Chapter 32 - Logic: Part I

Logic:  The science involving the principles governing correct or reliable inference; a particular method of reasoning or argumentation.

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

The caller ID on my phone says Daphne Chanders. I didn't figure I'd be hearing from her now that she and Justin were BFF texting buddies. But, I'm curious why she's calling so I hit the 'accept' icon and answer the call.

"What happened? Are Justin's email box and voice mail already full from all your wacky conversations about Gilligan?" I say instead of the standard 'hello' as I take the call.

"No, they're not," Daphne responds angrily. "In fact, Justin hasn't responded to my calls or texts all day except to cancel our pizza night tonight. I was so excited to just spend the evening hanging out with him after all this time and then, first thing this morning, I get an email saying that it was, I'm quoting here, 'a mistake for me to get involved with old friends again'. What the fuck does that mean, Brian? I've been trying to call him all morning but the calls all go right to voice mail and he doesn't return texts. What the hell happened to Justin?"

"Shit. I don't know what's wrong, Daphne. He had a bad episode last night and he's been acting sort of off all day. But he didn't say anything to me about canceling your plans for tonight."

"What do you mean 'episode'?" Daphne asks.

"Well, um, how much has Justin told you about what happened to him over the past few years?" I ask, not wanting to reveal any confidences.

"Nothing really. He acts like he doesn't want to talk about it so I haven't pushed.

"If he hasn't said anything then I really shouldn't . . ." I start to explain, but the adamant brunette interrupts.

"That's bullshit, Brian. Justin is my friend and I want to know what's wrong with him. I let someone else tell me once that I shouldn't worry about him and I should just let it go, and look what happened. I'm not letting this drop this time. So, fuck what you think I should or shouldn't know and start talking."

I really like this girl. She's exactly the kind of friend Justin needs. Maybe she's the kind of person I need too to help get through to Justin.

"Fine. According to my friend, Justin is suffering from PTSD because of the abuse he suffered as a child. Of course, that's just an educated guess by nonprofessionals since he's too frightened of doctors to get a real diagnosis. But, whatever it's called, the results are the same - he gets panic attacks, has these flashbacks and nightmares and generally just loses touch with reality sometimes. And last night he had a bad one . . . " I proceed to tell Daphne about what happened at the club and then a little bit about how he was acting this morning. 

"Shit. I always hated Justin's father. He was so strict with Justin and he was pretty shitty to me a lot of the time too because of my mixed racial background. But I never thought he abused Justin that bad. I never saw bruises or marks or anything." Daphne wonders aloud.  

"It wasn't that kind of abuse. He didn't hit Justin. What he did was even worse in a lot of ways, the fucking monster. I . . . I'm sorry, but I'm not comfortable telling you everything I know - which I'm sure isn't half of it - at least not without Justin's okay. But, basically, from what I know, I'd say Craig Taylor could have taught the torture squads at Guantanamo Bay a few things."

"Fuck. But, when we met for lunch the other day, Justin seemed okay. Maybe a little more reserved than he used to be but pretty much just like I remembered. And he acted like he was really glad to see me. Why doesn't he want to see me anymore? Why would he say it was a mistake to get involved with me? I don't understand."

"I don't either, Daphne. It has to have something to do with what happened last night, though. I feel responsible, in a way, for what happened but I haven't really had a chance to talk to Justin about it. Fuck it. I'll try to see if I can figure this out at lunch today. But, do me a favor, Daphne - just go ahead and come over tonight anyway, please. Maybe, if Justin won't talk to me, he'll at least talk to you."

"I'll be there, Brian," Daphne promises. "In the meantime, good luck. Oh, and Brian?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for trying so hard to help him."

"I can't help it, Daphne. He's . . . He's special."

"Yeah. He is. See you at 6:30, Brian."

