If It Made Sense, It Wouldn't Be a Mystery, Would It?

Chapter 21

POV: JUSTIN

Brian drifts off to sleep, which is probably good for him so I leave him alone to get some rest and I go dink around on the computer for awhile. After about an hour, I hear him shifting in bed and I climb the stairs to see him twitching restlessly in his sleep before his eyes suddenly open and his teeth clench. He did that a lot in the hospital; it's obvious that he's hurting. "Fuck me! Jesus." He mutters, rubbing his head. Then he notices me and smiles weakly. "Ugh. I feel like shit." He mumbles.

"You look a little green in the gills." He just rolls his eyes and sits up.

"Fuck!" He says, looking at the clock. "It's already 11? Fuck!"

"I thought you could use the rest."

He grumbles something I can't hear and shifts over to the edge of the bed. "You mind making something to eat? I'm going to lope around here and try to dress my fucking broken self." Brian stands up, grimacing.

I can sense his previously somewhat chipper mood has disappeared. I eye him warily, but I know he won't accept my help. "'Kay." I say. "What do you want?" I call behind me as I go into the kitchen. There's a crash. I swing around.

"Fuck! Damn crutches!" He's leaning down. One had fallen and knocked an ashtray off the nightstand.

"You okay?"

"As okay as I can be, I guess…" He mutters.

"How about eggs?"

"Mmrrph…" He mumbles, straightening up and tossing the ashtray onto the nightstand with a clatter. "Just toast."

"Brian, you have to eat more than that."

"Fuck off. You're not my mother. Toast." He snaps, limping to the dresser.

"Fine." I mutter, opening the breadbox and yanking out a loaf of bread. He is the crankiest sick person in the fucking world, I swear it.

As I pop the toast into the toaster, I glance over to see his progress. He's pulling on a wife-beater, but the fabric is stuck on his cast. "FUCK!" He yells, flailing as best he can to get his cast through the opening. The cast goes all the way to his fucking shoulder- it's not an easy task.

I sigh and go into the bedroom. "Jesus, Brian, you're-"

"A fucking cripple. I know. Justin, just help me get this thing on." He grumbles in defeat.

"No, not a 'fucking cripple', Brian. A total ass." I reach over and gingerly pull it through the armhole.

"Thanks." He says quietly. "Fucking cast." He lumbers over to the dresser and gets out some sweats. "God, I really hate wearing this shit. I feel like a slob." Then he pauses, thoughtful a moment before sitting on the bed. "I wonder if this is how Ted feels." He carefully pulls the sweats on and gets up, spreading his arms towards me to display his new look.

Actually, he looks pretty hot. I can see his muscles through the tight wife-beater and I smack my lips. "You look mahhvelous." I say. "Come on. Let's eat." I hand him the crutches and head into the kitchen. I'm buttering the toast as he wobbles up to the counter, pulling out a stool.

"Not so much butter, Justin!"

Jesus. "What the fuck is with you?" I say, annoyed.

He grunts and takes a bite of toast. Then he's quiet. After a few minutes, he takes a sip of coffee. Then he snorts, "So. What you'll be driving, today, I have no idea."

Oh yeah.

No car.

"I'll call Lindsay." I say.

"Woo hoo- we're probably going from a Skylark to… another Skylark."

I ignore him and pull out Brian's cell from his jacket on the counter. I resign myself to the fact that he'll be ticked off with either car. Skylark. Or Cavalier. A 1986 Cavalier. I sigh and hit speed dial.

POV: BRIAN

God, I fucking ache. And I know I'm being extra shitty right now, but fuck it. I feel like a goddamned 90-year-old. I can't even go over to the door to get the fucking paper. Luckily, I see Mikey brought it in and put it on the counter before he left.

"Okay," Justin flips the phone closed. "Lindsay says Mel has the Skylark so she'll bring over the Cavalier if we'll drop her off at Mel's work. They have a lunch date."

