Chapter 3 - Refuge.

Refuge: A place of shelter, protection or safety.

Previously:  “I pull out my keys as the lift reaches the top floor and unlock the door to the loft.  I usher him inside and pull the door shut - the unmistakable metal clang ensuring our finally being alone and home.”

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Brian's POV

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The boy just stands there looking around him as if he's in some alien spaceship after having been forcibly abducted. It's like he's been living on the streets for so long that he doesn't remember what the inside of a building looks like or what to do once he's there. I tentatively stretch out one hand to touch him on the arm to guide him further inside, but my touch causes him to flinch violently so I drop my hand to my side.

"Justin," I speak to him calmly and in a hushed voice - the way you would speak to a frightened animal. "This is my loft. You're going to stay here with me tonight.  Okay?"

He looks into my eyes, but there is still so little comprehension visible there that I'm not sure he's even heard me. I'm going to have to take charge a little more forcefully, I decide.

"Why don't you start with a shower? Follow me and I'll show you the bathroom," I say as I take three steps towards the bedroom, beckoning towards him with my hand.  

I'm relieved to see that he's following me, always keeping at least ten feet between us. I walk up the three steps to the bedroom and turn to the left into the bath. Unfortunately, the confined space will no longer allow Justin to maintain his distance, so he halts outside the room, staring with a distressed look on his pale countenance. I'm going to have to get a bit more forceful if we're going to get anything done here today.

"Justin.  Come here, now," I direct, pointing to the tile floor right beside me.

The shy blond shuffles into the room obediently, his gaze directed downward, and stands where I've indicated. He will not look me in the eyes, though.

"I want you to take a shower now, and don't forget to wash your hair. When you're done, put your dirty clothes and the towel in the hamper over there and put on these clean clothes," I order, handing him the bag of clothing which we brought from the hospital. "Then, once you're dressed, come back out to the kitchen and we'll get some food. Do you understand, Justin?"

All I get is a small nod. He doesn't actually make a move towards the shower, though, and he's still avoiding looking at me directly. I figure that I'll give him some space and see what happens, so I smile at him reassuringly and back out the door, closing it after me. I hear the water in the shower turning on almost immediately, so I head out to the kitchen to look through my pile of take out menus and decide what we'll have for dinner.

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Justin's POV

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It's way too clean here - that's my first thought as I step through the door of his place. I'm afraid to go in because I don't want to get anything dirty. They kinda cleaned me up back at the hospital, I guess, but I still don't feel clean enough to be in a beautiful place like this. So I just stand still by the door, not knowing what to do.

That's when He touches my arm and it feels like a jolt of electricity zaps through me. I don't mean to jump the way I do, it's just that, on the streets, except when you're deliberately selling yourself for the cash, nobody ever touches you - at least not without the intent to do something bad to you - so it surprises me when He touches me like that. It didn't feel bad though - I kinda didn't mind Him touching me and I wish I hadn't flinched like that because it made Him pull his hand away.  

That's when He tells me that I'm going to be staying here with Him tonight. He says my name so softly - I've never heard anyone say my name like that and it makes this small prickling of pain start up in my gut. I get to stay HERE, with HIM? This just makes no sense. This can't be right. I mean it was kind of Him and Emmett and that lady to take me to the hospital when I passed out and all, but why would He bring me here to stay with him? I don't understand at all. He doesn't act like a normal John at all.

When He adds that I get to take a shower, I almost moan aloud with the anticipation. I don't even remember when the last time I had a real shower was. I don't think the occasional quick, cold shower at the local mens’ shelter, where I sometimes stay when it’s just too bitterly cold out even for me, counts.

I know He must be thinking I'm incredibly stupid because He's talking to me like He would to a child. It's not that I'm an idiot. I just can't believe that this is happening. I really do understand His words, I just can't believe that these nice things He's saying are directed at me.

Finally, I sense He's losing his temper or something since His voice gets louder and more demanding. He orders me to His side. I'm ashamed that I'm acting like this - like a complete idiot or something - I can't even look at Him I'm so embarrassed.  

