“This definitely sucks.” Steve put title to the looks they must have been wearing when they had showed up that morning and heard that there would be yet another delay in the shoot, this time for a day, supposedly. Of course, it just might stretch out to two, three, or four days, more time tacked onto the ten days the shoot had been suspended already. But Mark was scheduled to arrive from Boston the next day, which Justin logically deduced would set work starting up again not tomorrow, but the next day. At the earliest. So at least two more days, not one. Anyway, they were all expected to be on the set tomorrow by seven, even if they were just going to be sent home. Again.

Justin, Robin and Steve had gone to the Starbucks down the street for the morning coffee, same as usual. But this morning, they stayed there, lounging at a table by the roadside, watching the cars go by. If Justin had known the delay would stretch out this long, he would have gone back to Pittsburgh, visited Brian, and stopped in on Gus and Lindsay, Debbie and Carl. Talked to Michael about the film’s progress, or lack thereof. Gotten more sleep. He had time now to talk to Brian on the phone. But Brian didn’t. He had a business to run.

So Justin had been partying, hitting the clubs at night and lounging around the beaches during the day. The assistants hung out with each other, and waited. Connor had called him once or twice, and he was running out of excuses to not go out with the guy. After the last call, Gail had told him he was crazy for not going out with Connor and his group of buddies, five semi well-known tv and movie stars who were all regularly in the tabloids for stirring up shit at the clubs. Justin was beginning to think maybe he should go. He was bored.

He had managed to finally start sketching the beach scene he wanted, now that his hand had had a decent rest. Unfortunately, the scene he really wanted to capture, with the sun setting, the beach emptying, needed to be caught in the evening. And, with nothing else to do, the assistants had taken to hanging out and getting the party started well before cocktail hour, long before sunset. By the time the light and the environment was right, he was too tipsy to sketch.

He stirred his coffee with the plastic stick, even if he was drinking it black and there was nothing to blend in. “This is not turning out as I expected,” he said, raising his cup to his lips.

“It’s always like this. Road to riches, gotta start somewhere,” Steve replied, cheerily. “You gotta just roll with it.”

Brian wouldn’t roll with it, Justin thought. Neither should I. He decided to go speak to Brett later, see what was up. It wasn’t that the director was avoiding him, it was just that with the delays, they hadn’t been forced into close contact with each other recently. And Brett was always busy, the mile-a-minute guy. Justin got exhausted just watching him. He wondered Brett he ever fucked around. Didn’t seem like it. Brett only worked, stopping for a couple hours every so often to sleep. The guy lived his work. He had nothing else, but he didn’t really need anything else either. He didn’t seem to, anyway.

“I don’t feel like I’m rolling,” Justin finally said. “I feel like I’m standing at a decision. Should I stay here and wait around? Or go back home?”

“What, give up? Just at the start of everything? Think about it, how many Pittsburgh kids are starting a whole new life in Hollywood? You gotta live the dream,” Steve replied.

“Nothing’s quite what you expect,” Robin agreed cheerily, sipping at her latte. “But you know, this really is the way to the classic American success story thing, do what Frost tells you, choose the road less traveled.”

Justin looked at her strangely. “What do you mean?”

“You know, the poem. ‘I took the road less traveled by and that made all the difference.’”

Justin snorted, shook his head. “All the difference, sure, but that’s not necessarily a good thing.”

“What are you talking about? He’s Frost, he took the less traveled road and became the poet of the century.”

“But the poem’s not about Frost, it’s about choices. And there was no real difference between the roads in that poem.”

Robin and Steve were looking at him as if he had grown a dick where his head was supposed to be, but Justin didn’t care. He quoted, “‘Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same…’ The speaker hasn’t stepped on either road yet, so both are untrodden, and his choice isn’t based on what they actually offer, only an arbitrary desire at the moment to take one over the other. And his entire life turns out different because of a single choice. There’s no turning back, so it doesn’t matter for better or worse, you live with the choice regardless.”

Steve snickered. “Man, if sucking dick didn’t do it, I know you really are gay, you’ve got whole poems memorized.”

“It’s not about being gay, it’s about being educated,” Justin bit back, annoyed. “People think Frost is telling them one thing, but if you actually read the poem, you find out that’s not the case.”

“Yeah, well, I like the story where choosing the less worn road leads to being the poet of the century better,” Robin replied with a smile.

“American dream, all the way.” Steve hoisted his cup, toasting.

Justin wouldn’t have been surprised if he took a tiny flag out of his back pocket and waved it. Thank god, no jingoistic props were available to the guy at the moment. Justin said dryly, “Not exactly realistic, though, you’re more likely to just end up a failed Frost. And that is a very well-worn path.” He chose not to cut Steve down completely, though that would have been too easy. He was just in a bad mood, and didn’t think Steve deserved to be the victim of it.

