Fire

Part 2

Brian

They say that serious burns are the most painful things that the human body can experience. I’m not really what you’d call an expert, but for whatever it’s worth, I’d say that they sure as Hell are pretty high in the running.

I don’t really remember the fire, well not too much of it, anyway.

I had gone to bed around three, early for me on a Friday night, but it had been a bitch of a week and I wasn’t in the mood for a trick so I had left the guys at Woody’s around two thirty and just gone straight home. I remember tossing my clothes in the hamper, killing the lights and getting into bed.

Alone.

I was tired and went to sleep.

Sounds simple, doesn’t it? The type of thing you do a thousand times, maybe ten thousand times in your life and never give a second thought to. Shit. I wasn’t even drunk.

You how when people tell stories like this they always say, “The next thing I knew…”?

Yeah, well, the next think I knew is a jumble of impressions with the stench of smoke and a lot of things burning and chaos and people shouting and noise like a war was going on. I remember sirens and not understanding why and that my fucking chest felt like it was on fire—I mean literally on fire, like my skin was melting and so much pain that it was like the world had gone white with the shrieking of it and I couldn’t breathe. That was when I started to panic. I honest to shit couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t get away from the thing that was pinning me down and burning me.

They told me later that if the beam had been metal instead of wood I wouldn’t have gotten out. They couldn’t have cut through it.

I heard a chain saw and it was so close that it made my ears hurt almost as much as the rest of me did and I saw the blade about five inches from my face. I’m not sure, but I might have screamed then. I mean, shit—wouldn’t you? They threw something over my face to protect my eyes or something and cut the fucking beam off of me. Then I think I was moved to the carrying board/stretcher thing and I think that’s when I passed out.

I might remember parts of the ride to the hospital, just bits and pieces, but I’m not sure, maybe what I think I remember is a dream or a nightmare. It doesn’t really matter either way.

Mostly I remember the pain and the noise and the smells.

The noise—I wanted everyone to just shut the fuck up and they kept shouting and the sirens kept screaming and I hated them more than I’ve ever hated anything in my whole life. The noise people kept shouting at me, asking me my name and if I had any next of kin (thanks a fucking lot) and if I knew what had happened and then they were telling me not to worry because I was going to be fine.

Lying fucks.

The smells were awful. I hate how things smell when they’re burning. I know a lot of people like the smell of a fireplace, but they’ve never smelled burning plastic and leather and wood and metal and the silk and wool and cotton in the closet and whatever the fuck was in the kitchen all mixed up together.

Oh, and my flesh was burning for a couple of minutes, too. That was pretty bad. It was where the beam was on my shoulder. I would have liked to skip that part.

You know how when you hurt yourself, I mean later after it’s better, you don’t really remember the pain? Oh, sure, you know that it hurt and that you didn’t like how it felt, but the actual feeling, the actual memory of agony has faded?

The memory of this pain hasn’t faded. I swear to whatever God is there that I’ll remember this pain as long as I have a fucking cell of memory in my brain. I’ll never forget this.

I wish that I could, but I’ll remember this forever.

But anyway, finally we made it to the hospital and there was so much light that it hurt my eyes and a lot of people were working on me and there were needles and then they said something about my shoulder and then I was being wheeled fuck knew where and they had this mask on my face and that was that for a while.

You want to know what kept flashing into what little part of my brain was still working? I mean the part that wasn’t taken up with the pain and the noise? I kept thinking about Justin. I wanted him there. I wanted to hold his hand and I wanted him to be the one to tell me that it was going to be alright and that I’d be fine.

I wanted him to be the cool green shade under a tree, the island of safety and comfort in the middle of the agony.

God, I wanted him there so bad. I wanted him to lean over and kiss me and smile at me with that smile of his and put his hand on my cheek.

I should have told him how much I liked it when he did that and then I felt really bad that I never had told him.

