Chapter 1 - Unfamiliar Images.

“Who are you?” I ask the person in the mirror.

I don’t recognize that man. He’s sad and dull and angry. He’s let himself go - his hair is untrimmed and dirty, he’s lost weight, there are bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, his skin is pocked with tension-induced acne, and even his fake smile is dull. He’s lost whatever sparkle he used to have. He looks defeated. He looks older than his years. Who is this person looking back at me from the ugly mirror?

I always thought I was smart. Not only am I naturally intelligent but I’ve had a good education. I thought I was too smart to become this person who’s now looking back at me from the mirror. How did I let this happen to me? Where did I go wrong?

I look back on the past few months and I can’t pinpoint when it happened. Everything I did seemed reasonable and rational at the time. I thought I was making the best decisions I could for myself, based on what was happening at the time, but seen in the aggregate, it’s horrifying. It’s like a death by a thousand cuts. And I was so busy worrying about each little injury, so laser focused on each tiny moment, that I never noticed how debased I had become.

Without even noticing anything was wrong, I LET this happen to me.

And now I feel like I have nothing left. I feel like I’m empty inside. I’m all used up and there will never again be anything worth loving inside this shell I call my body. What was the point again? Was there ever really a point? And, if this is all there is - all there can ever be, now that all I have is that ugly image staring back at me from the mirror - is there any point in going on?

Looking back, I still can’t figure out when, exactly, things got so bad. Yeah, Brian and I had our problems from day one, but seen from the distance of time, none of it looks so bad now. Leaving him for Ethan was probably the worst mistake of my entire life.

Which really sucks, you know? I’m not even twenty-one and I’ve already ruined my life. But, for the life of me, I still can’t pinpoint how I let it get to this point. At the time, everything I did seemed perfectly reasonable. I felt like I was doing the right thing - leaving him - like it was the only thing I COULD do. And every choice after that was only an extension of that perilous decision. A reaction to that awful decision. The rub of it, though, was that I was so busy dealing with one thing after another, from that point on, that I didn’t have time to stop and look at the big picture. So I didn’t realize where I was heading until it was too late to stop the train wreck of my life.

And now it’s too late to take it all back.

I suppose it would be unfair to blame Lindsey and Mel for my downfall. How could they have known that taking me to that damned recital for my birthday would end so badly? They were only trying to do something nice for me. But, regardless, I find that I still harbor a vague, unreasonable, anger towards them both. If it weren’t for their interfering, I would never have met Ethan. I would never have started down this path that seems likely to end only in black emptiness.

The thing is, he can be so damn charming. When you first meet him, all you see is the glamour. The impish smile. The way he almost radiates self-confidence. He flirts with everyone and that first impression can take in almost anyone. It’s deceptively attractive. At least at first. At first, all you see is the image he wants you to see. It’s only after he’s roped you in that you begin to see cracks in the facade. But by then it’s too late and you’re trapped.

Okay, I admit I was a little pissed off about Brian refusing to celebrate my birthday, but it’s not like that was unexpected. He’d explained the year before, when I turned eighteen, that he didn’t do birthdays. He only celebrated achievements, not inconsequential dates on the calendar. And I agreed with him in principle. Hell, I hate parties. It’s not like Brian didn’t do tons of other shit for me all the rest of the year, right? The way he made such a big deal about announcing his anti-birthday philosophy to his friends, though, got to me a little.

Even so, I should have never said anything to Mel and Lindz. If I hadn’t brought it up the night they invited me over for dinner, they wouldn’t have guilted me into going with them to that damn violin recital. I still have no idea why I accepted. I’d never been into classical music. They insisted, though, and made me feel like I’d be an ungrateful churl if I said I wasn’t interested. Besides, I had nothing better to do. So I went.

And, afterwards, everything changed.

To be completely honest. I was totally bored out of my mind at the recital itself. I occupied myself with doodling on my program just to stay awake. Granted, Ethan did make a great subject. I was fascinated by trying to capture the enthusiasm he exuded as he played his violin. You could tell HE was totally into the performance - even more so than the music itself. He was hamming it up for his audience so much he managed to sell himself to pretty much everyone. Even me.

And, yeah, Ethan is physically attractive, so can you really blame me that I went up to talk to him after the concert? I was nineteen years old, horny as hell, and I’d just spent the last two years studying at the feet of the Master. Brian would have been disappointed in me if I hadn’t at least tried to pick up the guy.

“I just wanted to say, I thought you were great,” I lied, flashing him my best blue-eyed ingenue smile.

He demurely criticized his own performance, but did it in a way that made it sound almost like bragging. Like he knew even his worst was better than anyone else’s best. And the careless disdain he radiated made him seem even more confident.

“The Ravel was passable, but the Brahms was for shit.”

“I didn’t notice,” I admitted.