I feel even worse when He starts to explain to me again that I should shower, wash my hair and dress in clean clothes - He must think I'm mentally impaired or something. Shit. I don't want Him to get that impression of me - I just can't quite get ahold of my reeling brain yet - nice things like this don't happen to people like me and it's really throwing me.  

Finally He leaves and I find that without Him here to distract me, I can actually function. I quickly pull off my clothes and head for the shower stall. Having already turned on the water and let it warm, when I step under the spray a cross between a sigh and a moan passes my lips. The water feels amazing on my skin and I am so grateful to be able to take a hot shower again. Using His soap, I clean every bit of my body. I love the scent of His soap - 'sandalwood' - the name of the perfume comes to my mind from somewhere in my distant past. Then I wash my hair three times and use the conditioner I find as well. It feels so luxurious that I'm reluctant to ever get out. But, I don't want to anger my Host either, so I eventually turn the water off, dress and head back out to the main room where He's waiting for me.

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Brian’s POV

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The boy sure does clean up well, I have to give him that. He still looks almost deathly pale, when he finally decides to venture back out of the bathroom, but the grey tinge to his skin is gone. His eyes are looking a little bit less haunted. The clothes I had Ted get are baggy and probably came from the Big Q, but even with that camouflage, I can tell his body is very nice. And, that glorious mop of long golden hair is, well, glorious. He could obviously use a hair cut but other than that he's simply beautiful - I try to tamp that lesbionic thought down as fast as it arises but it's not going away because the truth of it is standing right next to me. This boy is damn hot.  

"That's much better, Sunshine," I say, the silly pet name I heard Debbie using for the boy earlier falling so easily from my tongue. "You look practically human now.  So, come here and tell me what you want for dinner - I thought we'd order from the deli down the street tonight, if that's okay with you."

I show him the menu and he looks at it for several minutes. I'm just about to give up and order for him, when he shyly points to a small sandwich near the bottom of the a la carte section of the menu. He's biting his lip and darting sidewise glances at me as if he's afraid of something. Is he afraid I'll think he's being greedy if he orders a real dinner? His reticence is making me angry, although I'm not sure if I'm angry at him or at whatever the circumstances are that have left this kid in such a deplorable state

Thinking back over what the 'At Home Care' instructions from the hospital said about the boy's severe state of malnutrition, I mentally double that portion and decide to order him a green salad and a side of pasta as well. Oh, and better get him something sweet for dessert, too. This boy could use a couple of pounds on him as much as he needed that shower.

While I'm ordering the food, Justin wanders off looking around the loft. I'm just glad he's not standing there catatonic anymore. I get distracted by a call from Ted at the office as soon as I hang up with the deli, and don't notice what happens to the boy in the meantime. When I finally get Ted straightened out and pocket my cell phone, I look around and immediately get concerned since I can't see Justin anymore. While the loft isn’t exactly small, the open floor plan makes it fairly simple to look around and locate someone in the main rooms pretty quickly. The fact that I didn’t see Justin right away made me think that he’d gone into the bedroom or bath. Since I was curious about what my silent companion might be up to, I quickly trotted up to the bedroom to see if I could find him. A cursory look around, though, didn’t turn up any hot young blonds, so I headed back out to the main room.

By this point I was starting to get a little nervous about what the boy could be doing. Did he somehow leave while I was on the phone with Ted? I didn’t think so, but if not, where could he be? I was about to begin hollering out for the boy, when I happen to step to the far side of the sofa and notice that several of the cushions are missing. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse the bright white fabric of one cushion lying on the floor in the corner between the bedroom and the entertainment center. On closer inspection, I find my missing blondie - huddled in a ball on the floor atop a pile of cushions and partially hidden by the free-standing CD holder and a floor lamp.  He is sound asleep, a light little snore issuing from his stuffy nose.

“Oh, Sunshine,” I whisper, the forlorn sight eliciting all sorts of silly emotions that I'm not about to acknowledge.  

I grab a spare blanket out of the closet and cover him up, deciding to let him sleep where he is for the time being.  

