Only Seventeen

~ 4 ~

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

I have this newfound love for caller ID.

I woke up this morning and found that the house was eerily quiet. Taking time to glance at the clock beside me, I saw that it was edging on noon. I figured that Mom was most likely working and Molly was probably sleeping because when she's not doing that, I'm usually tripping all over her. I edged out of bed and made my way into the bathroom to piss then heard the phone ring, decided not to answer it just yet. I figured if it was important enough then whoever it was would call back.

They did.

I let it ring twice before grabbing the cordless from the bedside table in my mother's room. To my utter surprise and contempt it was my father who thought it was time that we had a little chat. Which is how I ended up here, forty-five minutes later in a never-ending battle of wits with a man I loathe.

I so wish we had caller ID.

"Justin, we've discussed this." He sighs and I'm betting, wishes he never dialed the numbers in the first place. "I still want to be a part of your life."

"Doesn't mean I want to be a part of yours." I mutter a bit under my breath.

"I don't know why you have to be so difficult about this whole thing."

"Maybe because you chose somebody else over Mom. You could have stopped, Craig." I can almost hear him wincing. "But you didn't. Instead you chose somebody that attended my school." At least she graduated, I add to myself.

"It's not like you ever dated her!"

I actually laugh at this and not because it's true and highly amusing, but because he still doesn't want to believe what's right in front of his face. I never actually told him that I was gay, but how could he not know? My son -the one that loves art, Mozart, and detests all things that involve any sort of exertion, well, almost everything-- couldn't possibly be gay.

"No, I didn't, but would that have stopped you?" The question's rhetorical, but I know in my head that it wouldn't because my father is, and always will be, a selfish man.

I plop onto the light beige colored love seat in the living room and scan the channels of the satellite for anything that is loud enough to drown him out. The idea to tell him I have to work comes to mind and I question why I didn't think of it an hour ago.

"Listen." I sigh. "I have to get ready for work. You understand, right?" I know he does because my father is a businessman. All work and no play, well except for the mistress on the side.

"Justin." He pauses and I wonder if he really knows what to say, or if he's questioning whether I'll like what he has to say.

"Still here."

"Tell Molly I said Hi." That's all?

"Fine." And then I hang-up on him because it gives me power, control, and because I'm not all that mature.

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

The lights are flashing all different colors, bouncing off the walls in a prearranged beat. I can't concentrate on just one, too many ideas in my head, and not enough time to put them in single-file. I watch the strobes and the lasers over head. They're relaxing, methodically moving about the room in an array of color. I realize the reason that I can't concentrate on anything isn't only because of my thoughts, but more because of what's going on beside me.

Mikey's whining again and I'm finding it incredibly hard to ignore him. As much as I want to, his high pitched squeal keeps pulling my eyes away from the almost fuckable men on the dance floor. I keep telling myself that it's not because of a certain blond that has recently been employed at my place of business. I don't 'do' relationships or love.

It's all about fucking and pleasure. Minimum of bullshit, maximum of pleasure. It's just easier that way.

"And then Ma made me clean the whole upstairs! It's not fair!" Mikey's voice rises an octave and I immediately feel the pulsing begin just between my eyes. Only he can bring on that reaction.

"The upstairs consists of your bathroom and your bedroom, Mikey."

"Well, there's her room and Uncle Vic's room, too."

"And she made you clean those?"

He hesitates. "Well, not really." I knew it.

I eye him and he backs down, knows that if he doesn't, I'll leave him leaning against the bar in a heartbeat. He hates when I do that. I glance at the watch on my wrist and deduce that I've drunk a little too much to read the tiny numbers. Playfully, I slap Mikey on the arm and gesture towards the door. He knows what that means and instinctively reaches an arm around my waist. I brush him off.

I'm not that drunk, not tonight.

