Beloved

WARNINGS: Sorry to be redundant, but yep, dead character inside.

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"I, Brian Anthony Kinney, being of sound mind and body..."

I didn't want to be here. I wanted to stay at home, curled up in the loft, waiting for another otherworldly visit from Brian. He hadn't made an appearance since that night he left the sketch, and I spent weeks at home, hoping he would show. I just needed to see him and make sure he was fine, wherever the hell he was.

I partly tuned out the attorney's droning voice, not caring about the will. I didn't give a shit about the bequest; it wouldn't comfort me on those cold nights when I reached for him. So I own the loft - who cares? I'm in charge of all of his holdings; again, I could care less. That old saying about money not buying happiness couldn't be truer.

I could still smell him on the sheets; I haven't changed them, though he'd kill me if he knew I hadn't dry-cleaned his 850 thread-count cotton sheets. It took me three days to finally start sleeping in the bed again, and I just can't bear to clean the sheets. We fucked like crazy the night before he died. He told me he loved me that night. It was a rare occurrence, but I remember every time he opened up and told me.

The first time was two years after we got back together. We were watching a movie and sharing a bowl of popcorn. I made a crack about his age, which started a popcorn fight. We were laughing and chasing each other around the loft, and wound up on the bed.  He was staring at me strangely, and I asked him what was up. He said, "Damn, I love you!" and kissed me.

Every time he said it after that day was as unexpected and spontaneous. I will never forget those moments.

"...this videotape to be viewed privately by Mr. Taylor."

I'd come back to the present and caught the last bit of the attorney's speech. What video does Brian have that he wants to show me? Oh, God - I thought of Emmett and George, then realized that Brian probably wanted to tell me to stop being a twat and accept his bequest; yeah, that would be more his style.

After the reading, I grabbed the tape and hurried home. I was so desperate to see Brian healthy and spry again, and forget he was in a glossy black box six feet underground.

I locked the door, set the alarm code, and shut off the phone. I wanted no interruptions while I watched this tape. I stripped off my suit and put on a pair of sweats, fixed a glass of Beam in Brian's honor, and popped in the tape.

He was sitting behind a desk; a closer look showed it was his desk here. He wore his infamous blue denim shirt, with the sleeves rolled up halfway. His hair had less than the usual rumple, but I still wanted to run my fingers through it. I got up and stood in front of the screen, and ran a finger down his televised cheek.

"Well Sunshine, if you're watching this, I probably did something stupid or bad luck kicked my ass in the worst way.  I'm sorry about that - sucks more for you than for me. At least I'm dead; you still have to go on, knowing I'm gone." Brian choked on the last word; clearly the thought of being dead and no longer seeing me hurt too much. He had no idea how much it hurt me.

Brian composed himself and carried on.

"You're probably freaked out now - I know I left you a lot of shit; you deserve all of it and more. I'd never admit this to anyone in public, but my life was for shit before I met you. You made things interesting to say the least. Who knew that an asshole like me could end up practically married to a kid? I shouldn't call you that - you're no kid. You're stronger than my friends - even more mature than one of them."

I laughed at that remark - he could only be talking about Mikey.

"Well, anyway, I guess I should get on with the purpose of this tape. I know you needed to see me one more time. I wish I could see you. I bet you look hot as hell in my sweats."

Shit - I had no idea Brian knew about the sweats.

"I caught you putting them on one day when I got home from work.  Even though they're too long, they're still cute.  Damn - I guess it isn't proper to have a hard-on in one of these tapes, huh?  Shit. Let me get back on track."

I laughed hard that time, especially after seeing Brian blush. I could have charged money for all of Liberty Avenue to watch that part. Not only was it amazing that the man was capable of blushing, he looked adorable red-faced.

"You know about the key you have for the safe deposit box?"

Brian paused as if waiting for me to answer, and continued after my nod.

"Once this tape is done, you have to go there and take the contents out. Some of the items are a bit unusual, but you'll know what to do with everything when you see it all.  Other than that, I guess I'm done with this tape. Try not to cry too much - you've shed enough tears over us. I still remember the night after we met, when I sent you away. I felt like shit that night when you drove off. I'm glad you didn't give up on me until later, but I won't dwell on that. The truth is you really never did give up on me. Damn, I'm gonna miss you. Bye, Justin - don't come to the other side too soon - you have a lot more life to live."

The tape faded to black. Even though Brian told me not to, I couldn't help shedding a tear or two. A lot of the major tearful grieving happened weeks ago, especially at the burial. I mostly felt numb, having my good and bad days. On my good days I remembered the good times and thought fondly of Brian; on my bad ones I thought about how empty and cold the loft felt without him. Watching the tape only made me miserable, even during the funny parts.

I watched the tape five more times, just to see his face, and the fifth time I left the tape running when I fixed dinner. I heard Brian's voice coming through the screen and ran back over.

