Only Seventeen

~ 13 ~

*~*~Justin's POV~*~*

"It's been how long since you woke up in Brian's bed?" Emmett asks with his usual flair.

"I don't know." Two weeks, two days, and five hours, but who's counting?

"Sure you do." Emmett prods. I sigh; not anywhere near to relenting the information that I hold, but Daphne clears her throat and throws Em a sideways glance.

Daphne hisses. "Em, leave him alone."

"Besides." I say, putting my plastic ware on the tray and pushing it away from me. "It's not as if we were sharing a bed in any way but the literal sense. I was drunk and he was being nice."

"Sure, sure." Emmett says a bit disappointed, but he bounces back. "It's not really the truth that fags care about anyhow. I mean they're not going to dig deeper into the story to find out if you slept with Brian, literally or otherwise, all they care about is juicy gossip."

"And you're a fag all the way, aren't you?"

He nods enthusiastically. He's been bugging me about this since I told the two of them it happened. I held him off for a couple of days by ignoring him and bringing up other matters, but the subject always wound around to Brian and I. The look on his face is pleading and priceless.

"You're not going to give up on this?"

"Probably not."

"Fine." I say my forehead connecting to the lunch table with an audible thump. "Go tell the whole fucking world for all I care." My words are muffled, but I assume the only ones Emmett hears are 'Go' and 'Tell', which coincidentally are the only words he cares to hear.

"Not the whole world, sweetie." Emmett says, pushing his chair away from the table. "Just the queer one."

I raise my head to glance at Daphne, follow her gaze, and watch Emmett practically flutter from the room. I never knew that a nonexistent sex life could give one man such pleasure. I can't help but laugh in spite of myself.

Daphne sighs. "So, how long has it been?"

"I said that I didn't know." I don't know why I bother; it's obvious she can tell I'm not exactly being truthful.

"I know what you said, but I've seen you in class, in the halls, and in here. You're preoccupied, staring into space, and I know it has nothing to do with your parents."

She's right about that fact and it not having to do with my parents. Though, I wish it did. Conceding, I mumble the answer and she catches enough of it to know that I've been counting, daily as well as hourly.

"See, it wasn't that hard."

"We're just friends." I say it more for my benefit because I don't think it's gotten drilled into my brain enough over the last few weeks or so.

"And that's all you'll ever be." Daphne looks sad, sympathetic even, and I have to look away. "He's not cut out for what you need, Justin. It's better that you know this now, when there's still time for you to - to get out."

"Get out of what?" And what do I need that he isn't cut out for?

"Whatever it is you started that night because you did start something. End it."

It wasn't a warning, merely a suggestion, one brought on from a worried ally.

"We're just friends." I repeat more adamantly this time.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Mom!" I call when I walk inside the front door of the house. I finished my shift at the diner a half hour ago and walked home. "Mom, where are you?"

I can hear Molly chattering in the kitchen, she's excited about something, a spelling bee possibly. They have those almost every day from what I can remember. I get closer and can smell dinner cooking, pot roast maybe. "Why didn't you answer me?"

Mom jumps and then laughs. "Justin, sweetheart, I didn't hear you. I must have been paying attention to Molly."

"S'okay." I answer as I wrap my jacket around the back of the swivel chair. "Finish your story, Mol."

As she chatters away, I grab a Diet Coke from the fridge and a glass from the cupboard. "And we're in pairs and we get to choose an egg and if we're really, really good then we'll be able to see if the eggs hatch and if we did it right and our egg hatches, then we should be able to bring them home, but my partner said that her mom and dad would never let her have a baby chick and that means that our baby chick would be an orphan and I really don't want it to be an orphan because that would be sad and would you want to be an orphan? I didn't think so. Can I bring home the baby chick?"

I can see Mom roll her eyes in my direction. I shrug in response. "Don't look at me, you're the parent."

"We'll have to wait and see how well you do on your project. What if the egg doesn't hatch?"

"It'll hatch." Molly says it so adamantly that I can't believe it won't. She slides from the stool and grabs her backpack. "I'm gonna go upstairs and read the whole chapter over again so that I can make sure that the egg will hatch." She bounds from the room and I can hear her race up the stairs.

"You should of just said no."

"If it makes her do her homework…"

I stare at my mother and wonder where she's been the last five years. "Molly always does her homework. She's going to die doing homework. She's the smartest fourth grader I know."

She shrugs and changes the subject. "How was your day?"

"Pretty good, I guess. Dad call?"

"You will talk endlessly about your sister, but you always close off the subject on yourself. Why is that?"

"I'm not narcissistic. You should be thrilled." I take a drink from the can of Diet, ignoring the glass in front of me. I think it's my night for dishes.

"I want to know what's going on in your life."

Believe me, Mom, you really don't. "I go to school, I work, and I come home. That's my story and I'm sticking to it."

She sighs and I take a sip from my drink. "He hasn't called." I give her an inquisitive look. "Your father. He hasn't called."