It became important to me that he know how much I had always liked how his hand felt on my cheek and the way he would slide it around to the back of my neck to pull me down for one of his kisses. I just wanted him to know that and I wanted to cry because I was afraid that I would die and he wouldn’t ever know.

I guess that was when I started asking for him.

I thought that I was going to die. I really did.

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Michael

I heard about the fire from Tony, my friend from Babylon. He had been on his way home around three and went down Tremont to get to his place and had seen the fire trucks and the ambulances. He knows that’s where Brian lives and he knows that we’re friends—like anyone doesn’t know that.

Anyway, he called me and asked if I had heard. I guess that Ben knew that something bad was happening because of my voice or the look on my face or something and he just said, of course, he’d drive me to the hospital.

That’s one of the things that I love about Ben. He doesn’t have a problem with Brian and me. OK, yeah, I had a problem with them fucking before we met, but I’m over that. Well, OK, I’m mostly over that. David and Brian hated each other and that was a pain in the ass, but Ben and Brian are OK together.

God, Brian. I know that we tell everyone that we’re best friends. You can practically see the little quote things around the phrase; “Michael and Brian, Best Friends”. I don’t care.

It’s true, we are best friends. Of all the people I know and out of all the people I love, he’s the one I know will always, always love me.

Yeah, I know, Mom and Vic will always love me, but they have to, they’re family. Brian does because he wants to.

He chooses to love me and I love him right back. Before Ben I used to wonder what it would be like if Brian and I were together and I’d dream about it and just sort of wait until he was done screwing around to realize that he wanted me. At some point I clued in that it would never happen, but I still love him. And he loves me and I won’t let anyone hurt him.

We got to the hospital and they wouldn’t tell us anything because we’re not family. All they would say was that he had been admitted and that he was being examined but that they couldn’t release any information beyond that.

Assholes.

Ben called the others when we started figuring out that it was really bad. He talked to one of the cops who told us that Brian had been carried out on a stretcher and that he was only semi conscious and that he was badly hurt. In about a half an hour the family started turning up, Linds and Vic and Mom. Then Ted and Em got there. Ben said that he tried to call Justin, which pissed me off, but he said that the phone was out of order. That was like the one bright spot that night.

So Mom showed up and they told her that only family could be informed of anything. Mom, being Mom, told them that Brian was her son and they, sure as fuck, were going to tell her what was happening to her boy, Goddamnit.

She’s great.

That’s when we learned that his shoulder was crushed. That’s what they called it. They didn’t say that it was broken, they said that it was crushed and I got this flash of his bones looking like gravel—they crush rocks to make gravel, right? Well, that’s what I pictured inside of his shoulder. Then they said that his lungs were singed from the heat and the gases or something and that they were pretty bad.

The worst part was when they told Mom that he had second and third degree burns on his shoulder and part of his arm and up to his neck from where the beam was burning him before they could get it off of him.

Third degree burns. Do you know what they are? That’s when your skin actually burns, like a steak.

I thought that Ma would throw up when the Doctor told her that. I know that I wanted to.

She didn’t, though. Mom’s tough. She just turned to Uncle Vic and told him to go over to the diner to get Justin. He was working the early shift and he had to be told. I argued with her, but she told me not to be a little asshole.

OK, I admit it, I got pissed. I told her that he had walked out and so fuck him, he’d hurt Brian enough.

Ben said that Justin should be told, though. I looked at him like he had lost his fucking mind and he shrugged like he does sometimes and just said that Brian still loves the little shit (OK, that’s my word) and would want him there.

So Vic went to get him and the nurse came out when he showed up and took him right in. She said that Brian had been asking for him.

No one else could go in, but the little fuck could.

The little asshole looked like shit when he walked up to us. He looked scared, like we would blame him for Brian being hurt or something. I swear to God, if that little fuck had the balls to start crying in front of me, I would have punched his fucking lights out.

I stood in the open door when he started talking to Brian. I heard him babbling some crap about how he was glad that now he’d be able to pay Brian back for all the care Bri had given him when he was bashed.

