Another Misstep

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Justin had been at the duplex with Brian and Steve for three days now, the last two itching to get on a plane and head back to Denver.

His spilt lip was healing and the sprained ankle was better. The bruises on his face were almost gone.

Brian had, in his usual way, tried to talk to him about what was going on between him and Peter, but Justin simply tuned him out, insisting that they were fine, that they loved one another and that it would never happen again, Peter had promised him. Frustrated, Brian had walked out of the room before he said something he knew he would regret and which would drive Justin deeper into denial.

Steve tried next, later that night when he heard noises from the kitchen after Brian had fallen asleep. Putting on a robe, he made his way downstairs, finding Justin eating ice cream out of the container.

"Sorry. I couldn't find a bowl." He caught Steve's eye. "OK, I didn't look too hard."

Getting himself a spoon and another container, Steve joined him. "Brian will never eat this. I always feel like a thief in the night when I do it."

"Brian used to eat ice cream. Sometimes." When they made love, after they'd made love, before they'd made love.

"He doesn't want to get fat."

"Still?" Justin smiled. That was so like Brian.

"Vanity, thou name art Kinney." They ate in silence for a few seconds. "I saw some of your newer work at that gallery-Christopher's over on Madison-I guess about a year ago. I was very impressed."

"Thanks." He seemed dismissive of the compliment.

"Brian said something about you having another show in a few months, down in Philly. Is that still on?"

He nodded around a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie dough. "My agent sets these things up. It's in November, trying for Christmas sales."

"Your things sell well, I understand, you're in demand."

"I guess so. It's up and down, sort of like fashion. Good years, bad years."

"What do you get for a painting nowadays, if you don't mind my asking?"

He swallowed the mouthful he was working on. "It depends on different things-the size of the piece, whether it's color or black and white, the number of figures in it-like that."

"Ballpark, say for an oil painting, a portrait."

"Single figure? Fifteen thousand, give or take. More if there are more figures in it, less if it's just a sketch."

"That's decent money."

"…It's not steady, though. You know the arts-feast or famine."

"That's common in that line of work." They sat in companionable silence for a bit, watching the city below them. Despite what had happened, Justin and Steve had never actually disliked each other, just what had happened. They could talk without any real problems so long as they steered away from certain subjects. They both understood this. It was time they cleared the air a bit.

"It's incredible." Justin was the first to speak. There were few lights on in the condo, just one under the counter. The lights outside were the show.

"We've never talked about what happened, Justin. I was hoping that maybe we could." Steve spoke gently. They both knew what he meant; there was no need for explanation.

"It was simple. He loved you more than he loved me. He wanted you more than he wanted me. I got that pretty quick-you must have clued into it, too." Justin spoke matter of factly, without any emotion, as though reciting the weather or a recipe.

"He loved you very much. I know that he did. He still cares about you as much as almost anyone he knows."

Justin turned his face to look at Steve. "I know that. I care about him, too." He turned back to the window.

"He's worried about you, he thinks that you may be, well, he thinks that you've become, that you're with…"

"Steve, just fucking say it. For God's sake, everyone else does. He thinks that I'm in an abusive relationship with Peter because of low self-esteem caused by his rejecting me in favor of you and that those feelings were reinforced when Eric died, causing feelings of guilt and the belief that I was incapable of being loved and that people I did love were doomed-or some shit like that. Sound about right?" Somehow it came out with the same rote sound, as though he were reading the phone book.

"Well, yes, that does, in fact. What's your take on it?"

He was still looking out the window at the city way the hell below them.

"My take?" Spoonful of ice cream. "After Brian and I were through I was pretty fucked up for a while. I did a lot of clubbing and all the crap that goes with it. I don't think I would have done a Ted-you know, the whole druggie fucked over scene-but I wasn't doing great."

Steve had known then that he was struggling, he and Brian-along with the family-had tried to help, but were rejected at every turn. Brian had even paid Jenn back for the rehab out in Colorado Springs when he had that coke problem.

"Anyway, while I was out in Colorado for the first time I met Eric. He seemed like a good place for a while."

Eric, young, not as smart as Justin, but completely devoted to the young man. He must have been a balm to the hurt after he and Brian had torn his life up.

"We got along pretty well and he didn't mind that the house would smell of paints and oils and that there would be stuff all over. Eric was-gentle and I needed that then."

"We did everything we could think of to make it easier for you, Justin. Brian, both of us, we both, we didn't want you hurt because of what happened. I know it wasn't possible, but we tried."

"I know that. I knew it then but, yeah, it wasn't possible." He was still using that calm, almost robotic voice, the one that was probably about ten steps away from what he was really feeling. "Anyway, I knew Eric wasn't another Brian for me-you know, he wasn't true love, but we were good friends and we got along and the sex was pretty much alright. I mean, it was until he got sick."

