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Author's Chapter Notes:

Brian's struggling with how his life seems to be changing... Enjoy! TAG

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Chapter 9 - Life Adjustments.



I think I’m finally all caught up on my sleep. Justin is still snoozing, but I’m lying here wide awake. And for once he isn’t fidgeting in his sleep or thrashing around due to some bad dream. In fact, by all appearances, it seems like he’s having a rather good dream at the moment.


I know that there’s such a thing as sleepwalking, and even sleep talking, but is sleep kissing a thing?


Because that’s what my blond keeps doing. He’s kissing my chest in his sleep. He’s also petting me with his free hand and emitting happy little purrs every so often. I’m afraid to admit it, but I’m thinking the word ‘adorable’ again as I watch these antics.


It’s also giving me hope that Justin is feeling better again. And let’s face it, I need that hope right now. Because, as badly as I was hurt, he’s been hurt a lot worse. And if he can come back from this, I probably can too.


So, acting on my newfound optimism, I tilt my head forward far enough that I can leave a return kiss on his temple.


“Mmmm. Brian,” he mumbles sleepily, then nuzzles his cute little turned-up nose into the crook of my neck, leaving one more kiss on the sensitive skin he finds there. He gives another soft ‘mmmm’ and then inhales deeply. “You smell so good.”


That has me laughing almost immediately. “I haven’t showered in two days.”


“What can I say? I like sweaty guys.”


“Me too,” I answer, twisting my neck far enough to the left that I can nuzzle into the shaggy blond hair at his temple.


Who knows where things might have gone next, if not for the fact that the revolving door of Justin‘s hospital room has swung open yet again. This time, our visitor is none other than Justin’s primary doctor. Of course, I’d already met the man a time or two when he’d popped in to check on Justin over the past couple days, but I don’t think he realizes the full nature of my friendship with his patient until he discovers us in bed together. I’ve got to give him credit for the fact that he quickly masks his surprise and plasters on a professional-looking smile.


“Mr. Taylor. And Mr. Taylor’s friend,” he greets us. “So, how are you feeling this evening, Justin?”


I roll out of the bed and help Justin sit up straighter, adjusting the back of the hospital bed accordingly. “I’m doing a little better, I think,” Justin responds. “My head isn’t pounding anymore; the pain is down to sort of a dull throb at this point. And, except for my hand and the fact that I’ve been sleeping pretty much all day, I feel a little bit stronger.”


That’s excellent,” the doctor pronounces, and then proceeds with the rest of his examination. When he’s done asking Justin the thousand-and-one questions that seem a necessary part of the exam, the man sets aside the clipboard he’s been making notes on and perches casually on a corner of the mattress. “Altogether, I’m quite pleased with your progress, Justin. Considering the nature of your injuries, you’re healing quite well. You’re a lucky young man. If you’d been hit just a fraction of an inch in any other direction, or if the impact had been greater, you might’ve ended up either paralyzed or a vegetable. But, except for the slight weakness on the right side - which I hope will be ameliorated by the therapy I’ve ordered - you seem to be doing just fine.” Justin and I are both smiling by this point. “So, it’s my opinion, that you’re probably ready to be discharged. I think we can treat your remaining injuries on an outpatient basis. There’s no reason for you to remain in the hospital any longer, provided you have someone to help care for you at home.”


I can feel my breathing catch and my heart skips a beat as I hear the doctor make this unexpected declaration. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled that Justin’s okay. It’s just that, I really wasn’t prepared to deal with the future yet. Because, if Justin’s healthy enough to go home, that means we both have to leave here. It means this little haven where I’ve been hiding for the past two days, won’t be available any longer. And I have no idea what’s supposed to happen next.


I am a bit surprised, though, when I notice that Justin seems even less enthusiastic than I am upon hearing this good news. Justin’s doctor seems to notice his patient’s odd reaction as well. He reaches out, lets his hand rest atop the lightweight hospital blanket draped over Justin‘s knee, and then waits quietly for the young man to speak up.