~~*~~

Justin's POV

~~*~~

Brian wants to have lunch today. Fine. I think I've pretty much got my mind reset about everything and I should be able to do this. So, I grab my jacket when he comes into the art department and follow him out to his car. I've got what I think is a satisfactory smile fixed in place and Brian doesn't seem too concerned when he sees me, so I must be doing okay. 

I'm surprised that Brian isn't heading to the Diner today. Instead he takes me to this fancy little bistro where we get a corner table out of the way in one quiet corner. I'm really not up to even trying to order anything myself so I don't even bother picking up my menu. I'll just let Brian take care of it - why bother.

"Sunshine, you've got me totally freaked out today," Brian admits as soon as the cute dark haired waiter leaves with Brian's order. "As much as I hate saying this, I think we need to talk. Tell me what's wrong so I can fix it, please."

"There's nothing wrong, Brian," I tell him with my satisfactory small smile firmly in place. "I'm just tired today is all. I woke up with a headache and my stomach was a bit off and I'm still not feeling 100%. I really think it was something I ate yesterday. Well, that and I probably had too much to drink last night. I'll be fine by tomorrow, I'm sure."

"I wasn't talking about your stomach ache, Sunshine," Brian persists. "There's something else going on in that little blond brain. Tell me what is making all those hamster wheels turn."

"Brian, stop already," I try with the coy, flirty thing, letting my hand move to rest on his thigh underneath the crisp white linen tablecloth. "I'm fine. I just feel a little bad about this morning. I could make it up to you, you know. We probably have at least fifteen minutes till the food comes. Want to visit the little boys room with me and see how fast I can fix your little problem?"

"That's not going to fix the problem, Justin," Brian now sounds a little angry, which scares me a little - I'm obviously not doing a very good job here so I'd better ramp up my game.

"Fine. I'm game. Just tell me then what will fix you up. As long as we don't get arrested, I'll try anything," I say with my best sexy leer.

"Cut it out, Justin," Brian practically hisses at me. "I hate the little street hustler games you play to try to distract me. So, just stop already and be honest. Tell me what that panic attack was about last night and why you're acting so different this morning."

Shit. He's really too perceptive for his own good sometimes. But I'm not caving this time. I do NOT want to talk about this. Isn't this situation demeaning enough without my having to acknowledge it aloud? I'm not going to admit to him how stupid and naive I was and that I misconstrued what he'd said to mean more than he intended. I might just be a whore, but apparently now I'm a high class whore and as such I need to be a lot smarter. I'm not going to let him see how stupid I was being or tell him that I thought he was falling in love with me or that I was falling in love with him or . . . Or anything really. So I just sit back in my chair, cross my arms and wait to hear where he thinks he's taking this next.

After about a ten minute long, fruitless staring contest, Brian is the one who eventually caves. "Sunshine. Please don't do this. I know I shouldn't have yelled at you like that and embarrassed you, especially in front of a big crowd of people. I feel terrible for causing you to have that panic attack. I dont know what to do to make it up to you. Just talk to me, okay. If you just fucking tell me what's wrong I can try to fix it but if you won't talk to me I'll never be able to do anything."

That almost gets to me, you know. I'm about to open my mouth and start blurting every embarrassing stupid thing I'd been thinking, but luckily that's when the waiter comes back with our food. I sigh with relief and begin to dig into my pasta primavera, even though I'm not really hungry at all and every bite tastes like cardboard. Brian is glaring at me over his halibut steak. I can tell he doesn't really want to let this drop, but he gives up for the moment and let's me eat.

After the dishes are cleared, Brian grabs my hand and looks into my eyes for a long time before speaking. "Okay. I get that you don't want to talk right now - I hate talking most of the time too - but just tell me WHY you don't want to talk to me," Brian demands. "Is it because you're still too angry with me?"

"No, Brian. I'm not angry with you. You didn't do anything wrong. Really," I reassure him. "There's really nothing wrong. I'll be fine. I finally understand some things I didn't get before. I just need time to adjust my mindset is all. It's really nothing, so please don't worry. There's nothing to talk about."

