Message in a Bottle

Chapter 4

POV BRIAN

Fucking longass flight. I hate coach, international or not. Someday, I'll be able to afford first class. I will. I'm cramped, my ankle is killing me and my mangled fucking face makes me feel like everyone is staring at me- and not because of the reasons I'm told they usually are. It's black and blue and swollen on the left side and I feel like some ghoul out of a horror movie.

It wasn't hard to leave, except for my special beach- I'll go back, maybe after grandfather dies (how morbid of me, I know. But he's a mean fuck of a man). I reach into my pocket, nearly knocking my cane into the aisle. Fucking thing. I pull out Justin's letter and a little piece of rock from my beach- that place wasn't only my haven from my grandfather's fucking cane, it was where I found Sunshine's message in a bottle. We really hit it off on the phone. Maybe I should have told him that I look like his mystery man, but then I thought of how I *do* look right now, all black and blue and gross- he probably won't recognize me as the man he's apparently been sketching over and over for so long now.

Good riddance to grandfather, though. Towards the end, I was really considering defending myself and knocking his fucking block off. As my departure date drew nearer, the senile, drunken old bat was getting more and more violent to the point I was having trouble sleeping for fear of his night-time attacks. On warmer nights, I was sleeping in the cave on the beach; but while the days were still warm, the nights had started getting too cold for that towards the very end of my stay; even with my nice sleeping bag. I think grandfather was aware somewhere in his one-celled brain that my leaving was imminent- and for whatever reason, to him, I was Jack: grandfather's ungrateful son who left him to go to America. And therefore 'Jack' deserved every bit of punishment grandfather could dish out for leaving.

So even this morning- my last morning- he came into my room drunk at 4AM and caned me in the back after I had finally gone to sleep... Kinney men seem to get off on violence. Well, not me. Fuck no. The buck stops here.

Anyway, I'm so stiff from the bruising on my back, I not only look like a ghoul with my disgusting face, I walk like a mummy. Yet *another* reason Justin probably won't recognize me. I got out of the house with enough time to go to my beach, collect this rock, and reread his remarkable letter. I'm still freaked that his picture is ME.

The plane finally fucking lands and at least folks are nice enough to give me time to move. But it's out of pity- I hate pity, it makes my dick soft. But with the amount of pain I'm in- I can ignore it at the moment.

I refuse the wheelchair they offer- I'd rather loosen my stiff legs after that long flight, whether I'm in excruciating pain or not. I have fucking long legs and coach just doesn't provide enough space for them. Another reason to someday be able to afford first class. Wincing, I pull on my back pack and hobble through customs towards baggage claim. I'm flinching from the pain in my ankle and from my back when I almost walk right into someone standing right in my way. "Fuck! Careful!" I exclaim, dropping my pack for a moment to gather my wits- my back was knotted and sore before, but this sudden halt mid-stride caught me off-guard and I feel my entire back and midriff clench.

"Holy fuck." I hear ahead of me. "Holy FUCK! Brian! Brian?"

I look down and it's Sunshine. "Uh. Hi, Justin. Sorry I almost ran into you." I sound so meek. Fuck that. He immediately runs away and I wonder if the way I look scared him off. But he's back in a flash with an airport worker in tow pushing a wheelchair.

"Hurry the fuck up!" I hear Justin urging the guy. They come up to me. "Sit down," Justin says sternly. He grabs one arm and helps me lower my decrepit self into the chair. I hate being an invalid. I can't even tell if he recognizes me or not. It doesn't really seem like it- he only knows it's me because I told him I'd look like I'd been hurt pretty badly. I don't think he was expecting me to look quite *so* beat up and he freaked out; IS freaking out.

We finally- well, Justin and the air porter- get my checked bags and deposit them into the trunk of Justin's clunker. It looks like it's an Audi from the mid-80s. Fuck, I hope we make it- it looks like it's on its last legs. They help me into the passenger side and Justin quickly tips the guy and rushes over into the driver's seat. Lovely- he gets to turn and see a view of the most beat up side of my face. I'm so stiff now I can't even turn to face him.

"Brian?"

"Home, Jeeves." I say. I'm dreading home. Jack will see me like this and take full advantage- after several years of him not being able to abuse me anymore because I could take him out, he's going to thoroughly enjoy his advantage now; I used to fear his rage- right now, I don't have a clue what to expect of him with the amount of rage he's built up. Fuck. I should just jump in front of a bus and get it over with. It'll all end up with the same results. Me dead or close to it. Maybe I can sneak in, pack up a few essentials and split for Emmett's, unseen. Pft! Right!

"Brian, can you look at me or are you too stiff?" Justin asks gently.

I ignore his question. I look out the windshield and see we haven't moved. "Justin, they don't let you stay in this lane for this long- 5 minutes for passenger pick up."

He sighs and starts the car. We get out of the airport and I lean back, dozing uneasily. He stays quiet. When we stop and I realize he didn't know where my parents live, I open my eyes. I see an ambulance in front of a white building and clench my jaw.

