“I know it’s scarier finding your own way than doing what’s expected.”

*****

“What do you want out of your life now?”

That was the question Rochelle had asked not even ten minutes into their first session together. Brian still wasn’t thrilled to be talking to someone about his innermost thoughts, because in his past experience, his mind was a pretty unsettling place to be. He had some issues and baggage that went down deep and far into the past, and he knew it. But he also knew that if he didn’t want to find himself engulfed in another uncontrollable, frightening fit of resentment and fear and sadness and frustration, he was going to have to make space to do this, and at least try to sort through some of this crap and make his current reality into something resembling a normal life.

Brian used to know the answer to that question, unequivocally -- he wanted money, power, success, for others to want what he had and to want him. That was what Brian Fucking Kinney wanted out of life. And he had it. All of it. But what did the “new” Brian Kinney want out of life? He honestly didn’t know.

Money and power were still nice, and so was success. He’d always wanted to be the best at everything he did, and he felt he’d achieved that -- by eventually becoming partner at his first job, then rising from the ashes by starting his own firm after getting fired, and even in how he’d conquered Liberty Avenue. Everyone wanted to be with Brian Kinney. Hell, many of them wanted to be Brian Kinney. But not anymore. Would others still want what he had, or want him? Doubtful.

Brian knew that Rochelle saw him differently from how the rest of the world saw him the first minute he was in her office. When she told him to “have a seat,” while gesturing to the three different seating options she had -- an armchair, a futon, and a beanbag chair. Why the fuck was she telling him that? Couldn’t she see he’d brought his own?

He’d given her a strange look and said, “Um, I brought my own. We’re a package deal.”

“Well, I don’t relish the idea of standing up all day, every day,” she said calmly. “And isn’t that kind of what being in your wheelchair is like for you? Gets a little tiring and uncomfortable after awhile? Would you be more relaxed if you chose another seat?”

She wasn’t wrong. He did like sitting other places, but he liked it because it made him feel normal. Like he wasn’t sticking out like a sore thumb anymore. So he chose the futon.

But it wasn’t just the fact that she’d invited him to take a seat elsewhere and get out of his wheelchair for awhile -- it was the way she said it. Just a simple, casual “have a seat,” no differently from what she would have said to anyone else. There had been no trepidation there, no hesitation, no awkwardness.

And she kept doing things like that. Little things that showed she was treating him as an equal, and even though he was there to work through issues concerning his disability, it wasn’t a part of her primary perception of him as a person. She seemed to be seeing Brian Kinney, human being, rather than Brian Kinney, paraplegic. She saw him in a way that he wished he could see himself. How he wanted to see himself, but just didn’t know how.

He’d confided in her that sometimes he wished he could be invisible -- that one of the things he enjoyed about living in New York now was the relative anonymity compared to Pittsburgh. The way no one noticed him.

“Why do you want to be invisible?” she’d asked. “Why don’t you want others to see you? What are you afraid they’ll see?”

Fuck if that wasn’t the most loaded question she ever could have asked, that had a very complicated answer.

He wanted to be invisible, because if people weren’t seeing him, it meant they also weren’t staring at him. He always felt where their eyes would go when people looked at him. He kept thinking about all of the times that Justin had assured him that people weren’t staring at him, and that they weren’t really judging him. That he was seeing it that way because he was judging himself. That he thought people saw him as a spectacle, because he saw himself as one. That he thought people back in Pittsburgh were comparing him to who he’d always been, because that’s what he was doing himself. And how every time Justin said something like that, Brian hadn’t responded, hadn’t argued at all...because he knew Justin was right.

So that was his answer.

“I’m afraid they’ll see what I see,” he said.

“And what is that?”

“A ghost of who I used to be.”

Brian recalled his first “outing” after the accident -- when he’d been cut loose from rehab on a Saturday to spend an afternoon out in the real world. Michael came and picked him up, and he’d had a hell of a time getting in and out of the car, because he’d only done it a few times for practice, and he was by no means an expert at it then -- not yet. He’d had to push Michael away several times as his friend tried to help him. But he eventually got it done, even as he was cursing how fucking difficult it seemed everything was now. Even simple things.

