Do Unto Others

Chapter 17

Note: All past happenings are in italics.

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The pain was gone the instant she cleared her throat to speak her name

Said, "Both of us must suffer from the same unending ache."

"Hot Knives" by Bright Eyes

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Jordan…

He smiles at me. "You," he says softly as he walks into the room. He slows down, drops his jacket on the bed and stands next to me. The doctor wraps her stethoscope around her neck and takes a step back, gives us some space.

"You," I say and wince as I shift. The sheets are stiff. I have on two hospital gowns, one backwards and one forwards, the strings tied loose.

"Hey you," he says as he smoothes his hand over my hair and leans down to kiss my forehead. I let his hand run down the side of my face and touch my arm, his skin warm and comforting.

The doctor says it wasn't anything we did. The doctor says we can try again, when we're ready. He lets out an exaggerated breath of air and leans forward to press his weight into the bed, moving until I'm sitting against his chest and curled onto my side.

"Tell me why I love you so much," I say to him, wrapping my hands together and pressing them to my mouth, my eyes closed.

He laughs and reaches over to the nightstand, pulls out a bag of plain M&Ms and dangles them in front of my face. "Because I'm so damn cute, and I come bearing chocolate."

"Ice cream would have been better," I tell him. I tear into the package and pour some into my hand and press them one by one into my mouth.

He smiles against my hair and runs his hands up and down my arms. When he moves them away I press harder into him. He holds his hands out in front of my face, a pint of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey on his palm and a large spoon sticking in the center.

I let a tear drop and when he wipes it away and grabs the spoon and scoops some into his mouth I laugh, just a little. It feels wrong and too soon.

There are still tiny clothes in gift bags, powders and lotions and creams left unopened; a crib sitting in a box against a half painted wall. I take the spoon from him and scoop up my own helping. "This is your favorite," I say around the melting ice cream.

He shrugs and leans back into the headboard, pulling his legs up and resting the pint on his knee. "Well, I did bring you the M&Ms."

"Mr. Anderson," the doctor says, reaching out to shake his hand. "I'm doctor Rellia, I've been treating your wife." And she gestures to me warmly.

"How is she?" he asks her and turns to me. "They told me that you… Are you… How…?"

"I'm still breathing," I tell him with a slight wince as I pull the blankets closer around me. I'm still finding my voice. I want to be anywhere but right here. I'm tired, so tired.

The door opens and a nurse walks in. I see a tall man, dark hair and thin outside my door and slightly down the hall. He's talking to a blonde woman and holding his hand to his mouth, nodding his head and rocking back slowly on his heels. He looks expensive, important. He looks sad.

The door closes all the way and the nurse asks me if I need anything. I've lost my voice again and shake my head. No, no, nothing.

The doctor sighs, anything but impatience. I like her, a lot. "When you're ready I think we can let you go, but I'd really feel better if you'd let us keep you for a day or two."

I swallow around the nothing in my throat. I nod.

"Good," the doctor says and the nurse leaves the room. She steps closer and hugs the clipboard to her chest. "Do you think you're up for talking to the police?"

Dean looks from me to the doctor to the door and back again. "Right now? I'm sure they'll understand it if she… if you," he corrects, including me, "need a break."

"I'd… I'd rather do it now, if that's okay," I barely whisper. Dean looks at me to make sure and I smile at him, small and fragile. He nods and stands a little closer.

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Brian…

I'll try not to wake you as I watch you sleep.

I don't bother to catch the doctor's name. Jennifer knows. "We had to give him something to help him sleep. He'll be a little out of it for the next couple of hours. He's… quite a fighter."

I don't respond. Jennifer mutters something and the doctor grins as I watch Justin through the window. He's not fighting the nurse anymore and she checks all his vitals and moves the small pitcher of water away. "When he starts to come around you should be able to take him home."

"Thanks," I say. The doctor walks away hurriedly. I turn and see the detective who's been handling Justin's case. He nods at me and follows a doctor into a room not too far away, his partner close behind him lending a small wave.

"I think you should make him talk to someone, Brian," Jennifer says softly. I smirk. Good luck with that one. "He's not getting better."

"You don't see him," I tell her. It comes out cold and almost cruel, but it's the truth. Her baby isn't hers anymore and she's not there for every minute of everything. She can't just fix it all.

"I know my son, Brian." I don't argue her that point. She knows him, well, but not as well as I know him. "Are you going to say anything?"