"Oh, no, Sunshine. No way," I protest wholeheartedly.

"Just to look you over. We'll be in and out. So to speak," he adds, I assume with a leer.

It's too late- a nurse is there with a wheelchair.

Justin gets out and gently pulls me out of my side, and I have no choice but to comply between him and the nurse. "I have no insurance," I say angrily. I hate doctors. Seen too many.

"Don't worry about that, Brian." Justin assures me, ignoring the anger in my voice.

"What, are you independently wealthy or something?" I spit out, royally pissed at being manipulated within 15 minutes of being in the Pitts- and by a basic stranger. I should have taken a cab.

He snorts. "This is a clinic, Brian. Quick and cheap." He pushes me in and I hear a few in the waiting room gasp as we enter. I didn't think I looked THAT terrible!

The doctor sees me right away and it turns out my ankle has a hairline fracture that they wrap up. My back is apparently black and blue (I can't see the damned thing), and they give me a brace so I won't wrench it any further. They say to use hot compresses and hot baths once in awhile should help if I get to be so stiff I can't move. Nicely put. How about like right NOW? My face they say will be fine- nothing is broken- they just told me to put cold compresses on it. The doc apparently also gave Justin some pain meds for me. After two hours (some 'quick') and $350 (some cheap), Justin wheels me out to the car, gives the chair back to the nurse and gets into the driver's seat. He turns and faces me- I can tell he does out of the corner of my swollen eye.

"You aren't going to your house tonight, Brian," he states matter-of-factly.

I snort. "I'm sure as hell not going to your house."

"No. Neither of us are. We're going to a Motel 6."

"Classy. But no. Just take me home." I'm still mad at him for basically forcing medical treatment on me when I was fucking fine.

"No."

"What the fuck! Are YOU a serial killer?" I'm genuinely curious and somewhat baffled - and a little freaked- at his insistence not to take me home.

"The doctor said that the bruising on your back was caused by a cane. Did your grandfather do this to you?"

Smart fucker. I stay silent.

"I thought so. And I assume he always caught you off guard- and you wouldn't defend yourself and risk hurting an old man."

Shit. "Why the fuck should I tell you anything?" I spit out defensively. He's definitely flipping me out.

Justin ignores me. "The doctor said the extent of the damage was enough to make him wonder if your grandfather would hit you when you were sleeping so you couldn't get away as quickly- otherwise you would have outrun the guy easily if he needed a cane." Justin scoots as well as he can so he's facing me at an angle from the driver's side. "Brian, if your grandfather was this cruel, I imagine your dad was just as brutal to you as a kid. That is, until I imagine you were stronger and bigger than he was- am I right? And I imagine he resents the fuck out of you for that? And if he sees you in this state, he's going to really hurt you to show you and himself that he still can."

I close my eyes and avoid his scrutiny, not answering his questions. Who is this guy? Can he see into my brain? I feel his hand on my relatively 'good', undamaged cheek and I slowly open my eyes. He has tears in his and he leans in and gives me a gentle kiss. "And I can't believe it's you," he whispers. "It's really you. You're more beautiful than in my constant dreams, my millions of sketches. You're absolutely incredible." He picks NOW to tell me he knows me from his sketches? After all that fucking hassle at the airport and the clinic? Fuck me. At that point the tears finally fall silently down his pink cheeks and I squirm a little- as much as I can squirm, that is. I'm feeling exposed and embarrassed. *Not* Brian Kinney traits.

"More beautiful my ass, Sunshine. I didn't think you could possibly even recognize me in this fucked up state as the guy you're always sketching," I mumble stupidly.

"I actually wondered if you were 'that guy' when I first heard your voice on the phone, Brian. I thought I was going crazy to think that, even as giddy as you made me." He lowers his voice to a whisper. "You may not know it, but I'm a shy person- I don't talk to strangers and make myself late for school. I don't pick strangers up at airports- or anywhere for that matter- because, like you said, it can be dangerous. But I knew you were different. Now I know exactly why. And yes you are 'more beautiful, your ass,' you fucker. I can't wait till your injuries heal- for many reasons, one of which is to see you without any bruises. You know, you're much more noble than I am- I would have beat the living shit out of your grandfather."

"There was nothing noble about it. And perhaps I should have beat the living shit out of him. But it all just made me realize how the cycle of violence in my family has become out of control. It has to stop somewhere." Fuck me- I sound like a public service announcement… This fucker makes me say shit I never normally would. Must be the shot they gave me here at the clinic.

Justin grins. "Pacifist Brian Kinney?"

"Hardly. Just really not the violent type Brian Kinney."

"I bet you'll make a good father someday. Nothing like your father or grandfather."

"Not happening. 1., I'm gay. 2., the Kinney gene stops here."

Justin sighs and starts the car and we're off to some crappy Motel 6.

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