He’d tried to convince Michael to go to a restaurant on the other side of town -- one where no one would know who he was. But Michael insisted on going to Liberty Diner, because he said his mother was working that day and she had told him that she’d have their heads -- and probably their balls too, Michael added -- if they even thought about going somewhere else. Brian had no doubt she’d follow through on her threat. And he realized it would kind of be nice to see her too. So he’d gone along with it, without much protest. He just hoped that the diner wouldn’t be too busy, since it was the middle of the afternoon.

Of course, he hadn't accounted for the attention that Deb’s enthusiastic greeting would garner. They weren't more than three feet inside the door before Debbie had passed up her own son completely and had Brian in the grips of one of her famous hugs. One that was so tight it was a bit painful, and he couldn't stop the involuntary sharp intake of breath that came as his back muscles tensed at the touch.

“Oh, I'm sorry honey, did I hurt you?” she said as she let go and gently brushed her hand over his cheek.

“I'm okay,” he lied, not wanting to draw any more attention to his injury or this whole fucked up situation. He could already feel people’s eyes on him, and he wanted to sink into the floor, never to be seen again. That was the first time he remembered wishing he could be invisible.

“I’m glad you’re getting out and about, kiddo,” Debbie said as she turned to retrieve a food order that had just come up in the window. “You boys find a table and I’ll be right back.”

He led Michael to the table farthest away from the door -- essentially hiding in the corner as best he could.

He couldn’t remember much of anything about what he or Michael had talked about while they were at the diner, because he was too distracted by watching everyone else watch him -- their eyes falling on him, looking him up and down. The furtive glances they’d make in his direction. Looking away when he made eye contact with them. He felt incredibly exposed and vulnerable -- two feelings that Brian Kinney didn’t really know what to do with, and that he definitely wasn’t comfortable with.

Only one other person had approached them -- someone Brian thought he recognized from the back room at Babylon, but he wasn’t quite sure. When you entertained dozens of tricks every month for years, they got a little hard to keep track of.

“Hey man,” back room guy said. “I heard about what happened. I’m so sorry, that really sucks.”

“Shit happens.” Brian shrugged and hoped that the guy would be uncomfortable enough to leave soon, since he didn't really want to talk about it with anyone right then, much less a stranger. He got his wish.

“Well, it was good to see you, man,” the guy said as he turned to leave, and Brian let out the breath he’d been holding.

Now, with the benefit of hindsight, Brian could see that this random guy he didn’t even really know was the only person in the diner that day aside from Michael and Debbie who had treated him like a person, instead of an object or a curiosity. Even though, at the time, Brian hadn’t wanted to interact with him at all. He’d wanted to disappear. He’d rather not be seen at all than be viewed as some sort of reasonable facsimile for the man that had once been the stud of Liberty Avenue.

He’d never been willing to allow anyone to see him as something other than perfect. Now, he had no choice.

“Don’t you want to be seen for what you are? Strong, capable, and intelligent?” Rochelle had asked a couple of weeks later.

“Most people don’t see those things in me anymore,” Brian said bitterly.

“Why not? I see them.” She tilted her head, and her eyes held a curious expression.

“You’re different.”

“I don’t think I am. I’m just a person looking at another person.” She tapped her pen idly against the arm of her chair.

“They don’t see me anymore. They just see this,” he said as he smacked his hands on his thighs.

“Do they? Or is that just all that you see now?”

Brian didn’t want to answer that. And Rochelle didn’t wait for him to respond; she probably already knew what he was thinking.

“Brian, your disability can only take over who you are if you let it,” she said. “It’s a part of your identity that can’t be changed. It’s always going to be a part of you. But you get to decide if it overshadows everything else. You need to take the other things that you are and own them. Make them bigger than your disability. Your wheelchair is a physical characteristic, like your hair color or your eye color. It doesn’t tell the whole story about you. Neither does the fact that your legs don’t work. You don’t deserve to be overlooked or ignored, or treated like a lesser human being because of it. Stop telling yourself that you do. You have to figure out who you are, outside of your disability. And own that. Be that to the best of your ability. I want you to work on figuring out what that means to you.”

