Justin Comes Home

Justin Comes Home

Chapter 2

POV: BRIAN

I didn't sleep that well last night -- again; it's all these bizarre nightmares I keep having about Justin getting hurt. But why would I dream about him getting hurt? The dreams all involve him getting harmed somehow and I wake up, crying out in a cold sweat with the sheets twisted in knots from my apparent thrashing. Maybe it's the memories of dear old Jack combined with the fact that Justin left for that arrogant fiddle fuck Ian 8 weeks ago at the RAGE party. I haven't hardly seen him since about a week after that party. He's definitely avoiding me - he's avoiding all of us, actually. He quit the diner - Deb said she heard through the grapevine that he got a job waiting at a ritzy place uptown. He hasn't been to Babylon; I did see him once at Woody's but it was like he was avoiding me there too. It's not like him. I mean I still like the man - I'd like to be friends. He doesn't have to separate himself from Liberty Avenue and our friends because he left.

It's around noon; I yawn and walk into a McDonald's for a crappy salad for lunch. There's no time to go to the Diner today - it's too far away from work and I'm fucking busy. I go up to the counter and order. As I wait, I glance around the place for no other reason than that I'm bored; my eyes land on a figure in the back where they make the fries and 'assemble' the fat-on-a-bun-wiches; I freeze. It's Justin. Huh? I notice that he's moving somewhat stiffly, like he's sore or something. He keeps his eyes down - that's not like him. Even when he's drawing, occasionally his eyes will glance up and dart around the room, deep in thought about what direction he wants the image he's creating to go.

Aw, what the hell: "Justin!" I call out.

Startled, he winces and his eyes snap up; I see fear. And I don't like it. When he sees me, his eyes light up and his shoulders sag a little - like he's relieved. Then he tenses as though he wants to bolt; his head whips around as if he's looking to see if someone is watching him. I start to get suspicious - just a little. I mean, this is off. This isn't Justin. Not my Justin, anyway. I suppose this is Ian's Justin - I absolutely prefer mine: the precocious, asinine, bull-headed, sappy, annoying and bratty one. Not this weird, wince-y, fearful, seemingly paranoid one.

"Brian!" He finally breathes - it's like he hasn't seen me in years. He flashes a smile that doesn't quite have the wattage it used to, but it's brighter than the last time I saw him - that was several weeks ago at Woody's. We didn't speak then; he was there with Ian and they sat at a table, got some chicken wings or something and simply talked. Well, Ian talked. Justin sat there and looked glum, nodding occasionally. Now that I think of it, when he got up to go to the bathroom then, he was moving rather like he was a moment ago - stiffly, unnaturally. As he made his way towards the bathroom, he spotted me - I was sitting at the back of the bar; he smiled briefly, cautiously. Not like he normally smiles; it wasn't forced, but it was definitely subdued and definitely not meant to be seen by Ian. To be honest, little alarm bells had gone off in my head back then. I watched Justin move as he came back from the restroom and slid into the booth; then his motions were more fluid and natural and he smiled - albeit wanly- at Ian and took a sip of his drink, ignoring my presence completely. I don't think Ian knew I was there at all and it was as if Justin wanted to keep it that way. I watched them from afar for awhile. He seemed just fine from then on. So I pushed whatever suspicions I was having away.

Now, I stand here at a McDonald's counter with Sunshine coming over from behind the fries station to say hello. He comes around the counter, beaming and moving fluidly and naturally again - maybe my renewed suspicions are truly unfounded. He puts out his hand - which I take to pull him into a hug. A hug that lasts all of a split second before I hear him cry out in pain. I jump back, releasing all contact. "Justin! What--...?" I shut up, looking at him cringing and trying to cover up his apparent agony. "Justin." My voice demands attention.

He looks up. "Sorry - I'm just a little sore. I fell down the stairs a few days ago."

Uh huh. Yep. Ian's beating him. Suspicions confirmed. It takes all I have in me: 1. not to roll my eyes at the oldest cover in the book - hell, I used the falling-down-the-stairs ruse numerous times when teachers would ask me about my bruises and wounds; 2. not to cry; 3. not to gently take him in my arms and kiss him all over, saying how I understand; 4. not to put him in my Jeep, drive to Ian's, leave Justin in the car and go up to that smelly, dank apartment and beat the living shit out of that fiddler fuck. Number 4 is really number 1, but whatever...

"Justin..." I say again, looking deep into his eyes. He soon averts them, ashamed.

"Really. It's nothing. It's just a few bruises."

"So, the stairs, eh? Where at?"

"The apartment..."

"You fell down 7 flights of stairs and you aren't in the hospital?"

