I get down, I feel had, feel on the verge of going mad. Then it's time to punch the clock.

May 3rd, 2007

Brian had just gotten into his office when Cynthia buzzed him. He jumped, hating the sound of the stupid intercom. It made his skin crawl. Why Cynthia was so opposed to just instant messaging him was beyond Brian.

He grabbed one of his pens and held the button down.“Where were you when I got in?” Brian asked in a frustrated tone. “And why can’t you just use the instant messenger on the computer, you know I hate this thing,” he sighed.

Cynthia took a deep breath and rolled her eyes, glad that her boss could not see her, “Mr. Kinney, you know that I have trouble with that whole thing. I bet you don’t even have your computer powered up yet.” Brian didn’t answer her so she went on, This way is much quicker; and to answer your first question, I was in the restroom.”

Brian sighed, “Sorry Cynthia. Sorry I…I..” His nervousness started to take over. His skin started to feel like it was crawling. It’s too early for this, Brian thought as he released the talk button on the phone. Then, a wave of panic overtook him.

Within minutes, Cynthia was standing on the other side of his desk. Brian had his head bowed into his lap and took deep breaths from one of the paper bags he kept stacked in his desk drawer. He could see his assistant set a bottle of water in front of him. The whole room seemed to be spinning and the paper bag was not lessening the intensity as it normally did. His breaths were still quick and he started to hear a ringing in his ears and the bitter taste of bile rising from his gut.

Brian got up from his chair and raced into his bathroom. Once there he disposed of the breakfast, he had recently eaten. After a minute or two of kneeling on the dirty tile floor, taking long deep calming breaths he realized that he felt even worse than before he had thrown up.

He called out to Cynthia, whom he was sure was hovering outside his bathroom door, “Get me a change of clothes from my closet please?” His throat felt raw as he spoke. His hands shook as he gripped the toilet and hefted himself up. He then laid a number of paper towels out, covering the tile floor, and stripped his offending clothing and placed them in the wastebasket. There was no way he’d wear them again.

Cynthia knocked on the door and Brian opened it just enough to hold his arm out and mumble a thank you. He then hung up his clothes on a hook on the back of the door.

Brian ripped off a paper towel and turned on the sinks hot water knob with one in his hand. He threw that towel away and grabbed another. This time he opened the medicine cabinet with it and grabbed out his soap. Brian lathered up his hands with the antibacterial soap. He scrubbed all the way up to his elbows and lathered himself until he felt he was sufficiently clean. He then washed it all off in the hot, nearly scalding water. Next, he lathered his hands with the face wash and proceeded to scrub at his entire face, before washing it off in steaming hot water. He let out a deep breath at the familiar harshness of the temperature and felt his body calm as he watched the suds disappear down the drain of the marble sink.

Then Brian took more paper towels and patted himself dry. With another towel, he opened the medicine cabinet again and took out his toothpaste and toothbrush. He spent nearly ten minutes brushing his perfect white teeth and another five on brushing his tongue to get the putrid taste of puke off it. He put the items back, paper towel in hand and grabbed a paper cup and the bottle of mouthwash from their shelf. He took six different cup full’s, gurgling each one for sixty seconds and then spitting them into the drain, the hot water washing the blue liquid away.

Brian grabbed more paper towels and put the last of the items away, closing the cabinet mirrored door. He paused for a few minutes to inspect himself. He was content with his appearance for the time being and decided he was clean enough to clothe himself.

The first thing he put on was a pair of fruit of the loom red boxers. They were one of probably 30 pairs. He could not recall the last time he had worn anything but that brand, style, and color. He liked the way the felt on him and looking in the full-length mirror on his bathroom door, he admitted to himself that they looked nice on him too. Not that anyone had ever seen Brian Kinney in only a pair of boxer shorts. No, Brian could not imagine anyone wanting to get close to a man like him. Yet, he still dreamed that one day his blond artist might.

Thoughts of Justin Taylor instantly made Brian stronger. He quickly put his new khaki pants and green button up on, smoothed down his hair and walked back into his office, ready to face another long day. That is of course after he washed his hands one more time for good measure after picking up the towels on the floor.

“Brian?” Cynthia asked. She was very worried about her friend. In the privacy of Brian’s office, she addressed him the same way she had since they were six. “Are you all right?”

“I, I am fine Cynthia,” Brian assured her. He looked down at his desk and his eyes caught the bottle of water placed on it. Condensation had begun to leak onto his desk.

Cynthia noticed and quickly picked it up and wiped the water off with a napkin and replaced the bottle after putting one of the many coasters down underneath it.

