Chapter 15 - Disclosure.

Disclosure: The act of making new or previously secret information known.

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Justin's POV

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Brian is back almost before I notice he's gone. He's got a large glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. That's strange - his hands are shaking and he's having trouble getting the bottle open. I take it from him, open it easily and dump several into my palm without bothering to count them, then swallow before handing the bottle and the empty glass back to him.  

Brian kindly just lets me sit for a few minutes until the aspirin starts to take effect. He's still sitting on his knees in front of me when I finally open my eyes.  His face looks blanked out - like someone took an eraser to it to try to wipe off all the emotions. But, his eyes shine through full of pain and fear and . . . Guilt?

"Justin, I'm so fucking sorry. I don't know what to say - normally I'd be the first one to tell you that saying 'I'm sorry' is bullshit, that it's what you do that counts and by the time you get around to 'sorry' it's too late, but, really, this time I mean it. I had no idea this would happen and I'm kicking myself for what I did. I really, truly am sorry . . . "

"Brian, stop," I say, grabbing one of his flailing hands to halt his incessant apology.  "I have no idea what you're talking about, Brian."

He lets out his breath in a whoosh then, not quite looking me in the eyes, he starts to explain. "It was me. I did this  . . . I didn't mean to but . . . I was, um, playing with you, you see. I woke up early and you were still sleeping but you had this huge boner. It's the first time I saw you like that since you got here, and I couldn't resist. I started rubbing you and I was getting pretty hard myself and . . . Well, the next thing I know you're crying and crawling away from me and then . . ."

"Oh. Yeah, well, that would probably do it," I respond, maybe a tad too nonchalantly.

"What? What do you mean, 'that would do it'? Are you accusing me of something? I swear I didn't know that any of this would happen, Justin."

"No, Brian. I'm not saying that at all. It's just that, I can see where that would set me off. It's kinda happened before, so I can see why what you did would cause the same reaction."

"This, THIS, has happened before? What happened at the Diner was bad enough, but you're telling me this happens to you so often that you're not surprised by it at all? Fuck!" Brian curses as he collapses backward until his body is leaning against the edge of the bed, his mouth open slightly in pain and a single tear running down his left cheek.

"Brian? What I meant was that you didn't do this. It's not your fault. Please, Brian. Don't do this," I'm still struggling with the pain and fuzzy-headedness from the migraine and I'm not sure how to fix this but I'm sure that I don't like seeing Brian this sad and vulnerable.

When Brian still doesn't respond, I'm sure that he's had that change of heart I knew was coming. I knew that what was inside me was ugly and probably too much for anyone to handle. Brian had no idea what he was setting himself up for when he proposed this whole 'therapy' idea. I guess it was always only a matter of time before he came to his senses.

"I knew this was a bad idea. I'm sorry for scaring you. Just give me a minute and I'll be out of your hair," I start to get up but his strong hand darts out quickly to stop me.

"Stop. You're not going. Just . . . just give me a couple minutes to process this, okay. But, don't leave, please."

So we sit together on the floor for a long time while Brian thinks. When he finally has a grip on himself, he pulls me with him back onto the bed and tugs the blankets up to wrap around us. I hadn't realized how cold it was sitting on the hard wood floor for so long. We're both half frozen, but Brian's hands chafe against my arms allowing friction generated heat to build up and surround us.

He's really a good man. I can't believe he would be willing to do this - to put up with this. It really wasn't his fault either. I wouldn't have minded in the least if he wanted to play with me - not that I'd be able to stay hard for long, probably, but I wouldn't have minded if I'd been awake. I'm just not good with getting taken by surprise with that type of thing, you know.  

It has happened before, twice, when I've made the mistake of falling asleep when I was with a John. They were both pretty freaked out too - of course neither of them took me back into their bed and held me until I felt better, either.  All in all, Brian is handling this rather well, I would say.

But, I wouldn't hold it against him if he decides he wants to back out of our arrangement now that he has a better idea of what it involves.

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Brian's POV

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I can't believe he's so complaisant and unconcerned by these episodes. I'm still shaking. Watching him just about scares the shit out of me and I'm not the one reliving the nightmares. Once again I wonder if I can do this. Can I help him at all, or am I only going to make it worse?

"Brian, it's really okay. You can do whatever you want to me. Just make sure I'm really awake first. If not, sometimes my brain gets a little confused is all. I wouldn't mind if you want to play with me, in fact I'd really like it if you would. You said we couldn't fuck, but . . ." Justin offers, completely unconcerned.