We leave Babylon and the pulsating light waves behind and head into the deserted alley. I say goodbye to Steve at the door and follow Mikey out to the street. It's early yet and I'm not quite sure that I want to go home. Instead, I signal to Mikey and we make our way towards the diner. His Mom's probably working and I'm hoping we can get some lemon bars. Maybe they'll soak up the alcohol roaming around in my system.

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

Brian.

He's the one thought in my head while I'm talking to Debbie. It's late, past one, and I'm at the diner trying to pick up some extra hours. Nobody comes in this late and I'm starting to wonder why I volunteered, considering I'm making the same amount of money as my usual shift, but at least I move up to waiter during these shifts.

Deb's waving a hand in my face, drawing my attention back to what's in front of me. "Sorry." I say sheepishly, ducking my head and blushing.

"That's gotta be the fourth time you've wandered off like that. What's going on?"

"I'm just thinking." I answer. "About a lot of things."

"That no good father of yours?"

"He's one of the things." One of many.

"What's he saying now?"

Debbie knows the whole story about my father and the reason I'm here in the first place. She's the only person that I feel I can talk to and not be judged. I need a friend like that, no matter how old she is. "The usual. We need to get along, insurance issues, yadda yadda. He wants to sell my car." I add the last part with a slight sigh and a downfallen look. It makes sense when you think about it, but I don't want it to make sense. I want my life back.

I'm again so swept up in thought that I never hear the ring from the bell above the door. It isn't until Debbie slaps me on the arm and hands me the coffee pots that I realize I have work to do. She smiles and points toward the table where the newcomers have sat down. Immediately, I recognize the back of the person's head.

"Coffee?" I squeak out.

"Yeah." Brian answers and turns the mug over on the table. He points to the regular pot that I'm holding in my left hand. Steadily, I pour the steaming liquid in the white mug.

"Mikey?" Brian asks and tilts his head in my direction. It's then that I see there is somebody else at the table. I recognize him as Deb's son and a regular at the diner, but I didn't realize he knew Brian. I always thought he was kind of geeky, not at all the person Brian would associate.

"No, thanks."

I turn and walk back behind the counter, place the pots back on their holders and reach into my apron to bring out my note pad. Deb's been leaning against the counter watching the whole time, and I'm rather frightened as to the impression I'm giving her. I know she treats all of us like her sons, but I've never actually seen it in action before.

"He's a lot to handle." Deb says simply as I pass by her. I stop and turn to look at her, expecting a long lecture, but she doesn't say anymore, only shrugs her shoulders and nods her head. It's just a fact and whatever I do with it is my business.

I walk back over to the table and take Brian's orders, which I already know considering he gets the same thing every day. Mikey orders a burger, fries, and shake, which brings on an onslaught of ridicule from Brian about how many calories are contained within the food. I think Michael's heard the speech before and doesn't really care.

After serving their food, I return to my spot on the stool in front of Deb. "I just served him some coffee and a sandwich." I say aloud, probably more to myself than to her.

"Leave it at that." Deb answers after a slight pause. Her tone again suggests that it's just a statement; if I choose to follow it then it's my business. "I've known him a long time, kiddo, and dealing with him is like dealing with a pack of wolves."

I turn and eye her questioningly. I mean, isn't that her son sitting over there with him. "You let Michael hang out with him."

Deb sighs and turns to watch her son and I see the hurt in her eyes, the years of torment, and all the hard work she's been through raising her son alone. Suddenly, I feel sorry for her, but then push that aside because Deb would have a fit if she ever knew.

"Michael." She hesitates being careful with her choice of words. "Michael and Brian are best friends and that's all they will ever be, which isn't to say that one of them doesn't want more. That's just all they'll ever be." It's a fact, one that she's probably hounded many times, but to no avail. It doesn't take a genius to figure out which person she's referring to.

"I see." It's all I can think of to say and I'm not exactly sure that more needs to be said. We sit in silence after that, me thinking about her warnings, and about her son and the inevitable -I'm assuming-- broken heart he'll end up having.

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