He looks at me briefly. "No - I didn't fall down all of them. Just the first flight. You know, I was on my way up with groceries and tripped. I can be pretty clumsy..." Oh, fuck me. He's the least clumsy person I know. But I stay quiet for now. He attempts a laugh to make light of it. "Broken eggs were everywhere - what a mess."

Nice touch, Sunshine - adding a bit of realism there. "Justin."

His shoulders slump a little again and he looks up at me and our eyes lock. He has a defeated, embarrassed and scared expression that I recognize from my own image in the mirror as a child.

I take his hand and pull him around to the restroom, ignoring the salad being proffered to me by the pimply teen at the counter. I pull him into the small, gaggingly strawberry air-freshened room. He tries to resist but my grip on his hand is firm. I plant him in front of the mirror so that both of us are facing it, me behind him; it's suddenly like he's in a trance and he no longer bothers resisting as I untie and remove his apron, and then lift off his tee shirt. I bite back a gasp; his chest and back are practically one huge purple and blue bruise. Justin sees himself and his hands fly up to cover his face as he chokes back a sob. Then he tries to grab the apron from my grasp to cover himself but I pull it out of his reach. "Brian... Fuck! I never wanted you to see this!" He exclaims. "God, I am so ashamed…" He whispers, barely audibly. "But I just keep saying or doing the wrong things and he gets so angry with me…" His voice is still so low I can hardly hear him; but he doesn't bother trying to keep up his cover story anymore.

I kiss the back of his neck and run my hands through his hair. Whenever he was in a panic after the bashing, head massages always soothed him. "Shhh... It's not your fault, Sunshine...." I whisper.

"It... I... God!"

"Justin, it will be okay..." I shudder at the image in the mirror before me, realizing his ribs are likely heavily bruised, but I cloak my reaction, not wanting to spook him or make him feel even more ashamed - not that he's looking at me. His face is still buried in his hands.

His shoulders quake as he starts to cry full on. "It started about a week after I left the party... the minute I stepped outside of Babylon, I'd known I'd made a mistake Brian..." He's hiccupping from crying, so it's hard to understand him. Still, I listen to every word. "But I couldn't turn back. And I thought all the romance would fill... fill the void left by your absence... your not loving me... your no longer being there..."

I suck in a breath.

"About a week later, I was an hour late getting home from class... one of the professors wanted to talk to me about an upcoming show... he wanted me to be in it..." He huffs ironically. "I wanted to be in that show so bad - but I wasn't."

I just keep massaging his scalp, running my fingers as calmly as I can through his hair as I listen, trying to keep from throwing up. Eventually, my hands flatten and trail down his neck to rest firmly on his shoulders. I don't dare hug him again because of his bruises.

"When I finally got home, he... Ethan... he accused me of sneaking around to see you... he said how... how I never stopped lov--" Justin finally uncovers his face to look at me in the mirror. His eyes show impossibly raw need, emotion; they're red and puffy and his cheeks are as wet as if he'd just come out of the shower.

But he doesn't continue. I catch a fleeting glimpse of my expression in the mirror, standing here behind Sunshine with my hands now softly massaging his shoulders. I look broken. I look like I did as a kid after getting a bad beating. It's how I feel- and since when do I wear my emotions on my sleeve? But I can't pull on the indifferent mask at the moment. Whatever the fuck. I kiss the nape of Justin's neck again and simply continue to look at him as he cries and I silently offer my support in whatever way I can, waiting for him to continue if he so chooses. After a few moments of holding his shame and pain-filled gaze, I say simply: "Justin, I know what it's like to be beaten. To feel like it's your fault. To--"

"No!" Justin shouts. I'm startled. "Listen to me! Ethan would always apologize. He would always be so sweet after - begging forgiveness. Sending me flowers in the middle of class, so that everyone knew someone loved me. He'd cook gourmet meals while I'd soak in a bath he'd drawn, candles flickering all over the apartment... we'd eat on a blanket on the floor..."

Christ. "Jus--"

"And at first," he interrupts, "at first, I believed he was sincere. I mean, you know that flowers, floor picnics, candles- I wanted all that. It proved the measure of someone's love, right?"

I suck in another breath, keeping silent this time.

"Right?"

"Justi--"

"--Right. That's how you know someone loves you. They beat you senseless, then shower you with whatever's on special that week at the Hallmark Store." His voice is bitter.

I recall my musings of the night before and sigh, kissing the nape of his neck once more. I feel his shoulders go rigid.

