innocent bystander.”
“Well I don’t know that they were together-together, but it looked like it and
I was pissed at Justin for lying to me about his relationship with that stupid
little banjo boy, so I kind of drove away mad.”
“And…”
“And I went to a club and I found a hot guy and I took him back to my place.”
“So you’ve fucked away another problem.”
“I didn’t say I fucked him.”
“So you two played chess then?”
”No asshole. When I came home Justin was here, fucking asleep on my doorstep
and when he saw the guy I brought home he ran like hell. Then I sent the trick
away and tried to talk to Justin, but he ran away, again. That pretty much
brings us up to now.”
“Why did Justin leave if you tried to talk to him? That doesn’t sound like
him.”
“Frankly, how the fuck would you know what does or does not sound like Justin?
You’ve never met the kid.”
“Technically I have, though not formally. But I’m drawing conclusions about his
character based on endless hours of discussion with you over every minute
detail of his personality.”
“I don’t talk about him that much.”
“Oh, but you do. Which is fine. You’re in love Brian. Sucks for me, but it’s
great for you. If you could just accept that. You don’t have to say it, just
accept it.”
“I’m not…I’m not…”
“You’re not what? Telling yourself the truth, that’s what. I know that much.
Look how hard you’ve been fighting for this kid, seems like you all were
finally getting somewhere and then you both jump ship when the waters get a
little choppy. How brave of you both.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, Brian, fuck you. I’m trying to help. Trying to get you talking. Trying to
get you to a place you want to be, which I think is with Justin in some way,
shape or form. If you don’t listen to me then you aren’t going to get anywhere,
because your own ideas about love and relationships are a little fucked up.”
“And what makes you the expert?”
”I’m not, nor do I purport to be an expert, but I can tell you this: I’ve been
there and I’ve done it and I made exactly the same mistakes Brian. But, in the
end there was no one to slap any sense into me and I lost him. Really lost him.
And I’ll never get the chance to do it over. You’re getting your chance right
now. He’s right in front of you, waiting for you to do the right thing. The kid
loves you Brian, just show him you feel the same.” There is a sadness in Ewan’s
voice that goes far beyond my problems with Justin, but I’m too fucking
self-centered to deal with it right now.
“I did. I showed him. So many fucking times I showed him. He just couldn’t
see, or didn’t want to.” My voice is near a whisper. Kane always hits these
raw, exposed nerves inside of me. Makes me think about myself in ways I hate,
honest ways. Makes me think about all of the things I work really hard to not
think about.
“You did show him Brian, I believe you did. And I think for a while he knew
that’s what you were doing. But down the line, when things got harder, the message
got lost in translation. The deeper in you got, the easier you made it for him
to forget that you cared. For every sweet, loving thing you did, you countered
with 5 shitty things. I know you, I know you so fucking well. You couldn’t wait
for him to start resenting you for hiding your love away, and he did. But then
you thought better of it, because you realized for once you actually might love
someone back, but by then he was bedding the new boy and it was too late. But,
the lucky bastard that you are, your second chance has arrived Brian. The window
only stays open so long. Jump through before it’s too late and you’re left watching
him through the glass.”
“Do they sell Kane decoder rings? Talking to you is like solving a fucking riddle
every fifteen seconds.”
“I’m a fan of metaphor Brian, but you’re a smart man, I know you hear every
word I say and then some. Go after him.”
Then the phone clicks and the line goes dead. Once again I’m left alone with
my mind, never a good thing.
Justin
When I finally get off the bus and walk home, all I can think about it the last
thing that Betty said to me when I climbed out of my seat and got off of the
bus, “Well baby, that was one hell of a story. I don’t think I’ve heard of two
people so messed up over each other in my whole life. Seems he makes you damn
miserable when you’re with him, but it seems he makes you damn near suicidal
when you’re not with him. I’d say it’s easy to see the less of those two evils.
I can see in your eyes that you’d rather be with him than without him. It’s
as simple as that.”
I just keep wondering: what do my eyes look like when I talk about Brian? Probably
like a mad man’s. But I suppose a psychotic man and a man in love are not too
terribly far apart. And the thing is, Betty’s right, I’d rather be with him
than not with him. It’s not simple, it’s the opposite of simple. But I guess
it does come down to just that.
I finally get home and climb into bed, with little fanfare from my mother, thank
God. She wasn’t around to see the Brian debacle at PIFA and wasn’t waiting up
for me since she didn’t know where I was. She woke up when I came in, and came
out of her room to see if I was okay and then quickly retreated back into her
slumber.
Just as I think I might lay awake all night contemplating what to do about Brian,
my cell phone rings. It never rings, especially not at night, and the noise
makes me jump out of my skin. I scramble to get it out of my pants pocket on
the floor of my bedroom and then struggle to find the right button. Any onlooker
would know I rarely use the thing.
“Hello?” I haven’t been crying, well not in the last five minutes, though I
realize it sounds like it.
“Justin…” his voice is even and soft, he makes all the resolve in my body slip
away.
“Yeah…” I say even more softly, hoping to have the same affect on him. I can’t
be the only one who’s spineless right now.
“Come over.” My eyes flutter shut. I was lying in this bed, having this conversation,
with this man only one night ago, but my whole life was different. How 24 hours
can change you. Now if I just knew whether or not I was ready to change my answer?
Brian
Talk about fucking déjà vu. Where have I had this conversation before? That’s
right, last fucking night. But this time he’d better not say no.
Just say ‘yes’ Justin, just say ‘yes.’
Feedback to throughthelens78@yahoo.com