He glanced up at me as he spoke and I experienced the usual frisson of approval as he gave me the once over. I was used to that. My blond boytoy appearance is a perennial favorite among most gay men. So much so that I usually dismiss anyone who approaches me on that basis alone.

“Well, you should have. It was all your fault,” he turned it around on me so fast I was caught off guard.

“Me?”

“Yes. The way you were staring at me was very distracting,” he accused, looking and sounding so serious that I didn’t know what to think.

“I’m sorry,” I stuttered and started to turn away.

“Although, not necessarily in a bad way,” he relented, finally glancing up from the programs he’d been autographing to look me directly in the eye.

I realize now that he’d undoubtedly been truthful with me then. Ethan really does hate it if I draw while he’s playing. It makes him insanely angry. He says the constant *scritch, scritch* of my pencil against the paper throws off his rhythm. Personally, I think it’s more that he can’t stand it when he isn’t the direct focus of everyone’s attention. He wants his audiences to sit, mesmerized by his enormous talent, unable to look away. The fact that I dare to look away from him, even if it’s to draw HIM, is a personal affront to his ego. Of course I didn’t know that about him at the time. I mistakenly thought that was his way of flirting. I thought he was teasing me. Stupid me.

I had smiled at him and extended my hand, “I’m Justin.”

“Ethan.”

“I know,” I had responded, waving my program in his face.

Which is when Ethan noticed the drawings I’d been scribbling away at during his performance. Unfortunately, that’s probably what drew him towards me. He always was a collector of pretty things - both art and artists. Artwork that depicted him in such a flattering light was probably the most desirous thing he’d ever seen. It fed his already healthy ego. Of course, I was so eager for praise back then that I happily handed over the pictures I’d drawn, offering to let him keep them so he could use them for his next CD. He seemed thrilled by that idea. Why wouldn’t he be? Personalized art showing him at his utmost best - for someone like Ethan, there couldn’t possibly be anything more appealing.

That was likely the moment he decided to acquire me.

Ethan’s tone changed in a heartbeat and he instantly turned on the charm. “It’s ME in five variations . . .”

Before you knew it he was flirting with me. He finally smiled at me. He asked if I went to school at PIFA and seemed impressed that I was an artist. He acted interested in me.

I’m not sure why I was so flattered by his attention - it’s not like I hadn’t had plenty of guys salivating over me before, all those times Brian and I went to the club or the baths - but I think it was because Ethan started by asking about my art. It’s one thing to be appreciated for your mere looks, and something altogether different to be sought after for your talent. No other man had ever evinced any interest in me for my ART before. It was a new experience and I’m afraid I fell for it hook, line and sinker.

So much so that I started babbling like a nutcase. I told him about it being my birthday. I accepted the CD he gave me as a ‘present’. I blushed at him like a prepubescent girl. If Brian had been there he’d have declared me absolutely pathetic. Thank fuck somebody interrupted us right then, pulling Ethan away before I made a total fool of myself.

As I was walking away, though, I looked back at the violinist, and caught him staring after me with a hungry look. An acquisitive look. Like he wanted something from me. Of course, silly me, I thought he just wanted in my pants. In reality, though, I now know it was more. I’ve seen that look on his face many times since. That’s his calculating look. The one that means he’s trying to figure out how he can work a situation - or a person - to his advantage. It’s a look that means you have just been made a special target.

I should have run away then and never looked back.

But I didn’t know Ethan back then. I was so naive. So romantic. So trusting. So fucking stupid.

I went back to the loft after that damned recital and popped Ethan’s CD in the player as soon as I got home. I bragged to Brian about how cultured I now was - after one fucking concert, for crying out loud - and tried to rub his face in the fact that I’d had so much fun without him. Okay, yeah, I was totally being a brat just to get back at him for refusing to celebrate my birthday. But it would probably all have blown over if it hadn’t been for the fucking hustler.

Damn it! I was so fucking excited when Brian hinted he HAD actually gotten me something for my birthday after all. I think I even squealed with glee. I’m not sure what I imagined it might be. I would have been thrilled with anything Brian gave me. Literally ANYTHING. A shirt, some art supplies, a new pair of shoelaces . . . The mere fact he’d relented and got me something was a present in and of itself. But a fucking hustler?

So, yeah, the guy WAS hot and he did look a lot like that underwear model we’d seen on tv a few weeks back that both Brian and I had agreed we liked. The hustler was also hung. Under any other circumstances I would have jumped on the chance to fuck the guy. But not THAT day. Not on my birthday.

I was still a young, romantic fool back then. I suppose I had some ridiculous notion in my head that Brian would give me a sentimental little token of his esteem, take me out to an elegant restaurant where we would spend the night staring into each other’s eyes over a candlelit dinner, and then spirit me home so he could make love to me deep into the night. Yeah, right . . . What was I thinking? That soooooo isn’t Brian.