Asshole.

He didn’t once tell Brian that he was worried about him or that he loved him or even that they were friends, he just went on about paybacks and I could see Brian’s face while he was listening to this.

That stupid little shit broke his heart all over again.

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Justin

When Vic told me about the fire and that Brian had been hurt the main thing that I remember is that my mind went blank. I know that people say that sometimes, but mine really did. There wasn’t anything in my head except numbness and I couldn’t think of what to say or what to do or anything. I just stood there looking at Vic, holding a handful of paper napkins and not knowing what to do next.

Thank God Vic and knew what to do and got my jacket and walked me out to the car.

I think I started saying something about Brian smoking in bed or some shit like that, but I don’t know…

Anyway, we got to the hospital, the same one I had lived in for six weeks last year and we walked in and everyone was there.

They all looked up when we got to them and I wish to shit that I could forget the looks on their faces and then I wondered if that was the way they looked when I got bashed and they were waiting for word.

I guess it probably was.

They were scared and angry and hopeful and tired and—scared.

I don’t know if I’m the only one who’s ever thought about it, but Brian is the center of the family. He’s the one they all revolve around and the center of the wheel.

I doubt if he would agree—fuck, what am I saying? He’d laugh and say ‘fucking A I am!’ and then he’d give you ten reasons why that idea was full of shit.

But he is. He’s what holds them all together, he’s the one everyone comes to with their problems and he’s always the one who bails everyone out and fixes whatever is screwed up this week—snarking the whole time, but steady as fucking Gibraltar and not wanting a Goddamned thing in return.

Except he wanted me to love him.

And I did love him. And then I walked out.

Brian thinks that no one loves him, that no one could and that if anyone ever gets close enough they’ll see through his Brian Walls and then they’ll know that it’s all a façade and he’s just a man doing his fucking best everyday, putting one foot in front of the other over and over again.

God, Brian. I’m so fucking sorry.

So I went into the room they had put him in and he was just laying there with tubes and monitors and an oxygen tent over him and his shoulder was covered in bandages but no cast in case it started swelling.

I went around the bed and touched his hand through the plastic of the tent and noticed that his bracelet was gone, replaced by a hospital ID band.

He opened his eyes just enough to see me and I started babbling some crap about how I was glad that I could have a chance to help him now after all he’d done for me. I knew it was a stupid thing to say but I just kept going on about it.

He had looked almost, I don’t know, happy? hopeful? to see me and then I started talking and I saw his eyes die.

I fucking killed him and I watched it and I swear to God that I didn’t mean it.

I wasn’t sure if he knew what I was saying with the pain and all the drugs that were in him, but then I saw the mask drop over his face and, even unable to do more than whisper one fucking word, he threw me out and made me feel like shit.

He knew and I—God, I fucked it up.

So I left the room and Michael reamed me out and I thought that Deb would tell him to shut up, but she was pissed at me, too and that was when I understood that even though she liked me a lot and had given me a place to stay and a job and all kinds of stuff, she liked me, but she loved Brian.

She loved Brian and I was Brian’s friend so she took me in, too. Because of Brian.

It was that center of the wheel thing again and I was just one of his spokes.

Vic drove me over to the diner so I could get my portfolio and then he dropped me at school and the whole time he didn’t say anything except when I got out at the campus. Then he said “You be careful, OK?” and that was it. No ‘see you later’ no ‘we’ll call you’—nothing.

I went to class and after I was sitting on one of the benches when Ethan came over and that was when it just sort of hit me; he’s a lightweight. Brian is solid, grounded, but a Goddamned breeze would blow Ethan away. Brian was who you could anchor to and Ethan would be flying around like a kite, blowing in the wind.

Yeah, that made me smile, too. He liked blowing—in the wind or other wise.

So after I finished classes for the day I went back to the hospital. I wanted to tell Brian that I was an asshole and a twat and I was sorry and I just wanted to be there for him.

