Justin’s POV
Ep 216 gap filler: occurs after Brian and Justin leave Ben’s party (But before
the next day when we see Brian’s contemplate the flowers and Justin chair dancing
in the loft alone.)
Rating: R
Holy Fuck. I can’t believe Ben just did that. Brian’s done some shitty things
to me, the hustler today, that was a new low. But fuck, that’s just Brian. Ben
just humiliated Michael, crushed him, in front of all of these people after
all that hard work. God, that sucks. I feel so bad for him. The walking wounded,
he looks like he could cry or punch someone. Oh shit, Debbie just made a comment
about Ben being the guy who’s supposed to be good for her son. Fuck. She’s really
going to hate Ben now. I didn’t think Michael could look more hurt but when
Debbie’s words hit his ears I thought he might die. I wish I could help him,
wish I could reach out. We’re closer than we were just a few weeks ago, but
I don’t know if we’re there yet. I don’t think he’d welcome my consolations.
I elbow Brian in the side to go see if Mikey’s okay. He rolls his eyes at me
and I raise mine in turn. Saying to him, without speaking, get your ass over
there and help your best friend pick up the pieces of his broken heart. The
apartment is clearing out and I look around to survey the untouched food, the
unopened alcohol bottles, the undrunk guests. Everyone is gathering their coats,
taking their unwrapped gifts and heading for the door. I look across the room
to see Brian’s hand on Michael’s shoulder; I’m relieved that Brian is going
to actually help Mikey tonight. Maybe he knows he’s fucked up bad enough today
already. Maybe he realized that ordering me a hooker from hotdicks.com was NOT
the birthday surprise I had in mind. Maybe in his own sick and twisted way he
thought that was a good idea. Maybe he hasn’t thought about it at all.
Lindsey and Melanie brush past me, both with that 'Oh-god-you-poor-baby' look
on their faces. I should have never mentioned the hustler to them. As if they
don’t give Brian enough shit about the way he treats me. Of course, has any
of it made a difference thus far? Not a bit. Why should I care if they harass
him? Someone should. It certainly isn’t me anymore. I used to be able to stand
up to him, but lately I’m walking on broken glass and my feet ache and I have
no idea why. I nurse these wounds day after day, rewrap the cuts and walk all
over it some more. I don’t know what my problem is; I can’t believe I slept
with that mail order fuck. Whatever, it’s over. Brian thinks he made me happy,
thinks he did something nice. Sex is a great gift in Brian’s mind. He thought
a first class orgasm would be better than any fucking bouquet of flowers. In
theory I can’t blame him. I just wish he knew that all I wanted was him to say,
"Happy Birthday Justin." That’s all I needed. I’d rather have had
him wrapped up in that red ribbon. Then the smile on my face wouldn’t have been
forced, the moans coming out of my mouth wouldn’t have been fake, the look of
ecstasy on my face wouldn’t have been contrived. I would have meant it all.
Lindsey gets to the door and says over her shoulder, "Justin, do you want
a ride home?" She shifts her eyes to look toward Mikey and Brian as they
stand very exclusively in the corner. I realize there’s no point in me waiting
for Brian. Michael could whine about what just happened all night, and I don’t
blame him. I grab my jacket and brush past Brian giving him an 'I’ll-be-waiting-for-you-at-the-loft'
stare and he nods in acknowledgment. I head out the door and follow Linds and
Mel to their car. Riding quietly in the back seat I ever so softly hum the bit
of Ethan’s piece I can remember from this afternoon, and I begin to think what
he must be like.
Ethan’s attractive, that’s obvious to anyone with eyes and taste. He’s incredibly
talented. He's passionate about what he does. He’s straightforward and honest.
He’s captivating and alluring and sexy as hell. I’d bet he’s incredibly intelligent,
but smart too. There’s a difference. I bet he’s amazing in bed, the way his
fingers move across the strings of his violin. The way those fingers could move
across each inch of my body. I get a chill at the thought. The physical reaction
to my daydreaming makes me stop. I shake my head a little; hoping the thoughts
of Ethan will slide out of it. I am suddenly guilt ridden by the places I’ve
just let my mind wander. And I’m not even sure why. Lindsay begins to speak
and I silently give thanks for the distraction.
"Justin, do you want to talk about it…" I catch her eye in the rearview
mirror and know immediately that she’s referring to my joke of a birthday gift.
I shake my head a little and look down, "No. I’m fine. Forget I said anything.
He was hot. It was Brian’s way of celebratinWe pull up to the curb in front
of our building and I swing open the car door. Sticking my head up between the
seats I quickly give each woman a kiss on the cheek. They each smiley warmly
in response and wish me Happy Birthday, again. They’d each said it a thousand
times today and while I appreciated it each time it was a sullen reminder of
whom I hadn’t heard it from. The only person whose lips I wanted to utter those
words probably never will. "Anyone can get born," he told Ted. Celebrations
are for accomplishments. Well fuck me, but being alive is an accomplishment.
