Long Way Home

Part 3

Britin

Justin

I squinted as the nurse rolled me out into the sunlight. It was warm for mid May and I was glad I resisted the sweatshirt my mother so diligently tried to make me wear. An unfamiliar, but really cool, kind of celery green SUV drove up and parked right in front of us. Brian, who had mysteriously disappeared this morning stepped out of the driver's side. "Ready, Sunshine?"

God yes, I was ready. I fucking hate hospitals. "Definitely." I awkwardly stood up with my crutches. Fuck, my leg hurt like a bitch. Mom and Brian both knew better than to try and help me though. Yeah, I'm not real big on the touching, and I guess I still had them well trained from my last fun trip into the land of PTSD.

I maneuvered into the passenger seat, and Brian took my crutches, stowing them, my bag and the flowers I’d accumulated in the last twenty-four hours, in the back of the car. Sure, people, flowers are going to make this all better.

Mom stepped up to my window and I rolled it down. "Can I call and check on you later?"

I forced a smile. "Of course."

"Get some rest, okay, honey?"

"I will, mom. Don't worry. I promise I'll be fine."

"If you were anyone else, I'd have my doubts, but I know if anyone can survive this it will be you."

"Thanks, Mom." I still hadn't met her eyes.

"You'll take care of Brian too?"

This time I did look up. She looked genuinely concerned. "You know I will." This time my smile was real.

Brian got in the car and shot both of us a look and we knew that he heard us. Mom smiled brightly and backed away from the car. "Take care!"

"When did you get this?" I gestured around the interior of the car as we pulled out of the hospital.

"This morning."

"What about the Vette?"

"This is for you."

"What?"

"You're a little old to rely on me or the bus anymore. This is more practical, especially if Gus is visiting."

"You do know how much my paintings sell for, don't you? I can buy my own fucking car."

"Consider it a welcome home gift," he answered in his no arguments tone of voice.

"Okay, um, thanks." Fuck. He bought me a fucking car. It was a really nice car.

Neither of us spoke again for awhile. We hadn't talked about where we were going, but I knew that Brian wouldn't take me back to the loft. Neither of us were ready for that. We hadn't really talked about the attack, me moving back to Pittsburgh, or anything really, yet. I didn't feel strong enough at the moment to bring any of it up, so I leaned my head against the window and watched the scenery flow by, trusting Brian to handle it.

"We're going to Britin," he said as if he'd just read my mind.

I raised my head and looked at him. "You kept it?" I can't believe he kept the house. The house he bought me when we were going to get married.

He didn't look at me. "Yeah, I kept it."

I smiled brightly at him and just for a second forgot all the other bullshit in my life. "You soooo loooove me."

He glanced over at me and returned my smile. "Shut up, Twat." He turned his attention back to the road. "But you're right, I do," he said softly, staring out the windshield.

Maybe I did have the strength for this conversation. "So we can live there, now? I mean now that I'm home for good?"

Brian didn't speak for a long time and then he looked back over at me. "Are you sure, Justin? Are you really sure you're ready to come home?"

He looked so vulnerable, and I realized just how much it had hurt him when I left, even though, at the time it had been the right decision for both of us. "I'm sure, Brian. I spoke to my agent and she agrees that I can base myself anywhere now and still sell. I'll have to travel a little, and I want to eventually spend time in Europe, but I'm hoping that you'll be able to do that with me. And I don't mean that we should get married. I kind of like us the way we are right now, except for the being in two different states thing."

He smiled then. It was one of those rare Brian smiles that lit up his face and actually made him look entirely different, and even more beautiful than usual. Fuck, I loved to get one of those smiles out of him, and I had to turn away so he wouldn't see the tears in my eyes.

"I like the sound of that," he replied. "Although I suppose I'll have to get used to dodging your fucking shoes lying all over the place again."

"Asshole," I replied, but I reached my hand out to him, and he gently took it and brought it to his lips for a tender kiss.

We didn't talk the rest of the way to Britin.
 

* * *

I awoke from a nightmare with a small cry, and in a total state of panic. I sat up, but I couldn't catch my breath as I stared wildly around the unfamiliar room. Brian was at my side in moments. "Breathe, Justin. Just Breathe. You're home with me, and you're safe."

He didn't try to touch me, but I did what he said, just as I had all those other nights after the bashing when I woke up from my terrifying dreams. He kept talking to me in soothing tones, and eventually the panic ebbed, and I realized we were at Britin in the exquisitely decorated media room where I had fallen asleep on the comfy sectional. Not only had Brian kept the house, he'd had it remodeled and redecorated, and what I'd seen so far was absolutely fucking beautiful and perfect.

"Shit," I muttered, slightly embarrassed as I always was after an attack like this.

