Fire
Part 8
Three months later
Brian
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To: Blondetwink@hot mail
From: BKPit @pitmail
Tuesday. 2:07 PM
Dear Justin,
I know that you’ve been worried about me and I don’t want you to be. That sounds ridiculous, I realize, but you must understand that I’ve gone away for a while because I needed to. You and the others were trying to help me, I know that, but I had to make some decisions and they had to be made by me alone, without the background noise of family and friends.
I’ve needed to be by myself, or close to it, so that I could simply concentrate on healing and sorting things out. I’m fine, I promise.
I know that you have been frightened by my disappearance and though I’m not quite ready to out myself and come back, I am making the choices that I believe to be for the best.
Physically, I’m improved. The new shoulder joint amazes me and I have regained almost 95% movement. I am still working on strength, but it’s coming and it should be close to what it was if I keep at it. The burns are largely healed. In that I was lucky. The damage wasn’t as extensive as originally thought and though there is scaring, it is bearable. I’m told that if I choose, at some point I could have some reconstructive work done, but I’ll wait to decide that. Never thought that you’d hear that from me, did you?
My lungs continue a slow recovery and I’m hopeful that they will improve more than they have. The doctors say that they have been permanently damaged, but that the bronchia were not as badly damaged as they were worried and could well improve with more time. I’m still doing extensive rehab for the various problems. The pain is almost gone now and I am accepting that there are now limits on what my body can do.
That, as you must understand, as you know me well, was almost the greater pain, but it’s one that I have no choice but to accept as I’m not one for suicide, much as Mikey would probably argue about that.
Justin. Don’t try to find me. When I am ready I will come back—I’ll just walk into the diner and sit down and order some shit and laugh at the reactions. That day we will talk, if you’ll willing. We have a lot to say to one another.
At least I hope and believe that we do.
Brian.
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Justin
Jesus, so I get this fucking e-mail out of fucking nowhere.
I’m going out of my Goddamned mind and scared shitless for three months and the fucker just drops me a line like “having a nice day, let’s do lunch sometime.”
Jesus.
He said that he’s OK, that he’s getting better.
Good, but fuck me. He disappeared for three Goddamned months.
He’s still shit knows where. E-mail? Jesus.
I’m trying to decide how I feel about this, about him.
I still love him and I want him to come back and for us to be together, but if he’s going to play his mindfuck games, I’d rather just skip the whole thing, thanks.
For three months I’ve looked at every tall, thin man with brown hair, fucking hoping that it would be him. For three months I’ve jumped every time the fucking phone rang or someone came to the door. Three months with no word, of checking the damn mail every day. Three months of not sleeping or finally falling asleep to nightmares.
Asshole.
Three Goddamned months.
Fuck. Him.
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Father Tom
Brian has surprised me. I admit it.
He’s still with me here at the rectory and it’s been good. I didn’t know if it would work, in fact I had serious doubts, but it has and I’ve come to respect him. We’ve become friends.
I mean true friends, the kind you sit around the kitchen table with, the kind you talk to and, yes, I admit it, trust.
He’s a good man and he’s made it easy for us to be here together with his nurse, Kathryn. I’ve kept my word about not letting anyone know that he’s here. I told him that it was a payback for him not outing me after that thing at the baths, but the truth is that I’ve come to like the man.
I knew that he’s intelligent and successful in his career, that he’s handsome and that he has his choice of companions. What I didn’t know was that he’s one of the more complicated and sensitive men I’ve encountered, and one of the most caring.
I don’t say that lightly.
Yes, of course he hides behind a wall he’s erected for himself for his own protection, but I see how deeply he feels things and how desperately he cares about the people he allows himself to love. The young man I’ve seen him with could, I believe, be the greatest joy to him, should they allow themselves to trust one another.
I pray that they can.
I grieve for him about the situation that exists with his family. One evening we spoke about it at some length and I think that it was cathartic for him. Although I know that some old friends have some idea about the reality of his abuse, I suspect that he had never told anyone the full story of his childhood and the tremendous damage and pain caused to him by his parents. I wished desperately that there were something I could do to ease some of his anguish concerning this.
I hope that I helped him at least a little by allowing him to talk openly without criticism or reprisal. He spoke of such abuse and with such agony that the force of it stunned me. He told me of the physical beatings, the injuries, the broken bones and the trips to the emergency ward. He recounted ruined holidays and nonexistent birthdays and he told me about the circumstances surrounding his own birth. He told me about a period of several months when neither parent would speak to him or in any way acknowledge him, refusing him even a place at the family table at meal times, when he was completely ignored without explanation. He still has no idea why it began or why one day they broke and accepted his presence gain.