I certainly wasn’t thinking he’d hire me a hustler, though. Brian, however, is nothing if not practical and I can sorta understand why he might think a sex worker would make a good present. Kinda. Maybe, in another context, it actually might have been a good thing. If we were talking ‘bachelor party’, it would’ve been totally appropriate. Just not for my nineteenth birthday, okay?

I mean, I knew Brian cared about me - he showed me he cared all the time, even though he never said the words. I guess I should have been flattered that he listened to me and that he even remembered what I’d said about the damn underwear model. Hell, I should have just been glad he tried to celebrate my birthday at all, given his avowed dislike of the practice. But no, I had to get all pissy about it. I let it eat at me. I stewed silently over Brian’s lack of tact even while I fucked the damn hustler till he screamed.

I could always have told Brian, ‘No, thanks’. I could have tried to explain to him what I was feeling - how disappointed I was - but I didn’t. I didn’t want to confront him, but I could have simply walked away. Somehow, though, I felt like I’d be letting him down if I didn’t follow through and fuck the guy. It would be like rejecting Brian himself, and I could never say no to Brian. So, instead of that romantic dinner I had imagined, I spent my birthday rogering the underwear model hustler while Brian watched and jacked off. It wasn’t what I’d hoped for but, then again, it was very much something Brian and I would normally do. With the wisdom of time, I’m not sure what was so horrible about it, to be honest.

At the time, though, I was pretty pissed off. But it was a quiet kind of anger. A passive/aggressive anger. I never said a word to Brian. In fact, I never complained about it to anyone, per se. I merely made a snide comment or two to our family lesbians and then waited. I knew Brian would get chewed out by those two without me ever having to say a word. What exactly that would accomplish, though . . . Well, I guess I didn’t think it through that far. It was mean of me; I realize that now. I shouldn’t have said anything to anyone else if I wasn’t going to be mature enough to actually talk to Brian directly. What can I say? I was a fucking idiot.

I was still silently simmering about the Birthday Blunder a week later when a friend of mine at PIFA came up to me while I was eating lunch in the cafeteria and told me Ethan had been asking around about me. Paul, my friend, told me that ‘some music guy’ had been looking for me. The way Paul talked, he made it sound like Ethan had a crush on me or something. He relayed the fact that Ethan had complimented my art, telling those he’d spoken to about my ‘amazing’ drawings at the recital. Again, I was flattered. And because I was still being a petulant little brat, I suppose I welcomed Ethan’s interest in me more than I would at another time. In my mind I was thumbing my nose and taunting, ‘see, Brian, at least SOMEONE appreciates me!’

Just to prove how much of a brat I was, I made a point of detouring through the music building after I finished my last class that afternoon. And, as my always bad luck would have it, I just happened to find Ethan in one of the practice rooms. I still have no idea what I was thinking. Maybe I wasn’t thinking at all. Ethan certainly seemed thrilled to see me, though, so I quashed all my misgivings as I walked into the room to meet my fate.

Ethan immediately turned on the metaphorical heat, coming onto me so strong it would have been laughable except for the mood I was in. “Maybe things will warm up now that you’re here,” he simpered, giving me the old elevator eyes as he spoke.

I remember I mumbled an excuse for why I’d shown up unannounced. Ethan just continued to leer at me with that charming hipster half-smile of his. Fuck, I must have looked like a total fool as I prattled on about how much I’d liked his CD. Being Ethan, though, he gladly accepted my praise.

“You’re incredible,” I offered.

“I know,” he replied without even a hint of coyness, like the approbation was his due.

And then, just to be perverse I guess, I tattled about how ‘my boyfriend’ hadn’t done anything for my birthday.

Which just set Ethan up for his next volley. “That sucks . . . I mean that you have a boyfriend,” he teased me. “Because, if I was your boyfriend I’d give you a birthday you’d never forget. First, I’d bring you breakfast in bed,” he promised, never letting go of my direct gaze. “And then I’d play for you . . . One of Ravel’s ‘Valse Noble et Sentimentales’. Because that’s how I picture you; noble and sentimental. And then we’d make love a couple hundred times . . .”

Even knowing Ethan as well as I do now, I have no idea how he gauged me so accurately that afternoon. It’s like he could read my thoughts, word for word, right out of my brain. Because those were the precise words that were needed right then to win me over. I’d been moping around, feeling sorry for myself and wishing Brian were just the tiniest little bit romantic, and in walks this cute young musician, playing passionate violin music, telling me how fucking ‘noble’ I was, and offering to ‘make love’ to me. Did I have the words ‘Sentimental Fool’ stamped on my forehead in indelible ink or something? I mean, yeah, Ethan has always been good at reading people and using their emotions to manipulate them, but did I have to make it so easy for him?

He had me from that moment on. It was only a matter of time. He’d played me just as masterfully as the violin he strummed to the ticking of the metronome in that practice room. I didn’t see it for another few weeks, of course, but my capitulation was already a foregone conclusion.

Because when Ethan wants something, he ALWAYS gets it, and right then, he wanted me.