“Hey, this is Hollywood, not shit reality!”

“Yeah well, my shit job and these shit delays are telling me a different story.”

Steve shook his head. “Wow, someone woke up on the wrong side of the futon! Put some Irish in your coffee boy-o.”

“It’s eight in the morning.” And it’s eleven in the morning in Pittsburgh, and I could be sleeping in, convincing Brian to stay late in bed, Justin thought, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, willing the caffeine through his veins. Why am I not there again?

Rage, he reminded himself. Rage was his baby. He needed to protect the integrity of his vision. Damn it, he had made a commitment, Rage was his.

Now if they could only get back to shooting the damn thing.

***

“Yeah, I know, but terrorism is the big thing now, and you know this story is just waiting to be told, terrorists taking over a major news network by infiltrating… no, it’s not just another Manchurian Candidate, but it sure doesn’t hurt that the idea has proven successful, does it?” Brett waved Justin into his office. Justin took a seat, and waited for Brett to get off of the phone. “Are you kidding, explosions, who do you think we’re talking to? Besides, Greg’s already working with me on the project I got going now… yeah, it’s going … yup, okay, hey, I gotta go, call me back when you take a look at that, will you?… what, you’re joking, aren’t you, of course you don’t need to read the book, I’ll forward you synopsis in a day or two… All right, call me after you take a look.” He terminated the call, and turned to Justin. “Hey, Justin, what’s up!”

“You tell me, are we going to start shooting again soon or what?” Justin got right to the point.

“Actually, I have really good news on that front,” Brett rifled through the papers scattered on his desk, pulled out a few pages stapled to each other, and handed it to Justin. “We managed to get Greg Hanville on board, and, with a slight rewrite, the ending isn’t going to be dependent on the actor’s schedules, the shooting with all the actors can be finished up three weeks earlier, basically on the original schedule factoring in the delays with the new ending…”

“New ending.” Justin took the proffered pages, and glanced through. Greg Hanville, Greg Hanville, he’d heard that name…

Oh, yeah. Big time stunt guy, specialized in car chase scenes. Retired, and coordinated the stunt work now, specifically in terms of highway race and crash scenes.

Oh, shit, Justin hated chase movies. There was absolutely no imagination to them, as far as he was concerned. Run, chase, explosion - which was fine, but the effects meant nothing when they did not support the plot line. Very few chase movies were actually successful, as far as Justin was concerned. Well, okay, but they mostly sucked. He looked up at Brett, who was smiling down at him. “How great is that, Greg Hanville!”

“Uh, Brett, this is kind of different…”

“Yeah, I know, but we’re just going to have to cut back on some of the Rage/JT scenes. There’s enough hotness between them to light up the screen…”

“But it’s not about sex, it’s about the way the relationship develops…”

“And the audience will get that. Besides, Connor’s committed to another project for September, it’s going to be a tight enough squeeze in his schedule with the way this delay because of Alan’s… problem has us scrambling here. We could stay on the original script, but if we choose to do that, we’re going to have to wait for Connor to get back from shooting in Mexico for this other thing he’s contracted to, and god alone knows what would happen in the meantime. We have to get his scenes shot before the end of August, and cutting in the new ending will allow us to end the movie with even more of a bang. Read it, Rage saves JT in that multi-car explosion. That’ll actually translate better than JT stepping in and helping Rage bring down that pig guy he’s promoting in his everyday job, more attention-grabbing, and stays consistent to the story line. What do you think? Think we can work it?”

Justin kept hearing “we.” If he stopped lying to himself, he would have to admit that “we” no longer included him. He placed the new script back on Brett’s desk. “Oh, I’m sure we can ‘work it,’” Justin answered, gaining a grin from Brett which he did not return. “It’s just that this isn’t the Rage story I wrote.”

“But it doesn’t betray the characters, Rage is still gay, I know that’s important, and that’s not changing, I made that real clear when I talked to the producers…”

“When was that?”

Brett actually looked uncomfortable for a moment. “I had to pass the changes by them. Getting Greg on the project was a huge plus, we’ve got him contracted for September.”

Contracted. It was done then. And what could he do about it? Absolutely nothing.

“But don’t worry. There are slight changes, but Rage, JT and Zephyr are essentially who they are, the movie’s just going to tell a slightly different story line than the comic does, at the end. And, most important, we’re going to be able to open for the summer line-up next year.”

Justin nodded. He stood up. There really wasn’t a lot more to ask about.