And to prove my point I take the hand that's holding mine, pull it to my lips and kiss it tenderly. Brian has the saddest look on his face when I do that. I worry that maybe I'm not doing a good job and he's unhappy with me. But, I'm trying, really, I am. It's just going to take me a bit to get used to being a whore again after I'd started to think things had changed.

~~*~~

Brian's POV

~~*~~

He's not going to forgive me. I know he denies it but I can tell he's still angry. If not, he'd talk to me, right? Fuck, fuck, fuck. I think I'm going to lose him. 

I'm so fucking upset after that shitty, frustrating lunch that I'm useless the rest of the day. All I do is piss off my staff, yelling at them for absolutely no reason, and waste time rereading copy proofs ten times over because I can't concentrate. I actually break into the minibar I keep stocked in my office at around four - something I haven't done in ages. But I'm just too worried and pissed off at myself for fucking everything up that I need a drink just to calm my nerves before I crack and start throwing random things at the walls.

By five I'm already pretty hammered. No way I should be driving home tonight. I wonder if Justin can drive - huh, the topic never came up before. Well, no biggie, if he can't we'll just call a cab. I remind myself to stop at the video store on the way home to pick up some movies. I haven't told Justin that Daphne is still coming over tonight. Fuck, I hope she's better at getting the boy to talk than I am. 

When I ask, Justin tells me he can drive but never had a chance to get his license. So, I opt for a cab instead. We're standing together near the front doors waiting for the cab, neither of us saying anything, when I notice Justin doesn't have his sketch pad with him. He brings it almost everywhere lately, so when he doesn't have it, the fact is blatantly obvious.

"Where's your sketch pad, Sunshine? If you want to go run and get it, I'll hold the cab," I tell him, just as I spy the bright yellow car turn onto the street a block or two away.

"I don't need it," Justin says with an expressionless tone that makes me want to cry for some reason. 

We make it back to the loft, with movies in hand, by just after six. Justin takes the movies over to the coffee table and just sits on the couch staring into space saying nothing. He's apparently waiting for me to give him directions. It's like he's one of those automatons that will move endlessly in any direction you set it towards but can't start of its own volition. I can't bear to watch him so I head directly to the bar and pour myself a tumbler full of scotch, downing about half in a single swig. 

I'm watching the clock, desperate for 6:30 to get here. I really need help. Daphne has to be able to help, right? In the meantime, I can order the pizza and some sodas. Get things ready. 

I ask Justin what kind of pizza he likes but all I get, of course, is a shrug. It's like he's not even trying anymore. He's back to the same sad scared boy I first brought here two weeks ago - he barely talks, he makes no decisions for himself, he waits for me to tell him what to do, where to go, he won't even look at me directly and the few times I've tried to touch him he flinched. This is so fucking bad. I'm so scared, I'm ready to scream. 

When the buzzer on the door goes off, I jump and almost do scream. But then I remember that buzzer means help is coming - I hope. I hit the release for the front door, not even bothering to confirm who it is. I'm waiting at the door and pull it open at the first tap.

Daphne is here. I hope this works.

"Hey, Brian," she greets me but then sees my worried expression and her own face falls. "Not good, huh?"

I shake my head and gesture her towards the couch where Justin is sitting exactly as he's been since we came in. He didn't even look up to see who was at the door. Thankfully, I don't have to say or do anything more - Daphne heads to the couch, taking over for the moment.

"Hey, Justin. So, what movies did you pick out for us?" Daphne says, standing in Justin's direct line of vision so he can't help but see her.

"Daphne? I sent an email telling you not to come. Didn't you get it?" Justin asks, his confusion evident.

"Yes. But I disagree that it's a mistake for you to get involved with me. So I ignored what you said and I'm here anyway." Daphne gets right to the point.

"You really shouldn't be here, Daph. You don't want to be friends with me. I'm not that kind of person anymore." Justin says, still with so little emotion that it's almost as if he were talking to the wall rather than a friend he's missed for five years.