I just barely manage to hide the shudder the idea of touching him now brings on.  It's not this kid's fault. But I'm not touching him again until some of this shit gets resolved no matter how itchy my dick gets.

"You were talking to someone and crying. Do you remember what that was about - what happened to bring that on?" I ask, the morbid curiosity too much for me.

"No. That one, I never remember. I just wake up with a migraine that hurts Iike a mother."

"What did I do to bring it on? It wasn't just because I touched you - we touch all the time. Maybe not like that, but in other intimate ways. And I'm sure you've . . . well when you were hustling you let them touch you. You don't always have that reaction?"

"No. I told you, it's only when I'm not quite awake. The rest of the time, I'm fine. Wanna test it out," he says, waggling his eyebrows at me, still trying to distract me.  

"I don't think so, Sunshine. Sorry, but I'm still freaking a little here," I say, but I try to smile to lessen the impact of my words.

Right then my alarm finally goes off, causing both Justin and me to jump but breaking the tension as well. This is not how I thought I'd be spending the last two hours. Too bad my other plans didn't work out. I can't believe what an ass I was, though. I can't say I don't regret what I caused here this morning. And I'm definitely sorry, even if the words themselves are bullshit. I promise myself not to ever cause Justin to have that reaction again if I can help it. The only problem is that until I know what exactly triggered this episode I won't know what not to do. Which means we'll have to pursue this a lot further, no matter how tough it is. We have a fun night ahead of us, I'm afraid.

"We should talk more about this tonight, Sunshine. But for now let's get up and showered and I need to get to work. I need to finalize that campaign you thought up. Do you want to come or stay here today?"

"I'll come with you to work," Justin says eagerly. "Can I help with the final display boards?"

"I was hoping you'd offer. Come on, Sunshine."

The rest of the day goes great. I spend the morning in meetings while Justin is happily ensconced in his spot at the empty desk in the art department. From what he told me later as well as what I heard from Ted and other employees, he is getting along with everyone and has been coaxed into helping out on a couple of additional projects already. I have lunch brought in rather than subject Justin to another trip to the Diner with the accompanying Novotny family drama.

After lunch we take a field trip over to Ript Gym for a photo shoot using some of my buddies for the Daddies’ Board Shop campaign. Justin, I think, enjoys himself there, although I'm not sure what he thinks about all the guys coming on to him and handing him phone numbers. He's smiling when we leave though so I'm not going to worry too much.  

So we get through the day without any further drama. Although I'm still on edge and feel like I'm walking on eggshells all day waiting for another episode. I'm not looking forward to night two of our therapy plan. I don't think Justin is either since he seems to get jumpier as the clock nears 6:00. And, since I feel we can both use a little fortification before our little private session, I decide to risk a stop at Woody's on the way home.

Since Ben, Michael has become a lot more of a homebody these days. Which means I rarely see him out at the bar or the club on weeknights. Unfortunately, tonight seems to be one of the few nights he's not home trimming his pubes with the professor. Instead he's propped against the bar just waiting as Justin and I come in the door.

It's not that I don't like seeing Michael, don't get me wrong. I love him like a brother, but he doesn't always think before he opens his mouth. Strike that - he never thinks before he opens his mouth. His greeting to us is a case in point.

"Hey, Brian! About time you got here. I was just about to call you," Michael crows as soon as he sees me, completely ignoring Justin. "Are you going to Babylon later? Ben has some faculty meeting tonight so I'm free all night if you want to hang out. I just talked to Em and he's on his way over with his latest squeeze, some doctor type, I guess. I think he's maybe a shrink or something. Hey, maybe he could take a look at your pet twink over there for you. . . "

I watch as Justin's eyes get huge at the mere mention of meeting with a doctor. Way to go, Mikey!

"Good evening, Michael. It's lovely to see you tonight as well. My pet twink here, who by the way does have a name, would probably greet you as well if you had been polite enough to say hello to him," I begin the manners lesson as I pull out the barstool next to my friend. "Now, as for the rest of your breathless diatribe, no, I'm not going to Babylon tonight - Justin and I already have plans - and, further, we won't be asking Emmett's latest fuck to examine Justin, regardless of whether or not he's a real doctor. Now, how about you start this conversation over, more politely, and say hello to Justin before you launch into planning my social calendar for the night."