Making it this far, surviving the bashing, being healthy and on my way to making
something of myself. God, why can’t I tell Brian that? Why can’t I say all the
things I feel? Instead I conceded, I told everyone I agreed with him. Birthdays
are bullshit, a sentimental ritual not worthy of recognition. I make myself
sick sometimes the way I bend and shift to be the person I think Brian wants
me to be. And I don’t even know who that is anymore, or who I am anymore.
"God, I’d like to kick that little fuckers ass…" Melanie’s words start
as a whisper under her breath but build up to more of a shout. Lindsey gives
her a pleading side-glance that says please shut up. Melanie clenches her jaw
and I know she’s struggling not to say a lot more. Lindsey plasters on a fake
smile and says forcefully, "Okay sweetheart, well if you change your mind,
you know where you can find us." I nod again. Then I sigh and settle back
into my seat for the rest of the ride back to the loft. Thoughts of what a life
with Brian will be like for me fill my head.
As always he is a paradox wrapped in a mystery and I can’t seem to figure him
out. Attempting it only makes our tangled web even harder to navigate. And I’ve
already lost so much strength breaking down Brian’s walls. I don’t know how
I can spend my life continuing this way. One day I’ll have to stop chasing Brian
and start looking out for me. One day I’ll have to start listening to my head
sometimes, not always my heart. One day I’ll have to stop making fucking excuses
for Brian and telling myself the truth about what’s happening right in front
of me. I know he loves me. I’ve spent a year and half convincing myself. And
now that I’m sure, now that I’ve spent so much time invested in making that
discovery I’ve accidentally uncovered something else, the realization that love
isn’t always enough.
I
force a sheepish smile to these women, these wonderful women who are helping
raise me in their own way. I step out onto the curb and tip my head back to
look the six stories up to the top of the building where our windows peer out
over the street. Every light in the loft is off, the darkness pours from the
windows and only expounds my sadness. I can’t go in there; I can’t be alone in
there. Not yet. I’ll want to wash the sheets and clean away the day and try to
forget everything that happened. I can’t deal with that yet. Turning to wave at
Mel and Linds as they drive away I wait until they turn the corner before I do
an about-face and begin to head up the block, away from the building.
The cool night air might give me a cold, I’m not really dressed for a brisk
walk. But the stuffy nose will be a welcome replacement to my impending
feelings of doom. I have so much to think about and so much to work out and so
much to contemplate. My head spins as my feet lift up and down, moving me
aimlessly around Pittsburgh. I can’t help but think about all of the shitty
things Brian has done. But I try to counter each of those thoughts with one of
something wonderful he has done. Initially I match them blow for blow. Okay so
he fucked up royally today with the hustler, but he changed the entire
landscape of his life to let me move in with him. So he’s never actually told
me he loved me, but he shows me all the time. He can be a cold, heartless shit,
but he wants me to be the best version of myself that I possibly can be. Brian
breaks me down and confuses me and leaves me wounded and torn, but he picks me
up and makes me glow and assures me every thing is going to be alright. I don’t
know why I need any more from him than that, but somehow I do. I need him to
show me he needs me. I need him to show me he wants me, not just for sex, but
for all the rest of it. And I guess if I’m honest, if I really look inside, I
need to hear it. I hate admitting that, it is like this weakness in me. But I
want him to look me in the eye and tell me that he loves me. I hate that I
can’t be satisfied with just knowing it, I have been for so long but I really,
really need to hear it. It isn’t about the words exactly, it’s about what it
would take for Brian to say them.
I sit on a bench at the park about ten blocks from the loft, where my body has
led me. I look at the empty swings and am reminded of the times we’ve brought
Gus here to play. I think about what it would be like if Brian and I raised a
child. I laugh out loud at the thought. Gus is as close as Brian will ever want
to get to raising one. What if I wanted my own? Am I thinking too far ahead,
are these things I should even consider? Will Brian and I even make it past
tomorrow? I want to believe that what I feel for him is extraordinary. I want
to believe that what we have comes along only once, so you grab hold of it and
never let go. But, if that’s all true, if this is as good as it gets, well then
I should be sad. I want it to be better than this. I want romance and dancing
and flowers and candles and dinner and vacations and I love you's. Even if he
hates it all, if it’s what I need…I give him so much.
Beginning my return to the loft I start to think about Ethan again. What if I
dated Ethan, or someone like him, what would my life be like? We’d probably be
monogamous. We’d probably go on dates. I bet he’d tell me he loved me without
hesitation. I bet he’d claim me without thinking twice. He’d introduce me as
his boyfriend, he’d be proud that I belonged to him. I bet I would meet his
family. I bet that he would meet mine. I bet we could stay home at night and
cook together and rent movies. I bet that we could stay in bed all day on
Sunday and read the paper in between incredible sessions of lovemaking.