"But, Ethan has a point when he beats me. He always says how I cry out your name at night - which, given the kind of dreams I have, I don't doubt. And he knows I daydream about you; sketch you - I've started keeping most of my sketchpads in my locker on campus. He knows I lo-... Care about you more than anyone in this world. This - " he gestures at his black and blue torso, "this is because he came to find me at the cafe on campus between classes- and I was there sketching you. When I got home that night, he sucker punched me and before I knew it, he was kicking the shit out of me. Yelling and screaming how I never got over you. Never stopped being in love with you. Never loved him. He just wouldn't stop kicking..." His voice cracks.

I don't say anything, realizing he's talking to himself as much as to me- and I'm not so sure he's fully aware I'm here…

"And he was right... he was right... I never loved him. And I have loved you since I met…"

I hold my hand over his mouth. Great. There's a new albeit unintended way that I've fucked Justin over, I think to myself. My stomach lurches.

He focuses on my reflection and must read the expression on my face because he turns to face me, giving me a brief but awful glimpse at his battered back in the mirror before he takes my cheeks in his hands and forces me to look into his eyes. "Brian... he was - is - right."

"Justin... That's stupid…" I finally find my voice as I watch the tears streak down his face and his eyes turn downward, not wanting to think about what he's revealed. "Justin, there's no shame in what you've been through. I know you know I went through this shit growing up." I lift his chin gently. "I just want to know - why have you stayed with him?"

He's quiet a full 2 or 3 minutes; his broken sobs reverberate off of the tile walls surrounding us and he buries his face in my chest. I simply wait. Every so often, I hear a strange choked sound that isn't Justin - and eventually I realize that it's me. Fuck. He finally takes a deep, shuddery breath before straightening up, shoulders hitching with his crying; he looks me in the eyes. It breaks my heart to see his soul so painfully close to shattering. Justin tenses. Now what?

"Brian... he said…Ethan said if he couldn't have me, no one would. That he'd kill me before letting me leave…" he hiccups slightly - Justin rests his head on my shoulder and he's talking very quietly in my ear. "But worse than that... he said… he said he'd kill you before killing me… He said he'd kill you in your 'precious shower', chop off your head, throw it in a Hefty bag and show it to me."

Fucking piece of shit motherfucker!! I want to go over to that miserable shit's apartment and tear him limb from limb! Knowing that he manipulated Justin into staying by using me infuriates me even further! "Justin," I say softly, containing my rage, "he can't hurt me. And I won't let him hurt you. Never again."

"But… he has… he has a gun, Bri-" he hiccups again, "Brian!"

Lovely. "Justin, don't think about that. You'll be fine. I'll be fine. We'll be fine. I'll help you, okay? Don't worry about me. Okay?"

"Also Brian... I didn't leave him because after what I did to you, I deserve it." I feel his tears soak the fabric of my suit; he begins what can only be described as all-out weeping...

And I'm gaping at him, stunned by what he's just said; there's a weird 'erk' noise that rises from my throat. "What the fuck??? Justin! Justin, look at me!"

His body is shaking as he cries but he raises his head from my shoulder, still he doesn't look at me. "No. I can't look at you. I know you must hate me. I deserve that... but you know, that you hate me hurts me more than anything Ethan could do to me... Ethan keeps telling me how much you hate me - that it's futile to love you... And he keeps threatening to kill you…"

Fuck me! 'Where is MY Justin and who is this pain-wracked, self-doubting, self-loathing shell of a person who has taken his place? What has that fucking bastard Ethan done to you in just a few months?' I silently ask the man in front of me. I shake him gently, keeping my hands on his shoulders. I lean my head down so that our foreheads are touching. I swallow the lump in my throat and try to rein in my whirling emotions. "Justin, please. Please look at me." I say quietly between his sobs, tenderly pulling his hands from his face. "Please." He looks up at me, his face red and splotchy from his crying. "Justin - Sunshine," - he manages a very weak, barely discernible smile at my using his nickname - "first of all, you absolutely, positively do NOT deserve this. Second of all, I could NEVER hate you." He averts his eyes again. I tuck a finger under his chin to raise his face to mine once more. "Never, do you hear me? Justin, you need to get away from him. You have to. He won't hurt me. He's just scaring you by using me. And before you think I'm saying all of this because I want you back with me, that's not it. You're--"

"Of course you wouldn't want me back with you!" He interrupts harshly. "I'd never think that!"

Christ. "Justin- I don't mean that I don't... I don't mean that I wouldn't want you..." Fuck this! "Justin, I don't hate you. At all. Okay?" He raises his eyes to me. "But that's beside the point right now and it's not what I'm getting at. You're not safe. You have to get out - go anywhere, but just get out. Get away from Ethan."

