********
Chapter 18 - The Aftermath.
They hadn’t driven more than two miles away from the Lapointe mansion before Brian had to pull the jeep over to the side of the road because his hands were shaking so badly he could barely steer. As soon as the vehicle stopped, he collapsed against the steering wheel, struggling to get his emotions under control. He was filled with so much fear and rage and self-recrimination that he felt like he almost couldn’t breathe.
“Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Argh!” He screamed and slammed both fists onto the dash then sat up and blew out a huge lungful of tension-riddled air.
Looking over to his right, Brian could see the blond youth still huddled against the door, arms and legs curled around himself protectively, just the way he’d been when Brian settled him into the seat before they left. Justin’s forehead rested against the cold glass of the passenger window. His breath had fogged up a wide swathe of the pane. He was visibly shaking with each shuddering breath. The sight caused something cold and heavy to churn in Brian’s gut.
“Justin . . .” Brian whispered the name pleadingly. “Justin, please . . .” Only he couldn’t go on because he didn’t know what he was asking. He didn’t have the right to ask the traumatized boy for anything. Not after the way Brian had let him down. “Fuuuuuuuuck!” He screamed again, not realizing until too late that his yelling would cause Justin even more distress.
As the panic-racked PC shrank even further away towards the door, Brian collapsed back against his own seat. He was just making things worse. He was fucking hopeless at this shit - almost as bad as those monsters back at Lapointe’s. How could he ever make it up to the boy?
The ringing of his cell phone finally penetrated Brian’s moment of self-loathing and he automatically accepted the call without even looking at the screen. Thankfully, there was a familiar and helpful voice on the other end. But even then it took Brian almost a minute before he pulled himself together enough to respond to the rising sounds of tension coming through the phone.
“Brian! What the hell’s going on? Answer me, Brian!” Cynthia demanded again.
“I’m here,” Brian answered unresponsively.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong? Are you still at Lapointe’s? If you can’t talk just say VanGuard,” Cynthia scrambled to try and make sense of what might be going on with her silent friend.
“No. We’re in the car,” Brian answered.
“Phew. I was getting really fucking worried, Brian. How’s Justin? Is he okay?”
“No. He’s not. He’s fucking cowering in the passenger seat and I’m afraid to even touch him - I’d probably just set him off again and . . . Fuck!” Brian pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand not holding the phone and sighed. “I fucked up, Cynthia. I left him alone out there . . . I was only out of the room a couple minutes, just while I was talking to you . . . It was too long. When I got back out there he was gone and then I found him . . . Bellweather and his cohorts were holding him down and . . .” He couldn’t even finish describing the situation.
“Shit! That’s . . .” Cynthia paused, already thinking the worst - that Brian had been too late, and if so, she didn’t know what to say. “Is Justin physically hurt? Does he need a doctor, Brian?”
“No. No, thank fuck. I got there before they did anything other than scare the fucking shit out of him. But he’s . . . He’s not good, Cyn.” Brian stole another look to his right at the little blond ball of panic.
“Where are you right now? Can you drive, Brian?” Ever the pragmatist, Cynthia was already focused on how to help.
“Yeah. I think so. I just . . . I had to pull over for a second, but I think I’m fine now,” Brian answered, trying to sound like he believed himself.
“Okay. Just get to the loft, Brian. I’ll meet you guys there and we’ll . . . We’ll take care of him.”
“On my way,” Brian confirmed and then hung up the phone.
Brian refused to let himself even look over at the boy again, knowing that another glimpse of his trembling passenger wouldn’t help him stay calm enough to drive. He had to follow Cynthia’s directions. If he could just get to the loft, maybe he could think of some way to make this right again. Some way to redeem himself and win back Justin’s trust.
********
Cynthia was indeed waiting for them outside the front entrance to the loft. She jogged over to the Jeep as soon as Brian pulled up to the curb. Brian put the car into park, turned off the ignition, took a deep breath to steady himself and then got out to go around and meet her. Although neither one of them were really the sort to hug, Cynthia couldn’t resist the forlorn look on her boss’ countenance and stepped up to him, insisting that he let her wrap her arms around his middle and hold on for a good long while. Brian relented enough to hug back, briefly, before he pushed her away.
“Here. Get the door,” Brian commanded, handing the woman his keys as soon as he’d unlocked the passenger side door.
Brian carefully pulled open the car door, noting that Justin’s condition didn’t appear any better. “Justin? We’re here. You wanna come inside now?” Brian didn’t think the panting ball of hysteria even heard him, let alone understood his words.
Quickly realizing that it was too cold out - Justin was still only wearing the tiny leather shorts and the wool cloak he’d been wrapped in had slipped to the floorboards - to deal with this problem right there and right then, Brian simply reached in, overlooking the wincing at his touch, and manhandled the boy out of the car. Cynthia quickly realized what was happening and closed the car door behind Brian before rushing over to unlock the loft entrance.
Brian soberly carried the PC inside, held him while the elevator chugged and clanged upwards and then followed Cynthia into the loft. He walked straight to the couch, seating himself with the boy still in his arms, and continued to hold him even after. He just couldn’t let him go. He had to hold on to the still quaking body because it was the only way to make himself feel that it would be alright. To reassure himself that Justin was there, that they had made it out of that hellhole, and that, even if they were both a little the worse for wear, they were essentially in one piece.
Or at least he hoped that Justin was still in one piece.
“Cyn, there’s a blanket on the top shelf in the bedroom closet. Can you get it for me?” Brian asked his hovering assistant as soon as he realized how cold the PC still was even though they were inside.
Cynthia helped wrap the blanket around the shivering boy and then made herself useful by starting some coffee. After bringing over two steaming mugs and giving one to Brian, she sat quietly in a nearby chair with her own coffee, waiting until Brian was ready to unburden himself. It took a good five minutes. By then Justin’s body temp had adjusted and at least he wasn’t shivering anymore. He was still unresponsive, and his right arm and hand were seized up and jittering, but his breathing had slowed. Brian finally felt assured that the youth wouldn’t break apart into little pieces if he didn’t hold onto him with all this strength. Not that he was going to be letting the boy completely go any time soon, though.
“I fucked up so bad, Cynthia,” Brian started speaking without any preface, looking down into the coffee cup he’d finally picked up with his free hand. “I shouldn’t have left him. Not even for a minute. I’d seen the way that douchebag Bellweather was looking at him all through dinner. I should have known he wasn’t going to just back down that easily. Not a fucking slimeball like that.” Brian paused to leave a small kiss on the top of the boy’s head before he continued. “But I thought it would be okay. There were lots of people around. Lapointe and all his other guests were there along with all of Lapointe’s PCs. I just didn’t think anything at all about stepping into the other room for a quick phone call. I should have known better, though.”
Brian put the almost empty coffee cup down on the table and then retucked the blanket more tightly around Justin’s shoulders. Cynthia jumped up and refilled the cup from the hot carafe and brought it back. She found Brian with both arms wrapped tightly around the boy’s body, holding on with all his might, his face buried in blond. The tension in Brian’s body was readily apparent. Justin, on the other hand, seemed to finally be relaxing, his head nestled against Brian’s big, solid chest and his expression now slack.
“The worst part, was that I’d asked him to trust me,” Brian continued as if he couldn’t stop talking even if he’d wanted to. He had to get it out. Had to confess it all in order to get his absolution. “I promised that I wouldn’t let him get hurt and I asked him to trust me. And he did. I know it was so fucking hard for him. I know about not trusting people - how impossible it seems sometimes. But I told him he could trust me and then I fucking let him down. That’s the worst thing I think I’ve ever done in my entire life. I’d rather people think I’m useless and untrustworthy from the get go, than to have them trust me and end up disappointing them. You know?”
“Brian, you can’t do that to yourself. You just can’t,” Cynthia insisted, moving until she could kneel down next to where the two men were still massed together on the couch. “You didn’t mean for any of this to happen. And, from what you’ve said, you couldn’t have known that Justin wouldn’t be safe for those few minutes you stepped away. Hell, it was my call that pulled you away, so it’s at least half my fault.” Brian waved off Cynthia’s attempt to shoulder part of the blame.
“But either way, you did the best you could, Brian. At least you showed up in time to stop Bellweather from doing worse.” Cynthia ran her hand through the blond hair causing the boy to twitch his head even closer towards Brian. “The good thing is that Justin’s not physically hurt. He’s scared - make that terrified - and probably angry, but substantially still in one piece. And as for him being emotionally hurt, well . . . you’re not to blame for all the past abuse he’s suffered, Brian. There’s so much stuff that’s underlying all this. None of that is on you. You can’t take responsibility for Justin reacting this badly when he came to you broken to start with. Not when you’re doing so much to try and help him.”
“So, please, Brian,” she cupped his face with her hands and held on even when he tried to look away, “don’t beat yourself up too much for what happened tonight. It won’t fix things. It won’t make him better. You can only do that if you hold it together for a little longer.”
Since the annoying woman wouldn't let him turn away, Brian squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to listen to her words. He didn’t think he deserved to be forgiven. Not after seeing what his momentary lapse in judgment had done to the boy in his arms.
But, while he was trying to hide from his reality, he felt the head tucked under his chin nuzzle a little deeper into his chest with a barely audible ‘mmm’ and then a tentative hand reached up, wrapped itself lightly around the back of his neck and held on. Brian sighed. That one trifling gesture meant so much to him. It said that the boy did forgive him, whether or not Brian deserved it. And maybe still trusted him. At least enough to need the comfort of Brian’s touch. Which was enough for him, at least for the time being.
With another deep breath, Brian clutched at the PCs body yet again, but then opened his eyes and looked over to where Cynthia was still waiting for him. The always-reliable assistant was looking on at the pair with a relieved grin. She could tell that Brian’s crisis of conscience had passed, with the help of a seemingly powerless seventeen-year-old.
“It looks like you got this, Boss.” Cynthia stood up and beamed one more departing smile the boys’ way.
“Thanks for being here, Cyn,” Brian acknowledged gratefully.
“Anytime. And I mean that, Brian. ANY time.” Cynthia patted him on the shoulder, preparing to go, stopping only when Brian grabbed hold of her wrist.
“Cyn . . . Find out about that psychologist, would you? And get the physical therapy set up as soon as possible please,” Brian commanded. “I can’t fix this without a little help.”
“I’ll get on it, Boss.” Cynthia guaranteed. “Night, Justin. Night, Bri. You two take it easy. See you on Monday.”
Brian knew Cyn would lock up behind herself, so there really wasn’t any need to move. And he was perfectly happy for the moment where he was with a warm, sleepy blond boy on his lap and a warm blanket wrapped around them both. Before long, the stress of the evening - not to mention the rest of the week - took it’s toll on both men. Cynthia wasn’t even all the way out the door before Justin dropped off to sleep. Brian briefly thought about getting up and moving to the bed, but before he had time to act on that thought, he too had succumbed to the tempting pull of the sandman.
Which is probably why Brian was so disoriented and slow to react when he was awakened several hours later by a struggling, flailing, bundle of panic beating against his chest.
“No . . . no!” the muffled words, muttered into the fabric of the twisted blanket that had Brian and Justin bound tightly together, whispered out through the loft. “No. *Uhnnnn* Please.”
“Justin?” Brian tried to shake off the heaviness of sleep sufficiently to figure out what was going on, all the while fending off the fists blindly striking at whatever they could, including Brian’s body. “What? . . . Justin, stop. Stop.”
The boy was too far immersed in the nightmare that was haunting him to understand Brian’s words. He battled against the restraining blanket, kicking at it ineffectually, his whole body convulsing as he tried to escape whatever demons were attacking him in his mind. All Brian could do was hold on - trying to prevent the dream-crazed boy from crashing to the floor as he scuffled with his demons - and mumble vaguely comforting nonsense words to unhearing ears.
“Shhh. It’s okay, Justin. It’s okay. It’s okay . . .” Brian repeated the words, hoping that they would eventually filter through the panic.
It didn’t seem to be working though. Justin was still bucking and punching at the air, his head thrashing back and forth, as he gasped for air and mewled with imagined pain. Finally, giving up on the more cautious methods, Brian resorted to brute force. He managed to get his arms around the straining body, locked his wrists and then flipped them both over so that Justin’s frame was pinned beneath his own against the seat of the couch. Even then the struggle went on for a few more minutes.
Then, at long last, the boy convulsed so violently that he almost dislodged Brian before suddenly jerking fully awake. The boy’s eyes popped open and he stared around wildly for a dozen heartbeats, breathless and terror-stricken and confused. Brian froze, panting almost as hard as Justin, not sure if it was safe to release the boy or if he should hold on a little longer. Before he could say or do anything, though, the panic in the boy’s eyes dissolved and was immediately replaced by bottomless sadness and despair. A despair that Brian had always suspected was there, but which Justin had kept so tightly reined in that it couldn’t escape.
Until now.
And when the dam on all that pent up sorrow finally gave way, there was a fucking lot of it. Brian watched as Justin's face crumpled into a grotesque mask of pain. Which was followed by the first audible sobs. Sobs that grew and mushroomed until they took over, racking the youth's body. Before long, Brian found himself holding an inconsolable blond as Justin cried out months of heart-breaking despair into the relative comfort of that broad, solid chest.
The tears didn't last for long. Even as battered and debased as he was, Justin was still proud. Letting himself be that vulnerable in front of someone - anyone - was unacceptable. He only allowed himself a few minutes of release before he gathered together the shreds of his dignity, sniffled, freed his arms from Brian's grasp, and wiped furiously at his face until the tears were gone. Then he simply lay there, still pinned by the bigger man's body, staring up into Brian's face and waiting passively to see what would happen next.
Brian balanced on his elbows so his hands were free to frame the younger man’s face and play through the sweat streaked hair as he continued to provide what comfort he could. Justin didn't resist. The boy looked so worn out that he probably didn't have the strength to do anything other than lie there, placidly accepting whatever might come. Brian's fingers gently massaged his boy’s scalp in soothing circles while he tried to figure out what to do next.
*******
It was always so disconcerting to wake up like that. The nightmares had become less frequent lately, but they were still persistent. The boy wasn't used to having someone around in the aftermath, though. At least not someone who seemed to actually care enough to try and comfort him. Back at the training center, he'd been kept in a solitary room at night, so he was used to waking up alone and having to struggle through the panic the nightmares caused all on his own. This time felt so different. Still as terrifying, but maybe not so lonely.
As soon as he could quell the tears, he lay there, waiting to see what the repercussions from this latest of his failings would be. His Handler used to make fun of him, teasing him relentlessly about how the poor little baby was scared of his bad dreams. The boy had learned early on not to show any emotion over these episodes if he could help it. Sometimes, though, it was just too much for him. Sometimes he couldn’t stop the tears. Especially after extra trying days. And the day he’d just had qualified for ‘Extra Trying’ a hundred times over, so he supposed it wasn't surprising that he’d succumbed to a nightmare after all that. In fact, what WAS surprising was that he was functional at all considering what he’d just gone through. Which wasn’t to say that he wasn’t ashamed and fearful over the fact that he’d let himself sob on the Master’s shoulder so pitifully.
Right now, though, he just didn’t have enough energy to do anything about that problem. All the boy could do was lay there, blinking and sniffling pathetically, while the Master stared at him. If he could figure out what the Master was thinking while he stared, that would be nice. Because so far the boy hadn’t figured this man out at all and that was one of the things that was causing him a lot of stress. Nothing this man - Brian - did made any sense at all. Definitely not the way he was just lying there, petting his PC, after the ruckus the boy had just raised. That made no fucking sense at all. So the boy just lay there, waiting to see what his punishment would be
Strangely enough, however, it didn't seem like ANY punishment was coming. The Master was just lying there, playing with the boy’s hair and looking at him with this quizzical expression. What the fuck? The boy refused to completely let his guard down, though. His experience had shown that you couldn’t trust anybody. Just when you least expected it, you would be hurt. It was better to never trust at all.
So he refused to react. He’d let the Master do whatever it was the man wanted to do. It wasn’t like he could stop him anyway. And the boy would continue to bide his time. He wouldn’t relent now. He’d already given in to this Master more than he should have. He wouldn’t let himself feel anything more for the man. Even though the Master had given the boy interesting work that allowed him to use his artistic skills and had praised him repeatedly for those skills. Even though he had done his best - so far - to keep the boy out of harm’s way. Even though he had - so far - been true to his word and not forced himself on the boy. Even with all that, the boy wouldn’t cave and let this man in.
And, as soon as he’d reminded himself of all those reasons why he wouldn’t capitulate, he realized it was maybe already too late.
The boy had to admit that it felt rather nice to lie there with the larger body still weighing him down. It made him feel grounded. Like that mass was the only thing preventing him from flying apart into little pieces. And the fingers weaving through his hair and massaging his scalp were relaxing. He didn’t even mind the hazel eyes staring into his own. They were eyes that seemed like maybe they understood. Like they might have known sadness almost as heavy as his own. If forced to admit it, the boy might actually own up to the fact that he found himself attracted to the man. He wasn’t bad looking. The Master had a body that could have been in one of those porn videos he’d been forced to watch all the time. His touch was so gentle sometimes. The boy found that he didn’t really mind being touched by the Master all that much.
When the hands running through his hair hesitated over the still-jagged scar on the boy’s right temple, he did wince a little. Not that it still physically hurt, but it was always a reminder of the emotional upheaval that had happened in his formerly happy life, so he hated to be touched there more than anywhere. However, the man’s touch lingered on that spot for several seconds.
“Fuck! All of this . . . it really sucks, doesn’t it,” the older man’s words broke the comfortable silence with their deliberate understatement.
Before he could stop himself, the boy found himself nodding in agreement.
Brian frowned. He shook his head - at what, exactly, the boy didn’t know. Then he leaned down and kissed the scarred right temple, his lips lingering tenderly for half-a-heartbeat longer than expected, before pushing himself up off the couch and standing next to the boy.
“Bed?” the Master asked while holding out a hand to help the boy up off the couch.
The boy again nodded, accepted the hand and allowed himself to be towed up to the bedroom. The master quickly stripped off the now rumpled suit that he’d never changed out of after that horrible dinner party. Then he moved over towards the boy, questioning with his eyes before helping to remove the overly-tight leather shorts the boy had been forced to wear all evening. Once they were both naked, the Master climbed into the big bed and held the far edge of the duvet up in invitation.
The boy walked around the bed, slid under the covers and didn’t even flinch when the Master pulled the smaller body back so his rear was flush up against the solid length of the bigger body.
Shit. It probably was too late to resist this man and his insidiously seductive ways.