A smile creeps across my face as these thoughts of a blissful existence fill my
mind. I find myself punching in the building code at the door on the bottom
floor and prying it open. I enter the elevator, slamming the wooden grate down
and pushing the button for our floor. I lean against the back wall for support,
rolling my head back and forth over the cold wall. I need to shake these
thoughts away from me. A shiver runs up my body and I will them to leave me be.
I love Brian. I work hard at loving him. I want this to work. I need to forget
about Ethan.
The lift screeches to a halt and I lose my footing a little prying the gate up
and exiting. I slide my key in the door and right before I slide it open I stop
to better hear the familiar noise coming from within. Is that what I think it
is? I look around as if there is an answer in the hallway. I stare at the door
again and then finish unlocking it and send it flying to the side. A single
lamp is on an Ethan’s soft violin fills the apartment. For a moment my heart
stops, until I see the CD player is on. Of course, Ethan doesn’t even know
where I live. Why would he be here? Why would I even think that?
"Brian?" I call very cautiously. I am still very much confused by
what I’ve come home to. I didn’t at all expect him to be here. His voice comes
from the bedroom, "Where were you?"
"I took a walk. Why are you home? I thought you’d be out with
Michael." I shed my jacket and gloves and move closer the CD player. I
stand in front of it, staring at the speakers, soaking in the beautiful music.
"Well I’m not. Come in here." The first sentence is said with Brian’s
ever-annoyed air, but the second is softer, it catches my attention. I suddenly
realize that it was odd he was listening to Ethan’s CD at all. It’s odd he’s
home. It’s odd he gives a shit where I was. I start to head toward the bedroom
with the intention of figuring out what the hell he’s up to.
When I start up the stares my eyes get wide and my feet stop under me. I draw
in a deep breath as I let my eyes soak in what is taking place before me. Brian
is lying in the middle of the bed, completely naked, holding a bottle of
champagne. There are a dozen white candles on the floor around the bed, filling
the room with a warm, yellow glow. It is a stark contrast the usual cool blue
light that radiates from the neon bulbs on the wall behind the bed. The change
is nice. And I mean that about more than just the candles.
I sigh and bite my lower lip and will myself not to cry. It isn’t huge. There
aren’t roses, no wrapped gift. But, it’s enough…for now. It’s Brian telling me
that the he knows he fucked up. He knows all I wanted was him. And I’ll take
it, I’ll take this, and I’ll cling to it. I need to. He smiles up at me,
satisfied with my reaction. Lifting one hand from the champagne bottle he curls
his finger toward me. Willing me to come toward him. And I do, losing my
clothes with every step. I’m naked by the time I reach the bed and I kneel onto
the mattress and wiggle toward him a little. He sits up and I sit down. Our
knees touch and he takes a long swig from the bottle. "Good shit," a
little dribbles from his lip and I lurch out and lick it up his chin to his
lips and kiss him. I pull back and he adds, "Stole it from Ben’s party. I
don’t think Mikey will be needing it." I don’t even mind that he took it
from Ben’s party. All I care is that he had the forethought to take it. He
hands me the bottle and I accept it. He watches me grip it and tilt it into the
air, letting the cool bubbly sweet liquid pour into my throat. He knows he’s
done a good thing, and all I can see on his face is satisfaction.
We
drink more and kiss more and for the moment I am happy. The scent of vanilla,
from the candles, fills the room. At some point the champagne starts to go to
my head and I lie back on the bed. Brian puts the bottle aside and rolls on to
me. Kissing my neck and kissing my collarbone and my shoulders and my chest. I
love the warmth of his lips and little bit of stickiness left on his tongue from
the champagne. His hand finds my crotch and he starts to stroke me. I moan out
into his mouth. But his mouth covers mine and is unrelenting and won’t let the
noise escape. His tongue delves deeper into my mouth. I run my hands over his
long, lean, smooth back. He grinds on top of me and I love the slow rhythm that
we find, even though we’re not fucking yet. I let little whimpers escape my
lips as his mouth goes trailing down my body again. I’m trying to concentrate
on what he’s doing to me, but for whatever reason my mind stars to
wander.
Birthdays always do this to me, make me overanalyze and under appreciate and
rethink so many things. I start to wonder if I should be this happy over a
stolen bottle of champagne and the candles that were up in the closet. I start
to wonder why it is too much to ask for him to simply wish me a Happy Birthday.
Contemplating the fact that my dick is already throbbing and I know if I say
what I want to then there probably won’t be any fucking tonight so I sit up. I
push him off of me a little. Assuming, wrongly, that I just want time to play
Brian lets me push him and gets ready for me to pounce. Then he sees the
dissatisfied look on my face and the smile fades from his eyes.