“Um . . . Well, about that . . . I don’t actually have anyone that’ll help me,” Justin states, doing that thing where he won’t meet anyone’s eye, which tells me just how embarrassed he is. “To be honest, I don’t even really have a ‘home’ to go home to . . .”


This throws both the doctor and myself for a loop. I mean, I know Justin is hurting for money - he’d told me a little about that the first night I met him - but I hadn’t known he was homeless. He didn’t look the type. He was young and attractive. He wasn’t dirty or unkempt. But that just goes to show, you should never judge someone on their appearance alone, right?


“Where were you staying . . . before?” I ask him.


“I’d been crashing at this place one of the other dancers told me about. I’m sure they’ve given my spot away by now. Not that it was exactly the kind of place you’d want to go when you were recovering after a hospital stay, though.”


“Well, what about friends or family?” the doctor presses.


Justin huffs out an unamused laugh. “You mean the family that kicked me out when I was seventeen, right after my dad found my sketchbook filled with drawings of naked men and was forced to acknowledge the fact that his son was gay? That family? I don’t think so. My father would probably tell me that getting raped and beat up was exactly what I deserved, right before slamming the door in my face.”


“I’m sorry. That sounds difficult,” Justin’s doctor acknowledges briefly but then plows on with the practicalities of getting his patient out of the hospital. “Unfortunately, though, I can’t justify keeping you in the hospital any longer. Not when you’re healthy enough to leave and you don’t have insurance to cover the ongoing expenses. But I can have a community placement advisor come down and talk to you. They should be able to find some temporary housing for you - a shelter or hospice or something - and walk you through getting on Medicaid so your future medical needs will be covered until you can get back on your feet . . .”


*****Flash*****


I see Justin huddled in the corner of our cold little prison room, crying.


*****Flash*****


I see Justin being shoved into the room by Alex, who is laughing from the doorway as he watches the boy stumble and fall to his knees, too hurt to even stand up.


*****Flash*****


I see a swarm of leering men pawing at the young blond as he’s struggling against the restraints holding him in the sling against his will. They’re all laughing. They’re hurting him. And I can’t do anything to stop it.


*****Flash*****


I see Justin lying in a pool of blood at my feet. He’s lying so still, and his face so pale, that I’m not even sure he’s alive. I’ve failed him.


*****Flash*****


As the last of the blindingly bright flashes of white slowly passes, I blink to clear my vision.


I find myself seated on the foot of the big hospital bed. Which is odd, because the last thing I remember I had been standing over in the far corner of the room. I can feel my heart racing and I’m gasping for breath. I’m literally dripping with sweat. It feels like I’ve just run a marathon or something.


The doctor is hovering over me, his stethoscope held to my chest and a worried look on his face. Justin is sitting on my left side, looking at me with concern, and his arm wrapped around my shoulders is probably the only thing keeping me upright. I have this almost uncontrollable urge to run away - from what or to where, I have no clue - but I don’t think my legs would hold me if I tried to stand up.


“What . . .” I can barely get a single word out because it feels like there’s this iron band around my chest making it impossible to speak or breathe.


“Do you have any pain in your chest or your left arm?” the doctor asks and I shake my head ‘no’.


He listens to my chest a moment longer, takes my pulse, looks in my eyes and asks me more questions. I’m gradually able to respond more fully. The only pain I feel is a throbbing headache.


“I think it was just a panic attack, Mr. Kinney,” the doctor announces in the end. “You should be fine. I recommend seeing your own doctor if this happens again. And you might want to consider going on anti-anxiety medication. Seeing a mental health professional wouldn’t hurt either, considering what you two have been through.”


“Brian’s friend already hooked us up with a therapist. We’re seeing him on Wednesday,” Justin answers for the both of us.


“Good. Well, then, I have to get going. I’ll get the staff started on your discharge paperwork and send someone down to talk to you about arranging some housing.”


“Don’t bother,” I speak up immediately. “Justin can come stay with me.”


“You don’t need to do that, Brian. You’ve already done so much. I can’t keep putting you out like this. I’ll be fine,” Justin protests.