"Sorry, Justin. You don't get to decide who I want to be friends with or not. Besides, you are exactly the kind of person I want as my friend so you're just going to have to deal with it. I'm not going anywhere. Now, tell me which movie you want to watch first." Daphne states emphatically as she plops down on the couch next to Justin, props her feet up on the coffee table and reaches over to peruse the titles of the movies I picked out.

"Daphne, you don't understand," Justin finally speaks up, still apparently trying to convince Daphne to leave. "I'm not a good person. Someone like you doesn't want to be friends with me. I'll drag you down."

"What the fuck are you talking about Justin? Of course you're a good person," Daphne disagrees immediately.

"You don't know who I am, who I've had to be to survive, Daphne. You don't know anything about me. I'm not a good person anymore. I'm not the kind of person you want as a friend," Justin repeats as if he's trying to explain something simple to a particularly dense child. 

"What are you saying, Justin? Just spit it out. What horrible things have you done lately? Hmmm?" Daphne demands angrily, sitting up with her arms crossed and a determined glare on her face. "Have you become a serial killer? Joined the KKK? Do you maim and mutilate puppies? What? Cause I don't believe you when you say you're not a good person. Just tell me what it is you've done that's so fucking horrible that I wouldn't want to be your friend!" 

Justin's face has gone blotchy red and he looks both angry and embarrassed. He stands up, his legs spread slightly, hands balled into fists at his sides. He looks like he's struggling with what he wants, or doesn't want, to say.

"I'm a whore, Daphne. A street hustler. Rent boy. Whatever you want to call it. I sell my body to men. I let them fuck me for money. Or, if they prefer, I suck them off. It's actually not that bad a job really. I only have to pick up three or four tricks a week to make enough to pay for food and sometimes I even make enough to be able to afford a place to sleep. The hours are short and I don't have to pay taxes on my income."

"Of course, that was before I met Brian. Now I have a much better place to sleep at night and he's paying me a lot more money than I used to make on the streets. The hours are a bit longer, I'm basically on call 24/7, but it's worth it for the extra perks. And he's a lot better looking than my old Johns."

"But, I'm still a whore, you see. And you're going to be something real someday. A doctor. You don't want to be associating with common street whores like me. So you should go. Sooner would be better than later, in fact, because I've got a job to do and I'm sure Brian's going to want to fuck me soon seeing as I got a little distracted this morning and he didn't get off. You can see yourself out, right?" Justin finishes, throwing himself back down onto the couch and refusing to look at Daphne any further.

"Whoa! What the fuck are you saying, Justin?" his words have just now penetrated my whiskey addled brain and I'm angry now too. "Are you saying that I'm just another one of your Johns? That I'm keeping you here just for sex or something? Where the fuck did that idea come from, Justin?"

"Of course you're not 'just another John'. You're much better than most of my Johns and you've definitely been nicer to me, Brian," Justin says, turning to me and speaking in a more placating tone of voice. "I'm really happy here. You've been wonderful to me. I didn't mean to say anything derogatory towards you, Brian."

"But what? You're still just my whore? Is that what you're saying?" I'm livid with anger now, the whiskey coursing through my blood doing nothing to help calm me. "What the fuck, Justin. How many times do I have to explain this to you? What have I ever done to make you think that all you are to me is a whore?"

"Oh, come off it, Brian. You're not fooling anybody. And it's no big deal, really. I don't mind - I'm happy here and I like you. So you don't have to pretend that I'm anything more to you than a convenient in-home, long term fuck," Justin says matter of factly. "Besides, that's not the point I was trying to make. I was just trying to explain to Daphne why it's not a good idea for her to maintain the pretense of a friendship with me."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" both Daphne and I yell back at Justin at the same time, effectively silencing him, finally. 