That he can carry these scars inside of him and still yearn to love and be loved is proof to me that God is good and that there is hope that he might find the happiness he searches for.
As do we all.
I’ve tried to speak with his mother several times about her son, without letting her know that he was close by.
Whereas a few months ago she was talking as though she were proud of him, his looks and his success, her walking in on Brian and his friend have caused her to harden in her feelings toward him. Even when I mentioned his serious injuries, she informed me that it was God’s will and His way of dealing with sin. When I suggested that might not be the ways of a merciful God, she refused any thoughts to the contrary.
I sometimes think that Brian would have been better off if he had been an orphan in fact instead of just in practice.
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Brian
I spoke to Vance on the phone today. I informed him that I wouldn’t be returning from my medical leave. He asked me my plans, obviously concerned about competition. I told him that I hadn’t finalized them yet, but that I would appreciate his seeing to the final paperwork terminating my partnership with his firm.
A satisfactory settlement was reached over the phone.
Cynthia will, of course, come with me.
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Michael
So when Justin came into the diner with that ‘Brain Kinney fucked me’ look on his face, I knew that he’d had word.
That asshole, Brian. Three Goddamned months with no word and then he sends the kid an e-mail?
Sure, Ben pointed out that there was no easy way to trace that, he could have sent it from anywhere and that was probably the reason he’d done it, but fuck.
Friends since we’re fourteen and he can’t even send a fucking postcard?
So when Ben asked Justin if he had answered Brian’s message, he just got a blank look.
Excuse me? The fucker is hurt and then disappears for three months, this is our first contact and he doesn’t return it?
And they think I’m the dumb one?
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Jennifer
I had hoped that this would be the end of it, that Brian would finally be out of Justin’s life.
I had felt terrible when I’d heard what had happened, of course. How could I not? He had been so good to Justin after problem at the prom and had done so much to help him get better.
I mean, he was so terribly hurt and he’s lost so much, but then I saw how Justin was reacting. Would you like to know what occurred to me as I saw him sitting outside Brian’s room? He had the same haunted look on his face that Brian had the night Justin was hurt.
It was the same look, shock, fear, guilt and terror that the news from the operating room would be even worse than it finally was.
I suppose that’s when I knew that Brian would never really be out of Justin’s life.
I had hoped, when he told me about Ethan and introduced us that it would work out between the two of them. Alright, maybe not forever, this was a college romance after all, but I couldn’t help but think how much more appropriate Ethan was than Brian. The two boys were the same age, they had the arts in common, they were both at similar stages in their careers and they seemed so happy when I saw them.
Then when I saw Justin at the hospital, well, I just knew.
Justin was so determined to have Brian stay here for his recovery. I had to agree to that, for Justin’s sake. As horrible as what Ethan did to that poor man was, I was glad it would mean that he wouldn’t be in my home any longer.
I can just imagine what Craig would have said if he had known about that.
Then when Brian disappeared, I thought that in a way I would lose Justin all over again. I’ve never seen him so distraught, not even when he was dealing with the aftereffects of the bashing, not even when the fighting between him and his father was at it’s worst.
He did everything he could think of to find Brian, he even called Brian’s mother and sister, but if they knew anything, they wouldn’t admit it. None of his friends on Liberty Avenue had any ideas, Lindsay and Melanie didn’t know where to contact him. No one knew.
Three months of nightmares and anger and self-recriminations. Damn Brian for that. He might have needed to go away to recover in private, but he didn’t give a thought as to what he had left behind.
This afternoon when he called me to ask if he might come over to speak with Justin I almost told him to go away and leave us alone. I almost did.
Then I realized that Justin would never forgive that. He would find out somehow and then he would become impossible like he was before Brian pulled him back the last time.
I think I know what Brian wants to say to Justin, what he wants to talk about and I just wish that he wouldn’t.
If he asks Justin to go away with him or to live with him again, I know that he will go.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Brian is coming by to apologize to Justin for hurting him again, maybe he’s just coming by to say goodbye.
But I know that’s not the case.
I wish that I could hate him, but the truth is that I don’t. He’s not a bad man; he’s a terribly damaged one. I just wish that Justin had never met him and I wish that he wasn’t coming to my house to see my son tonight.