Slightly drunk, "Why should I take this and relish it and love you for
having fucking stolen a bottle of champagne and lit some fucking candles?"
It comes out much more harshly than I’d imagined.
"Oh, I’m sorry, the pomp and circumstance were going to come after the
sex. I thought we’d fly to Paris later for your star-studded surprise
party." His reply is so caustic and off-the-cuff that it only makes me
angrier with him, and thus more able to say what I really want to.
"A hustler, you got me a fucking hustler. And now you are trying to make
up for that grave error in judgment with this half-assed attempt at romance.
Like you even know what it is."
His eyes are wild with anger now, "Fuck you. He was hot, and you weren’t
balking at him while you were fucking his brains out. I’m sorry if it wasn’t up
to your birthday standards. I don’t know why I even tried." He pushes
himself up off the bed, letting out a grunt, and grabs the bottle of champagne
from the nightstand. His dick now only semi-erect he stands straight up and
tips the bottle back to his lips. Finishing it completely some of the champagne
escapes his mouth and runs down his chin and onto his chest. He looks down at
it and laughs, but there is nothing humorous about the situation.
"God Brian, I just need for you to give a shit. To tell me you give a
shit. I don’t understand why you don’t get that. I didn’t need some fucking
stranger in my bed on my birthday. All I wanted was you. All I wanted was for
you to wish me a Happy Birthday. It’s all I fucking needed. Don’t you get that?
Don’t you understand me by now?"
Beginning to walk out of the room in classic Brian-escapist fashion,
"Obviously I don’t understand you Justin, and you don’t understand me.
Let’s just fucking forget it all, shall we?" He waves his hand in the air
with an annoying air of nonchalance and heads to the kitchen. I jump up to
follow him, I’m on a roll. I don’t often muster the courage to tell Brian
Kinney what I think of him these days but thanks to my noncelebratory mood and
half a bottle of champagne I am going to finish what I’ve started.
"Fuck you Brian. You still don’t hear what I’m saying. All I’m trying to
do is tell you what I want. What I need from you is very little. And you can’t
even give me that."
He huffs in disapproval, "What, all you wanted was for me to tell you was
Happy Birthday? Well Happy fucking Birthday Sunshine. May all your dreams come
true." The words are so sarcastic they slap me harder than his hand
possibly could. My face falls in defeat and I turn away from him. No part of me
wants to look at him right now. Padding back across the loft I climb up the
steps and into the bed. I pull the sheets and comforter up tight to my
chin.
A moment later I can hear him the bathroom, running the sink, probably brushing
his teeth. He slides in bed next to me and turns his back toward mine. We’re
only a few feet apart but it feels like miles. I check the clock and see that
it’s two minutes to midnight. I have 120 seconds left of my 19th birthday. I
sigh as my eyes well up with tears. What am I doing here? Why am I putting
myself through this? Is he ever going to be what I need him to be? Are we ever
going to be what I want us to be? I can’t ask him to change anymore than he
already has. But I can’t keep asking myself to change for him.
The thoughts swirl in my head, the questions blend and mix and the words twist
and turn and I can’t remember right from wrong or good from bad or love from
hate. I cry into my pillow, hoping to god my body isn’t shaking hard enough for
him to sense what I’m doing. But then, in a way, I want him to know. To have
some idea of what he’s done to me. On the one fucking day a year the people
that love you should make you feel special, he’s made me feel like absolute
shit. Breathing in deep, long breaths I try to stop my chest from heaving and
stop the tears from falling. Suddenly Ethan’s violin fills the loft. Each note
drifts on the air and I wonder if I’m imaging it. Then I realize it is quite
real, the CD has come back on. I start to turn over and I can sense Brian is
doing the same. We each rotate 180 degrees and our faces sit just inches apart.
The sweet sound of the violin lingering on the air is the only thing between
us. I search his eyes for an apology, but I’m not finding one. I hear Ethan’s
sonata begin to quicken its pace, and my heartbeat does the same. We continue
to stare and I continue to listen.
Brian’s lips drop open, as if he has something to say. I hold my breath and
wait. Then his jaw clicks back together. He thought better of it. That’s so
Brian, always keeping quiet when I need him to talk the most. I can think of a
thousand things I want to say to him right now, but not one of them comes out
of my mouth. Please love me, please tell me that, please ask me to stay with
you forever, tell me you’d die without me. Cry because you hurt me, cry because
you hurt us, scream and shout at how fucked up your life has been. Beg for my
help and I’ll give it to you. Ask for my life and it’s yours. But he won’t. Not
any of it. He can’t. He doesn’t know how. I used to think I could teach him.
But, I’m not so sure anymore. It seems we are bound to run variations on this
theme, this fight, this imitation of a relationship until one of us puts a stop
to it. I just never thought it would have to be me.
End
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