I head over to my desk and spend the next twenty minutes working on the campaign for Daddies' Board Shop* - an up and coming skateboard, snowboard and ski manufacturer whose income last year, surprisingly enough, topped $5 million. Who knew that catering to a bunch of ski bunny slackers could be such big business? The company had come to my attention a couple of months ago when I met the CEO and her son at a social event in New York. They were floundering with their unexpected success and I knew I could lure them into the Kinnetik fold with a more structured advertising campaign. I had preliminary boards and a stack of ideas from my art department with me but nothing had really struck me yet as being that one perfect idea. I fumble around a bit with some additional brainstorming but toss it all aside when the buzzer rings to let me know our dinner is finally here.

After I pay for the food and carry the take out bags over to the coffee table along with some drinks, I notice that my guest is no longer sleeping peacefully. Justin is thrashing about on his pile of pillows, his head tossing from side to side and little whimpering noises coming from his cracked, sore looking lips. I start over towards him, intending to wake the boy from his nightmare and bring him over to eat.

Watching this sad hurt little boy in the throes of his dream, my anger is almost boiling over - how could anyone let this happen to such an enchanting boy? What hell has this kid been through in his short life already that could make him writhe in his sleep like this. I’m struggling with this feeling that I somehow need to make this right - to protect and care for this boy that I don’t even know and who has only said six words to me in the past two days. Why do I feel so protective of this little street kid?

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Justin's POV

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I am brought to consciousness, my breathing erratic and heart racing. I sit up abruptly and try to calm myself as the chaos of my thoughts drowns out reality. I had been in the grasp of a nightmare filled with familiarity. As I calm, I start thinking back, trying to remember, but stop myself, deciding it may be better just not knowing at this moment, or ever.

I hear shuffling behind me and I turn my body around quickly to see the outline of a figure making its way towards me. The room is dark. Even though I think it’s still pretty early, it’s winter, so the sun sets around six in the evening and nobody has turned any lights on in this area of the loft yet. As the figure nears me, though, I can finally make out His face and realize who it is. He looks at me, questions in His eyes. I drop my gaze and look away, ashamed, and bring my knees up to my chest, hiding my head between my legs and my chest, huddling deeper into my nest of pillows and a blanket I don’t remember.

I feel the large cushion under me dip as He kneels next to me, but the man makes no move or attempt to touch me. We sit there for an undetermined amount of time, until my breathing has evened out. Taking a deep breath, releasing it and taking another I am finally able to get my thoughts in order. I still feel so tired - I don’t remember ever being this tired before, which says a lot after having been on the streets as long as I’ve been. I long to go back to sleep and feel like I could sleep for weeks, months, more maybe. But then the uneasiness from the nightmare creeps back to my consciousness and I shy away from sleep again.  

Before, if I had awakened in the night, I never seemed to be able to fall back asleep. Did I always have nightmares before? Were they the reason for my loss of sleep? I had become readily accustomed to so few hours of sleep while on the streets. Sleeping in the cold, in whatever hole I could find, wasn’t exactly conducive to a good night’s sleep to start with, but what if there was something more to it? Did I want to know? Not really.

The man must have been reading the emotions racing across my face. He had risen to stand in front of me, holding out His hand for mine, His head turned away. Grateful, I put my hand in His, briefly enjoying the strength and warmth being connected provide. I allow Him to pull me to my feet and I admire His patience as we make our way towards the couch. He sits himself down and pulls me onto His lap, His arms closing about me. I don’t know what to do with these feelings of comfort and caring - they are completely alien to me - but, I don’t dislike them so I try to will my body to relax into the comforting embrace. Finally, I manage to let go of the tension in me enough to lay my head back against His shoulder. Finding this to be a comfortable spot, I close my eyes and wait, completely at a loss as to what is coming next.

Just as the feeling of comfort seeps into me, a different feeling arises and pain erupts in my chest, taking my breath away. My body becomes rigid and I feel moisture pooling in my eyes. Instinctively I know the pain isn’t physical, but that knowledge brings me no peace of mind. Part of the pain is fear. Why is this man being so kind to me? What happens to me now? Will I be able to live back on the streets - survive - after this?

Part of the pain is anger. Who did my father think he was to condemn me to this life? Part of the pain is anguish. How did I end up alone? Why can’t I be loved? Is there something wrong with me? The pain was many other things, in a way it was everything that is me, but these were the parts of most importance.