"Shut up, you asshole," is Michael's predictable response. "I get enough lectures on fucking manners from Ma and Ben. Lay off, won't ya. Sorry, Justin. I didn't mean anything by all that."

"See, Justin. I told you that underneath that rude exterior was a cranky, slightly less rude, young man," I comment, eliciting a small chuckle from Justin, who visibly relaxes on the barstool next to me.

We manage to survive the rest of the next hour at the bar with the guys. Emmett's new love interest turned out to be a podiatrist, NOT a psychiatrist, which goes a long way towards reassuring Sunshine. And Ted shows up, too, after not much longer, which is good because he's always served as a moderating influence on Michael - at least when Ben isn't around. So we end up leaving Woody's a little more relaxed than before and I'm sort of ready for another night trying to crack Justin's shell.

"Do you want to stop for dinner on the way home or just order in?" I ask as we get into the Vette.

Justin's lack of response gets my attention at once. I'm not sure why a simple question like where or what we should eat should stump him so badly. He's doing the lip chewing thing though so I know there's some problem. It's a sure sign that we should just get to the loft and get started on our work anyway, so I don't bother stopping on the way.

As soon as we get inside I try a little experiment. I hand Justin a stack of take out menus. It's quite a handful - I don't edit any out, but instead give him the whole shebang.

"Why don't you pick something out for us to eat," I direct him, immediately walking away to change out of my business suit.

When I come back five minutes later, he's still standing in the same spot with all the menus in his hands, looking down at the pile but not going through them. It's as if he's frozen in time. He obviously can't deal with making this choice - a choice most people wouldn't find difficult in the least. Just decide what type of food you're hungry for, find a decent looking restaurant that serves that kind of food, look at the menu and choose your entree and then call in your order. I pretty much do it daily. Justin can't, though.

Taking the menus out of his hands, I lean my forehead against his and smile to reassure him it's okay. Then I send him off to wait on the couch while I order Thai and grab two beers from the fridge for us. Time to get started.

"What's the food thing about, Sunshine?" I ask to get the ball rolling.

"Um. I just . . . I can't choose, you know. It's too much. Too much to choose from. How do you pick from so much," Justin is having trouble explaining.

"It's more than just that, though," I try to frame my question better to help him focus on a real answer. "You can't choose what you want to eat a lot of the time, I see that, and I even kind of get it that someone who’s been living on the streets without much to eat would have trouble dealing with an overabundance like that. But there's also what happens when you don't think you can finish your meal and you get all nervous. Then there's the time you broke down crying when I tried to give you that piece of chocolate cake. So talk to me, Sunshine. Tell me about the food shit."

"He used food to control me." Justin answers simply with a tiny shrug as if that were a normal thing to say.

"Your father?"

"Yeah. If I didn't do what he wanted he would lock me in my room and I wouldn't get food for days sometimes," Justin's explanation is given so calmly and he speaks with too little emotion as he says these things - that's almost as frightening to me as what he's saying. "He had the only key. My mother was afraid of what he'd do to me if she went against him, so she mostly wouldn't try to stop him. Only if it went on for more than a few days - then I'd sometimes hear her arguing with him to let me out."

"When I did get to eat, he would watch me sometimes. He was very particular about my manners and that I not wolf down my food or spill or anything like that. And he didn't like it if I wasted food. If I didn't eat everything I was served, I wouldn't get anything to eat the next meal. Even when it was something I didn't like. Once he even made me eat scraps out of the trash as punishment for complaining about something I didn't like."

"Lots of times when I was being punished he'd make me sit at the table and watch while they ate. That was really hard - if my stomach growled or I said anything, it usually meant another meal added to my punishment. And sometimes he'd even put food in front of me but I wasn’t allowed to touch it - those times it was often something really good, like a dessert - something I really wanted but I knew if I took it I would just get in even more trouble.”

“The worst times were when he’d put the food down in front of me and then change his mind and take it away. I never knew what to expect - sometimes he was actually nice, you know, buying food I really liked as a treat. But I didn’t ever know when he would change his mind and take it away. So I learned not to start eating until I was sure he wouldn’t take the food away. That’s one of the reasons that I sometimes can’t choose what to eat - I get a little bit crazy and worry that whatever I choose, especially if it’s something I really want, it will be taken away.”

“That explains the cake I guess,” I offer.