“You’re not putting me out. And you’re not going to some fucking shelter where you’ll probably get hurt all over again and I won’t be able to protect you or find you and, and, and . . .” I’m panting and the pain in my head threatens to overwhelm me again so I have to stop speaking.


“Shhh, Brian. Stop. It’s okay.”


“You can’t go to some fucking shelter, Justin. You can’t.”


“Okay. I won’t. I won’t. But, are you sure about me staying with you? I don’t want to be leeching off you like this.”


“Fuck that. You can’t go to a damn shelter,” I insist again, barely holding back the welling panic caused by the mere thought of him going off somewhere that I won’t be able to find him.


“Alright. I’ll stay with you. And thank you, Brian,” Justin capitulates with a smile and a squeeze to my shoulders.

And I finally feel like I can breathe again.


**********


An hour later we’re ready to leave the hospital. Honeycutt is called to come collect us. Justin’s discharge paperwork is all done and I’ve been given a stack of instructions about home wound care. We’ve got a bag filled with prescription pills that he’ll have to take on a daily basis. We also have a long list of follow up appointments and therapy sessions for him. Finally, Justin’s given a set of scrubs to wear home from the hospital, since the clothing he was wearing when he arrived was confiscated as evidence by the police. So it looks like we’re ready to go.


“Hello, hello!” Emmett’s cheery voice announces the arrival of our ride as I finish helping Justin pull on the scrub top. “Emmett’s Excellent Ride Share is at your service, Gentlemen. Where can I take you today?”


I’m about to respond when I notice that Emmett has not come alone. Right behind the tall southerner, is his always trusty, if somewhat boring, companion, Theodore. And, as an added bonus, Michael pushes into the room too, meaning that we now have a complete set.


“Hi, I’m Ted. You must be Justin, right?” Ted, the only one with any manners greets the person they’re actually there to pick up.


Justin nods but doesn’t say anything, probably feeling just as overwhelmed as I am.


“Guess I should have just waited around after all, huh, Bri?” Michael announces as he comes up to give me a kiss hello. “You ready to go? If we hurry, we can still make it to Woody’s for happy hour.”


“Is this like one of those jokes where you ask how many idiots it takes to replace a lightbulb? How many fags does it take to drive home from the hospital, maybe? I’m pretty sure I didn’t request a welcoming party, Honeycutt,” I complain as the small hospital room is filled with unwelcome guests.


“Sorry, Brian. But you know how it is. First I called Teddy, because I can’t come pick you up from the hospital without a car, right? And Michael was just coming in from Deb’s while I was explaining to Teddy what the plan was, and he wanted to come along too. So I just figured, what the hell, let’s make it a party!”


I just roll my eyes and hand off the small bag containing my clothes and toiletries to Ted. Because of course Emmett wants to throw a party for every possible occasion. Justin seems a little spooked by all the falderal, though, so I make it a point to stand between my boisterous friends and the panicky patient. Then I pick up the small paper bag full of Justin’s prescriptions and take home info and hand that off to Em.


“Whatever. Let’s just go, okay?” I order, hoping to curtail my friends’ party plans and get the hell out of here as quickly as possible. “Somebody go tell the nurse we’re ready for them to send in the guy with the wheelchair so Justin can get his official send off?”  


“We’re taking him home too? I thought we were just coming to get you, Brian.” Michael comments rudely - he hasn’t even said hello to Justin yet, and apparently can’t remember the kid’s name. “I hope he doesn’t live too far away.”


“Justin’s coming back to the loft,” I reveal, knowing it’s better to just get this part over with. “He’s going to stay with me till he’s feeling better.”


Of course, this announcement leads to an uproar of questions from all round. Thankfully, the orderly with the wheelchair shows up just then and I can focus my attention on getting Justin settled. By the time we’re ready to roll, the gang has mostly quieted. I send Ted out to bring the car around and then tell the orderly to lead the way. Emmett and Michael follow, whispering between themselves furiously.


