Justin Comes Home

Chapter 1

POV: BRIAN

So, I'm on my way home from work, feeling proud of myself. I landed a huge account. HUGE. Which means I'm focused again. Er, still. Fuck, whatever. I got Senor Mandicionni's frozen dinner line account. Big. BIG. Vance had this look on his face like he wanted to kiss me when he heard. I sure as hell smirked at that.

So, yeah, I got the account.

And I've finally started to adjust to life without that twink. It hasn't been so hard, really - kinda like kicking an annoying habit, y'know? It's been two months since I threw that party for Mikey and Justin for the RAGE launch. For which Justin thanked me by leaving the party - and me - with that arrogant, self-aggrandizing, narcissistic fiddle fuck, Ian. There's something about that guy that makes me seriously uneasy (and it's not because of he and Justin). But I can't put my finger on it since I've only met him a few times. Still, if Justin's in love him, Justin should be with him. He should be happy.

It's strange though; I very rarely see Justin anymore and when I do, he doesn't look in love or happy. At least he doesn't look like the Sunshine I knew. His eyes look lost and his smile is muted compared to before. And yeah, it concerns me - it's alarming, actually. He's never looked so dulled down as he has in the last 7 weeks or so - since about a week after the party, actually. Truthfully, it's all given me nightmares. But there's not much I can do about it. Not anymore. For the most part, we don't interact - he even seems to be trying to avoid me the very few times I've even seen him; I wish he didn't feel like he had to do that. I still like him - he's an amazing man. But, if he hates me now, if he needs to avoid me - I won't push. He knows where I am and he knows I'll help him with whatever he needs if anything serious arises. He's a smart guy.

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OK, I admit - yes, it hurt when he left. After all we'd been through, I didn't really expect him to leave, and so relatively soon after the bashing. But maybe it was the bashing that did it; that made Justin needy for things I couldn't provide. I know I wasn't ideal for Justin - but I thought he 'heard' me. My 'language'; not spoken aloud in words, often, but still spoken as loud as ever. Or so I figured - Mikey calls it Kinneyspeak - he's a real cornball. I thought Sunshine was versed in Kinneyspeak - when it mattered anyway.

After the bashing, I helped him as well as I could - and for awhile, I did help. At least I think I did; I took care of him; I soothed him every night after his horrific nightmares; I helped him to touch again, to make lo-- to fuck again; I helped him to go back out into the world he had moved through so easily, so gracefully, before Hobbs 'happened'. Anyway, I believe and hope he benefited from my care. My attempt at care. I don't know though. Growing up in the Kinney House of Horror didn't do much to nurture a caring spirit. It just instilled a sense of constant fear, self-loathing and the need to hide to avoid getting beaten. So, perhaps I didn't help him. Maybe I'm unable to help people... for Gus' sake, I pray that isn't the case. I do know Gus is the love of my life, my soul, and if anyone tried to harm a hair on his body, I'd kill that person. And while he's not my son, I felt the same about Justin after the bashing.

But, back to Justin and Ethan leaving the RAGE party... over time, Justin had started to crave romance and his desire for those Hallmark moments was one need that I couldn't - wouldn't - fulfill.

Okay. Lots of people don't understand why I can't do romance, say the words, be shmaltzy - be that way at least for once. First of all, I work in advertising. Flowery words don't mean shit- they're just a come on to get you to buy something, or buy into something. Saying that you love someone is weak and meaningless. Showing your feelings is the most powerful and meaningful way to communicate. In my experience, anyway. I pull up to a stoplight and I think of a particular experience I had as a kid apropos of saying 'the words' and I find myself chuckling wryly - without an ounce of humor. I remember the first and only time my mother said she loved me. We were at a church social; I was about 8 or 9. Claire was on some drama school retreat. Probably honing her innate drama queen skills.

Jack was off getting plowed on wine (of all things - it was the hardest kind of alcohol they had at this thing; although I'm sure he brought a flask of Beam as well). It was amazing to me that he actually came, to be honest - he'd often beg off to go out with the boys. But Joanie had been relentless that afternoon, insisting he go; the consequence of this Joanie-sponsored Holy Insistence was that, after we got home later that evening, I got 3 cracked ribs, a black eye and a sprained wrist. I was always his chosen punching bag, no matter what was bothering him - and that night, as he beat me, he was screaming about having to go to a 'fucking church shit fest' because the Warden had given birth to an 'unwanted, piece of fucking nothing'. This time, I knew immediately why he blamed me for his wasted afternoon. It was a Catholic church function. It was the Catholic church. The Catholic church wouldn't allow abortions. Hence: Joanie couldn't - wouldn't - get an abortion to get rid of me. And he abhorred that I existed. The Catholic church had him trapped. And I represented that entrapment.