Jesus. Brian had nearly had apoplexy when he'd heard that Justin's lover was not only positive, but full blown. He was ready to ship out both testing kits and cases of condoms for the two of them. Jenn had made sure that end of things was taken care of.

"So, that ended. I was with him when he died, you know. It was bad but at least it didn't drag on all that long. He was dead less than three months after the diagnosis and I was lucky that I've stayed negative. I didn't paint for almost six months after that and when I did it was all this Edvard Munch crap."

There was a pause. "Are you still negative?" Steve felt like he was holding his breath.

"Umm? Oh, I'm fine. I was tested just last month. After I hooked up with Peter he made sure I got that vaccine, the new one? I'm OK."

"You said something about meeting him at some art show, do I have that right?"

"In Denver. It was a charity thing and a couple of my pieces were being auctioned for the local AIDS hospice. He used to work there sometimes so he went to the dinner. We were seated at the same table and he bought one of my paintings." He huffed a smile/laugh to himself. "It was an old painting of Brian I'd finally decided to get rid of. The fucking thing is hanging in the dining room because he thinks whoever I painted is a hottie." An actual laugh. "I never told him who it was." Then quieter. "I guess when he walked in on Brian sitting there up in the studio he figured it out pretty quick. He'd been looking at the thing everyday for three years."

"…Is that when he hit you?"

"Well, I should have told him who it was. It was wrong of me to blindside him like that. Besides, Brian and you are solid-I know that. There's no reason to have the painting there."

Jesus, he was still defending the bastard, still making excuses. "Except that you're still in love with him."

"Fuck all you know about it." That was the first spirit he'd shown since he'd arrived days ago. It wasn't an altogether bad thing, despite the subject.

He wanted to get to the bottom of how Justin had ended up with this guy. "I know that you'd probably push me out a window if you thought that Brian would take you back."

Surprisingly, Justin didn't get angry at that. "Yeah, I probably would, but we both know that he wouldn't, so you're safe."

"He might."

"Fuck off, Steve." Fine, so he was still in love with Brian, that was no surprise, but why did he let the new husband hit him? And what else did he put up with?

"When did Peter start hitting you?"

Surprisingly, he answered. "About a year ago he went to Chile for a medical conference. He wanted me to go with him, but I couldn't because of an opening I had that week. He came back early and walked in on me and-this guy."

OK, Justin was screwing around. It happened, God knew it happened. "But-if it was just a pick up, I mean, sure he wouldn't be happy, but…"

"…The thing was, it had been going on for a while, maybe six months. Geoff was an assistant at the gallery where I had that show; we'd known each other for a couple of years. We'd been hooking up two or three times a times a week and…um, well, Peter found out-I guess he sort of suspected for a while- and came back early and we were in the Jacuzzi."

"OK, so he had cause to be upset, but if you were seeing someone else or having an affair or whatever it was, you weren't getting what you needed from Peter."

The answer was too quick. "No, no-I was. Peter is really good to me. I was being stupid and he was right-he, he said he couldn't trust me and he, he was right. He couldn't. I screwed up."

"Enough to hit you?"

"I hit him, not with my hands, but I hurt him worse than he hurt me."

Jesus.

"Did Eric ever…?"

"God, no. Never. He wouldn't. He'd get upset if I stepped on a spider or something."

The ice cream was melting by now and was mostly gone; Steve put both containers back in the freezer and got out an opened bottle of wine left over from dinner. Pouring two glasses, he handed Justin one. "How did Eric end up with AIDS?" Justin looked at him like he was an idiot. "I mean, specifically. I though you two were together. Were you two seeing other people?"

Justin drained the glass in one long swallow. He had gone quiet again and Steve thought that he wasn't going to get an answer and was about to give up and go back to bed when Justin broke the silence.

"…It was my fault. I, there were these, I just wanted-we had never been to, I wanted to show him and he thought it would be fun so we went to a bath house. It was, fun, I mean. We were having a good time and this guy, some guy came over and sort of made a move and Eric let him fuck him, but when he was done, the rubber had broken." He sort of sniffed, as though he was fighting off tears.

"I wasn't your fault that a condom broke."

"I know that." No he didn't. "Anyway, he found out that he was positive about two months later."

"Were you in love with him?"

Justin poured himself another glass from the bottle. "Or was he compensation for losing out to Brian, a sop to my injured pride?"

Steve just looked at him, evidently that was the case.