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Justin
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To: BKPit@ pitmail
From: Blondetwink@ hot mail
Tuesday 10:12 PM
Dear Brian,
I couldn’t fucking believe that you actually got in touch with me after three Goddamned months, but, OK— I’m really happy that you did.
I know that sounds like a twat thing to say, but I am glad that you’re alright.
Yeah, when you’re ready contact me. And, yes, we should talk. I know that you’ve been dealing with a lot of shit, but I’ve been doing the same thing and a lot of crap has gone down since you disappeared.
Justin
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Two weeks later
Jesus, I couldn’t fucking believe it when I walked into Mom’s condo after my late shift at the diner and he was just sitting there in the kitchen drinking a cup of fucking Constant Comment tea with my mother.
I hate that shit. It tastes like you’re drinking dead flowers or something.
It was just so fucking Brian. Cool as ice, he just looked up at me in the doorway and said, as casually as you please, “Want a cup?”
I think that I shook my head no and Mom saw what was going on between us so she got up, put her mug in the sink and made some excuse about being tired. As she left she turned back to Brian and made some lameass remark about how happy she was that he’s feeling better before she went up to her room so we could talk alone.
Jesus, Brian. You always have to make a fucking entrance.
You want to know what hit me first?
He looks good.
I know, Brian always looks good, but I somehow expected him to look less—well, less healthy, I guess. Yeah, I could see the scaring under his chin and on the left side of his neck from the burns, but they weren’t horrible.
He’s thinner than usual, and he’s pale, like he hasn’t gotten out much lately, but he was just sitting there in jeans and a black long sleeved tee—designer, of course, a new black leather jacket hung over an empty chair. His hair was a little longer.
He just looked like Brian. Somehow I guess that I expected some major change, but he just looked like himself. He had his shell bracelet on his right wrist, just like always.
So, I sat down, but I didn’t offer to kiss him or anything and neither did he. We didn’t even touch.
It was strange. I think I’d pictured our first meeting after he got back as one of those slow motion jobs where the two of us would run towards each other in a flower filled meadow, rush to one another’s arms, twirl and kiss ecstatically while the music swelled.
Yeah, right. Like that ever really happens.
So we were just sitting there like neither of us knew what to say when I think I asked, “So are you alright now?”
“Pretty much. My lungs are still fucked, but they’re getting better—I can’t smoke anymore. No dope, even—but I’m OK.” He sort of shrugged. He felt as awkward as I did. “Your mother told me that you and the fiddler are no longer an item. That true?”
His voice sounded better, almost normal. Good. His breathing sounded better, too. Not all the way, but a lot better than the agonized wheezing in the hospital.
“Yeah.” I didn’t tell him that I’d threatened to have the shit head arrested if he set foot near Brian again and that I’d see to it that he’d have the fucking book thrown at him for assault after what he’d done. In fact I didn’t think that anything would really happen to him. After Hobbs walked away with just a slap on the wrist I knew that the law didn’t apply when it comes to gay bashing, and if a gay bashes another gay—well, no one would have given a crap. Ethan didn’t know that, though. He split.
Brian was looking at his teacup. “Look, it’s like this. I’ve done a lot of thinking since the fire and I want to make some changes in my life. I have to.” He was quiet and serious, like the time he apologized for ruining the rage artwork, like he was scared of my reaction.
“I’m not going back to Vanguard. I told Vance a couple of weeks ago and he’s bought me out.” He looked over at me. “I want to work, though, at least as much as I can at this point. I’ll be bored if I don’t.” I nodded, yes, he would be. “I’ve had offers from other firms and I’m close to making a decision, but before I do, I want us to get clear.”
Shit, here it was. Let’s cut to the chase.
“Are you saying that you want to get back together?”
He looked at me with those eyes that always looked right the fuck through me. “Yeah, I do.” He hesitated. Jesus, this had to be hard for him. “But I don’t want to just try it on for size and have you walk out again the next time some trick makes your dick get hard or someone blows some romantic smoke up your ass. If we do this, it has to be solid.”
“Brian, are you asking me to marry you?”
“Fuck, no.” He caught my reaction. “Well, not yet, anyway.” He poured himself another cup of that shitty tea to cover a quick Kinney smirk. “I want to…” He stopped.
“What is it you want, Brian?”
He looked around the room as though he’d find the answers on the walls or the ceiling. “I want us to be together without the bullshit, but there are problems and I don’t know if you would be willing to deal with them.”
Fuck. This was like pulling teeth. “What kind of problems?”