We make it all the way to the hospital entrance, where we have to wait for Ted’s arrival, before Michael pulls me aside to ‘discuss’ things. “Are you sure about this, Brian? You don’t even know this kid. Why the hell are you offering to let him stay at your place? Hell, you don’t even let your tricks stay for longer than it takes them to find their clothes after you’ve fucked them - I can’t believe you’re willing to let some strange twink take up residence.”


“Well, believe it, because that’s the plan,” I try to cut his protests short.


“Come on, Brian. I’m sure he’s a nice enough kid, but haven’t you done your part already? You fucking saved him and got him to medical help. You shouldn’t have to take him home with you too.”


“Mikey . . .” I sigh. How the hell do I explain this without disclosing all the sordid details of what happened to Justin and I? Because I sure as shit don’t want to be sharing THAT with the likes of Michael Novotny - Mikey’s never once in his life been able to keep a secret - and I can already imagine what he’d do if he found out that it wasn’t only Justin who’d been subjected to The Sapp’s ministrations. All of Liberty Avenue would know my business before noon tomorrow.


But, of course, Mikey’s not going to let this go either. “Seriously, Brian. It’s obvious that this kid is taking advantage of you. You’ve known him, what, a few days, and he’s already talked you into letting him come stay with you? What’s up with that, huh?”


“He’s got nowhere else to go, Mikey.”


“So? That’s not your problem, Brian. When did you become the kind of guy who takes in strays?”


Unfortunately for Michael, his dismissive attitude towards Justin is really starting to piss me off. “Drop it, Michael. I told him he could stay with me and that’s final. I didn’t ask for your opinion on the matter.”


“Brian . . . I’m just trying to look out for you.”


“Oh, good. Here’s Teddy,” Emmett interrupts right before I’m about to go off on Michael completely.


I shoulder past Michael and take charge of Justin’s wheelchair without bothering to listen to more of my old friend’s protests. We get the patient out the door of the hospital and into the back seat of the car. Then I slide in next to him. Em takes the front passenger seat and Michael squeezes into the back with us. And then we’re off.


Em and Ted keep up a constant stream of chatter on the drive to the loft. Michael is giving me the silent treatment as punishment for not listening to his warnings. Justin and I simply sit there, my arm draped protectively over his thin shoulders, watching out the window as the scenery rolls past. Thankfully, it’s not a very long drive.


When we arrive at the loft, I again let the others carry the bags while I assist Justin out of the car, into the building, and onto the elevator. Em takes the stairs and already has the loft door open for us when we get there. It feels good to be home, actually, although I’m glad that I won’t be here alone tonight. That realization makes me aware of the fact that Justin’s staying here isn’t only good for him.


I settle the boy on the couch and then turn around to take on my well-meaning but intrusive friends. “Thanks for the ride home, guys. I’ve got it from here.”


“No problem. If you want, I can give you a ride to pick up your car tomorrow after work,” Ted offers with a friendly pat to my shoulder.


“That would be great. Thanks, Theodore.”


“Here’s your keys back, Bri,” Emmett hands over the keyring and leans in to kiss my cheek. I’m going to have to say something about this kissing spree he seems to be on, since we never used to be the kind of friends who kissed. “Now, if you or Baby need anything, you just call, okay? Day or night. I’ll run right over. You hear me?”


“Yes, Emmy Lou. I hear you. Now go already.”


“Are you SURE about this, Brian?” Michael tries one more time to talk me out of what I’m sure he thinks is madness.


“I’m sure, Mikey.” And I give him a push towards the door as I say the words.


“Fine. But call me tomorrow, okay? I think we need to talk,” Mikey commands before he reluctantly follows his cohorts out the door and down the stairs.


“Alone at last,” I proclaim as I slide the door closed behind them all and make sure to lock it. I detour through the kitchen, retrieving two bottles of water on the way, and then join my blond on the couch. “Here, drink; it says on my instructions list I’m supposed to keep you hydrated.”


“Nice place. I like your kitchen,” Justin offers as he cracks open his water and starts to sip. “So . . . does this feel weird and awkward to you too, or is it just me?”