That was a tall order, Brian thought as he sat at his desk in his home office and continued to mull over Rochelle’s words to him. Who was he now? What made up his identity? What parts of the old Brian Kinney were still around, and what parts would probably never return again? What would it mean for him to own who he was now, and be the best version of himself? He honestly had no idea.

But even through all of the attempted self-discovery that had been occupying his thoughts over the past month, he still had a business to run. He had things he had to do. He was feeling a little better mentally and physically -- he had more energy and less of a desire to stay in bed for large parts of the day, or to go to sleep right after dinner. He wasn’t experiencing the wild mood swings that had plagued him for months. He felt like he could concentrate better, too.

He wished now that he hadn’t been so entrenched in his own pity party back in rehab that he’d refused to engage much with Rebecca, the therapist who had first tried to help him cope with this. He certainly could have saved himself a lot of trouble and heartache. But he hadn’t been ready at that point. Sometimes he still wasn’t sure he was ready now, but he had to think about more than just himself -- he had Justin to consider as well. And he was mostly doing this because he didn’t want to screw things up with Justin again.

Brian hadn’t realized how much his mental state had been affecting every aspect of his life. He thought he’d been concealing it fairly well, but now he was seeing such a difference in himself that he wondered why it hadn't been obvious for awhile that something wasn’t right with him. Why no one had said anything or called him out on it. Not Michael, not Ted, not Cynthia, not even Deb. Justin was the only one, and he hadn’t even seen it until it was painfully apparent, when Brian was crying and yelling on the living room floor, petrified because he couldn’t get ahold of his emotions and didn’t know what was happening, while at the same time trying desperately to mask that fear because it made him feel weak. Had they simply not wanted to see it? Had he conditioned them not to?

Justin especially should have seen it. They’d been living together for three weeks at that point. How could he not have noticed? Or had he, and just been too afraid to say anything?

Brian didn’t have much time to entertain that thought, because he had an important networking event to attend tonight, and he needed to be on his game. He needed to look flawless and be in control, if he hoped to make connections with some influential people in his new city -- people whose companies might make some of his largest accounts back in Pittsburgh look like small potatoes. This would also be his first time going to anything like this since his accident. That thought made him more apprehensive than he cared to admit.

He remembered how he always used to feel so at ease mingling with other business owners and potential clients, carefully massaging their egos and winning them over with his natural charm and charisma. But would he be able to produce the same magic now? There was only one way to find out.

The feeling of unease that now always preceded a new situation for Brian was starting to build in his gut as he went into the bathroom and started stripping off his clothes so he could take a shower. He tried not to focus too much on his legs, which had become noticeably thinner over the past several months as the muscles had gone unused, taking away from the physique he’d prided himself on for so many years back in Pittsburgh. Just another small thing that was gone, and probably wasn’t coming back. It was the little things that built up and got to him sometimes -- adding up to big feelings of inadequacy and insecurity. Exposing the weaker traits of his personality that had always been there, that he’d been able to hide from most of the world for so long, and had now become much more difficult to conceal. And those weaker traits weren’t going to be of any help to him tonight, so he was going to have to figure out how to get past them -- how to be seen again, and to let himself be seen.

Putting on one of his expensive designer suits always made him feel confident and put-together. He tried to psych himself up as he sat on the bed to dress himself after his shower, pulling his pants up one leg at a time, then lying down and rocking his body back and forth to slide them gradually up over his ass. This was the one task that never really seemed any easier than it had been the first time he’d tried it -- it was annoying, at best, and took way too long.