“Some of the job offers I’m considering are in New York or LA. It would mean relocating if I took one of them.”
“What about Gus? Are you just abandoning him?”
“Of course not. He’ll come to visit and I’ll be back here. There are phones and e-mails and all sorts of shit. I’ll be there for him.”
“Alright. I might be willing to do that, to move. Is there anything else?” Of course there fucking was. Spit it out, Bri.
“My lungs are still fucked up. It’s—well, there wouldn’t be as much sex and I can’t promise you that would ever improve.” Shit Brian was sex. This had to be killing him.
“Are you impotent?” Words that I never in my Goddamned life thought would be ever spoken to Brian Kinney, let alone by me.
“No. It still goes up just fine. The problem is that if I breathe hard I—well, I just can’t breath hard or it causes problems.”
“Bri, are you saying no sex or no marathons?”
“I’m saying that I’m a fucking invalid and you’ll get fed up with just blow jobs or fucking once in a while and then I fall asleep.”
“Is this the final diagnosis or will you improve?” God, he looked like he wanted to bolt out the door.
“There should be improvement, but it will be slow—maybe a couple of years before I’m at even 85% of where I was. That’s the best case scenario.” His eyes were fixed on a spot on the table in front of him, almost resigned. “Sure, there can be sex, if we take it easy at first, or if you top and I pretend I’m dead.”
Asshole.
“You almost get killed, I practically move into the damn hospital so that I can keep an eye on you, you disappear for three fucking months so that I’m out of my mind with worry and fear for you and now you have the balls to say that I’ll throw you over because you may not be able to fuck for five hours straight for a while? What an asshole.”
“Justin…”
“No. You are a fucking asshole. Don’t you frigging get it? I love you. I’ve loved you since that first night. We have a history now, we’ve been through the fucking wringer and I still get hard when I think about you.”
Damnit.
“Are you done?”
“For now.”
“OK, this is what I see happening. I’ll take the job in New York. The air is marginally better than LA. I’ve been offered a partnership at BBD&O, that’s one of the biggest agencies on the east coast. That’s good and bad. It’s prestigious, which is good, but there’s a lot of competition both in and outside the company and expectations for performance are high. If I can pull this off, I can start my own place in a couple of years.” He paused a moment. “I thought that you could transfer to Parsons or FIT or one of the universities, Columbia or NYU.” He stopped dead. “I mean, if you want to.”
“You’re up to that kind of high pressure job right now?”
“They know about my health and they’re hot enough to get me that they’re making allowances. Surprised the shit out of me, but I got it in writing. The number of accounts I handle are to be determined and set at a mutually agreeable level.”
I think that I just nodded at him. The real Brian was back and he had worked it out. There was just one thing I wanted to know—well, OK, two things, maybe three.
“If I do this, uproot and transfer, are you going to do your controlling shit? I mean it. I’m not going to put up with you telling me what to do. That pissed me off when I’d want to stay home and you’d make me go to Babylon or Woody’s or someplace.”
“I never made you go fucking anywhere. You could have just told me to fuck off.”
“And if I had you would have gone anyway.”
“Right. We’re not tied at the fucking hip. It’ll be the same as it was here. There are no locks on the door.”
“Great, so you want solid, but you want to fuck anyone you want? Screw you, Brian.” I got up to leave. Fucking Brian.
“Sit down, you twat and listen to what I just said. I just told you that I want us back together and that I’m barely going to be fucking you, so cut the crap and stop acting like a Goddamned housewife.”
“So we’ll be together? I mean really together?”
“Fucking yes.”
I didn’t sit again, I leaned against the counter. “OK. If it works out, I mean, if we make it work and we’re happy, I’d like to have a ceremony.” I saw the look on his face. This was thin ice. “ I mean it. I don’t mean right away or anything, but if, after a while we both know that it’s working, I want to go up to Vermont and get married. It doesn’t have to be a big wedding or cost a lot or anything, but I want that.”
I thought that he was going to just leave and he had that look on his face that means he’s about to rip me a new one, but he didn’t. All he said was a quiet, “Alright.” That was all he said, just that one word.
You know how they say that sometimes it’s so quiet that you can hear a pin drop? It was. Finally Brian asked, “Is there anything else?”
“Yeah, just one more thing. Could you maybe tell me sometime that you love me?”
He stood up, walked over to where I was standing and gave me one of those kisses that go into the record books—not sloppy or any of that, just ridiculously romantic.
“I just did, asshole.”
That’s when I started laughing. He had.
The End
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