I can see the doubt and fear in his expression and I sigh.

"Justin, before you start telling me more about deserving it, how Ian doesn't mean to do it, how he's always so sorry afterwards, how you provoked him, how right he is in throwing your... your true feelings about him, about... me... in your face to justify his abusing you - about his killing me - before you go on about that, let me stop and remind you again that I went through this shit, too. Not at the hands of a so-called lover; but for 16 years my father used me as his whipping post. And honestly, it's taken all I have to overcome the guilt and shame, the belief that he hurt me so badly because I wasn't good enough. Because I wasn't worthy of anything better. Because I am- er- fuck... because I was.... because I was innately, inherently unlovable.

"Hell, you know how hard it is for me still to deal with that 'love' shit, with emotions, with communicating feelings and fuck all like that. But Justin, I didn't have the choice to get out. You do. You need to. You don't deserve to be treated this way. And stop worrying about me. You are worthy of so much better than how Ethan is treating you; Sunshine, you are innately and inherently lovable."

Justin stares at me, apparently a little shocked at what I just admitted. He puts his hands on my cheeks and I start to realize that he's thumbing silent but obvious tears from the corners of my eyes. He involuntarily inhales sharply every few moments due to his crying, but he keeps his eyes on my face as they flick over my features, his palms and fingers are cool against my obviously flushed face. He looks like he's in awe or something and I start to get uncomfortable. I mean, yeah, okay: this is an intense moment - but what have I done or said to warrant such incredibly close scrutiny? It's unnerving.

"Justin?"

He doesn't speak - he continues gazing at me and finally I have to look away. It's too much. It's way too much. But he pulls my face back to his. "Brian..." he says finally, smiling slightly. "I don't think you believe this, but you're also worthy of so much better; and you are innately and inherently lovable."

I shudder and Justin kisses me tenderly. After he pulls away, I lick my lips, wanting to keep the taste of him with me. "Justin, will you get away from him? Please?"

He looks away. "I guess I'm not missed at the fries station..." he jokes weakly, avoiding my question as he looks towards the door, trying to break the tension. We've been in here for about 15 minutes and no one's come for him to get back to work.

"Maybe not. But you are missed. Debbie misses you. Vic misses you. Emmett misses you. Theodore misses you. Ben misses you. Michael even asks about you - he's itching to get the next RAGE issue started but he says he can't reach you on the phone. Hell, even Hunter misses you."

Justin looks into my eyes and there's some of that old spark back in there now. After a few more moments of intense scrutiny, he asks what I knew he would: "What about you, Brian? Do you miss me?"

"Yeah. I miss you, too."

I'm suddenly totally engulfed by Justin as he wraps his arms and legs completely around me, unmindful of his bruises. "I miss you too, Brian!" He sobs. "I miss you so much you wouldn't believe. I missed you the moment I stepped out of Babylon that night. I've been so stupid!"

To say that I'm mildly shocked would be an understatement. I'm fucking floored. "Justin, you aren't stupid." I say when I finally find my voice. "You did what you had to do." I whisper as he clings to me. I put my arms around him gently. "Justin, aren't your ribs hurting? - I mean, you're holding me so tightly…" He's got me in a vice-like grip and given his pained reaction to my gentle hug when we greeted each other, I imagine he must be in relative agony.

"I don't care!" He whispers.

So I rub the back of his neck softly and try to soothe him. "Shhh. It's alright, Sunshine. I'll help you. Come home with me and we'll figure this shit out. We'll get you away from the fucking goddamned lunatic fiddler. You'll never have to see him again."

I try to pull away from his ardent embrace. "No!" He cries, not letting me go. I can feel his tears have now thoroughly soaked my shirt; I put my arms back around him. My thighs quiver under the prolonged strain of supporting him - but I don't care.

"Shhh. Justin, it'll be okay…" With that, I simply hold him and let him cry, resting my ass against the sink ledge for support. Overall, we're in that bathroom for nearly an hour. Once or twice someone opens the door to use the restroom, then quickly leaves upon seeing a business man holding a shirtless, battered young man. Justin finally, finally loosens his grip on me and pulls back, his sobs quieting. I see him wince as he moves away slightly. I smile at him. "C'mon, Sunshine. We should get out of here - we're both gonna need a shower to get rid of this bathroom's strawberry air freshener stench."

He grins weakly.

"And again, that must have been a fairly painful hug, Sunshine." I say gently. I absently rub my thighs which are protesting the last 1/2 hour of holding up a very sad man - two sad men, I guess.

"I don't care - I've missed you so much. I've missed having your arms around me. I've missed feeling your strong body against mine." He's swiping the last of the tears and snot from his face and he reaches ; I pull out a paper towel, handing it to him.