"Hey, Justin - I know you're going to watch this tape over and over. Don't do that, okay? You need to move on.  Just because my life is over doesn't mean yours has to go to shit.  You know I love you, and we had a great ride, even with the bullshit. Just move on." He waved, and the screen faded to black again.

I fumed as I finished cooking. It was easy for him to say "move on," he's dead. He has no choice but to move on. I'm stuck in this cold-ass loft alone. How dare he tell me to move on? I'll grieve in my own way, thank you very much.

A chill passed over me while I ate at the dining table. I knew without thinking about it that Brian finally decided to visit me again. I had no idea what he had planned this time.

I finished eating and cleared up, memories of working at the Diner creeping in as I bussed my own table. I put everything in the dishwasher, started it up, and fixed another shot of Beam. I felt a pair of cold lips kiss my cheek, and a light breeze pass me.

Two more shots of Beam later, I crawled into bed.

The next morning I was turning the key in the lock of Brian's safe deposit box. Inside were a stack of journals and sketchbooks, and a small parcel wrapped in brown paper. It felt like a canvas, but I wasn't sure. An envelope addressed to me was taped to the parcel.

Putting everything into a messenger bag, I locked the box, and went home to inspect it all.

The journals continued where the other one left off, and ended a week before he died. There were more sketches than in the first book, and a lot of "day in the life" musings.

I'd read in the most recent journal that Brian not only sat in the hospital for three days after Hobbs bashed me, but that he visited me every night when I was asleep. If Brian wasn't already dead, I'd kill him for never telling me. That confession would have made a world of difference in our relationship.

His last passage warmed my heart:

"Damn, that Justin - only he could have me sitting in my office grinning like a fool. Cynthia probably thinks I'm an idiot. I don't bottom often but when I do, Justin makes it worthwhile. I'm so glad I have a comfy leather chair here. I couldn't imagine sitting in one of those crappy cloth-covered chairs.

I love Justin. Whew - the sky didn't fall! I guess I can say it to his face more often now. Haha.

There are few people I care about - Deb, MIkey, Lindz, the rest of the gang, Gus especially - but Justin's special in his own right.  I don't believe in institutions like marriage, but Justin and I are pretty much there, and it's amazing. This is going to sound so hetero, but that kid owns my heart, and takes damn good care of it. If I died, I would probably go back to visit him, just to see him and make sure he was okay."

After finishing the journals, I opened the letter attached to the package. Brian's distinctive scrawl covered a piece of linen paper:

"Justin,

I wrote this the same day I made the tape. I never told you I'd made a painting. I bought some small oils and had a little fun in your studio, and hid everything. For some weird reason, I was afraid to show you my artistic side, because I thought you'd be my worst critic. I'd always envied your passion for art. My passion was always for - well - we won't go there, but you get the picture.

Enjoy a little piece of me, and I'll see you sometime.

Eternally (yeah, I know it's cornball...work with me here - I'm dead!),

B"

I ripped open the paper, and saw my face staring back.  Damn - he was good! It's a shame he didn't try to get into the art programs in college, or at least gone to PiFA.

It was a replica of the Prom photo I took with Daphne, but he'd painted in his scarf. It was eerie and exciting to have a reminder of that night. I'd finally begun to remember the good parts, thankfully before Brian died.

I wondered if it would be narcissistic of me to hang the portrait in the loft, or if I should hang it at the office. I chose to keep it at home - it was too personal for work.

In the weeks following the reading of the will and getting Brian's painting, I began to feel like my old self again. My heart felt lighter, and while I still ached for Brian even after (finally!) getting the sheets dry-cleaned, I could function. I hung out with my mom and the gang occasionally, worked, and tried to do Brian's bidding. I wasn't quite ready to date yet, but maybe one day I would.

When I felt especially low, I'd read one of Brian's journals or watch the tape. I swear I thought I heard him call me a twat one night while I watched it. Instead of freaking out or crying, I just laughed. Brian laughed at the most inappropriate times; hell, he made a living giving propriety the middle finger. I planned to do the same.

Fin

it's colder than before

the seasons took all they had come for

now winter dances here

it seems so fitting don't you think?

to dress the ground in white

and grey

it's so quiet I can hear

my thoughts touching every second

that I spent waiting for you

circumstances afford me

no second chance to tell you

how much I've missed you

my beloved do you know

when the warm wind comes again

another year will start to pass

and please don't ask me why I'm here

something deeper brought me

than a need to remember

we were once young and blessed with wings

no heights could keep us from their reach

no sacred place we did not soar

still greater things burned within us

I don't regret the choices that I've made

I know you feel the same

my beloved do you know

how many times I stared at clouds

thinking that I saw you there

these are feelings that do not pass so easily

I can't forget what we claimed was ours

moments lost though time remains

I am so proud of what we were

no pain remains, no feeling

eternity awaits

grant me wings that I might fly

my restless soul is longing

no pain remains, no feeling

eternity awaits

© VNV Nation

by Ronan Harris and Mark Davis,

October, 2001

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