I give him a sardonic grin and shrug.


“Your friends hate me.”


“No they don’t. Em loves you and Ted - well, who cares what Ted thinks - and Mikey’s just being a twat. But he’s always been a little too possessive. He’ll get over it.”


“Maybe.” Justin concentrates on his water for a minute or two more before asking the most difficult question I’ve ever come up against, “what do we do now?”


“I haven’t got a single fucking clue,” I admit.


“Oh, good. I thought it was just me.”


I finish guzzling the rest of my water then recap the bottle and toss it onto the coffee table before I take a crack at answering that pressing question. What WERE we supposed to do now? How do we move forward from this point in time? What was my future supposed to look like? And how did anyone ever recover from an experience like the one the two of us had just lived through? It felt almost like I had been reborn in that moment I stumbled into the Diner, drugged out, covered in blood, and barely able to stand on my own. But if this was a new life, what was that life supposed to look like?


The fuck if I knew.


If this had been two weeks earlier, I probably would have perceived my life plan to be fairly simple. I had thought I had it all worked out. I was focused almost exclusively on my career; my plan was to work my way up to partner, make a ton of money, then someday branch out and start my own agency. All other parts of my world came second to that goal.


Which is why I’ve never put any effort into personal relationships other than with the few friends I kept around me. I never planned on a husband, a boyfriend or even a long-term fuck buddy. I liked playing the field. I’ve always been proud of the fact that I could pull whatever trick I wanted, fuck him, and then move on. And I always maintained I didn’t believe in love. I believe in fucking. I believe in getting in and out with the minimum amount of effort and the maximum amount of pleasure. That kind of approach is simple, direct, and has helped me avoid any messy entanglements that might undercut my career goals.


So why does that philosophy now seem so empty and shortsighted?


How does someone who espoused frequent, untethered, random sex as a way of life, reconcile the fact that he can’t even think about sex at this point without feeling vaguely panicked? What does it say about me that I can’t muster any enthusiasm at all for going back to my all-of-a-sudden-seemingly-pointless job? And what should I think about the fact that my life now appears to be significantly and inextricably entangled with that of the scared little blond twink sitting on the couch next to me? How did I get here? I feel like my entire life has somehow been hijacked. This isn’t ME.


*****Flash*****


“I know you’re turning 30, Brian, but it’s not the end of the world. You don’t have to act like a total bitch about it,” Lindsey berates me as I pick up and examine yet another pair of beautiful Prada boots, pretending to ignore her. “Face it, we all get older. It’s a fact of life. Instead of getting upset about it, you should embrace it. Enjoy the experience.”


“Enjoy getting old, fat and wrinkled? Fuck that!”


I move on from the shoe display, admiring a beautiful white silk scarf, while Lindsey trots after me.


“I want to get old. I want to have wrinkles. And I want to settle down and have a long, happy, life with Melanie,” Lindsay insists. “That’s what people do - they grow up. Which is what you should do too, Bri. Come on, you can't be a promiscuous club boy forever. Isn’t it about time you found somebody you could settle down with? Somebody that would make you happy? Somebody to give you whatever it is you’re still missing in life?”


“All I’m missing is the hook up I have planned tonight with a certain hot, Asian, underwear model, which I’m going to be late for if you don’t let me get out of here.”


“Fine. Go. But mark my words, Brian, someday you’ll realize there’s more to life than fucking.”


“And when that day comes, Lindsey, I might as well give up and end it all.”


*****Flash*****


Apparently I’m not the only one feeling like their life has gone a wrong direction though.


“I should have blown off The Sapp’s party and come back here with you that night. I really wanted to have you fuck me. It would have been glorious. But I was greedy. I let the lure of money hook me. And now look at us. I finally make it back here, to your loft, but it’s all ruined. It feels tainted. Dirty . . .”


Without saying anything, I lean sideways, bumping my shoulder against his in tacit understanding of what he’s trying to say. And then we sit in silence, contemplating the walls for several long, despondent minutes. Because, what is there to say, really?