I think back to my childhood, to every broken bone, and every tantrum my father threw. I think about all the times my mother stood there too drunk to notice, too concerned about herself to care. I think of the very few times when she said enough, when she told him to stop, go to bed, to leave me alone.

And on the tip of my tongue is what she would tell me when I managed to look up at her. I lick at my lips and move towards the door of Justin's room, and say, "This is the calm before his storm." My mother's tainted words.

And Brian, she'd tell me, 'And this too shall pass.'

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Justin…

The doctor tells the nurse to push this drug and that. I'm sleepy before it makes its way all the way through my veins. I let my eyes slide closed.

My hands are cold. Brian is watching me, and I see him but don't look at him. My mom is standing next to him. I frown, I don't want her here. My eyes are heavy and the last thing I see is Brian's hand on the door, pushing it closed and leaving my mom in the hall to watch.

I press my lips to Brian's and let myself moan softly into his mouth. "You do realize that people are watching, don't you?" he says to me.

I pull back and he raises an eyebrow. "And this bothers you?" He shakes his head with a smile and I lean forward and kiss him again. He's holding a beer and running his thumb along the top.

Molly walks up, her hair long and curled. She folds her arm across her chest and drinks from the red cup in her hand. "Jesus fucking Christ, you guys, give me a break," she says. "It's my graduation party, not the backroom of Babylon." She smiles and waves at a group of her friends.

I push away from Brian and roll my bottom lip into my mouth. "You've been in the backroom of Babylon?" I ask her.

Brian wraps his arm around her and pulls her in close, kissing her on the cheek. "Justin, a lady doesn't kiss and tell," Brian says as he looks around.

"Once or twice," she smirks. I shake my head and take the beer from Brian's hand, drinking down a long swallow.

"Like brother like sister."

Molly smiles bright and grins into the rim of her cup. "So, what'd you buy me? It better be good. I am not above killing you. I'm not."

I roll my eyes and cough, saying a quick hello to an older woman who waves at me. "I put up with you for years without any extreme incidences that would cause permanent damage. Happy graduation," I say flatly.

Molly narrows her eyes at me and takes a step before Brian pulls her back close to him.

Brian reaches into his pocket and pulls out a keychain, Mercedes Benz, something black and big, exactly what she wanted, begged for, hinted at gently. "I think this'll get you all the way to New York, and back again for the occasional visit," he says.

I've never heard her scream so loud. I flinch as she reaches over and kisses Brian firmly on the lips, turning to kiss me too. "Ugh," I say as I wipe at my mouth. And there is more in that cup than juice.

"Thank you, thank you. Thank you. HOLY FUCKING SHIT," she screams. "God, I think I might throw-up." She presses her hand over her mouth and swallows twice. "I'm good. Come on and show it to me," she says with a small jump as she grabs my hand and pulls me towards the front of the house.

He sits down in the visitor's chair. "Your mom thinks you should talk to someone," he says. His voice is normal. I force my eyes open and try to focus on him. IV drugs are good.

I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth and blink against the drugs. I'm moving my hand without trying and he grabs it and moves it back next to me. "My mom," I say as my eyes slide open and closed again, "thinks I'm five."

"I think she's right."

"I know you do," I tell him. "And my answer is still the same: no." He doesn't talk anymore. I know he doesn't leave. I know he leans back against the chair and thinks. He's always thinking.

Dream me real and free my mind…

I don't know you, and you don't know me.

The room is dark, pitch black. Am I in your head, or are you in mine? I don't move my hands, planted firmly on my thighs; dark grey pajama pants and a navy blue shirt. There is no air. She's sitting in front of me, bright white spotlight hovering somewhere above both of us, leaving us in just enough shadow. "What's your name?"

She hesitates and shifts in her chair, metal and muted grey. "Jordan," she tells me. Her hands are in her lap, stark white pants, almost translucent; her shirt pale pink. She leans forward and then back again, says, "Yours?"

"Justin," I tell her, and my voice is almost sad. I let my gaze travel behind her, somewhere over her right shoulder and I can see Brian in the distance, sleeping, turning, waiting for me.

"You got away," she says. Her hair is pulled back tight in a ponytail, still wet.

I shrug. "You killed him," I tell her.

I feel something touch my shoulder and turn, the scene changing, everything bright and sterile. I close my eyes for almost a minute and when I open them she's standing next to me. "I wish I hadn't," she tells me. The scars on her body are cleaned and glowing red and angry against her pale skin.

I don't know what to say. It feels like forever since "it" happened, and if you ask me it feels just like it was just yesterday. "Wishing can be a crippling character flaw."