"Ooooo. The Cavalier. Oh so much better than the Skylark." I mumble. "I have to get a classier set of friends. And mother of my child." Justin just smirks and tosses the cell on the counter.

"So, are we taking the letters and shit to Gary's, or are we just showing up?"

"Let's take them. After all," I chuckle, "he hasn't seen all of them."

Justin takes my empty plate and starts to put it in the sink, but before I can say anything he turns to the dishwasher. I smile to myself.

"So. You about ready?" He asks.

"Well, we kind of have to wait till Lindsay shows up."

He suddenly pushes a couple pills under my nose and pours more coffee into my mug. "No. I mean: Take."

"I fucking hate these things," I mutter, grabbing the pills and popping them in my mouth. "They make me so looped."

"Yeah. I remember. Me too." He says, looking closely at the bottle.

I wince and almost spit out my coffee. "Don't go there, Justin." The pills just happen to be the kind Justin was given after the bashing. I was hoping he wouldn't notice. I wish I'd put them in the bathroom cabinet with all the other meds I've gotten and not finished over the years.

"Brian, we never really talk about that…"

I know. I know. I know. Frankly, I don't even want to think about it. This is not helping my mood, goddammit. "I didn't know you wanted to… And we did talk about it- a lot, for awhile after it happened." I look over at him; he's pretending to be busy wiping down the counter. What the fuck brought this on, anyway? Just the fucking pills? "Justin, this isn't the fucking diner. Put that rag down." He looks at me and sighs, then tosses the rag into the sink. "Justin, what's going on? Have you remembered more? I mean, if you want to talk about… something… you know, it… you… you can."

I have fucking relived that whole deal so many times and the last thing I want to do is let those memories have free reign again. But, if he's remembered something, maybe he needs to talk. Gee, I'm being awfully magnanimous for me, even though I really don't want to be. Christ, the headache that had started to dissipate is back full on, despite the pills.

He bites his lip, seeming to size me up. "No, that's okay."

"Fuck that, Justin. Fuck this noble front you're putting on. I'm not in the mood. What's going on?"

He just looks at me. Suddenly he reaches for my hands and holds them- grasping just the fingers on my casted arm. "Sorry. Really, Brian. We can talk about it later."

I look at him skeptically. "Talk. Now."

"I just kind of… After the car wreck, I just kind of got a taste of what maybe… what maybe you had gone through after… afterwards… And also, well, even though I slept maybe 2 fucking minutes the whole time we were in the hospital up there- I had the most vivid and terrible nightmares…" He pauses. "AND the most vivid and incredible… God, they were almost wet dreams. Some WERE." He adds, smiling a little. He pauses again, collecting himself. "From the night of the prom." He looks at me briefly. "And I don't know if they are, er, were, based on my own memories, or on what you and Daph have told me about that night. But I think I remember now. They're too vivid to be based on what you two have told me. At least, I think."

I'm staring at him. I can't speak. I feel a sudden wooziness as the import of what he's saying sinks in. He remembers the whole night? Not just the fucking bat to his skull?

Or maybe I'm getting woozy because of the meds.

It's just the meds. I shake my head. I choose to decide that it's the meds.

"Brian?" He looks suddenly worried.

I gather my wits as best I can. "I'm fine- the pills are just starting to kick in, is all."

"You sure?"

'Yes, I'm fucking sure!' I want to scream. But I just nod, breaking our grip to take another sip of coffee.

And, Jesus, my hand is shaking. As I quickly put the cup down, I glance up and see that he notices. Dammit.

"Brian…" His jaw is clenched and it looks like he's trying not to cry. "I'm sorry- I didn't mean-"

Just then, the buzzer goes off. Fucking saved by the bell. Er, buzzer, whatever. I make a mental note to take Lindsay to lunch soon. While I know Justin and I will have to talk about this, I just don't feel… strong enough at the moment.

"Can you get that?" I manage. He looks at me.

"Fuck." Is all he says. But he gets up and goes to let her in.

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