Incendiary

Chapter 8 - Smoldering

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JUSTIN

They probably think I'm asleep in here. I'm not. Debbie apparently wouldn't let Emmett 'disturb' me last night when he got home, so, of course, that means he was in here bright and early this morning for a first hand account of last night's events. Deb then insisted I eat breakfast and let her change the dressings on my hands as per the doctor's instructions. I was actually relieved to see that they don't look nearly as bad as I'd imagined. I don't remember even seeing them last night as the doctor was bandaging them. All I could think about at the time was Brian.

Of course, upon seeing that it was only my palms that were actually blistered, I was adamant that my fingers need not be covered. Deb argued, but I stood my ground. At least with my fingers free, I'd be able to do the most basic of tasks by myself. Christ. Having to ask Deb to help with the button and zipper on my jeans last night was nothing short of mortifying. She didn't blink an eye, of course, but the sooner I can fucking dress myself, the happier I'll be, thank you very much.

In the end, it took a call to my family doctor to convince her that there was no danger in leaving my fingers exposed, provided there were no blisters that could burst and invite infection.

I'd escaped her fussing at the earliest opportunity and have been lying here ever since, trying to decide what I'm going to say to Brian. Trying to anticipate what he'll say to me. The only certainty right now is that, with everything we own destroyed, we'll both be starting over in a sense.

But will it be together or apart?

The same question has been running through my head all morning and I can't take it anymore. I make my way downstairs to find Emmett at the dining room table, copying something out of a magazine.

"I'm going out," I tell him, my tone leaving no room for argument.

"Um, Ok," he says reluctantly. "Need some company?"

I shake my head. "I'm just going to walk around a bit. Get some fresh air."

I try to ignore the sympathetic expression he's wearing and let myself out the front door. The weather is still unbearably hot, but after last night, I don't dare even think of complaining. With no real destination in mind, I start to walk, surprised to look up some time later and find that I'm standing in front of the loft building. I look around and spot Brian's car across the street.

Am I ready to deal with this right now?

Apparently, the question is irrelevant since my feet are already moving with no real permission from my brain. As always, it's my heart dictating my actions when it comes to this place. I've been drawn to it from that very first night, possibly because it's where I lost my virginity but more likely because of what it's always held in promise for me. What it still holds.

Brian.

I don't even realize I've said his name out loud until he turns to look at me, but only briefly. I steel my resolve and take a deep breath.

"Brian, we need to talk."

I can see his posture stiffen slightly, not enough that anyone else would notice, but I'm intimately familiar with that body. When he speaks, his voice is flat and hard. "So talk."

I glance around me at the chaos. "Not here."

He does turn then, his face a mask of cold indifference. "Why not? This is where it all started. It's only fitting that this should be where it ends."

I frown slightly. There's no way he could know what I was going to say. Hell, even I'm not sure what the fuck I'm going to say. "What are you talking about?"

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, a sure sign that he's frustrated and angry. "Look. Let's cut to the chase. You hate that I was with a trick when all this shit happened." He waves a hand to indicate the mess surrounding us. "But I was. I was getting my dick sucked while you were sucking in smoke and fumes. Does it make you feel any better to hear me say it? Does it make it any easier to say what you have to say?"

"Stop it, Brian."

He laughs harshly. "What? You were the one who wanted to talk, so let's talk." He closes the distance between us and peers down into my face, his breath warm on my skin. "Let's talk about how fucking stupid it is to intentionally walk into a fucking fire." He smirks cruelly. "Am I supposed to feel indebted to you now? Is that it? Am I supposed to get down on my fucking knees and beg your forgiveness because I wasn't in here waiting for you to rescue me?"

I can't fucking believe this. I can feel anger boiling in me to a point I never thought possible. "So, that's it? You think you can end this as some sort of perverse punishment for what I did? Fuck you, Brian! Believe it or not, I didn't stand outside that door and think about how I could best use the situation to my advantage and I didn't fucking do it to piss you off!" I can feel the heat in my face as my anger rushes out on a crashing wave of words. "The stupid part wasn't walking into the fire, it was fucking loving you enough to do it!"

"Bullshit!"

I can see his jaw clenching and know he's as angry as I am. The green flecks flashing in his eyes are a sign that I'm treading on thin ice, but I don't give a fuck. I don't exactly have anything left to lose at this point. "Why is it bullshit this time, Brian?" I'm practically yelling now. "Because I'm too young? Because I don't know what I want? Because I'm too fucking naïve to realize that there's no such thing as love and commitment between fags?"

"Because I don't fucking want it!" he yells, effectively cutting me off and causing me to take a step back in surprise. "I don't want anyone to love me that much!"

And there we have it. Well, Mr. Kinney, I have news for you.

"I don't give a fuck what you want! Contrary to what you might believe, you don't get to decide how I fucking feel! You can kick me out of your life again, God knows you must have that routine down pat by now, but guess what? It won't change a goddamned thing! Wherever I am, whoever I'm with, I'll still love you that much and there's fuck all you can do about that!"

I have to pause for a moment, my chest heaving with emotion. Taking a step forward, I close the distance between us again, eyes narrowed and voice deceptively quiet. "Here's another news flash, Mr. Kinney, it's not that you don't want it, it's that you can't control it, any more than you could control the fire, or the bashing, or your own fucking feelings. And being too scared, or too proud or too fucking stubborn to admit it won't change that either."

I can't contain a gasp as he grabs me by the arms, his fingers pressing into my flesh hard enough to bruise. "You could have fucking died! Do you have any idea…?"

He stops as abruptly as he started and I wrench myself from his grasp, frustrated that he won't finish his thought. Even when it's just the two of us. Maybe especially then. Even when he's angry and scared and his emotions are so close to the surface, he can't let go enough to share them with me.

"No, Brian, I don't," I tell him angrily. "Why don't you tell me? Tell me why I feel like I might as well have stayed in fucking California. Tell me what's different for you now compared to when I was gone. Tell me, Brian, because you're right, I have no fucking idea."

He turns away from me, his lips pressed tightly together.

"That's what I thought." I can hear the resignation in my voice and I hate it, hate that he can hear it, too. "So don't stand there and tell me that my absence would make some kind of profound difference when it's obvious to both of us that my fucking presence doesn't mean shit."

His head turns sharply and our eyes meet, but still, he doesn't say a fucking word. With a shake of my head, I turn and leave the loft.

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