When he was finished dressing and back in his chair, he looked himself up and down in the mirror and remembered Rochelle’s words: “Don’t you want to be seen for what you are? Strong, capable, and intelligent?” Staring at his own reflection, he tried to see those things that she saw in him -- to look past his physical appearance to find the parts of the Brian Kinney he’d always known were still there, on some level. It was difficult though, because he still looked at his image and saw someone who was broken. The thoughts weren’t as pervasive as they had been even a month ago, but they were still there. He felt like an imposter sometimes, with his many insecurities hiding behind a mask of self-assuredness that was precarious at best. Much more precarious than it ever had been before. Tonight, he was going to have to keep the mask on and make it convincing as ever.

An hour later, he found himself outside the ballroom of a swanky hotel in Midtown Manhattan, trying to calm the trembling of his hands as he entered the room. A room full of people that he would have felt totally at-ease and comfortable around a year ago. A room that now made him feel uneasy and not-good-enough. But he was going to do his best to push that aside and bring forth the Brian Kinney bravado, if only for one night.

He wanted a drink, badly, but gone were the days of casually mingling with a cocktail in hand. Now, if he wanted to carry a drink and be able to move around the room, he had to hold it between his thighs, which wasn’t always the most dependable position since he couldn't feel them and they didn’t always stay put. And spilling his drink on himself definitely would not make a good first impression. So, no alcohol tonight. Maybe that was for the best -- otherwise, he might have been tempted to get plastered if things didn’t go well.

It’s now or never, Kinney, he told himself as he approached two men who appeared to be close to his own age. He waited for their conversation to pause as they noticed him, and held his hand out to shake.

“Brian Kinney,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster over the nervousness that he still couldn’t quite tamp down. The two men introduced themselves as well, and they all three talked about their respective businesses for a few minutes, asking questions and getting to know each other before scattering to mix and mingle with others.

That first encounter buoyed Brian’s confidence -- maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. He still had it -- the smoothness, the allure -- he just had to be careful to not allow the apprehension lurking beneath the surface to bleed through.

His next interaction went fairly well also, and he was feeling good about what was happening here. He’d exchanged business cards with five people so far, and had some good leads.

The third introduction, however, didn’t go quite so well. This woman owned a clothing boutique that catered to women in high-powered professional positions -- and yet somehow she didn’t seem too interested in the fact that he could help her expand her customer base and create an image that would make her store seem like the only choice if you wanted to be the best at what you did and look your best at the same time. Instead, she asked him right off the bat how he’d ended up in a wheelchair. Brian was taken aback by her rudeness, but then he remembered her potential deep pockets and the fact that he was here to make business contacts, not enemies. So he decided to answer the question and then try to bring the conversation back to more a comfortable topic.

“Car accident,” he said. “So, I own an advertising firm, Kinnetik. Who’s doing your marketing right now?”

“Really? How long ago?”

Brian gritted his teeth and tried again. “Ten months ago. Anyway, if you’d like to meet up sometime to discuss how we could use--” He didn’t get to finish his sentence before she interrupted him.

“Well, it’s impressive that you’re still able to work. You know, owning your own business and all,” she said.

“I really don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Why not? I think it’s great. Very inspirational.”

With that, Brian had heard enough and wasn’t interested in talking to her any longer, much less doing business with her. Fuck being an inspiration. An inspiration for what? How to overcome what happens when you're an idiot and drive too fast in the rain?

“If you’ll excuse me, I think I see someone I know over there,” he said. “Nice meeting you.” That was a lie, but he figured he would at least try to be polite, even if she had been incredibly rude. He was trying to make good first impressions here, and the last thing he needed was some woman walking around grousing about the asshole in the wheelchair.

Brian turned and headed quickly toward the opposite corner of the room, resisting the urge to look back at the woman to see her reaction. He hated to cut her off like that, but he really didn’t want to answer questions about his fucking wheelchair tonight of all nights. Not to mention the fact that she’d shot him right back down to feeling like he couldn’t be seen as anything other than Brian Kinney, paraplegic. Like the very act that he was still able to have a life was somehow awe-inspiring. He didn’t want to be the hero cripple. Right now, he really wanted -- needed -- to be Brian Kinney, the best goddamn ad man you’ll ever meet.