“No. that wasn’t the problem with the cake, Brian. That was just me being a bit overwhelmed. It was the first night I was here and I didn’t really know you. I didn’t know if you were serious about giving me all this stuff and the food. It was so good. I hadn’t had that much real food in so long and then you gave me the cake and I just felt like it was too much. Too good to be true, you know?” Justin explains. “That didn’t have anything to do with my father. Well, not really. Except that I felt guilty about not eating it after you offered it to me because I knew not to turn down whatever I’m given.”

That happened to be when the door buzzed, announcing our dinner had arrived. I got up, paid for the food and Justin helped me bring it back over to where we’d been sitting on the couch. I watched as he made a concerted effort to choose his own food and fill his own bowl without waiting for my approval. I could tell it was hard for him but I was really glad he was trying. We shared a little insider smile after he sat down with his full bowl and started eating.

“What was it that he was punishing you for? How old were you - fourteen, fifteen? - what could you possibly be doing that was bad enough to lock you in your room without food?” I ask after we’ve both had a few mouthfuls of Pad Thai.  

“Anything, really. If I made a mess and didn’t clean it up before he saw it. If I talked back to him,” Justin is talking more freely now, opening up, but I still feel a little odd listening to him talk about these things without seeing more anger from him. “Before he pulled me out of school, I started getting into trouble a lot in class and he would punish me for that. Sometimes I didn’t know what he was punishing me for, but he would always come up with some excuse, even when I knew what he was telling me wasn’t the real reason. Like what happened with Daphne.”

“And there was other . . .  stuff.”

This last part is added in a much different voice than Justin was using before. It’s quiet and I can hear the pain coming through finally. Whatever the ‘other stuff’ was that he was punished for was a lot more serious than what he’d been disclosing so far. I’m just about to ask about this other stuff, but Justin gets up abruptly and starts cleaning up the coffee table and the take out cartons and puttering about. He really isn’t ready to talk about the other stuff right now, I decide. Plus, after this morning and everything thing we’ve dealt with tonight, I figure it’s enough. So I decide to let it slide for now.

When he finally finishes cleaning, and comes back to sit next to me, he’s calmer but still looks like he’ll bolt if I try to pursue the substance of our last conversation. But I head off on a completely different and, hopefully easier, tack.

“So, what can I do to help you with the food issues, Sunshine? You don’t really want me to always decide for you what you’re going to eat? You’re amazingly open about eating what I’m choosing but it can’t always be what you want. So, tell me - what do we do about this?”

“I don’t mind you choosing,” Justin says with a big smile at me. “Really. So far it’s all been pretty good.”

“That’s not the point, Sunshine. I don’t like playing the adoring gentleman who picks his date’s meals for him. You need to choose for yourself. And you need to feel comfortable telling me no when you don’t want something. Any ideas how we work that?” I ask.

He shrugs and shakes his head. Oddly enough, discussing how to get him to start making his own choices about food is more uncomfortable for him than talking about the abuse he suffered for years at his father’s hands. I marvel again at the crazy and horrible things parents do to their kids.  

“Okay. I have an idea - it’s something that Lindsey does with Gus, amazingly enough. I know it’s sort of silly, but maybe it will work. Lindsey has been trying to teach Gus not to be such a picky eater, especially when he’s out to dinner or eating at someone else’s house. Gus knows that he isn’t supposed to turn down foods he doesn’t want in those situations because it would be rude, but Lindsey also wants to give him a little out sometimes - sort of a reward for not being rude. So they set up this signal where Gus can tell his mom when he doesn’t like something he’s been offered. If he doesn’t act out and make a rude fuss, she lets him not eat whatever it is. The food just sits on his plate but he doesn’t have to eat it.”

“I know that’s sort of childish, but maybe we can adapt the idea? If you don’t think you’re up to ordering for yourself, for now, you can just tell me. Maybe just say, ‘what do you think’ or something like that. It can be our secret code. Then I’ll order what I think you like. But, if you don’t like what I choose, you can just give me a signal, and I’ll know to pick something else.”

“What kind of signal?” Justin asks, his tentative smile lets me know he’s actually excited about this idea.

“Whatever you want. It should be something simple and something that won’t draw attention, though.” After thinking for a moment or two, I offer an idea, “how about if you just tap my arm? It’s simple and no one will notice it even if we’re out in public. How does that sound? Can you do that even though it’s a bit childish? That way we can work up to you making more and more of the decisions. What do you think.”

“I think you’re brilliant, Brian,” Justin says, beaming his full sunshine smile at me and then scooting over so he can wrap his arms around me for hug and a long, happy kiss.