He was having some tests but when I finally got to see him, Michael was there like a fucking bulldog and he hustled me out of the room so fast that Brian didn’t even know I had been there. He reamed me in about ten different directions and I left.

Shit.

So I went over to the diner, thinking that Deb would have cooled down by now, but she gave me a royal reaming, too. OK, Fine. I probably deserved it, I guess.

So next I went back to the apartment.

I noticed that I never refer to that place as ‘home’. I did with the loft, even though it was Brian’s place, but the apartment is Ethan’s and I’m just crashing there and we both somehow know that.

So he picked a fight about my being worried about Brian and probably made it an excuse to throw me out.

Fine, fuck it. By then I didn’t care anyway.

I didn’t have any place to go—the loft was destroyed, Deb would either toss me out or give me so much shit that I’d wish she had, the munchers didn’t want me there. Daphne would want to talk and Mom would be—Mom.

I ended up at the hospital about midnight or so and they let me sit with Brian so long as I didn’t bother him in any way. That was OK, I just wanted to be with someone who might not be pissed off at me, and since he was probably unconscious, he’d do.

Sitting there, I just sat, just thinking. I didn’t read or look out the window or chat with the nurses, I just thought. After a while I decided that I wanted to have some kind of record of what was going through my mind that night.

Why did I want that? Like I fucking know, but I did.

So I went out to the nurse’s station and they gave me a pad and a chart folder to lean on and a pen and I wrote.

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Brian

I knew that someone was there. I had my eyes closed because it was too much work to open them, but I knew. I could hear them breathing and shifting on the chair beside the bed. Occasionally the chair legs made a noise on the floor as the person moved a little.

I figured that it was Mikey. Every time I bothered to open my eyes he was the one who was sitting there, looking at me with that cocker spaniel look he has. It was getting on the one nerve I had left that didn’t hurt, so I decided to ignore him and pretend to be asleep.

I wished that Justin would show up. I might have remembered him being there before. I wasn’t sure, but I think he had been there and I don’t remember, but I think it made me cry and I can’t think why that would be.

Things were a little fuzzy, you know?

It’s hard to remember what’s happened. I think someone told me that the loft is gone but maybe I dreamed that. Maybe it’s just because Justin isn’t there anymore. I don’t know and it’s too much work to think about shit like that.

I just hurt so fucking much.

I wish that he’d show up. I know that he won’t because we’re history now, but I’d like to see him and let him know that he was—important to me.

He wouldn’t believe me, but I’d like to tell him that.

I mean when I can talk again without it feeling like someone was trying to rip out my lungs with rusty pliers.

Fuck me I hurt.

Even with the drugs they have pouring in me, I hadn’t known that you could hurt this much. I don’t even cry anymore like I did at first because that hurts, too.

I just want the pain to stop, even for a little while. Just like a vacation, OK? Give me a couple of days off and then I’ll come back, but I need a break from it.

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Justin

You want to know what I was writing?

OK, here it is.

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I’ve been sitting here watching Brian pretend to be asleep. I know he’s awake. I’ve spent enough time in bed with him to know.

He’s in pain. It’s easy to see and with Brian that means that he’s in a lot of pain. He never let’s on when he doesn’t feel good, other than a headache or something. He’s groaning and I don’t think he’s even aware of it.

I wish I knew some magic spell to make him better. I wish that I could say some special words or wave my hands and he’s be OK again and he would smile at me and say “Good morning, Sunshine, time to take care of your morning boner” like he used to and then I’d laugh and we’d make love. Then we’d move to the shower and make love again.

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That’s when I stopped writing.

I’m such a twat. I started crying, fucking allergies, when I got to thinking about making love with Brian when we were happy.

I reached out and lightly touched his fingers and felt them twitch in response. I said his name and he opened his eyes just a little, like the light hurt them or maybe he was afraid of what he’d see.

I love him.

I know that.

