The Breaking Point

I peel myself off the hardwood floor, pick up my shirt with a silent grunt and drag myself toward the bathroom, feeling his burning glare sear my flushed skin the entire way. I don't dare veer my eyes even an inch to the right, positive that I'm not ready to deal with what I'm sure to find there. I can't see him, but I know he's there, I smell the smoke from his cigarette.

I feel humiliated.

I don't think I've ever felt so small.

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I watch the bathroom door slide shut and finally blink. With shaking hands I stub out the burning butt and instantly light another, if only my fingers would cooperate. Fuck, I need another drink, another ten at least.

I've never done that before. Never used sex as a weapon. I huff out a pathetic laugh, realizing that I have, I use sex as a weapon every fucking day. But not like that, not with Justin, never before with him.

I just, shit, I couldn't let him think that he was fooling me. I mean, who the fuck does he think I am? Some naïve fag who doesn't know the score? Shit, I invented the game. Tricking is my middle name, well, that and asshole come in tied. But this is different. I know it and sure as hell he does too.

Smelling that same smell on him, on his discarded clothes that he carelessly tossed around as he headed for the shower each and every time. I pretended like I was oblivious, but not anymore. I just can't do it.

We have rules, and that thought alone makes me want to hurl, but fuck, it's true. And the most pathetic part of it all is that they were HIS rules, not mine. A trick is a trick, a fuck a fuck, but what he's doing, that's something else.

I know I come off as this total absentee human, void of emotion, hollow to the core, but I'm not, God, I'm so fucking not, and I thought that he knew that. I was sure that he did. But obviously I was wrong, so goddamned wrong if he thought so little of me, off fucking the same trick over and over again.

I feel a stabbing pain in my chest and I have to gasp for breath as the looming reality finally dawns on my tormented mind. What if it's not just some trick that Justin's found convenient to fuck repeatedly? What if he's given him something else, something that I was sure belonged only to me?

Stubbing out another cigarette I hear the shower stop and realize that I never even heard it begin. I rub my still shaking hands across my eyes, knowing that soon he'll be out here, not quite sure I want to face him just yet.

But before I can move, the bathroom door slides open just as quietly as it slid shut and I find myself starring at his damp, slightly reddened face, his expression blank, just like his eyes.

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Shit, I thought that maybe he'd be gone. I really didn't expect him to be sitting there, back against his propped up pillow, long legs out straight, crossed casually at the ankle, deep-green eyes staring back at me.

I lean against the doorframe for support and open my mouth, but find that I have no fucking clue what to say, so I close it just as quickly.

I could make excuses.

I could say I'm sorry, beg him to forgive me.

I could tell him that Ethan's just a fuck, nothing more.

But I don't say anything.

Because I am sorry, but not quite sure exactly what for. And while I know that Ethan isn't just a fuck, compared to Brian, he's rather irrelevant at this exact moment.

But what aren't irrelevant are my feelings.

And what I want, and need.

God, I so fucking desperately NEED, and Brian's just not there. Never there. Not truly. But Ethan is, offering me the love that my aching heart craves. I close my eyes, unable to stop a lone tear from slipping down my cheek as my heart beats painfully in my chest, reminding me that Ethan's not the one I want it from.

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I can't tear my eyes away from him, feeling my resolve finally crumble as I watch the drop of liquid flow down his flushed cheek.

"Justin."

His eyes fly open, and I watch another tear slide down the other cheek, disappearing under his chin just like the other one had. And suddenly I realize that he's naked, not having clued into that fact before. My eyes travel the length of his body, feeling my own respond with a slight chill as I take in his lithe form from head to toe. God, he's so fucking beautiful.

I want to be an asshole and punish him.

I want to tell him to get the hell out.

I want to shout and fight and be mad as hell.

But more than anything, I want to touch him.

"Justin," I repeat, gently motioning to the bed with a nod of my head.