She smiles and reaches out a hand and touches nothing but space. "His name is Dean, he's my husband." I look at the person that brushed my shoulder; that changed it all. He's crying and nodding and listening to the doctor. The scene is too rehearsed.

"He seems nice." I don't mean it. I'm indifferent. I can hear Brian call my name. I feel myself shift, but I'm still standing perfectly, perfectly still.

"Tell me, Justin," she says, her feet bare and her hands pressed against a thin pane of glass that I didn't know was there. "Does it get any easier? Will I wake up in the morning and feel like it never happened?"

I swallow. Brian's fingers are pressing into my arm. I look down and nothing is there. Jordan is watching me, waiting. I look over at her. I look at her husband through the glass. I watch the nurses walking and the doctors talking, debating. "No."

"Isn't this the point in the dream when you're supposed to tell me some elaboration of a subtle lie? Aren't you supposed to tell me that I'll wake up and it'll all be okay?"

I step closer to the glass. I watch her husband, palm flat against a metal door, pushing it open. He doesn't pause as he opens the door and steps inside. "Probably," I tell her. And I look over. I watch her watch herself through the glass. "But, I've found that the truth hurts slightly less."

She smiles. "Only slightly?"

And we're sitting back in our chairs. Everything is gone, everything back to pure pitch black. Her hands are sitting in her lap, and my arms are crossed across my chest. "It's enough."

Her hair is dry now, soft curls around her face. Still she doesn't smile. I watch her breathe and she watches me watch. I'm embarrassed. I can feel my face flush red, my stomach tremble as she watches me. "You're stronger than I am," she tells me.

I tell her I don't feel strong. "What makes you say that?"

And we don't watch as the scene changes again. Her in the hallway; I'm sitting on my bed. The door to my room is open.

I shift in the chair, watching her. She's standing now and I have to almost strain to see her clearly. "You let yourself break."

"Is that the definition of strength?" I ask.

A frown, and then a smile, and she tells me, "It's enough." She's moving closer, leaning down to press her lips to my ear. She grips her hands tight around my arms and says, voice honey thick and warm, "Wake up."

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Dean…

The police ask to talk to her privately. The doctor asks to talk to me. I nod as she tells me what to expect. She tells me all she knows with the antiseptic buffer of a medical professional. "She'll probably want to sleep a lot for the first couple of days. It's normal. And she might have nightmares. I don't want to scare you, but I want you to be prepared for anything."

"Yeah," I say as I stand up straight. I have to make phone calls. I have to find a place to stay, a motel maybe.

Jordan won't want to sleep. It's not her style. The police come out of her room and I don't hesitate as I move past them, quickly answering a few questions before disappearing into her room and closing the door.

All alone with just her and just me.

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Justin…

The hospital is a day and a half gone. I want to think I dreamed it all, but the hospital ID bracelet is still around my arm and Brian is still too wide awake.

I blink. My mouth is dry.

"You okay?"

Brian is sitting, his back against the headboard. I'm sweating and I move my hand to push the hair out of my face. I don't look at him. I can't, not yet. "I think so," I tell him. I push myself up and out of the bed. I take my time in the bathroom and when I come out Brian isn't on the bed. He's standing in the kitchen, jeans unbuttoned and riding low on his hips.

"You were dreaming," he tells me and takes a long drink of water. I let him hand me his bottle of water. I smile at him and it's not genuine, but he accepts it as I turn to walk away.

He bites his pens when he's nervous.

I break my pencils when I'm frustrated.

"Lord and master, one Mr. Brian Kinney, deciding what he should say to continue to win the hearts of one of his biggest clients," I say as I sit on the sofa across from him, my feet propped up on the coffee table.

"Fuck you. Trying is for amateurs," he tells me. He bites down on his pen and I stand up slowly, move across the floor and straddle his legs, press my knees into his thighs. Brian's looking at me as I lean forward. "What are you doing?"

I pull the pen from his mouth and press my lips to his. "Hmm… you taste good," I tell him. He smirks and wraps his hand around my neck. I take the proofs out his hand and drop them on the floor. I let him push me down, flat on my back, the pen lost somewhere under me.

That was then. This is now.

I'm quiet, and he doesn't know what to say. He sits next to me and when the sofa shifts and his arm doesn't try to rest behind me and lend support I let out a long breath. He's too careful and after a minute he lays his hand on his leg. I scoot down on the sofa. The sun is lingering somewhere around half past noon.

We have no hurries. Everything is waiting. He has work, I have projects. It's all on hold. All we have is this and now.