I never stopped from the time I knew that I did and what I felt for him. The thing with Ethan was just—fuck, it was just stupid and I don’t even know why I did it.

OK, yeah, actually I do know.

It was because Brian was busy and I was a fucking princess and we had some problems that we either didn’t know how to deal them with or just didn’t want to let the worms out of the can.

And then Ethan came along and said all the shit I wanted Brian to say and when Ethan said it I would close my eyes and pretend that I was in the loft and Brian was whispering that shit to me.

You want to know what one of my favorite memories of Brian is?

After the bashing, after I was sort of better and he let me move back into the loft after I freaked at Mom’s, we tried to make love a couple of times and I couldn’t. I didn’t even really want to, but it seemed that it was important that I let myself be open again and so we tried and it was awful.

Well, finally the memories came back and I could remember what had happened and then I could be touched and I wanted Brian again—that’s what I remember. The night we finally became lovers again he was so Goddamned gentle and loving and careful. He treated me like I was made out of fucking glass and he couldn’t bear to do anything that would in any way chip me or make me crack again. He held me and touched me, we kissed and I loved the feel of his hands and his mouth on me and he was so incredibly giving and I loved him so fucking much then. Then after he came and he was still inside of me catching his breath, he looked at me and he put his hand on my cheek and he asked me if I was alright. I practically cried because I was better and we could be together and I knew that, even if he didn’t say it, I knew that he loved me back.

I thought all this while I looked at him as he lay there in pain and looked like he was afraid of what I’d say this time.

He looked scared.

I’d never seen Brian scared, other than when he talked about the bashing and he almost never mentions that.

I pressed just the tips of his fingers because I didn’t know what would cause him more pain and I told him that I love him.

He looked at me like he wasn’t sure what I had just said, like he was trying to understand the words and then he whispered that he knew.

I stood up then and leaned over him. He had those oxygen tubes in his nose and he was in a lot of pain, but I leaned over him and put my hand on his cheek really softly and kissed him as gently as I could.

I sat back down but I kept my hand on his cheek and told him that I wanted to take care of him, not because of some stupid payback, but because I love him and that’s what you do for people you love. You take care of them.

He just kept looking at me with those eyes of his that can always look straight through me and whispered “Ethan?” and I told him that it was over and he was right. I was being a twat, but I had wised up and I wanted to come back, if he would let me.

I guess that I thought that he’d smile and that would be that and we could move on to getting him well and I would be fucking Florence Nightingale.

That’s not what happened, though.

He closed his eyes again because he was so tired and he because he hurt so much and he just whispered “no”.

I tried to talk to him and make him understand that I loved him and I wanted to be together and I wanted to help him but he just whispered “no” again and then he said, well, he really just breathed the words, “hurts too much”.

I knew that he meant that I had hurt him too much.

Fuck. I knew that. I knew that I’d hurt him so badly and I guess that for a while, when I was being stupid I wanted to, but now I just wanted to take it all back and have us love each other again.

I knew that he wanted it, too. I know that.

By then he really had drifted off and I stood up to stretch my back. Turning I saw Debbie in the doorway.

I could tell that she had heard what I had said to him and that she might not have been able to hear his answers, but she sure figured out that I wouldn’t be planning to order any stationary with both of our names on it any time soon.

She asked me why I wanted him back and why would I think that he would let me in again after the way I had cut his heart out so that anyone who cared to could watch the execution.

I told her the truth. I told her that I loved him, that he loved me and that there wasn’t anyway I’d stop loving him, no matter if he had pushed me off a cliff or a waterfall or a fucking skyscraper.

I’d been stupid.

She gave me her ‘yeah, so’ look and then kinda shrugged and said that sure he loved me, any asshole could see that. She wanted to know if I could deal with him and take his shit or if I’d walk out again the next time my panties got tied up in knots. She told me that Brian wasn’t a fucking teenage romance. He was a grownup with grownup problems and if that was too much for me then I should get my ass someplace else.

So I went back into Brian’s room and sat down.

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