He doesn't move. His eyes narrowing, boring into mine. After several tense moments he must find something there because slowly he pushes off the doorframe and walks toward me, slipping down beside my legs, back facing me, head turned away.

"Justin, look at me."

I hear a sigh as he turns his body sideways, his eyes finding mine.

I can see the emotions swimming frantically in those glazed pools of blue. And for an instant I want to forget about it all, forget the whole fucking mess and wrap my arms around him, fuck him slow and long, but my heart clenches, reminding me of why we're here and I can't. Just this once, I fucking can't push it all away.

I swallow hard, my nerves jumping, and I ask, "Why?"

It's a simple question, but knowing Justin, I don't expect anything simple in return.

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I feel so exposed. Sitting here naked, both physically and emotionally. I want to pull the covers over myself and hide, hide my flesh and my pain, but I don't.

He wants to know why.

I tilt my head slightly to the side, wagering the look on his face. Does he REALLY want to know? Can I truly tell him?

I decide, what the fuck. It really can't get any worse.

"I…" I squeak out and clear my throat, try again. "I tried to tell you. I did." I'm nodding, clear my throat again. "In the shower, the other day."

His eyes shift to the side then back again and he nods slightly. He must remember when. Again he asks, "Why?"

I look down. I'm silent. I feel his foot nudge me gently and look back up.

Fine, I decide. Fine.

"You really want to know?"

He nods.

Fine.

"I met Ethan at that concert, you know, the one that Lindsay and Melanie took me to on my birthday."

He cringes. Not sure if it's the fact that I said Ethan's name so freely or the mention of my birthday, reminding us both of the whole hustler fiasco. I know he knows how I feel about that. I found out that Melanie let it slip. The fucking last time I confide in her. But obviously it didn't have much of an effect on him, 'cause here we sit.

I decide to go on.

"But nothing happened until that night. The night that I begged you to stay home, just once."

Again, a slight cringe. I wonder if he regrets not giving in. A little too fucking late.

I feel myself slipping. I want to be cruel, tell him about all the times that I've fucked Ethan, rub it in his face, but I see something in his eyes that makes me break, soften.

"I just don't understand," I whisper, shaking my head in defeat. "I don't understand why you can't love me."

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Shit.

Again I rub at my eyes, pushing my palms deep into the sockets. How do I answer that? How?

My throat tightens. I want to scream, kick him off the fucking bed, watch as he tumbles to the floor then walk away, forget him, forget this whole fucking mess, forget that my heart is pounding like a son-of-a-bitch.

I blink rapidly, clearing my vision, hoping that maybe I won't see that look of pain so clearly etched across his face. No such luck.

I could lie.

I could tell him that he's nothing more than a fuck. An exceptional fuck, but still, just a fuck.

I could say that he lied and cheated and now he's gonna have to pay the price, the price of losing me.

I could say all that and so much more, so much that would rip him apart, but I can't, I just can't.

Instead I find myself reaching out to him, pulling his cool body toward me, against me, my arms wrapping securely around his back.

I find my fingers drifting of their own accord to his hair, still damp from his shower, and sifting through the golden strands with a calming ease that the rest of my body doesn't share.

And I find myself whispering words slow and soft, words of nonsense like, "shhh" and "okay, okay", wondering aimlessly if I'm trying to comfort him or myself.

And he lets me hold him for several minutes before pulling back, tilting his face up toward me, his eyes locking onto mine, and he asks again, "Why, Brian. Why can't you love me even a little bit?"

My heart aches and I want to clutch it, keep it from tearing apart at his desperation. My gaze shifts back and forth from right to left, searching out his blue eyes, drawn in and locked in his gaze. And I find myself wanting to answer him. Needing to answer him.

"Justin."

He blinks slowly, preparing himself.

"I…" I stumble. Fuck, why is this so hard?

"Please," he whispers.

FUCK!

I feel like I'm at the precipice, one move either way deciding my fate. Either I hold back, say nothing and fall head first into oblivion, or, I give in, let myself feel and want and need and take comfort in his safety as I remain perched on the edge, forever on the edge.