"Justin. Sunshine... If I had known Eth--…"

"There was no way you could have. I all but hid from you. Ethan would go ballistic every time he saw you - and even more ballistic if he saw you within 100 yards of me…"

I sigh. "Well, that's over. He's history." Perhaps literally, I think to myself, thinking of various painful ways Ian might meet his demise. "Put your shirt on and let's go home."

"'Home'." He says quietly, gazing at me. "'Home'." He repeats. "Brian..."

I cock an eyebrow as I grab his tee shirt from the counter and hand it to him. He just holds it. "Yes?" I say after a few moments.

"Brian... ah... fuck it..." he hesitates. "Brian..." he sighs, shoulders slumping.

A couple minutes pass. "Justin?"

His eyes haven't left my face this whole time. "No, never mind. I'll spook you. You'll bolt."

"After all I've learned in the last hour, you think you can spook me? No way. And I won't bolt."

"Fuck, Brian- I could spook you silly. Hell, I already have." For the first time in a long time, I see him grin wickedly; it makes my stomach flutter and I grin back at him. "How's this?: I could ask you to confess your undying love for me, have floor picnics, put off an incredibly important business trip so that you make good on our plans to go to Vermont..."

I chuckle. But then my smile fades and I look at him gravely. "Justin, those are all things you *have* asked me to do. I didn't do them all necessarily.... but regardless, you did ask me to do those things. Sometimes the answer is no when you ask - whether it's because of choice on my part or because of necessity. Still: I never bolted, Justin - and I'm not bolting now..."

While I'm talking, his smile disappears and his expression turns serious; he steps towards me after he finally puts on his shirt. He looks deep into my eyes - and admittedly, I do feel a little spooked at the gravity of his stare. "Brian, I love you. I've never stopped loving you. I love you more than my own life." I wince at how literally true that is, given fiddle fuck's threats. "I'm homesick, Brian. And you're my home. I don't want to scare you. I just want you to know that... well, that I think over time, the bashing did something to my ability to hear you... I mean really hear you. How you communicate."

I pause and hold my breath.

Justin smiles. "Somehow, some time after the bashing, I lost my ability to hear you. Your screamed but not spoken words - your actions. Since I've met you, you have said 'I love you' to me more times than Emmett has worn something outrageous and Ted has said something dorky combined. I stopped hearing it - I don't know why."

So, hm. Maybe he hears me again. He 'hears' me screaming as loudly as I heard my parents. The message is just very different. Opposite, actually.

I don't say anything, feeling a bit overwhelmed, so I turn towards the exit.

"Brian?" Justin says as I gently pull him out of the bathroom into the now-uncrowded 'restaurant' (what do you call McDonald's?) In the back of my mind, I realize the big account I landed yesterday might be gone now - I've been gone from the agency for 1 and a 1/2 hours now, and I had a meeting with their head honcho a half hour ago. Well, right now, I'm willing to sacrifice everything. Almost everything. "Brian?" Justin repeats.

We get out into the parking lot. "What?" I finally reply, leading Justin to my Jeep.

"I hear you. I mean I *hear* you. And I love you too." He says once more.

I pause, turn and look at him. 'Then show me; I don't need words.' I whisper in my mind. I open the passenger door.

Justin stands next to me, not getting in. He looks up. "And I'll show you, Brian. I just lost my Kinneyspeak dictionary for a few moments - it's never going to happen again. I'm keeping it with me at all times."

I swallow, secretly electrified that our seeming mind-reading abilities are back in place.

He finally gets into the Jeep with my assistance to help keep his wounds from being jolted. I close the door, walk over to the driver's side, get in, turn the key and we pull away from McDonald's. After a moment, I notice that it's the Beatles again on the radio.

And shit.

I look at Justin. He apparently doesn't know the song that's playing, but as we head towards the loft, I can tell he's listening to the words. I make my expression blank, as though I'm concentrating on the road. But suddenly, I feel Sunshine's hand on my thigh. It's not a sexual touch though. It's filled with understanding, gratitude, respect and... well, and love. Go figure. I put my hand over his, hoping he's getting the same message. Something tells me that he is.

I guess he's thinking the song applies to me, while I'm thinking it applies to him. I think we both realize that it applies to both of us. We wend our way home, listening to the music, not having to say a word to communicate.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these broken wings and learn to fly.

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to arise.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these sunken eyes and learn to see.

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to be free.

Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly

Into the light of the dark black night.

Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly

Into the light of the dark black night.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these broken wings and learn to fly.

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to arise

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