Dartmouth Redux

Settling  

Outside Craig Taylor's Office Building

Justin looked up at the office building that housed his father's company. He knew what he had to do. He just wasn't sure that he could do it. Maybe he could in a few minutes. Maybe if he just took a deep breath. Maybe if he went and got a coffee. Maybe he would have the fucking courage to do the last thing left for him to do.

He turned away from the building and walked down the street to where he saw a Starbucks sign. He pushed the door open and walked to the counter. He ordered a latte and then went to sit at one of the small tables while they concocted his brew.

Justin ran over the details of the last few days. He couldn't believe how stupid he had been. Brian had done everything for him, had helped him to get the use of his hand back, had bought him the new computer and program to help him with his art, had given him a place to live and a bed to share. And like the stupid fucking idiot that he was he had turned to Ethan Gold.

Justin shook his head. He thought about the Rage party that Brian had orchestrated to launch the comic he and Michael had developed. It must have cost Brian a fortune, but he had done it anyway, even after he knew about him and Ethan. He supposed Brian had mostly done it for Michael. Michael was Brian's best friend after all. Michael loved Brian; everyone knew that … except maybe Michael and Brian.

Michael! Fucking Michael! They had actually grown closer while they were working on Rage. Justin knew that he had begun to think of Michael as his friend almost as much as Michael was Brian's friend. But that was a laugh and a half. Michael had jumped at the chance to betray him. He had run to Brian when he had found out about Justin and Ethan. Michael never gave him a chance to explain, or any warning of what he was going to do. He simply ran to Brian to tattle.

"Sir, sir!" the kid behind the counter called.

Justin was roused from his thoughts and walked over to the counter. He got his latte and went to add some sugar before sitting back down and letting his thoughts wander back to how he had fucked up his life.

Even though Michael had betrayed him, Justin could hardly blame him. Justin was the one at fault. He had slept with Ethan. He had betrayed Brian. He deserved what he had got.

Brian had finally made it clear that he knew what was going on and when Justin had asked him to tell him if he meant anything to Brian, Brian had turned it all back on him. Brian would never say he loved him, never admit that they might be able to have something great together. And that had never been clearer than when he had found Brian fucking "Rage" in the backroom of Babylon. He knew that Brian was showing him that he meant nothing to him. Brian was kissing him off, as his cock plowed into another man. So Justin had walked out of Babylon with Ethan.

What a huge fucking mistake that had been! It hadn't taken him more than a day to realize that Ethan was no Brian Kinney. He was a self-centered violinist more interested in his music than in Justin Taylor. But what had he expected? He wanted romance and that's what Ethan had promised him. Ethan had said the pretty words, words that Brian refused to say. And Justin had bought it hook, line and sinker. Well, almost. But the pretty words had only lasted until Ethan got the prize he wanted. Once he had Justin he seemed more interested in what Ethan wanted, more interested in fucking when Ethan wanted to fuck than when Justin wanted to, more interested in going to events that Ethan wanted to go to, in talking about things that Ethan wanted to talk about. It was all Ethan, Ethan, Ethan. It was almost like the Justin Taylor who had been a successful student, artist and gay man ceased to exist. He had simply become an appendage of the great Ethan Gold.

It was fucking sick! Brian was much more powerful and important than Ethan Gold, yet Brian had never made him feel as insignificant as Ethan did. But maybe the problem was that Justin Taylor was really an insignificant little gnat. Maybe that's what he should have realized a long time ago.

Well, he realized it now. He knew what he had to do, and it was time that he did it. He stood up and threw away his almost untouched latte. It was now or never. He walked down the street and entered his father's office building. He made his way up to the tenth floor and spoke to the receptionist who announced him.

Justin held his breath wondering if his father would even see him. After a minute or two the receptionist directed him down the hall to his father's office. He took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

"Dad," he said when Craig didn't look up.

"What do you want, Justin? I'm busy." Craig didn't even bother to look at his son. He continued to peruse the papers on his desk.

"I'm ready to do whatever you ask," Justin said softly.

Craig heard something in Justin's voice and looked up. He met Justin's eyes, eyes that had lost the look of independence and defiance that he had seen the last time he had spoken to his son. Obviously something had happened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I want to come home. I'll do whatever you say."

"You will, will you?"

"Yes."

"Will you give up this art nonsense and go to Dartmouth as you should have done in the first place?" Craig demanded.

"Yes," Justin whispered.

Craig was startled, but he knew when to push his advantage. "Will you never see Brian Kinney again?"

Justin shuddered, but answered, "Yes, father."

"Well then, we might be able to come to some sort of agreement."

"Thank you," Justin replied feeling like he had just sold his soul … and he had. It remained to be seen if he had sold it to the devil or just to a man named Craig Taylor. What difference did it make anyway? He was selling out, giving up everything he had believed in, settling for whatever crumbs his father chose to toss his way. What other choice did he have? He knew he would never survive living on the streets and he had turned everyone else against him thanks to what he had done to Brian. Brian never wanted to see him again, and neither would anyone else. He might as well go to Dartmouth. Even if he hated it, he would still get an education. Maybe he would be able to survive it, and he could earn a living when he was done. That was the best he could hope for. He had fucked up his life so completely. He didn't deserve anything better.

Craig was surprised at this compliant Justin. He wondered what had happened to cause this change, but he didn't really care as long as he got what he wanted. "You agree to all that?" he had to ask again to be sure.

"Yes."

"Then this is what I want you to do," Craig stated. "You will withdraw from PIFA immediately and I will see that you are enrolled at Dartmouth. You will get your belongings from that pedophile's apartment. Take only the things that are yours. You will keep nothing that he gave you. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"I'll meet you on the sidewalk outside his apartment in two hours. Be there with whatever you want to take to Hanover with you. We will drive up immediately."