His pleading face makes my decision.

Running my fingers slowly down the softness of his cheek I say, "I do love you, Justin. I do."

"But…" he gasps, his eyes frantically searching mine.

"I'm just," I shake my head, how the fuck do I explain. Taking hold of his arm I shake him slightly, the fear I feel at revealing myself rising to the surface, and I try to rein it in, but it's so hard, so fucking hard. "God, Justin, I'm no good at this, you know that, you fucking know!" I almost shout.

Nodding, fresh tears sliding down his face he says, "I do. I do." He takes a shuddering breath.

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I feel like I'm floating. Am I here or someplace else?

He said he loves me, he fucking said it. And I know he means it or he wouldn't have said it, but I'm not sure he knows what to do with it.

So much emotion. So many feelings. So fucking hard for him to face, to admit. But he's got to, because if he doesn't, I don't know if…

No, I can't think like that. My mind drifts to the image of Ethan. Sweet, loving, Ethan. And I know that I care for him, I really do, it's just, well, he's not what I want, what I truly want.

Brian.

It's always, Brian.

And I know it always will be.

Those words he condemned me to that first night still ring through my brain. "No matter who you're ever with, I'll always be there." And he was right. So fucking right.

Even as I lay in Ethan's bed, his body pressed tight against mine, his hard cock sliding inside me, it was Brian, he was there, in my mind, filling my body alongside Ethan's.

"Brian, I love you. I've always loved you. I can't…I can't lose you. Please, don't let yourself lose me either."

That seems to jar something inside of him, because the next thing I know I'm pulled tight against his body, his arms locked behind me.

"I won't."

I hear his whisper. The words so hard for him to say. And I smile, my lips curving up against his cheek, hoping that he feels it, sure that he does when I feel the same response against my own skin.

"No more, Justin. Please, no more."

I pull back to find his eyes glassy and I can't contain the swell of emotion that rages inside me. No more. No more Ethan? I'm not sure, but as if silently reading my mind, he nods and repeats himself again.

I know he won't be monogamous. That's okay. I know he doesn't expect that from me either. But he's asking for something else. HE'S asking, wanting something from me, ASKING for it, and my heart soars.

I'm not stupid. I don't expect that suddenly it will be all romance and flowers. That's not Brian, and I'm okay with that. But he wants me, he's asking me to want only him. And that's fucking something alright. Fucking huge.

"No more," I confirm softly, my beaming smile saying everything else.

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I'm drained. I feel emotionally drained.

Justin moves back again, watching as I pull off my clothes. Lifting up I tug out the comforter then lay back down against the cool, soft cotton sheet, motioning for Justin to join me. And he does, molding his body against mine as I pull the down blanket up over us.

I want to sleep.

But I need to feel him, so I turn on my side, and he follows suit, pressing back against me as I slide one arm beneath the pillow, the other around his chest and tug him back even further.

Skin against skin.

My heart beating against his back, his beating underneath my hand.

I nuzzle my nose against his silky hair, his neck, inhaling deeply, needing to fill my senses with him, only him.

And I feel overwhelmed.

Bombarded with emotions not unfamiliar, but still unaccustomed to, and for once I don't try to shove them back down. I ride them, embrace them.

"I love you, Justin," I breathe, and smile warmly as his hand covers mine, hear his whispered response before I drift off to sleep, finally at peace.

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I feel sleep taking hold, but I don't want to give in.

Brian's muffled breaths wash across my neck and ear, calming, soothing.

I want to jump up, scream at the top of my lungs that finally…

But my eyes are so heavy, and I just can't seem to keep them open.

As I slip away, a thousand thoughts flying through my brain all at once, I grab hold of one, the one that seems most prominent and drift off with it looping round and round…

'He's mine…he's mine…he's mine…'

And I fall asleep, Brian's arm around me, a smile on my face, my heart full.

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