"Haven't seen one of those in awhile," Brian answered as he studied my face, trying to figure out what to do for me.

I shakily looked up at him. "Brian?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you just please hold me?"

 

* * *

Brian

Fuck, I don't think I've ever been more relieved to hear six words in my life. I'm not good with words, well, I mean I am in my line of work, but I suck at the personal stuff. With our relationship I've always been much better at showing Justin how I feel rather than talking about it. And the thing is, he gets that about me, and it works for us; well except for when it didn't, but that was a long time ago.

So, I've been going crazy ever since he woke up in that ambulance, wanting to pull him into my arms and show him my love and support. There are no words that I can say right now that will make him feel better, or make any of this shit go away, but I can hold him, and let him know how much I love him. That’s a piece of cake.

I scooted onto the sectional behind him, fitting him between my outstretched legs, and then pulled him gently against my chest. He turned and buried his face against me, and then came the great, wracking sobs, just as I knew they would. He had been strong for long enough and I was so relieved that he was finally just fucking letting go. I simply sat and held him as I let my fingers flow through his golden locks, and let my own silent tears fall as well.

 

* * *

Four weeks later I reluctantly left Britin, and Justin, and went back to work, leaving Justin in the capable hands of his best friend, Daphne, who had arrived home from med school yesterday for her summer break.

It was not without trepidation that I went to Kinnetik, but there was only so much I could do remotely from home, and Ted and Cynthia had done more than their fair share to cover my ass over the last few weeks. It's not that I didn't trust Daphne to take care of Justin, I just felt bad dumping him on her, because she looked exhausted and he was a handful at the moment. But she had insisted that that was what a good hag was for, so I gratefully put her up in one of the guest rooms and made my escape.

It's not that Justin was acting out, or demanding anything. No, the trouble was that he wasn't doing anything, and I mean nothing. He was still rejecting all visitors, except his mother, who wouldn't take no for an answer, and he spent his days moving from our bed to the couch, and back again in some sort of state of depression that we had been unable to snap him out of. I know it sounds weird, but it's really tiring to watch; maybe because I'm a man of action, and none of my actions seemed to be working.

He was even pissed about Daphne coming, but again, there wasn't much he or I could do about it if she had her mind made up. I hoped she could help, but I wasn't counting on it too much. Maybe she could at least get him to start taking regular showers without fucking being reminded.

*************************************************************

On the third day of Daphne's visit I arrived home as usual, carrying some sort of take-out, since Justin was the only one of us that cooked, and that wasn't going to happen any time soon. I made my way to the media room, where I knew I would find the two of them watching a movie, or cartoons, if they had raided my stash and were stoned. I stopped short to find Daphne alone, pouring over a textbook. "Where's Justin?" My heart sank a little. "Don't tell me he didn't even get out of bed today."

"Studio," Daphne answered succinctly as if it were perfectly normal for my couch potato, cleanliness challenged lover, to be working in his studio.

"What?" I asked brilliantly.

"I got him to go in there and paint. I told him he was being a total lazy ass, pussy loser who needed to get his shit together."

I sat on the nearest chair and stared at her. Of course, taunt and insult the victim, why didn't I think of that? "Are you sure you're going to be a doctor?"

"It's called tough love, Brian. Maybe you couldn't get away with it, but I, as the best friend, can."

"Is he really painting something?"

She smiled at me. "I actually think he is, but I don't want to bug him and jinx it."

I nodded and smiled back. "I fucking love you, Daphne!" I stood up and pulled her into a hug.

"I don't suppose you want to change that statement to 'I'd love to fuck you, Daphne?'" she asked with a sly grin.

"What, no time to get any in med school?"

"You have no idea," she laughed.

"You poor…"

"Fuck!" I was cut off by a yell and some crashing from the vicinity of Justin's studio.
"Goddamn fucking fucker!"

Daphne and I traded looks and ran to the back of the house to the room that used to be the sun porch, but was now Justin's studio. Justin's easel was tipped over, a canvas of an angry, but nonetheless stunning, mix of colors lay next to it, as Justin sat on his stool, eyes glazed over, and panting.

"Justin, what is it?" Daphne asked as she approached him slowly. She had learned the hard way about surprising him, almost getting her head knocked off a couple of days earlier when she had surprised him from behind.

He didn't reply, and I reached him, slowly running a hand up his arm. He let me touch him without too much drama these days, though our sex life, understandably, was still on hold. He seemed startled by my presence as he looked up and met my gaze. "What is it?" I asked him gently.

"Remember how I said that his voice sounded familiar? That I knew it from somewhere?" His voice was flat and emotionless, much like it had been at the hospital.

"Yeah?" I prompted, though I was almost afraid for him to go on.

"It came to me while I was painting. I know who it is, Brian. I know who raped me."
 

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