But the encounter had worked its way into his psyche, and he found himself struggling the rest of the night to introduce himself with the same confidence he’d had when he’d first entered the room. Most of the time, he was still able to muddle through. But he also found many people not wanting to look at him, avoiding eye contact, looking past him or over his head as they moved away quickly to shake the hand of someone else. Someone able-bodied.

No one else was outright rude, but so many of them weren’t really seeing him either. He felt invisible. And for once, he didn’t want to be. He wanted to be seen -- needed to be seen. Seen as an equal. Not someone who was impaired or lesser-than. Sub-human. Someone that people couldn’t even feel comfortable making eye contact with.

By the time Brian made it back to his and Justin’s apartment, he was nursing a headache and really, really wanted to crawl in bed and shut out the world for a few hours. Justin was in the living room, watching television -- one of those stupid animated things he claimed to appreciate for the artistic value.

“Hey,” Justin greeted him, holding up the remote to switch off the TV. “How’d it go?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Brian said as he shed his suit jacket and threw it over a chair before heading into the kitchen. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and reached for his trusty bottle of Jim Beam at the back of the counter. “I need a drink.”

Justin, who apparently had followed him into the kitchen, grabbed the bottle before Brian did, and held it up, out of Brian’s reach. “You agreed that we would talk about things that were bothering you now, remember?”

Brian was glaring at Justin now, aggravated not only by how his night had gone, but now the fact that Justin was taking advantage of their new height difference. Using his disability against him. Brian couldn’t possibly do anything to reach the bottle when Justin held it up like that, and that only made him feel even more belittled than he had earlier in the evening. He had enough strangers treating him like a child; he didn’t need Justin to do it too.

“Justin,” he said, trying to keep his voice even, but failing to conceal his irritation. He reached up and grabbed at Justin’s arm to try to pull it down. “Give it to me.”

“Not until we’ve talked.” Justin looked Brian straight in the eyes, his gaze steady. He was digging his heels in.

“Give. It. To. Me.” Brian lowered his voice to a growl.

“Brian, you’re not doing this again.”

“I’m a goddamn adult, Justin! Now give me the fucking bottle and let me make my own motherfucking decisions!” Now he was yelling, and he could feel the hot tears of frustration starting to prickle at the corners of his eyes. Goddamn it.

Justin must have seen them too, because his hard expression suddenly softened. He set the bottle down and placed a hand on each of Brian’s shoulders.

“Brian,” he said softly. “Talk to me. Please. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.” Brian shrugged Justin’s hands off of him.

“Well, I don’t want you to drink yourself into oblivion again either.” Justin leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “I can’t read your mind. You have to talk to me.”

“I’m pouring myself one drink. See the glass? I’m using a glass this time.” Brian reached for the bottle again, opened it and poured an inch into the bottom of the tumbler. “Does that meet your approval?”

“I’m not trying to approve of anything. I’m trying to get you to let me in.”

Brian sighed loudly. “I’m not shutting you out. I just need to relax first. Decompress a little. Then I’ll tell you. I promise.” He stuck the glass between his legs and went into the living room, where he put his drink on the end table before shifting his body over to the sofa.

Justin followed Brian into the living room and sat down next to him, curling his body into Brian’s side, then leaning in to kiss him. “I love you,” he said. “I’m sorry you had a crappy night.”

“Not your fault. But I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

Justin switched the TV back on and Brian was grateful for the distraction, even if he did question Justin’s taste sometimes. But who was he to judge? Justin was the artist. They sat and watched for awhile, Justin with his head laying on Brian’s shoulder, one arm wrapped around Brian’s back, and his hand rubbing lazy circles on the other shoulder.

As Brian downed the last of the whiskey in his glass, he finally felt ready to speak.

“People didn’t want to see me tonight,” he said as he laid the glass back down on the table and ran a finger absently over the rim. “Some did, but most of them didn’t. They’d look right over me or right through me. Avert their eyes when I looked at them. And it wasn't just in my head. It was fucking happening. All of this time I’ve been thinking I wanted to be invisible, and tonight I was. And I fucking hated it. If people don't see me, I can't do my job.”