I slide my hand into his and let his fingers curl around my skin. I press my face into his shoulder and when he doesn't say anything I start to cry. He kisses the top of my head and lets his mouth linger for just longer than a minute. "I'm glad I'm not wearing a shirt," he says with mock concern.

I laugh, cutting off the tears and almost choking. I move my face away from his arm and wipe at my eyes, wipe all the signs of emotion off of his arm. Or try to. "Asshole," I mutter, and it's the first genuine smile that I've had in what feels like weeks.

"I have at times been known to exhibit the traits," he tells me. "Thai?" he asks.

I nod my head. "Yeah," I say.

Don't change the slides. I like this scene just fine.

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Brian…

I take the food from the guy at the door. He lingers longer than he needs to and I smirk, sliding the door closed. I hand the bag to Justin and disappear into the kitchen, coming back with chopsticks and beers, two bottles of water. He hands me a container and we eat in silence for a while. "I'm going to pack up the studio and open another one," he suddenly says.

"Okay." I chew slowly, leaning forward and picking up my beer off the floor. "Any idea when you want to do this?"

"Yes," he says as he pushes some noodles in his mouth. He doesn't elaborate. I wait for him. "Soon, but I don't want your help. I don't want any help."

"Justin…"

"I need to do this on my own, Brian," he tells me. "You keep asking me what I need, and well, this is what I need. It's what I want. I just… I need to do this my way and by myself. Okay?"

"Okay." We switch containers and after two bites he puts down the box and picks up his beer, drinking it down to half. "I remember waking up in the ambulance and thinking, 'fuck, not this again.'"

I swallow.

"All I could hear was air, and I thought for sure I was dying. I was hoping it would be quick. And then all I remember after that is pressure. Lots of pressure." He turns his head to look at me and his eyes are surprisingly clear. No tears.

"You did," I say when I can think again. He frowns and I sit my container down between my legs and pull a cigarette from behind my ear and light it quickly. "Your heart stopped, more than once. You did die."

"Huh," is all he says and I smirk as I send a bloom of smoke into the air. "Did you?"

Justin…

"Would you die for me?" I ask.

Brian laughs and finishes rolling his joint, my hands pressed against his stomach and my mouth pressed against the skin on his back. "No."

"If I died would you want to die?"

"And become one of those clichéd characters in a trashy grocery store romance novel? I'd like to think I have more dignity than that. And it's not as if you are the only blond in Pittsburgh with a tight ass and sometimes questionable gag reflex."

I move my hands away from his stomach and lean back offended. "You actually read trashy grocery store romance novels?"

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Detective Jorge Ramirez…

I close the file on my desk and press my fingers against the bridge of my nose. I was expecting this one to go on forever. I have to call Justin, maybe stop by in person and tell him it's over. He can relax, and start to go back to normal.

We keep the door to his room closed. I take the cup of coffee my father offers, his hands calloused and work hardened. "I think I've started to forget what that feels like," I say to him as he sits down in front of me.

"No," he shakes his head. "You still have life. You have a beautiful wife who loves you. You'll find it again, or at least something close enough." He drinks down his own coffee and stands up, clapping his hand down on my shoulder.

"I love you," I tell him.

"Then it is as it should be."

I'll deal with everything tomorrow. For now I grab my jacket and turn off the light in my office. I lock the door behind me and walk away from it all.

Until tomorrow.

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Jordan…

I let Dean help me into the rental car, into the motel room. I stop him at the bathroom door. "I just need to be alone for a second, gonna take a bath. Okay?"

"I'll be here," he tells me as he backs away from the bathroom door.

"Maybe you could go and… umm, maybe get me some clothes. Hospital scrubs are not really this year's fashion statement." He nods and picks up the keys from where he'd tossed them on the bed.

"You'll be okay here, by yourself?" I nod. I'm not really sure, but I'm not a baby and I refuse to be broken. It's not my modus operandi.

"Yeah."

He leaves and I walk into the bathroom, lock the door and lean over the tub to twist the handles. It's not exactly clean, or dirty. But it's good enough. I shrug my way out of the itchy scrubs as the hot water rises. Easing myself into the water I avoid the mirror all together. There is no need for too much way too soon.

Welcome back. Are you trying to learn all my secrets? Or do you have some of your own to share?

His back is against a park bench, his sight focused on the water. "Its tomorrow," he says to me as I sit next to him, jeans and a soft yellow v-neck tee shirt making me stand out and blend in. He's wearing dark, dark blue jeans and a white shirt.

"I noticed," I tell him as I push strands of hair out of my face.