"But … how do you know I can get in?" Justin asked.

"Trust me. I'll take care of it."

"Okay."

"Good. Get moving and don't be late."

"Yes, father."

Brian's Loft

Justin gathered up the last of his meager belongings. He stuffed them into the box that he had brought with him from the market down the street. His clothes were in the duffel bag that sat by the loft door.

He walked over to the computer and touched it lovingly. It was the one thing that he would truly miss … besides Brian. It had given him back some of his ability to draw, but he would never be allowed to draw again, at least not in the way he wanted to. He wondered if they even had art classes at Dartmouth.

Well, it didn't matter. He was leaving all that behind him. He would need to concentrate on all the business courses that he was sure his father was enrolling him in.

He picked up a pen and a piece of paper. He wrote, keeping it brief.

Brian,

I'm going away. I don't want to cause any more problems.

I'm sorry I fucked up so bad. I have taken my belongings, only the stuff I brought with me when you first took me in. Thanks for everything you did for me.

I love you.

J

Justin looked up into the bedroom. He smiled at the memory of all the times he and Brian had fucked on that bed, and even made love once or twice. He remembered ice cream kisses on the chaise and fucking against the post by the counter. He remembered all the times they had sat on the sofa and watched TV, and the meals he had cooked for Brian in the kitchen. That was all done now.

He took out his keys and pulled the key to the loft off his ring. He placed his note against the canister on the counter. With a long sigh he picked up his duffel bag and his box. He walked to the door and set the alarm before locking it with his key. He rode down in the elevator and dropped the key into Brian's mailbox.

He opened the front door and stepped outside just as his father drove up. So began the new phase of his for shit life.

*****

Brian opened the door to the loft and felt the change immediately. The loft was different, empty, lonely. He glanced around and noted the folded piece of paper with his name on it sitting on the counter. He deliberately left it there as he went up into the bedroom. He knew what he would find but he wanted to check for himself.

Justin's clothes were missing from the closet, Justin's underwear and T-shirts were missing from his drawer, his toiletries from the bathroom. Justin was gone.

Brian strode down the steps and over to the kitchen counter. He picked up the piece of paper with his name on it and carried it over to the sofa. He sat down and flipped the paper open. It didn't take him long to read the few scant sentences. Justin was gone, but gone where? He didn't mention the fiddler. Were they going somewhere together?

Something about the note didn't sound right. It wasn't the usual feisty Justin, the Justin who was tenacious and a fighter. This sounded like a Justin who had given up. And what about the fucking fiddler? Brian had thought that was what, or rather who, Justin wanted. The note didn't sound like someone in love with Ethan Gold. And it even said he loved Brian at the end. But then a lot of notes ended with an "I love you!" or a "Love you!" Maybe that's all that was.

Brian stood and took off his winter coat. He had almost forgotten that he still had it on. He poured himself a drink and loosened his tie. What did this fucking note mean? He took a long swallow of the Beam and felt the familiar burn as it hit his system. What the fuck was Justin Taylor up to, and why hadn't he taken his computer with him? How was he going to continue with his art if he didn't have the computer?

Brian grabbed the cordless phone off his desk and hit number one on the speed dial. He hadn't changed it yet, and really didn't want to. The phone rang one and then he was told that the number was no longer in service. That was strange.

Next Brian hit the number for Red Cape Comics and Michael answered. "Do you know where Justin is?" Brian demanded as soon as Michael spoke.

"How the fuck should I know where the little shit is? I don't want anything to do with him, since he walked out on you, especially after everything you did for him," Michael said self-righteously.

"Has he called you?"

"No, and I won't speak to him if he does."

"What about Rage?"

"Our partnership is over."

Brian sighed. "If he calls you, tell him I want to speak to him."

"He won't call," Michael said decisively.

"Do you think he would have contacted Emmett?" Brian asked.

"I doubt it."

"What about your mother?"

"How the fuck should I know! And why do you care. After what he did…"

"Bye, Michael."

Brian hung up not wanting to hear any more of Michael's complaints about Justin. He decided to try Ethan and see if Justin was there.

"What do you want, Kinney?" Ethan said belligerently. "Called to gloat?"

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Well, you got him back, didn't you?"

"What? Are you talking about Justin?"

"Who the fuck else do we have in common?" Ethan wanted to know.

"He … you're not together?"

"No, he left yesterday. I thought he went back to you."

Brian hung up not wanting to discuss this with Ethan any further. What was going on? Where could Justin be? Brian tried Debbie, the Munchers, Daphne, even fucking Ted. Nobody had seen him. His last resort was Jennifer.

"What do you want, Brian?" she asked.

"I'm trying to get in touch with Justin."

"I thought you two were finished. That was quite an end to the Rage party," Jennifer said icily.

"Do you know where he is?"

"Yes, I do."

"Could you tell me so I can speak to him?"

He doesn't want to speak to you. He's on his way to Dartmouth with his father as we speak. You are not to contact him."

"And who's idea is that?"

Jennifer sighed. "He's decided to finish his education at Dartmouth. Leave him alone, Brian."

Brian cut the connection. Justin had given up everything, PIFA, Ethan, his independence, Brian. He had given up on himself too apparently.

Brian slumped back against the sofa cushions. Justin was gone … for good. And he was going back to his old life. He was settling for whatever crumbs his father was prepared to give him. Brian envisioned a bleak, lonely future for both of them. This wasn't how it was supposed to turn out ... not at all.