The arms wrap around me even tighter, locking me in a warm, secure embrace. The man doesn’t say a word, but I know that He’s there and worrying about me. I fret over the fact that I’m such a bother to Him and after He’s been so nice. I’m so much trouble. Why is He bothering? He doesn’t let me go though, even when I struggle a little to try to get away. His arms stay strongly around me, holding me together until the panicky feelings start to subside. The pain doesn’t go away. Not completely, but it subsides just enough when he is holding me.

“Are you hungry, Sunshine,” He whispers into my ear as soon as my breathing has calmed enough that He can tell I’m going to be okay.  

I nod, loving the feeling of His strong chest against my cheek as I move my head. I love the feeling and the sound of the small chuckle He makes then, the vibrations rippling through my skin and matching the low throaty sounds of His laugh. Why do we have to move?  I don’t want to ever leave here - this particular time and space is perfect. Even though I am hungry, I wish I didn’t have to move right now. The man squeezes me once more, though, and then shifts my body off His lap so He can lean forward and arrange several take out boxes of food.

Food. It smells so good. I got several meals while I was in the hospital yesterday and this morning, but it was the same tasteless, bland food you get at the shelters or the soup kitchens. Whatever was making these smells was REAL food and I hadn’t had much real food in such a very long, long time. I was salivating like a dog waiting for its kibbles as I watched the man, His deft hands opening boxes and moving several towards me. There’s a roast beef sandwich - a large one, not the small one I’d indicated to him before. There was also a green salad - with real, unwilted lettuce and spinach and crisp bean sprouts - a pasta salad and even a real chocolate milk shake.  

“Whoa. Slow down, Sunshine,” He tells me with a small laugh as I start to stuff the sandwich in my mouth as fast as I can swallow. “It’s not going anywhere. I don’t want you choking to death trying to inhale that sandwich instead of chewing and swallowing it.”

I realize that my manners are a little lacking and quickly set the sandwich back down in the take out box, worried at how badly I’m behaving in front of Him. I want this man to like me for some reason. I don’t want Him to think badly of me, so I stop eating right away - He shouldn’t have to watch my miserable table manners while He’s eating his own food. I’ll just wait till He’s done and then I can eat and that way it won’t offend Him. I sit back with my hands in my lap, looking down at the floor, and I wait for Him to finish.  

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Brian’s POV

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Shit. Why did I say anything? I was only joking about how fast he was eating and now he won’t eat at all. I shouldn’t have made any comments until after he was done eating. He needs to eat a lot more than I do, annoying kid.  

“Justin. I didn’t mean that you should stop eating,” I try to explain. “Please, finish your food. The doctor said you are severely malnourished and gave me strict orders about getting you fed on a regular schedule. You need to eat as much of that as you can. I didn’t mean to make fun of you. Please. Eat.”

He still won’t look at me directly - it’s starting to creep me out, but I guess I understand that he’s been so traumatized, living like an animal for so long, that he doesn’t feel comfortable around anyone. I hope he’ll get over it. Soon.  

Since he still isn’t eating, I decide to give him some space and I clear away the remains of my own dinner, heading to the kitchen to dispose of the boxes and other trash and heading for the bar to pour myself a Beam. Allowing him time to work through his thoughts I find myself wandering a couple of times around the loft, wondering again just what in the hell I think I'm doing. I decided it was too late, or early, to be bothered by what I'm doing, though. There's something compelling about this boy and I'm not going to just give up on him - it seems like too many other people have already done that.  

I finally settle back at my computer, looking over the Daddies account documentation again. When I look up a few minutes later, I note that Justin has begun to eat again - this time a bit slower and not as if someone was going to steal his food if he didn’t ingest it as fast as possible. I let a half smile reach my lips at the sight. This will work, I tell myself, still only half convinced but very determined nonetheless.

*A real Portland business - voted one of the best places to work in Oregon last year.  I have no affiliation with this business, nor do I profess that they have any affiliation with QAF or my writings, but I just think these guys are so cool, I thought I’d give them a shout out in my story. Check out their website if you have time: Daddies Board Shop - Portland, OR