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CHAPTER TWO: REVELATIONS

 

BRIAN:

 

Well, it’s out there now. Right out in the open, and you know what… I don’t want to take it back. That has to mean something, right? The only trouble is that I felt him stiffen, so maybe he doesn’t want that. I mean, we’ve only been back together for two months. Maybe he’s feeling like we’ll be getting in over our heads or some shit like that. And perhaps we are but… this is what I want. The only question is: Does he?

 

“Brian, I…”

 

“It’s okay, Sunshine,” I say, trying to hide the hurt.

 

“It’s not that I don’t want to, but… are you sure this is what you want?” He swallows hard.

 

“It’s what I want,” I answer simply.

 

I can tell that he’s tamping down a flood of emotions. And that fact that I know that makes me feel like I should check to see if I’ve grown a twat. I’m not known for being a sensitive guy. In fact, regardless of anyone else’s opinion, I can indeed be an asshole. But it’s with the best of intentions most of the time. I just refuse to see anyone that I even remotely have a modicum of like for living beneath their full potential, and I tell them so. If that’s what makes me an asshole, then I’ll wear the fucking title proudly.

 

“Okay, so how do we do this?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Do we need rules?”

 

“Other than to keep our dicks out of other people’s asses, I don’t see the need for them. Besides, we’re more likely to break them than we are to keep them. The simple fact that we’re giving this another try is a testament to that.”

 

He thinks about what I’ve just said. It’s true. We are known to break rules. Aside from the virgin incident and the chin-rat aside, there aren’t many lines he hasn’t crossed in terms of my own self-appointed rules. When I think about it, he’s broken every single one of them, and I broke my own rules by letting him. By that definition, we’re rebels. We don’t operate successfully within the scope of everybody else’s norms. It’s when we try to that that everything else gets fucked up.

 

“True, but… Brian, I don’t want everyone all over this.”

 

“And by everyone, you mean Michael?”

 

Once again, he swallows hard. I’m beginning to wonder just how many times he’s curbed his thoughts and spoken words about him. I mean, I know that Michael has been less than gracious welcoming Justin into the family, but I thought they were past all that hoopla. After all, Michael has Ben and Hunter to consider now. His focus should be there.

 

“Him nor Lindsay.” He must see the surprise on my face at the mention of my son’s mother, because after a short pause, he continues. “Brian, if we do this, both of their fantasies come crashing down around them- his more than hers. In their eyes, I’ll be more than the twink that wouldn’t leave or Poor Justin, beautifully naive Justin. I’ll be an interloper, the man that ruined you…”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?” I am genuinely puzzled by his reasoning.

 

“Take Michael, for example. As long as you’re around, the mean shit he does and says when you’re not there, never gets spoken. He’s fucking angel-boy instead of Captain Asshole. As for Lindsay, she gets to indulge her heteronormative fantasies as long as you remain single and unattached. You should see her when you go to visit Gus. It’s why Mel has had problems with you. It’s not that she doesn’t like you per se, but what you represent to Lindsay. So it’s my theory that with them knowing, they will do anything- and I mean ANY-FUCKING-THING to make sure we don’t succeed at this. How long will this be for anyway?”

 

“I was thinking we start small… like say, a month and then reevaluate from there.”

 

“And if one of us falls off the wagon during that time?”

 

“We start the count again.”

 

“In order for this to succeed, we have to talk, Brian. Can you honestly handle that?”

 

Now I know why he’s asking that. I’m not known for being overly communicative. But I do acknowledge that it’s where we went wrong the last time. “Can you? I mean there are bound to be things that we have to say which will piss the other off. Can you be honest?” I can tell he’s thinking about the start of this conversation, weighing his options carefully against his wants and needs. “I can’t meet them if I don’t know what they are, Justin.”

 

He looks up at me. There are few times when I call him by his actual name, but when I do, it gets his attention right away. “That goes both ways, Brian,” he whispers. Once again, I find myself wondering what I have done to him that he no longer felt he could be completely free with me. It must have shown on my face because he tells me, “Ask.”

 

And I know what he’s telling me to ask about. Taking in some much needed air, I ask the question that had been plaguing me for months. “What led to him?”

 

Justin gets up in all his naked glory, taking the cold coffee to the kitchen. On his way back, he grabs the bottle of Beam and two tumblers. As he pours two finger fulls in each glass, I know he’s wondering what he should say and what he shouldn’t. But I asked for honesty, and I can see when he decides to give it to me.

 

Settling back in under the covers after putting both the glasses and the bottle on the crate, he speaks. “It wasn’t just one thing, Brian. I wish to God that it was, then it would have been easier to talk to you about it. First, let me tell you that the fault was with me, no matter how unintentional it was. Yes, some of the fault was with you too, but I now that I look back on it, I think most of that was reactionary.”

 

“Don’t absolve me, Sunshine.”