“Anything else? How’s everything going? You enjoying California while you have some time to look around now?”

“Sure,” Justin answered. “California’s beautiful. Connor’s offered to show me some of the clubs, and I’ve gone out with Robin and Steve…”

“Huh, you should let Connor show you his side of things, he’s got VIP status, you’ll see how stars are treated. That’s the side you should be getting used to, Justin, so take advantage.” Brett flashed that smile.

Justin smiled weakly, and turned away. The characters were still who they were, the movie was just going to tell a slightly different story. Like another edition of the comic, that could work. Readers would probably want to see something besides a tired recycling of what the comic book offered. Maybe Brett was right. And Justin hadn’t allowed himself to relax and take advantage of some of the luxuries that had been offered him, that was for sure. Why shouldn’t he hang out with Connor? The guy rode in a hot car, went to the front of the line at clubs, got what he wanted, spent the money he needed for the best of everything. Sound like someone I know? Justin thought. That must be it; part of the reason he was feeling so homesick was because he missed the life he was able to live vicariously through Brian. Yeah, he definitely didn’t want to depend on it, but maybe a little indulgence in the high life would help him feel less… lost here. Less trampled on. Crossing the empty set, Justin pulled out his phone and dialed the number Connor had given him. What the hell.

***

“Hey, Justin!” Connor greeted him as he slid into the limo. “Glad you finally found time to fit us in!” The other two people in the limo laughed as Justin slid onto the seat next to Connor. Of course, the idea that Justin was fitting them in and not the other way around was absurd. “This is my friend Del, and this is…”

“Shannon LePrel,” Justin filled in, reaching out and shaking her hand. “I love your music.”

“You know it then?” The young woman with the ribbons braided through her streaked hair crinkled her darkly lined eyes at him.

“I have a great reputation for being attracted to the new and hot performer right before their music takes off,” Justin told her, grinning, accepting the flute of champagne from Connor and taking a sip.

“I can see Connor’s taste in devastating young man is consistent,” Del told him.

“To say nothing of talented. Remember I told you, Justin created Rage,” Connor added.

“Actually, co-created,” Justin reminded him.

“Wow, and he gives credit instead of stealing the glory for himself!” Del saluted with his glass, before knocking its lip against the bottle Connor was holding, asking for more.

“You definitely are an anomaly out here,” Shannon giggled.

“Yeah, you’re not stealing or sleeping your way to the top,” Connor added, leering at Shannon.

She laughed. “Hey, talent and sex is the recipe for success!”

“Are you developing a new album?” Justin asked. “I’d love to have more of your stuff, kind of sucks for us consumers, just twenty-two songs.”

“Twenty-two?” Del frowned. “I thought there were only fourteen tracks on that album.”

“Ah, but Justin apparently has a copy of the bootleg made when I was with the Withering Blows. Is that so?” she asked.

Justin turned somewhat red; he indeed downloaded most of his music from the internet. He should have remembered that this was a sensitive issue in the music business.

“Don’t turn red! my god, someone who still blushes, how fresh. Not your fault, Justin, I’m flattered that apparently I have real fans who know about my turn with the WB’s.”

“Are you kidding?” Justin added, “The club I go to in Pittsburgh plays ‘Two Steps Back’ every night around one, and everybody gets up on the floor.”

Shannon laughed. “Yeah, and that’s the only good track on that entire piece of shit release! I’m amazed you downloaded the whole thing. I’ll have you know, though, that I was reading Rage when it first came out. I love comics, especially when they follow an original storyline, gay superhero, who can resist?”

“You’d get along great with Michael then.”

“Michael Novotny, the writer, right? Can you introduce me then? I’d love to meet him if he’s around.”

“Sure,” Justin returned.

“Uh, can we get away from this mutual admiration society?” Connor asked.

“You’re just jealous you’re not in on it,” Del said, drawing a laugh from everyone.

“So where are we going?” Justin asked.

“A friend of mine is having a party,” Connor answered, filling his champagne glass again. Justin vowed this would be the last of the bubbly, the stuff went right to his head. “Name’s John Poole, puts on pretty exclusive shindigs.”

“Not to everyone’s taste,” Shannon said, wrinkling her nose. “He has a variety of themes in different rooms. But there’s generally something for everyone, and a regular good ol’ drunken rock and roll party for the rest of us out back.”

“I’m just glad he’s not demanding the mask thing this time.”

“The mask thing?” Justin asked.

“Yeah, people wore this amazing, gorgeous headwear handed out when you first entered. Everyone was anonymous all night. Very interesting party,” Del said.

“No, tonight’s pretty straightforward. Sex, drugs…”

“Rock and roll,” