Chapter 10 - Disconnection.

Disconnection:  Disjunction;  State of being disconnected, severed or detached.

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Brian's POV

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Slow down. Slow down. Slow down. I keep repeating my new mantra to myself. I need to slow down before I scare the kid away completely. I remember what it's like to be scared all the time and to not trust. Thankfully it's been a long time for me, but I still remember. I have to keep reminding myself that Justin is still living in that reality now. He needs time. This isn't something you get over in just a couple days - if ever. But if I want to help him, if I want him to stay, I have to stop pushing so hard.

Emmett must have overheard some of what went on in the other room because he has a very strange expression on his face when I return from talking with Justin.

"Everything okay, Brian?" Em asks.

"I hope so, Emmett," I answer, not completely convinced of the fact myself. "I think we're going to skip the club tonight, though. Lindz and Mel invited Justin and me for dinner - I think that's a little more Justin’s speed right now."

"Of course, Bri. I didn't mean to push, you know. I . . . You're doing a good thing, Brian," Emmett said sincerely, squeezing my arm in support before starting to gather his things up to leave. "I put a plate of bread, cheese and fruit out for you two on the counter, just to tide you over till din-din. Just call if you need anything more, Bri. Ta ta for now, Bri! Bye, Justin."

Justin had silently come up behind me as Emmett was speaking. I didn't realize it until Em said goodbye to him as he was heading out the door. Justin looked once again composed - his indifferent mask firmly back in place.

"Hungry? Emmett made us a cheese platter," I point to the treat where Em left it.

Justin nods and heads over to retrieve the plate, carrying it towards the table. I gather water bottles and napkins and follow. We sit. We eat. We don't talk. That easy camaraderie we had earlier has disappeared. I don't like it at all and I have to find a way to get it back.

~~*~~

Justin's POV

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Brian has calmed down a bit since Emmett left. He's giving me my space. He's not pushing. So why do I still not like it. The ball of pain in my gut seems to be leaking into my system again.

I'm standing at the kitchen sink after tidying away our snack when I sense Brian has come up behind me.

"Hey, you," he says quietly. "I'm trying, okay. I didn't mean to overwhelm you. Please don't pull away."

I feel his strong yet gentle arms coming around me. His right hand is sneaking under the hem of the shirt to find the skin of my belly while the other wraps tightly around my chest. He rests his cheek against the top of my head and I feel him sigh as if this moment is all he ever wanted in life.  

This is such stupid shit. He won't fuck me - even when I offered plain out - but now he wants to stand here all sad-like and hold me? I should tell him to go screw himself. I can't though. My traitorous body seems to want this. So I say nothing.

I should pull away. I shouldn't let this happen - but I just can't make myself move. He is hypnotizing me with the small circular patterns he's drawing on my belly.  

After countless hours like this, or maybe it's only seconds, I feel the warmth from his groin growing up between us. His one hand has slipped down from my chest to my waist. His other hand brushes lower too and I can sense his disappointment at what he doesn't find. But he says nothing at my lack of matching heat.   

He kisses me once on the side of my neck, then gives one more squeeze and releases his hold on me. He moves away slowly, trying not to be obvious as he adjusts himself. I feel frozen in place. Frozen in time. My body already misses the contact. In my head I am screaming, telling myself to run, get away from here, this is dangerous. My body isn't listening.

"Are you ready to head out to dinner?" Brian asks while I'm still standing there frozen. "We should probably get going. Gus gives me such a hard time when I'm late. I think Mel puts him up to it."

"Dinner?"

"Oops. I forgot to tell you, Lindz sent an email earlier and switched our dinner plans to tonight. Mel couldn't do it tomorrow," Brian explains. "I hope that's alright with you. I wouldn't want to disappoint Gus."

"Sure. No problem," I manage to say even through my still frozen state.

"I know this has been a long day for you. We don't have to stay late, though. I promise. It's just that Gus wants to see you again and I try never to disappoint my Sonny Boy if I can help it. Plus, I can't cook for shit, while Lindsey's meals are pretty good, so it's either dinner at the girls' or takeout again here."

"I don't mind going to dinner," I say again, it's as if Brian needs reassurance of this.

"Okay. Um, just give me a minute and we'll get going." Brian says as he retreats into the bathroom.

I'm still standing frozen in the same place wondering how long this disconnect between my mind and my body will last.

~~*~~

Brian's POV

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Shit. He wasn't hard at all. He really doesn't want me. I thought before it was just the sense of obligation that was a turnoff for him. Or, he was just feeling too poorly. But maybe he's just not attracted to me at all. Now what do I do? I'm hard as a fucking rock and the gorgeous hot blond in my living room couldn't care less.  

Fuck it - I don't have time for anything other than a quick, unsatisfying whack off.  

Ten minutes later I come back out to the main room, ready to head out to the munchers' for dinner, and I find Justin standing in the very same place, in the very same position, where I left him. I'm about ready to break down myself at the thought of dealing with yet another crisis. What's wrong with him now, damn it? I take several deep breaths before approaching him to find out what can be done.

"Justin? What is it? What's wrong?" I ask, as patiently as I can at this point.  

"Huh?" Justin responds, turning to look at me as if he's just waking from a deep sleep.  

"Are you ready? You seem upset again. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. I'm ready."

Again, Justin responds, but seems so distant and closed. But I'm not going to take on another intervention today, so I just let it slide and head for the door, assuming that he will follow. I probably shouldn't have assumed anything though, since he remains rooted to that spot, almost oblivious to the fact that I'd moved. I turn back, place a hand on his shoulder and physically guide him towards the door. It seems that my touch is enough to motivate him, at least sufficiently so that we make it to the car.

Once we're at the Munchers' I let Lindz take over a bit so I can get a break. What I need right now is a drink, so I help myself to the bottle of scotch they keep in the kitchen. I know I told Justin I would be there for him, and I will if he'll let me, but I can't do it right this minute. I'm just a little too frustrated, too tired and a tad bit pissed off after everything that's happened today. Lindz is playing the perfect suburban hostess, which she loves to do every so often, so I just sit back, sip my scotch and let her.  

And Gus, well he's being his sweet little self, and I can at least relax enough to enjoy my time with my son.

~~*~~

Justin's POV

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I can tell Brian is angry with me. I knew he would be. I should have told him no. I should have left this morning. I should never have agreed to stay here. I can't be the person he wants me to be, and I know I should just leave, but . . . I wish I could find a way to stay.  

In the past two days I've actually felt happy for the first time in . . . I don't know how long. It hurts to feel again. But, now that I've felt it, I crave more. I know it's impossible. I know I shouldn't get my hopes up. But I would really like to feel a little bit happy again. I'd like to make Him happy. I know it's fucking impossible. I'm not the kind of person that gets to be happy. I'm not the kind of person who deserves happy. I'm definitely not capable of bringing happiness to others.  

I need to leave now. It's already too late to avoid getting hurt - it's gonna hurt like hell - but if I leave maybe it's not too late to keep the pain bearable.

All of these thoughts are going through my mind on an endless loop while my body just continues on autopilot. Sometimes I feel like a puppet - operated by strings someone else is pulling, and I can't even see who it is holding the strings, while my mind is off doing something completely different. There's no connection between what I'm thinking and how I'm acting. No one except me can tell this, though. No one else understands that sometimes I just have no control over my traitorous body.  

So here I am, sitting in this happy family home, pretending to follow along with the conversation but in reality having no clue what's going on around me. My mind is stuck in this rut. I need to get away, but I can't make my body move. It wants to stay.  

Gus is looking at me now with the oddest expression on his little face. His head is tilted to the side, his eyebrows drawn together and his mouth is all pursed up and sideways. I feel like a rare bug he's captured and is examining to see if maybe he should dissect it. I don't like it - it's as if he can see inside my jumbled mind and can sort through all my noisy thoughts to find some kernel of truth that even I'm not aware of. Okay, I know he's just a little kid, not even four yet, but that look is way too wise for his years and he's freaking me out.  

Before it gets too bad, though, Gus jumps up, runs out of the room and up the stairs and then returns straight away with a huge storage box full of crayons and a stack of drawing paper. He goes right to work, clearing off a space on the coffee table in front of where I'm sitting and then setting up his supplies. When everything is arranged the way he wants it, he points at the box of crayons.

"I don't think Mama will let us paint right now because it's too messy for right before dinner. So, we'll have to just color instead, Jus'n. Here's your paper. What should we color?" Gus says, already convinced that I'm joining him in his artistic pursuits.  

I shrug - it's the best I can do right now with my head still stuck on it's treadmill of worry.

"Well, I'm going to color a picture of me and Daddy playing soccer. He's really good at soccer and sometimes he takes me to the park and teaches me. You could color a picture of your Daddy, too, Jus'n," Gus suggests.

Panic. I'm NOT drawing my father. I'm not drawing anything. I need to get out of here, NOW.  

"I don't think Justin wants to color a picture like that Gus," Lindsey interrupts - she must have seen my nearly hysterical response.

"Okay. You can draw something else then, Jus'n. If you want, you can draw my Daddy too," the boy suggests, smiling up at Brian angelically.  

Watching Brian smiling back at his son with that doting, almost silly grin on his face, I think that maybe I can draw that. Yes, I'll color a picture of Gus' daddy, too. That suggestion doesn't make the panic well up inside. So, I draw Brian and Gus together.  

It comes out pretty good, too. When Gus is done with his picture, we exchange drawings - Gus says I can have his picture if he can keep mine. I nod my agreement as I study the picture of two stick figures - one taller than the other - with a black and white ball on the green surface between them, and large scribbled trees all around under a smiling yellow sun. It's the picture all kids are supposed to draw when they imagine their family. I'm glad Gus has that image in his mind. I've never had a picture like this, though.

"This is really good, Justin," Lindsey says, scrutinizing the drawing I made, which she's extricated from Gus' grubby paws. "I'm not kidding - I work in an art gallery here in town and I used to teach art at a local high school, so I know what I'm saying. You have some amazing potential. It's a little raw maybe, but with some training . . . Did you ever consider going to art school?"

That makes me laugh. Art school? Oh yeah - I'll get right on that, I think. Although, since I don't have an address, wherever will they mail my acceptance letter? What the fuck is she thinking? Most days the only thing I have the time to worry about is whether or not I'll have enough money to buy food. Art school - that's a good one.

"You should see the work he did for me this afternoon," Brian interjects, an almost proud tone to his voice. "Justin came up with some great ideas for a campaign I'm going to pitch for a potential client next week. And, his artwork was phenomenal. I can't wait to show it to the client. The CEO is this completely off the wall type and I just know she's going to go for the unconventional approach Justin came up with."

"That would be so cool, Jus'n. You should do it and then you could be an artist like Mommy or an 'Ad Zec' like Daddy," Gus decides to weigh in on my future career options. "They both have really fun jobs. Mama's job sounds fun too - she's an attorney and she gets to go to court and talk to judges and sometimes she breaks other attorneys balls - but she says she doesn't want me to be an attorney ‘cause I'm too nice and it's too mean a job. Since you're nice, you probably shouldn't be an attorney either. But you'd be a good Ad Zec or an artist."

Gus' little speech causes everyone to laugh, which thankfully gets them all off the topic of my career choices. Thank you, Gus. Melanie starts to explain to Gus that she doesn't really break anyone's balls, but Brian is laughing so hard and interrupting with snide comments so often, that Mel gives up. Gus has already moved on to his next drawing, so he really isn't paying any attention, anyway.

"Here, Jus'n. You can have this picture, too. That's me and Emily. She's my bestest friend at school. She gave me a red pencil yesterday - she had one blue one and one red one and she let me choose which one I wanted. She's real nice. Who's your bestest friend, Jus'n?"

"When I was about your age, I had a best friend named Daphne," I tell Gus while the adults are busy discussing something else. "She had the prettiest, curliest hair I'd ever seen. Sometimes she'd let me brush it if I was careful not to pull too hard. She used to always trade me her ham or turkey sandwiches for my peanut butter ones."

"That's nice. Is Daphne stil your friend?" Gus asks, innocently.

"No. I don't see her anymore."

"Why not?"

"My father didn't like her. He said she got me into too much trouble at school. So, he told me I couldn't see her anymore. And when I disobeyed and snuck out of the house one time to go to see her, my father made her parents agree not to let me visit any more. After that we stopped being friends." It's not the complete story, of course, but I wasn't going to tell Gus all the things my father said and what he threatened to do to me and to Daphne if I ever disobeyed him again.

"I think that's sad. Maybe now that you're all grown up you could be friends with Daphne again?" Gus suggests.

"I don't know where she lives anymore, Gus. Besides she probably wouldn't want to be my friend now anyway."

I didn't realize how quiet it had become in the room while Gus and I were speaking.  When I look up, three sets of eyes are staring at me. Damn it.  It's too hard to keep my guard up around Gus. He's too innocent and trusting. I want to take it all back or sink into the cushions of the couch or maybe just disappear. I wish they would all stop looking at me.

Good thing Gus comes to the rescue again. He pipes up to ask how much longer it will be till dinner, which serves to break the tension. In short order dinner is served and I manage to make it through the rest of the night without embarrassing myself any further. Hopefully they've all forgotten my little story about Daphne - at least for now.

~~*~~

Brian's POV

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Gus asks me to read him a story after supper and then I put him to bed. He is the only person I've ever felt comfortable with when it comes to talking about difficult topics like emotions. He asks me questions now about Justin that I'm not sure how to answer, though.  

"Daddy, why is Jus'n always so sad?" Gus starts off with probably the toughest question of all.

"I don't know, Sonny Boy. I think he's had a pretty hard life."

"I wish he wasn't so sad. I wish I could make him be happier," Gus opines.

"Me too, Sonny Boy. Me too," I say as I bend to give the boy a kiss goodnight on his forehead. "Happy dreams, Sonny Boy."

"Thank you, Daddy. I always have happy dreams after you kiss me goodnight," Gus says as he snuggles deeper under his covers. "Maybe you should give Jus'n a goodnight kiss tonight too. That way he'd have happy dreams and wouldn't be so sad tomorrow."

"That's not a bad idea, Sonny Boy. It's worth a try at least," I agree. "Now, no more talking. It's off to dreamland with you."

~~*~~

Justin's POV

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It feels later than it actually is. All the time I've been on the streets I've always felt perpetually tired. So why is it that tonight I feel more exhausted than I can ever remember? I think it's because I've lost some of the numbness.  

As soon as we get to the loft Brian suggests I shower and get into bed. He says I look tired and that he's afraid I did too much today. He thinks I'm still too ill to be up and about all day like this. I would argue with him if I had the energy.

The hot shower feels so good on my tired, sore muscles and my cold skin. This is another thing that will be hard to leave. I relish the feeling of clean and warm together. The bed is also clean and the covers are warm. The mattress is soft and welcoming.  

I'm almost asleep when Brian finishes his shower and slides into the bed next to me. I'm lying on my side facing towards Him. I automatically tense up as He nears. I'm afraid He'll want to touch me. I'm afraid He won't want to touch me.  

"Happy dreams, Sunshine," is all Brian says as he leans down to place a kiss on my forehead before rolling onto his back and closing his eyes.

As tired as I am, though, sleep doesn't come right away. Images from the day keep rolling in my mind: Breakfast with Brian, Gus and Linsdsey; Later at the Diner where Brian kissed me in front of everyone; Here at the loft, working together with Brian on the presentation; Brian holding me, stroking me, his obvious desire pressing into me, his lips on my neck.  

Damn it. I want these things again. Even though I know I don't deserve these feelings and shouldn't want them.  

I wish I was able to have happy dreams. I can already feel the bad ones licking at the edges of my consciousness though. What are happy dreams, I wonder?

~~*~~

*Bang, bang, bang.* Shit. 'Just a minute.' Maybe I can finish. 'You open this door right this minute, young man, or you'll live to regret it.' Fuck, not now - I'm so close. Just. One. More. Minute.

*Crash*. 'What in the name of God do you think you're doing you filthy, disgusting pervert. Get your hands off yourself this instant.'  

He's pulling me by the hair, dragging me out of the bathroom. It fucking hurts.

'Dad, please, stop. Please let go of me, it hurts. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

At least the magazine closed when it fell - he can't tell which picture I was looking at. Fuck, he hasn't even let me pull up my pants. I'm so fucked this time.

'Justin Taylor, this is the most disgusting display of perversion I've ever had the displeasure to experience. How dare you molest yourself like this. You know this is a sin, don't you? Answer me when I ask you a question, boy!'

'Yes, Sir.' I'm standing in front of him with my head bowed. If I don't argue too much, maybe this will end quickly.

'I don't think you do understand. You're far too flippant, young man. Get down on your knees this instant and start praying that the Lord can somehow, someday, find a way to forgive you.'

I'm down on my knees. I'm pretending to pray. Mostly I'm just trying to listen to figure out where he's gone and what he's likely to do next. Shit, he comes back with a leather belt in his hands.

'Hands behind your back, young man,' he orders and I don't dare disobey.

Instead of hitting me with the belt, though, he's using it to tie my hands together behind me.

'Since you can't seem to control yourself, I'll have to teach you how. You will stay here praying on your knees with your hands tied so you won't be tempted into further sin until you've learned control, young man. I don't want to ever, EVER, see or hear you molesting yourself again, do you hear me? NEVER. You are a dirty, sick, perverted boy who has no sense of decency. You are not to move out of that spot until you can prove to me you've learned your lesson. Do you hear me, boy?'

'Yes, Sir.' I groan, realizing now that this isn't going to end anytime soon.

Hours later, he finally returns. I'm swaying, trying to stay up on aching sore knees. My shoulders ache from having my arms pulled back at such an uncomfortable angle. My hands are numb from lack of circulation.

'Have you learned your lesson young man?'

'Yes, Sir. Please, Sir, can you please untie me now, it hurts.'

I'm not sure you've fully learned your lesson, boy. Let's test your resolve.'

He's got the magazine I was looking at earlier. He's looking through the pages. I don't even know which pages he's looking at, but just remembering, I'm getting hard again. Fuck. Not now. Please not now.

'I thought so. You're still unrepentant. You goddamned disgusting pervert. If your hands weren't tied you'd be all over yourself with lust again, wouldn't you? That's fine with me, boy. You'll stay here all night if necessary and if that's what it takes. You will never touch yourself inappropriately again in this house. DO YOU HEAR ME? Do you? You are going to learn to keep your dick and your hands under control. And until you do, you'll be spending all your time here on your knees, praying for God's help.'

He tosses the contents of whatever he's been drinking in my face. The alcohol stings in my eyes but the pain and the cold at least get rid of my hard on. At least until he comes back for the next test.

~~*~~

Disoriented. Confused. I'm awake but I can't remember at first where I am.  

"Justin? Shhh. It's okay. Just another dream," Brian whispers, only half awake, spooning around me even more closely.

I remember the dream this time. I remember what he used to do to me. How could my own father have done that to me? I wish I didn't remember the dream.  

I can't stop shaking. Brian must sense my fear now too. He's holding onto me more tightly. He's rubbing my shoulder, my back, my stomach, anywhere skin can touch skin.

"Shhh, Justin. I'm here. You'll be okay. Can you tell me what's wrong?" Brian is mumbling whatever words he thinks will help calm me.

"I remembered something. Something about my father. I'm scared, Brian. I'm so scared."

"It's okay, Justin. Your father isn't here now. He can't hurt you," Brian says, trying to comfort me by leaving a string of tender little kisses along my neck and jaw between his words.

"It's too late. He's already hurt me. I'm broken. There's a hole inside me where my father tore out whatever I was before. The empty hole is so big, it hurts and there's no way to fix it."

"I know about the holes. I have a few myself still," Brian empathizes. "They get smaller over time, though. I can help if you let me."

I'm still trembling. I don't know how to make it stop. It feels like the only thing keeping me in place is Brian with his tight grip on me.  

"What can I do? How can I help you, Justin." Brian sounds worried.

"Don't let go. Please don't let go."