 

“I’m not. I’m just saying that… after the incident, my perception of things as they were changed somehow. It wasn’t just within my art, it was pervasive. Everything wasn’t right. I couldn’t read you anymore or see through to people’s true motives. The decisions I was making at the time, although completely fucked up for me, felt right. I became needy in a way I had never been before. My confidence in myself was almost nonexistent so I looked for other ways to fill that void.”

 

“Like dancing at Babylon?”

 

“Exactly. It was one thing for you to tell me that I was beautiful; I felt you were a bit biased.”

 

“Because we were fucking?”

 

“Yes. But it was another thing for someone else to tell me. In my mind, I was now damaged goods. I was no longer beautiful with this scar around my head, I was no longer worthy of being with the Stud of Liberty Avenue. Even though within myself, I knew we were more, everyone else didn’t. Then there were the things that were constantly being said about me behind my back, but that I heard anyway. Did you know that Michael used to scout tricks for you before you even noticed them at Woody’s or at Babylon?”

 

“No I didn’t.”

 

“Well he did, and he would always make sure that I was within earshot as he talked about you and your ‘live-in trick for those slow nights’.”

 

I find myself getting extremely angry. Angry at Michael, of course, but more importantly pissed at myself. I’m also a little pissed at Justin for standing silent while this was going on. But I just have to know… “When did he do that?”

 

“First was Zucchini man, then there was the guy right after Jason Kemp’s murder, the blowjob you were getting that I interrupted in the backroom while I was with Ethan, and a host of others that you fucked either while I was standing there, or those you left me in the club for. It was all done to drive home my importance in the grand scheme of your life. It’s why I asked you if you would care if I wasn’t around anymore and you told me...”

 

“It’s your call where you want to be.”

 

He nodded. “I confronted Michael at his store the next day. Told him that he should have minded his own fucking business, and instead of acknowledging that he maybe he should have, he just threw in my face all that you had done for me. I had to wonder, what in turn I did for you? Was every name that he ever called me the sum of who I had become? Do you know when I slept with Ethan for the first time? It wasn’t before or directly after that kiss Michael saw that Ethan gave me on the street. It was when Ben was in the hospital and I didn’t know. You came in wanting to go to Babylon and I just wanted to stay home. Like you, I’d had a for shit day.”

 

“The floor picnic?”

 

“The very same. Yes, I’d had one with Ethan earlier that day, but I took the idea and ran with it. Not because it was romantic, but because I needed to just have that time with you. One of my homophobic professors had graded my project unfairly and made me question what the hell I was even doing there. Ethan saw me cutting through the music hall to get to the bus stop as he was coming out of his own class. We were talking about inconsequential things when I burst into tears, so he took me to his place where I could cry away from prying eyes. To me, there was nothing there but proffered friendship. I had called both your cell and your office, where Cynthia had told me you were out for the rest of the day. I called again while we were walking to Ethan’s, but you never picked up. So he tried to cheer me up with the floor picnic and it worked a little. I thought maybe… I thought maybe it was something I could do for you. I was…”

 

“You weren’t wrong, Sunshine. I just didn’t know. Seeing Ben like that was just so damn bad. Fuck! It was downright scary and reminded me of how you… how you looked in the earlier hours after the bashing with the multitude of tubes everywhere. I needed to do something to erase the memory from my psyche. It didn’t help that Michael cried all over me and I had to comfort him, especially when I was completely frazzled myself. I’m sorry that I didn’t take your thoughts and feelings into consideration that night.”

 

“Sorry is bullshit.”

 

I smiled against his hair. “I’m beginning to learn that it isn’t if you mean it. So now I think I understand why you became enamored of the fiddler.”

 

“I wasn’t enamored, Brian. Just wishful. Although he was giving me lip service at every turn, he still told me that I had value. It was what I wanted to hear from you, but was too afraid to ask for. But that’s a time in our lives that had to happen when it did.”

 

“What changed? I mean, why did the two of you end?”

 

“He did something to me that you never did. He broke a promise. It’s then that I realized that I was literally trying to fit a square peg into a circle. It would never fit, and neither would building a life with Ethan. Strangely, it took him cheating on me with some groupie who showed up at his door after Harrisburg to realize where I belonged; to help me remember who I was before the bashing, and who I wanted to be, post-Ethan.”

 

“And who is that?”

 

“Your partner, in every way that matters.”

 

“Speaking of that. We need to call Mel.”

 

“Mel? Why?”

 

“I’ve been thinking about this for some time. Since Stockwell’s been indicted, really. I think I can sue Vance for wrongful termination. I’m not sure what was in the original partnership contract, but I know she would have a copy.”

 

“You think it’s possible? If it is, what would you do?”

 

“Not me, Sunshine… we. I think it’s time that we fulfill one of our far-fetched, drunk dreams when we decided to take on the asshole.”

 

“You don’t mean…”

 

“Indeed, I do. Let’s start Kinnetik.  

 

 

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