"Eric was a good man. He was…" He sipped his wine while he searched for the right word. "He was kind to me and-it felt good." Another sip. "Brian didn't want me, he'd gotten me a job across the fucking country after I'd graduated to get rid of me." He paused, remembering. "Eric used to sleep with his arms around me all night. He even told me that he couldn't believe that I wanted to be with him." He shifted in the chair. "I never told him that I wanted to…" He looked over at Steve. "Sorry."

So he blamed himself for the death of his lover, a man he had used as pain management after Brian had made his choice and then moved on to someone who took advantage of his feelings of rejection and inadequacy. God, it was so damn common.

"Have you ever called the police, filed a complaint?"

There was a slight headshake. No, of course not.

"You and Brian are really happy, aren't you?"

"Yes, we're happy." God, his whole life was in those three words.

"And you're both doing well-I mean, you have this place and the agency is written up all the time and I saw Gus a couple of months ago and he's amazing. It's not just you and Brian who are good-you seem to have it all, the house and money and success and family and true love."

He said it like it was the Holy Grail.

"We've been lucky, we know that."

"I used to think that was what Brian and I had together. I thought that we'd be together until we were old. I never told Brian or anything."

Steve was looking at him, Brian had known that, it was one of the reasons he had so much trouble making his decision to leave the boy. He knew how much Justin had loved him and he had loved the boy back it was just-as Justin had said-he love Steve more.

"…So he didn't know how I felt. Sometimes I'd think that if I'd told him it might have made the difference, but that was stupid. He didn't want me. I was…"

"Brian loved you, you know that."

"He-no, he might, I think he-not enough."

"He still cares about you. You know that's true."

"I know that. I do. But he's not in love with me and he never was. He couldn't be then; he didn't fall in love until he met you. He liked to fuck me."

That wasn't true, but Justin wouldn't believe it.

"You don't have to go back to Colorado, you know. You can go wherever you'd like to work."

"Peter said that he wants me to come back…he misses me. Did you see the flowers he sent?" The roses, dozens of them had been arriving every few hours. The place was starting to look and smell like a funeral home. The phone had rung for Justin at least twenty times since Peter had found their private number somewhere. After the calls Justin would retreat to the guest room or out the door for long walks.

Jesus.

"Why do you let him hit you, Justin?"

There was a long silence. A very long one and Steve heard Justin's breathing become labored. "Sometimes I deserve it…like when I was screwing around with Geoff."

"No one deserves to be…"

He went on, probably not hearing Steve. "He works really hard, long hours and the things he does really matter. He saves lives, for God's sake. He does-he saves kids lives and he works so fucking hard and I just dab at canvases. What he does matters and sometimes he comes home and he'll be tired or maybe he's lost a patient or something and-it happened once and I didn't even hear him drive in or close the door. I was so fucking engrossed in some damn painting that I didn't even notice that he was upset. I mean, fuck-he's saving lives and I couldn't even be bothered to ask him how his day was going ."

"Your work matters, Justin."

"Not like his. It's just painting."

When Steve had first met Justin art had been his passion, one Brian had done everything he could to foster and encourage.

"Brian was always so proud of your art, he still is."

"Brian threw me out."

"Justin…"

"Well, it's the fucking truth."

"We both know that's not the whole story."

Justin was finally really saying what he thought. After ten years, he was finally going to get it out.

"The fuck it isn't. He had the two of us in love with him and he chose you. What the fuck else was there? Did I miss something? I mean, was he silently pining away and never got the nerve up to tell me?"

"Brian loved you, he still cares deeply about you and you know that's true."

"The fuck I do. He liked me in bed. He liked the way I gave head and he liked having a pretty little blond on his arm and waiting at home to cook his dinner for him then spread it when he was horny."

"You cheapen both of you if you believe that. He was deeply in love with you."

"Well, I guess he got over it, didn't he?"

"He agonized over what happened. We both did. No one wanted you to get hurt, you know that as well as we do."

"Well, we don't always get what we want, do we?" He downed his glass of wine. "I mean, I didn't. I guess you two did." He stood up, ready to flounce off to the guest room but stopped himself at the doorway and turned back to Steve. "Are you two as happy as it seems?"

He wasn't sure what to say to the young man. It was something that he'd likely wondered about for a decade. Finally he just answered. "…Yes, we are."

"Are you soul mates?"

"I believe so, yes."

He hesitated for a few moments. "I used to think that Brian and I were, too."

"I think that you were, at least for a while. People change. Their needs change."

"Yes…"

"Why are you with Peter? You know he's not right for you."

"I know that. Everyone tells me and I know it anyway. I do. I guess I've known it for a while-fuck, I wouldn't have had an affair if we were good, you know?"

"So why do you stay?"

They were getting to the meat of it. "It's better than being alone. And sometimes-a lot of the time-it's not bad. Sometimes it's still good, really good and I can live with that."

