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(Be sure to read Framed and Embark first as they are both prequels to this series.)

 

BEYOND THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD

PROLOGUE

BRIAN’S POV
I’m sleeping with myself tonight

You decided a long time ago that when you love someone, you do two things:

Let him know.

Let him go.

You probably did the former too late and the latter too often. That’s the only way it makes sense to you, except for a long time after he left and sometimes even now, you think to yourself that you should’ve never done either one.

It’s complicated.

But not really.

Looking back on it now, way, way back, you can see almost every mistake you made from the very beginning. Well, almost the very beginning. To be fair, you weren’t really paying that much attention in the very beginning. After eleven years, that’s a helluva lot of mistakes. You’ll never fix all of them; it’s statistically impossible. And you’re not the only one that fucked up, not by a long shot, but that doesn’t matter to you. For as long as you live, no matter what happens, no matter how many ways you try to deny it or hide from it or make it go away, he’ll always be at the top of your list—the only one that really matters to you.

When he left for New York, you comforted yourself with stiff drinks and rationales: falling in love with him was never the main objective. It was more of a nuisance really, something that just kept interfering with your single-minded, hard-headed obsession to take care of him whether he wanted you to or not.

Until he didn’t want you to. And he wanted to leave, and you couldn’t help but think it was because he’d finally gotten everything he’d wanted.

You.

Cut wide open. Just for him. The chase was over.

So you told yourself that it was just like you’d suspected all along—he didn’t like what he saw. Didn’t surprise you; you didn’t much like it either.

Maybe he wanted the dream that he couldn’t even remember—the elusive man that showed up out of nowhere to dance with him, to sweep him off his feet, the dream that stopped right at the good night kiss.

Maybe he wanted the man that always kept him guessing, not the man who gave him all the answers. And he deserved all of those things. And you knew he’d find them or maybe even be that dream for somebody else. He loved you, but it was tinged with something else, something that was dangerously close to resembling pity. It was time to say good-bye.

At least for a while.

At least in the daytime.

Stiff drinks and rationales have always been a deadly mix before you close your eyes...

************
ballerina,
you must have seen her,
dancing in the sand


Ibiza.

The bright sun on the beach and he was there, but you didn’t know exactly why. You couldn’t figure it out. You just knew that he was sort of on vacation. But not with you. And not with any clothes on.

And not alone. Someone was taking care of him.

In your absence.

‘It’s not that I can’t. I won’t.’

You could see Justin, out in the ocean, beyond where the waves break, frolicking in the water, but you were frozen. Literally, stuck in the sand. You couldn’t take a step toward him. It was as if a line had been drawn that you couldn’t cross.

The sun was setting.

You didn’t even see him until he spoke to you, his cigarette glowing in your direction. You just realized you were still in your work clothes.

“'Bout time you got here.”

Ian. Ethan. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Justin did a flip in the water, yelled for Ethan to watch him, like he was eight years old. He couldn’t see you?

“You should know that he asks for you every five minutes.” You felt like you’d been standing there forever. And he hadn’t asked for you once. Ethan kept looking back and forth at Justin like a proud but anxious parent.

“What’s going on?” You were nervous.

Nervous as hell.

“He’s washing himself off. From the bleeding,” he told you. You stared at him. “Does it all day long. Bleeds, I mean. It never stops.” You looked at your shoes. Ethan looked at Justin and waved. Justin waved back with both hands, smiled, and dove back under the water. “Anyway, it’s your turn. You watch him tonight.” He flicked his cigarette on the sand and gave you a disgusted look.

“I can’t. I don’t have time to stand here all night.” You wanted to, or you wanted to want to, but you couldn’t. You were leaving. You started to walk away.

When you looked up, you were at your car in the beach’s parking lot, a light layer of sand covering the asphalt. Ethan was standing right on top of you as you tried to unlock the passenger door. Why were you trying to get in the wrong side of the fucking car?

Ethan was angry. Frustrated.

Fed up.

“What am I supposed to tell him when he asks me why you left? Why you aren’t here?”

You were confused. Panicked.

You started yelling at him, “Why are you at my car? Why aren’t you watching him? You can’t be up here.”

“I can watch him from anywhere. Doesn’t matter where I am.”

You couldn’t see Justin from the parking lot, you could only think about high tides and low tides, about under tows dragging him away. “No, you can’t. You can’t see him from here!”

Ethan looked at you like you were a contemptuous idiot and laughed, “He can’t swim, Brian. He never could.”


Lyrics taken from Elton John’s Someone Saved my Life Tonight and Tiny Dancer.

 

Chapter End Notes:

[Original publication date on Live Journal: 7/19/05]

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