Justin switched the TV off and tightened his arm around Brian’s shoulders, but didn’t say anything.

“I want people to see me,” Brian said. “But only me. Not the goddamn wheelchair. Just me. But I don’t know how to get them to just see me.”

“You’re more than the wheelchair Brian, and I think you know that, but you don’t fully believe it yourself. And until you believe it 100%, you’re never going to get people to just see you. They’ll see what you see, because it’s what you project. You have to demand their respect -- teach them to look at you. Society teaches people not to stare, but they forget that also means they aren’t making eye contact with the people they’re trying not to stare at. They’re pretending they don't exist. It’s dehumanizing. And it’s not right.”

“I’m still trying to figure out who I am now though. What I want. I don’t know if I can demand their respect until I know who I’m asking them to look at.”

“When I look at you, I see someone who’s smart and sexy. Successful. Talented. Loyal. Ambitious. Strong. The man I love. You’re the same person you always have been. I know you don’t believe that, but you are. What do you see?”

“Someone who’s trying really hard to see themselves as worthy of that description. I’m trying, Sunshine. I really am.”

“I know.”

“It’s hard.”

“I know it is. I remember how scary it is to not know if you’re ever going to feel like yourself again. But eventually I did, and you helped me get there. You will too. And I’ll be here.”

“So how do I teach them to look at me?”

“Show them what they’re missing if they don’t.”

Brian was sitting on his bench in the shower, mulling that idea over in his head, when Justin opened the bathroom door to reveal himself standing naked in the doorway.

“Would you like some company?” he said.

They hadn’t showered together since before Justin had left for New York almost two years before. Not since Brian was still standing on his own two feet. But there has to be a first time for everything, right? And part of Brian embracing his new identity was going to have to be letting go of fear. Fear of change. Fear of differences. Fear of new experiences. The new Brian Kinney wasn’t afraid.

He was strong, loyal, ambitious, successful, talented, smart...and yes, still sexy. And he needed to get used to seeing himself in those terms -- seeing himself through the same eyes as the man who loved him. Whose love he didn’t feel he’d done anything to deserve.

Brian slid the glass shower door open and beckoned Justin in. Justin threw one leg over Brian’s and immediately straddled him, pressing their hips together as he kissed Brian passionately, pressing his tongue into Brian’s mouth, then sucking at Brian’s bottom lip as he pulled away.

“This okay?” Justin asked. “I’m not hurting you?”

What Brian was feeling right now was definitely not pain. What he was feeling was Justin’s cock pressing into the area of his hips where sensation faded off into nothing -- a spot that Brian was quickly finding was extremely sensitive -- and definitely in a positive, life-affirming way. It wasn’t a place he’d explored much on his own, because he hated how close it was to the place that he really wanted to be able to feel again. So close and yet so far.

The only response he ended up giving Justin was a low moan, as he tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

“Mmmm...you like that?” Justin said as he wrapped his legs around Brian more tightly.

Brian nodded, and Justin leaned in to plant a trail of light kisses down the side of Brian’s neck. Brian grabbed Justin’s face and pulled it up to where their lips could make contact again, and they sat together in the shower, making out while Brian jerked Justin off and Justin kept rubbing his hands over Brian’s hips. When they were finished, they soaped each other up, took turns rinsing each other off with the handheld part of the shower head, and continued kissing and groping at each other all the way to bed.

What did Brian want out of his life now? He still wanted to be successful. He still wanted money. He still wanted power. And he still wanted to feel like he was the best at everything he did. But in order to do that, he had to be noticed -- to be seen. And not just seen as a disabled person, but as a capable, intelligent person who just happened to use a wheelchair. That was the Brian Kinney he needed to put out into the world.

Did he still need for everyone to want him or want to be him -- to seek validation from others to make up for the insecurities he would never admit to? Not so much. Not anymore.

Tonight, he felt worthy. Loved. Strong. Like maybe he would be able to make it. Maybe he’d find his purpose after all.