That time there was a painful logic to his beating me; usually, there was not.

Anyway, at the social, Joanie had her arm around me - and had a death grip on my shoulder. It looked like an affectionate motherly gesture on the outside, but I found the next day that her fingers had left bruises - yes, lighter than the ones Dear Old Dad ended up adding when we got home - but still bruises nonetheless. She was talking to Reverend Dick Horn (yeah, I know- but that really was his name) and two other couples whose children were by their sides, holding onto their mothers - obviously tired and wanting to go home. Myself, I was dreading going home, scared of what would happen once the front door closed behind me. It was obvious that these kids weren't being forced to hang onto their mothers in their sleepy state. I, on the other hand, did my best not to wince from my mother's fingers digging into me. Digging in to silently warn me that if I embarrassed her in some way, I'd be sorry. Now, I don't know why I bothered to pay attention to that - I mean, I had known then that I was going to be beaten anyway. But I was dutiful and obeyed, playing the loving son. I was dutiful. Dutiful. I obeyed. I was an idiot.

They were talking about their kids' schools and how much they missed their children while they were away, ruing the fact that they had to work. Joanie didn't say much for awhile, but she smiled and sympathized, mentioning once how glad she was that she could stay at home so she could maximize her time with me and Claire. If I was me now in that position, I would have laughed my ass off; but I wasn't - I was me then, and I did my level best to keep smiling and not show how crushed I was at her lie. She hated me. I know she did. She told me. Jack told me the same thing. Not in those specific words, maybe - again, words are for shit. But Jack *would* scream at me how he wished I'd never been born - had never been conceived in the first place. And both Jack and Joanie's actions towards me screamed even louder than his words: and those actions are what told me I was absolutely not wanted, that I was hated. I didn't need the words to understand that.

At Joanie's declaration about loving her time with her children, the other couples smiled and agreed. Encouraged, she tightened her grip on me and leaned down to kiss me on the head. "Yes," she beamed with false motherly love. "I love my Brian. I'm very blessed."

Again, were I me then as I am now, I would have scoffed. But at that time, I felt a secret thrill to hear those words. It was like I was thirsting to hear that she cared. That she loved me. I felt hope that my thirst was finally slaked.

But after the church social was over and we were back home, Jack was taking out his frustrations about his wasted evening on me- and Joan simply sat in the next room and drank her sherry. In full view of the beating I was getting. This was not unusual- in fact it was typical. But again, that night, I had hoped that something would change. Had changed. That the words she had said to the others at the social meant something- that she 'loved her Brian' and felt 'very blessed'. I was hoping she loved me. That she would protect me. I hoped her words earlier that day had meant SOMEthing.

But they didn't.

I was forced to spend that night with my face to the wall in the corner of the living room, breathing shallowly because of the cracked ribs. And I was crying - not so much from the pain, which (trust me) sucked. But I was crying mostly from the lie. The betrayal. The confirmed knowledge that I wasn't worthy - that I couldn't be loved. She had said she loved me with words. But she had *shown* she hated me with action - or inaction, I suppose.

So, being a bright boy, I learned; I let it sink in. I learned that words are for shit. Actions speak much louder. They scream.

While I know I'm not exactly the most skilled at this whatever-it-is Justin and I had, I had been silently screaming how I feel to Justin since... since when? The prom? No, before then. The screams just got louder after the prom. I still am silently trying to 'tell' him how I feel, but my actions are more surreptitious. Paying his tuition. Sending him his computer. It doesn't matter anyway, does it? I had thought he'd heard me - understood how I communicate - with actions, not with empty words... maybe he did for awhile. He certainly doesn't anymore. But he's not deaf to Ian and his pretty words, flowers, chocolates, and whatever else the fuck the Hallmark store stocks. But if that's what Justin needs and wants, I'm happy for him that he found it. He deserves to be happy.

I sigh, reliving my state of mind from weeks ago.

But honestly: whatever the fuck. Now I'm fine. Fuck those three little words. I'm back on top, in all senses of that word. All those clowns who were whispering about me on Liberty have new gossip it would seem and their eyes are back to following me because I'm the Stud of Liberty Avenue and not because of what happened at the fucking RAGE party. It's old news and the tricks are back to lining up around the block for my expert cock. I'm not sure what the new gossip is that took my place, but who really cares?

Okay. I'm thinking too much about shit now, just when I started feeling pretty good - so I put it all out of my mind. All of it - Justin leaving with Ian; my concern for how Justin appears now the few times I've seen him lately; my sadness that he stopped being able to hear me; my fucked up childhood; those 'three little words'- all of it. And I focus on how things are fine now - and fuck it! - I won the account! I find that I've been parked outside the loft for the last 10 minutes. I go in and get ready to head out to Woody's.

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