Brian nodded his head, silently thanking her for saving him from another panic attack. He was so glad to have his best friend working so closely with him. He did not think anyone else would be able to deal with his disability. “I am sorry that I spoke to you so harshly,” Brian said quietly, “and for getting sick.” His tan cheeks blushed and he quickly looked away, focusing instead on drinking the water. It felt so nice quenching his dry throat.

Cynthia smiled, after almost twenty-five years of knowing the man, and learning about everything that made up Brian Kinney, she felt oddly humbled that he would still be embarrassed whenever she was around to see him have another ‘episode’.

Cynthia frowned and felt a hint of despair race through her body as she realized why she had needed to talk to Brian so urgently. When he looked at her so calmly, she felt a sense of dread in knowing that he would not remain calm for long. “Vance came into see me yesterday. Well, actually he wanted to see you. I tried to call you last night but you didn‘t pick up the phone,” she explained.

After leaving his therapy session with Doctor McGee, Brian was too emotionally vulnerable to think about answering the phone the many times that he heard it ring. He just sat in his bed and watched cartoon network until he drifted to sleep. He had forgotten anyone had called by the time he left for work that morning. Brian frowned. “I told him that I had an appointment last week. I didn‘t feel like talking afterward. I am sorry I did not return your call.” Brian gulped and asked nervously, “What did you and Vance want?”

“He came to tell you how good the article and photo was that you did on the piece about Justin,” Cynthia said carefully. She watched as Brian once again blushed, putting his head down and turning away from her. He finished the bottle of water before looking back up at her.

They had been on a first name basis in reference to Justin Taylor, the artist for the last six years. Brian had denied any romantic feelings he had toward the young man, but Cynthia knew better. If Justin Taylor was just any other artist or performer Brian wrote about, he would have already met the young man face to face.

Which was why Cynthia had talked to Gardener Vance, well, begged him really, to lay off Brian. The man had been pissed about the writer/photographer not scheduling an interview in the six years that he had been covering the artist. The bald man could never understand what Brian had been through though. He could never fathom how hard it was for Brian to publish the wonderful things he did write about Justin Taylor because they were true and from the heart.

Gardener was not in a good mood yesterday. He had insisted that Cynthia contact the artist and arrange an interview for Brian to get started on that would last for the rest of the week. It was complete blasphemy to him, a reporter scared to report. No, he was fed up with it! He did not care what Brian Kinney’s issues were. He had catered to the man’s odd requests for too long. He was editor in chief of The Chicago Sun Times, he didn’t have to put up with it. So, he’d gone to Cynthia and told her his demands.

“I made an appointment with Justin Taylor, Brian. You’re going to have to meet with him in an hour,” She waited for his response, holding her breath. She waited and waited, watching her friends face, “I can go with you, Brian. It will be fine.”

Brian looked at her with a horrified expression. He opened his desk drawer to grab a paper sack and started to breathe into it. How could she do this to me? he thought.

Cynthia stood stock still, not sure exactly what to do. “Vance threatened to fire you if you do not meet with him, Brian.” Cynthia knew her words were not going to help Brian deal with having to interview Justin, on the spot, but she had seen the betrayed look that passed in his eyes and she had to explain her forced actions. “He will do it! He told me that if I did not make the appointment he would fire you and replace you. I had to do it!” Cynthia said, worry evident in her voice as she watched the brown paper collapse and expand in her friends face.

Brian heard her word and felt relief flood him. How could I think she would betray me? he reprimanded himself. He took the bag from his face and looked up at her, tears brimming in his eyes. “I..I… You know that I can’t do it,” he told his best friend.

Cynthia came around the desk and bent down in front of Brian. He looked like the same scared little boy she had held all through their childhood. She reached out and drew him into a cradling embrace, “You can do it, Brian.”

Brian let his tears fall. No, he knew he could not. Too many thoughts and memories flooded his mind. Past mixed with visions of what could be. It was all too confusing. Justin Taylor was a famous rich artist who would never notice him, like him, and Brian was sure the man would never love him. Especially, if he knew who he was, and he could not hide that during an interview. He wouldn’t be able to hide anything from his love.

Brian thought of himself as a freak, an emotional basket case. In reality, he was only a hurt boy trapped inside the body of a man. No, Brian knew he would not be able to go on living if Justin rejected him, made fun of him. He could not even take that risk. It had taken so much out of him to get where he was already, he did not want to go back. He had to change with baby steps before he met Justin.

An instant message popped up on Brian’s computer screen, pulling Cynthia and Brian apart. It read, Do the interview or you can look for another job.- Vance Gardener.

Brian stared at it through teary eyes before deleting the message.

Cynthia stood and looked at Brian. She wished she could do something to help him. But, what in the world could she do? If Brian would not, could not, meet with Justin Taylor, there was not much she could do for his job. If Brian lost his job, she was sure he would take a giant leap backward in the personal growth and stability he’d worked for in the last couple of years.