Daphne would complain about how the smell of hospitals would linger on Justin every damn time she’d catch me sneaking out on a Sunday morning.
“It’s so gross. Totally doesn’t suit him.”
She never told him. Which still drove me crazy to this day.
Was I going to have to be the one to do it? Were they all really going to make me tell him?
Well, by ‘all’ I obviously meant the Nurse and Jennifer and Daphne and fucking Emmett, of all people. They all just kept their mouths shut and I hated them for it because shit. What the fuck was I supposed to do? Walk up to him and say “hey, did I ever tell you about that time I visited you every fucking night and it broke my heart to know that I was the reason you were in that hospital bed so I never went in to hold your hand like I fucking wanted to”?
No. I’m not stupid.
I’d never get rid of him if I ever did that. So maybe I was glad they didn’t tell him. I don’t know.
But he did. He smelled like the hospital that night in in Woody’s. And then again when I’d tucked him into my shoulder and he’d cried into me while I tried to work out if the vanilla cake batter was still on him somewhere.
It was.
I’d sighed in relief.
So he’d reeked of hospital disinfectant for a fews days and then he’d been all over me like a watchdog whenever I pulled out the Beam and I’d known then that he was onto me. He was waiting and I was resisting because fuck him and fuck what happened to him and fuck the fucking world I wasn’t getting shitfaced in front of this kid while he was still recovering from a near death experience.
Fuck that. Fuck you too, while we’re at it. Just fuck it all.
He smelled like hell and I could only just find that stupid hint of vanilla cake batter and Emmett knew and he was doing shit about telling Justin and because of that...the kid was fucking onto me.
I guess they figured I’d told him already. Maybe they thought I was the type. I’m not. I don’t just tell people things and the go about my life.
But the thing is, I’d known the kid for almost nine months at that point and I’d fallen head over heels for his stupid smile and the way his eyes lit up when someone actually listened to him ramble on about whatever bullshit he’d read about that day.
Or his art.
Fuck. His art.
He couldn’t do shit then, not even with a pencil. Maybe that’s why I did it.
But I’d known him for nine months and he’d figured me out pretty quick and he wasn’t like Mikey or Lindsey or Deb and he didn’t try and take me apart when I was sad and drunk. He usually just sat there and waited. I don’t know what he was waiting for.
But I refused to get shitfaced while he was recovering because there was the time I’d had a stupid fucking nightmare in the middle of the day because of course I’d fall asleep and dream about how terrible my childhood was, and he’d just waltzed on in to see me downing a bottle of Beam and slurring out some shit about how much I hated the smell of it. And then the time Ted just wouldn’t fucking shut up about the fact that the kid was under my skin and Lindsey just wouldn’t shut up about how Mel deserved my rights and the kid had offered up that delectable mouth and I turned him down because shit, everything already smelled like him and his vanilla cake batter. And then my lovely father had turned up and he’d looked at my fucking son and my son had seen him and that was something I’d never be able to change so I’d signed away my rights and drowned myself in another bottle and pushed Justin away until he just decided to let himself in and sleep on my bed, so I just layed down next to him and sniffed him like the fucking weirdo I am. And all that was just a few weeks before my pops finally threw himself into hell and then I’d kicked that little shit out so I could deal with it alone but then I missed him so I invited him over to watch East of Eden but he just sat there and sketched me while I stole his sour candy and mouthed the words and pretended to ignore him. That was a fucking mouthful.
I’d tried to open up that night. Tried to tell him that I liked the way he smelled because Jack always had bourbon on his breath and the smell of peanuts just lingered on him and I hated it. But I’ve never been good at talking about that shit and he’d saved my ass by pretending he was only half listening and proving that he knew me, even then, by stating so simply:
“You hate peanuts.”
And the way he’d said it, so matter-of-fact-ly, had reminded me of the night before when Mikey had sat next to me in Woody’s and offered me some. And I just said, “I know.”
The point is...I’d put enough on his shoulders. Tried to talk and failed. Tried to get him to leave and failed.
Just...tried and failed.
Tried to save him and…
Failed.
So I’d trick and I’d drink and then I’d get home feel bad about it for some reason, so I’d shower and try to rip the smell of it all off my skin because he did nothing but smell like vanilla cake batter I was giving him sweat and alcohol in return, and then I’d climb into bed with him and he’d stare at me like I hung the sun and he’d let me kiss him and touch him and then he’d pull away before it really went anywhere and if I was lucky, he’d have a nightmare and cry until the sun came up.
He had enough on his plate.
So maybe that’s why I did it.
Maybe that’s why I stared at the bottle of Beam and then sat down in front of the computer I’d brought him and I’d looked at the art he was already starting to create and I thought about how he was so sure he was never going to have that part of him back.
And then he walked through the door all sweaty and afraid, because it took about year for that fear to really go away, and he’d sat right in my lap just let all his pain slip on the screen while I watched on silently behind him.
And I thought about how he never thought he’d have this back. And I thought about how he always wanted a lover. And I thought about how he deserves that. So I told him.
Completely sober, I whispered, “I came to see you every night. I was just too scared to go in.”
And he turned to me a little, not all the way, and smiled gently at me. “Thank you.”
I’d squeezed his middle and shoved my nose behind his ear and I’d inhaled and inhaled until he’d gotten up to go shower and then I’d bailed and went to Babylon.
And I guess he’d grown some balls while I was gone because when I came back he’d huffed at me after I’d showered and he’d told me to brush my fucking teeth if I was going to breathe in his face after drinking half a liquor store and I’d laughed a little when he shoved at my chest.
“When did you get so brave?”
He’d brought his hands up and mimicked the swing of a baseball bat. "In the May of 2001," he’d said, and I’d smiled a little at his joke, but it’d ripped a piece of me open.
Author's Chapter Notes:
not beta'd and also not that great.
Chapter End Notes:
Feel free to point out any mistakes.
:)