I'm about to start arguing again with the aggravating blond, when Daphne beats me to the punch. "Enh! Sit down, Brian. I'll handle this," she orders me, and she says it with such authority despite her youth and petite bearing that I don't even hesitate to comply. "And don't you say anything yet either, Justin. Both of you appear to be operating with severely faulty logic so I'm taking over as mediator here. You're both going to sit down, shut up and listen to me. Got it?"

"Okay. Justin, you first. When your father kicked you out of the house, what resources did you have?"

"Resources?"

"Yeah, resources - like money, credit cards, jewelry? What did you have to start with."

"Nothing. I had the clothes I was wearing and the $100 he gave me, which only lasted two or three days."

"Did you have any job skills or educational background that you could have used to get employment?"

"No. I didn't even get to finish my last year of high school. And I never was allowed to get a job - my father wanted to be able to keep an eye on me all the time."

"So, you were unexpectedly thrown out on the streets without appreciable assets or skills. But you still had to support yourself, right? You had to eat, find shelter, clothing and other necessities, correct?"

"Yeah. Unless I decided to just give up and die, which I thought about doing sometimes, too."

"But you didn't give up did you? You kept trying even though you had no reason to expect that things would get any better?" Daphne plows on with her train of logic, even when all she gets from Justin is a shrug. "And the only way you had to make money was by becoming a sex worker, is that correct? In other words, your only remaining asset was your body and you employed it to obtain the necessities you needed to survive?"

"I guess."

"Did you kill anyone in this process? Or did you irremediably harm any innocents? I'm not talking about ripping off a John for a few extra bucks or shoplifting something. I'm talking real moral crimes?"

"No."

"Of course you didn't. Because that's not the kind of person you are, Justin. So, if all you've done since you left home was support yourself using the only asset you owned and you committed no moral wrongs in the process, why do you think you're not a good person?"

"Because prostitution itself is bad," Justin's conclusion is pretty obvious to me. 

"Who says?"

"What?"

"Who says prostitution is bad?" Daphne asks again.

"The church, my father, the government. It's a crime for fuck's sake," Justin answers.

"Would you say your father was a good person? The asshole who threw you out and forced you into the lifestyle we're examining here."

"God, no. He is a horrible person."

"I agree. Your father is a bad person so we can completely discount his opinion. Now, are you a religious person, Justin? Do you belong to a church or even regularly attend any religious services?"

"Fuck no. I hate that crap. I was subjected to that shit so much as a kid, I wouldn't go back there now if you paid me," Justin says adamantly.

"Fine. So why do you care about the opinion of a social institution to which you don't subscribe and for which you feel nothing but contempt? And, well, as for the government prohibitions against prostitution, can we all just agree that for the most part, the reasons behind those laws are based on the very religious prohibitions we just discounted? If so, I think they're equally without merit."

"So, if I can sum up, Justin, you did what you had to in order to survive, using the only asset you had at the time and you harmed no one in the process. And the only reason you think you were bad because you did this is because a man who we all agree is himself truly bad and morally corrupt said so. Do you see the problem with your logic there?"

"The bottom line, Justin, is that the only person who's saying you were 'bad' because of what you did is a lying evil prick and you're going to listen to him? Fuck that! I don't think you're a bad person. Brian doesn't think you're a bad person. Who are you going to believe - the two of us, who care about you and want to spend time with you, or some fucked up bastard who abused you and then threw you out on the streets in the first place," Daphne finishes.

"Justin. You are my friend, no matter what you've done, and I think you're a wonderful, kind, good person who deserves a second chance. I'm honored to be your friend. So quit trying to get rid of me already, okay?"

I can see Justin working through each step of logic that Daphne presents. His expression starts off set and stubborn, but as she speaks it becomes more trusting and sure. By the end, he's trying without success to hide a believing smile. 

"I've changed my mind. A tuna sandwich, a case of nails and you!" Justin says with a hint of laughter in his voice when Daphne finishes.

"I still don't get the tuna sandwich thing, Jus," Daphne laughs back.