"Does it feel any different? Do you feel somehow enlightened?" He's smiling into the horizon and I notice for the first time that it's almost dark, the sun is fading away.

"It feels like nothing," I say with a laugh. "I want to think that nothing feels good. I'm not too sure yet though," I laugh. I don't know why it's so funny.

He smiles as I laugh. "I think that is my hurdle. Feeling nothing makes me feel too fucking much."

I stop laughing and lean into him, press my shoulder against his. "And then this too shall pass," I tell him with a grin.

And now the sun is completely gone.

I take a deep breath and for the first time feel that the water is long gone cold. Dean is back and knocking on the door. I sit up and pull my legs in close. "I'm okay. I'll be out in a minute. Just give me a minute."

"As long as you need," he says through the door. I lean my head forward on my knees and rub my hands over my hair. I reach forward and pull the plug on the tub, let the water rinse down the drain as I stand up and grab a towel. I wrap it tightly around my waist and squeeze the water out of my hair over the sink.

I let my eyes travel to the mirror. I gasp loudly. My face is black and blue, pale. I touch my fingers to my lip and they're shaking. I push away from the counter roughly and pull the bathroom door open. Dean is sitting on the bed, contentedly eating a burger from somewhere fast and easy. "I brought you grease, and I think something resembling dessert."

I smile. Never mind the split in my lip.

"Is there anything you didn't think of?" I ask as I reach for the duffel bag sitting on the bed. I pull out a pair of army green pajama pants, formerly his, and a navy blue shirt; logo faded, a long ago piece of memorabilia from the first concert he ever took me to.

He points at me with a fry as I tie the pants tight around my waist and pull on the hoodie he brought back, tells me, "Toothbrushes."

"Mm," I say and push the bag onto the floor and crawl onto the mattress. "I'm not too hungry right now, but maybe later." He balls up his wrapper and tosses it across the room and into the trash can.

"I figured. I know you," he says as he swipes his tongue around the inside of his mouth and lies down next to me. I scoot in a little closer and he tucks his hands under his head as he looks at me. He smells like cheap food and stale cigarettes, all day travel and sweat. It makes me smile.

"You do," I admit. "And you sat next to a smoker."

He smiles. "Two of them actually," he says as he smells himself. "I should probably take a shower." I nod and I can hear the hitch in his voice that tells me he wants to cry.

We're quiet for a long time. "Do you want me to call your brother?" he asks softly. And I do cry then, hard and sobbing and seemingly endless as he moves closer and wraps my body in his arms. I wrap my arms around him and press the tips of my fingers into him.

Maybe it's just a little bit my style. I'm allowed to ad lib.

He cries into my shoulder while I cry into his. I swallow in loud gulps and sniff sloppily. "I want to tell you what happened," I press out, my chest heaving as I take in air.

And when all he says is, "Okay," I feel just a little bit of release.

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Brian…

I get ready for work while he's still in the shower. I pretend not to notice how many Xanax he's taken. When he comes out of the bathroom, hair still wet and skin blooming red I have to remind myself not to stare. He dries off and pulls on a pair of boxer briefs, some jeans and a shirt. "You're going to be late," he tells me as our eyes meet for the first time.

I give a small smirk and scoff. "I own the company. Which means," I pause for the effect, "that I can take off time whenever I want to."

"Thank you," he says to me as he searches through his drawers for something. "But we've talked about this. If I need… you, or anyone else, I'll call."

I turn away from him and walk out of the bedroom. There is no point in fighting with him. He's made up his mind. He walks out of the bedroom, fastening his watch around his good wrist. I pick up my phone and my keys, my portfolio off the counter, slide my sunglasses on. "Nervous?"

He smiles and runs his thumb across his eyebrow and down his left cheek. "I'm fucking petrified. Have a good day at work, dear," he says with an overly bright smile. I step forward and lean in, wrap my hand around his neck and wait. He nods slightly and I press my mouth against his. He's warm, and smells like vanilla.

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Justin…

I stand at the door for five minutes after watching him slide it closed. I glance around the loft and let out a long sigh. It would be so easy to stay here, inside these four walls. But I can do this. I will do this. I push away from the door and walk back into the bedroom, pick up my shoes and put them on quickly, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder.

"You can do this," I tell myself. I punch in the alarm code, wrench open the door and slam it shut behind me, locking it quickly. I lean against it. I can still hear the alarm counting down the seconds to "system armed."

It's loud in my ears and I take a deep breath.

I can do this.

Reality is waiting, just a footstep away.

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