When the silence finally gets too heavy, though, Justin sighs and sets aside his water bottle. “I need a shower,” he announces.


“It’s through the bedroom,” I direct, pointing the way.


Only, when he gets up, I see him wobble and raise a hand to his head. “Shit. Dizzy,” he grumbles.


I get to my feet too, reaching out a hand to help steady him. “Maybe I should join you? Make sure you don’t do a face plant into the tiles.”


Justin accedes to that suggestion and lets me help him to the bathroom. While he takes a piss I start the water running in the shower. But then there’s this weird, awkward pause, with the both of us standing there in the middle of the bathroom, still fully clothed, avoiding looking at each other. Which is totally stupid, right? I mean, it’s not like I have any issues with nudity. Or, at least, I never used to have any. I guess this is just another reminder that my life will never be the same. And it totally pisses me off.


I watch as Justin reaches down with one hand to brush against the bruises and redness maring his other wrist. It’s like he’s trying to wipe off the black and purple stain on his skin. I grab hold of his hand.


“They’re just battle scars. You should be proud of them. They prove you survived,” I tell him. I get a small, wistful smile in return. “Come on. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”


He still hesitates even after my teasing, so I take the initiative and pull my shirt off over my head. This exposes all my own bruises and ‘battle scars’ to full view. Mine are maybe a little more faded than his, but it’s still a bit shocking. However, I don’t want Justin to see how much it affects me, so I tough it out, waiting while he surveys the map of my injuries. And, when he’s done, he grabs at the hem of his own shirt, pulling it up slowly, until he’s bare too.


“We match,” he says in a wanna-be amused tone.


I simply shake my head and take the next step; tugging at the fly on my jeans, popping the buttons open one by one, and then pushing the fabric down over my hips so it ends up puddled around my ankles.


It feels weird to be standing naked in front of another guy and not be even a little bit hard - a first for me. Logically, I realize that will probably take some time, but it doesn’t make this moment any less unpleasant. I mentally tell myself to shut the fuck up, that it’s been less than two days since I escaped, and that it’s no big deal . . . All the while not believing myself.


But while I’m busy having this internal debate, my actions have apparently inspired my silent, blond companion. Justin heaves a huge breath and follows my example, shoving the scrub pants he’s wearing downward. So now we’re both standing here, naked, uncomfortable, and unsure what to do next. It’s so pathetic I want to scream. But that wouldn’t solve anything so, instead, I simply pull open the shower door and usher my guest inside, under the water.


And I also decide that I’m going to stop overthinking all this shit. It’s just a fucking shower. We can do this. It doesn’t need to be some momentous hurdle. It’s a fucking shower, damn it.


I pick up the bar of soap and, without letting myself hesitate, I begin to run it across Justin’s chest. He’s standing there, as stiff as a board, but doesn’t let himself flinch at my touch even though I can sense that he wanted to. Seeing as I don’t make any scary moves, little by little, he eventually relaxes, and as a result, so do I. By the time the bar of soap is gliding lower, over his pec and down towards his belly, we’ve both got over ourselves. He takes over the soaping, does a quick wash of his lower parts himself, and then returns the favor by soaping my chest and abs. And it’s okay. It feels almost normal. We can do this normal, everyday task, without freaking out about it.


So, yeah, it’s not exactly like the kind of shower scene I normally fantasize about, but whatever. He soaps my back and I wash his. We’re careful of each other, and deliberately make sure our hands don’t wander too much, but that’s okay too. And neither of us gets too weirded out over the other’s bruises, wounds or other marks. We make it through this first test of our new ‘normal’ and I’m going to count it as a win.


We deserve wins after everything else, right?


Any maybe it’s okay if I’m finally forced to acknowledge that my life doesn’t have to be all about fucking. I can be a different ME. Even if it seems like it’ll take awhile to figure out what that new me will be like.

 

**********

 

Chapter End Notes:

5/25/18 - So, less torture but more angst... LOL. TAG

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