"But you don't have to, Justin."

His face hardened, even in the dim light, Steve could see how much. "Fuck all you'd know about that. You have Brian lying in the bed you two share, wondering when you're coming back so he can…" He stopped, not finishing the thought. "You don't understand. You can't. You won. Brian wanted you and you won, so just fucking drop it. I'm not a Goddamned charity case."

He left, going back to the room he was using, leaving Steve frustrated and knowing that Justin would leave to go back to Colorado soon. He would go back to Peter and he would try to convince himself that the abuse would stop, that it had stopped and that the man loved him.

Who knew, maybe he did. Maybe he didn't-maybe he just needed someone to control, to feel superior to.

Maybe he loved Justin. He might.

Maybe Justin really did love the man, though Steve doubted that.

Or maybe they had loved one another at one time and for whatever reasons it had died-maybe Justin's affair, maybe the third or the tenth time Justin was hit or shoved down some stairs. It didn't matter, not the details.

What mattered was that Justin get out before it was too late, if it wasn't already.

Brian understood it, he'd lived it, been raised with it and Steve had spoken to Debbie about it in an effort to understand some of Brian's demons. She had told him about Brian's parents, about the boy showing up in her kitchen at all hours of the day and night needing bandages or ice or stitches or x-rays. Brian, too, had made excuses while he was still caught up in it. He had refused to swear out complaints, had hoped that one day his parents would stop hitting him and love him instead.

It never happened, of course, and Brian earned the scholarships that had allowed him to escape.

But he had never stopped hoping that they would change, that they would come around and love him.

It had never happened and they had died with him still hoping that one day it would be different.

Justin was right, as far as he went. Brian had chosen Steve over him a decade ago but Steve had often thought that if the choice had been presented to Brian now, say. If the entire episode had happened when they were more evenly matched, when Justin was becoming established, and Steve was-well, his ego wouldn't allow him to say 'in his decline'-semi-retired, maybe the end result would have been different.

He had never talked to Brian about it and he never would but he knew that if Brian had met Justin now instead of then, he might have been the one looking for a way to get his feet back under him after losing the love of his life.

In the morning they would do what they could. The three of them were having lunch with a friend of Brian and Steve's, a psychologist who specialized in spousal abuse. Jud would give his opinion and offer suggestions, perhaps to Justin, perhaps later in private but the fact was that until Justin could acknowledge the reality of what was happening, nothing could be done that would have a lasting effect. Even if he were to leave Peter it was likely that the pattern would simply continue with someone else.

Jesus, what a mess.

He was tired, it was late. He went back to the bedroom, noting that the light was on under the guest room door and he could hear a muffled voice from the other side-likely Justin was talking to Peter.

Pulling the covers open, he slid into bed, trying not to wake Brian. He may as well not have bothered.

"Did you make any progress?"

"Not really, no." He reached over, taking Brian's hand. "It's not your fault. You know that. You hurt him, we both did, but it happens. Everyone gets hurt-would to God that we didn't but it happens. We all learn to deal with it. We have to."

"That doesn't change the fact that I'm the one who screwed him."

"No, it doesn't, but you know that you had to make a choice and either way someone was going to be hurt."

He was quiet and Steve thought that he might have gone back to sleep. "…Am I worth that much to both of you?" He said it with his tongue in cheek, Steve could hear it just as he could hear that the question was deadly serious.

Steve squeezed his hand. "You know you are."

Brian turned on his side, facing his lover. "Still?"

They kissed like lovers, sharing affection. "Yes, still."

"I want to help him if I can."

"You are-we are. We'll see Jud tomorrow, we'll keep track of him through his family and we can call him and see him. We'll let him know that he has a place to come if he needs it and that we'll do anything."

"I suppose."

"We can't force him, he has to do this. All we can do is make sure all the pieces are in place when he's ready to use them." There was no response. "Brian, this all happened over ten years ago. We're doing all that we can, short of my dropping dead. This is now his problem and he has to deal with it." And frankly, he was getting tired of feeling guilty because he and Brian fell in love and were happy together. These things happened all the time.

"You're right. We'll make sure he knows that we're there for him and he has to make the next move." He kissed Steve and breathed out a smile. "I never said I was easy."

"In fact, you did, I believe-and if you didn't, everyone else did. You just aren't simple." They settled together. In the morning they would do what they could so that Justin knew he had people to fall back on, people he could count on being there for him and that he was welcomed to stay with them as long as he wanted-though Steve thought that would probably be about more two days at this point.

Just as they were falling asleep he remembered something from earlier. "When did you eat ice cream?"

Brian's arms tightened around him as he kissed Steve's neck. "Oh, fuck off."

 

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