I nod my head and take another drink. A week ago he called with another excuse, another lie enveloped in glittery wrapping. He's too busy and wouldn't have the time to tend to a ten year olds needs. When he has the time, he'll call. Until then Molly waits.

"And what do you think that means?" I ask.

She knows what it means, doesn't want to say it aloud for fear that Molly might be listening, might hear the answer, and finally know what I've known all along. That our father, our sperm donor, is a selfish prick. "I - I think it means that he's working a lot. That he can't get time away to pay attention to her and get her settled."

I shake my head; look down at the tile on the island. "You're still making excuses for him. It's second nature to you now, isn't it?" She thinks its rhetorical question. "Isn't it? You know the reason why he's suddenly become busy, why he wanted her two weeks ago, and suddenly changes his mind. You know! You refuse to see it, but you know."

She averts her eyes, looks at the floor. Her voice is low, almost inaudible, but there's a hint of strength behind it. "Yeah, I know."

"Then quit ignoring it for once." I get up and leave the room, my statement hanging in the air.

I go to bed that night angry, angry at my dad for not following through, angry at my mom for standing up for him and making excuses, angry at myself for letting everything get to me the way it does…angry for the sake of being angry.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It's Saturday, I've slept the morning away, loafed throughout the afternoon, and tonight I have a shift at the diner and that involves working with Brian. I'm not looking forward to it. I put my anger aside for now, realize that it's not going to help me, and get ready for work. I wear the usual attire, make sure to grab my lightweight blue jean jacket --it's getting chillier at night--, and leave for work.

"Sunshine, how's it going?"

"It's going." I yell to a tall woman behind the diner counter. Kiki's the drag version of Deb, but with brown hair and a smaller frame. She's nice, easy to get along with, and a good listener to boot. "You look tired, kid."

"I'm fine." I brush off her worries with a wave of my hand and proceed to the kitchen where I can grab an apron to start work.

It's still early evening and thus quiet in the diner. It's past dinner, not quite time for the Babylon and Woody's crowds to slither in. The hustlers have yet to emerge from their hiding spots and so, the only occupants of the diner are the few of us that work here and a patron or two. The lack of activity is making it very difficult for me to continue dodging questions and looks from a certain person. Brian. I've been avoiding him all night and it's beginning to look obvious.

The thing is, I was fine with the interaction between Brian and I after that night --limited as it was-- and fully believed in our ability to be nothing but platonic. Occasionally, I would accompany the boys to Woody's, the diner, and possibly Babylon. We'd have fun, drinking and laughing with each other. Michael and I would play pool while Brian got his rocks off in the bathroom. Brian and I would talk in class, in the halls, and occasionally he'd eat lunch with the rest of us bottom feeders. I never second guessed it, never glanced back and rethought anything, until I talked with Daphne.

Now, I'm all-aflutter with nervousness, worry, and it's annoying. Now, I can't concentrate for fear that something I say might suggest I want more than Brian does and I don't want more. I think.

Damn Daphne and her accusations. She's putting ideas in my head.

He catches me wiping down a table for the third time. Nobody's used it since I got here, but it's the farthest one away from him.

"Sunshine."

I don't look at him, no direct eye contact and I won't crumble. I don't know when I decided to throw my philosophy of no relationships out the window. It might have been when we danced at Babylon, or when we made out at the park, but I think it was the first time I felt him inside of me. Sex changes people, I've heard, but never believed it, until now.

"Justin." Brian says it with more force, pulling me from my thoughts. I glance in his direction to acknowledge that I've heard him, but continue to scrub at an imaginary spot on the table. "Finally, you've been avoiding me all night."

"Not really." I mumble, still scrubbing.

We're just friends. It's my mantra, my philosophy, something to say to myself for the calming affect. If you say it enough you actually believe that's what you want too.

"Whatever. Listen, Mikey and I are going to Babylon after my shift. You wanna tag along?"

I shake my head. "I should get home." My mind searches for a plausible reason as to why I can't join them. "I've got homework and things."

"Your choice." He reaches down, pauses my hand, and takes the rag from it. "You'll wear a hole through the table."

He turns and I watch him leave. I continue to stay away from him for the rest of the night. I watch Mikey enter the diner with a smile plastered on his face, watch Brian leave with him. I finish my shift and take the long walk home. Alone, which is a feeling I'm acclimating myself to.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

*~*~Brian's POV~*~*

It wasn't a pity invite.

I don't do pity. It makes me gag…among other things.

So, that's enough to realize I wouldn't invite somebody if I didn't want them there. Why did I want him? I asked myself the same thing before, during, and after the question emerged. I ask myself again, long after the night has ended, and I still come up with the same answer.

Because he's Justin.

Whatever that means, whatever that implies, I don't know.

And I'll probably lay in bed forever thinking about it. Wondering about it. Or I can deal with it, live with it, and push it aside. Because I don't think the answers going to change in ten hours or in ten days.

Damn it all if I'm not fond of the little bastard!

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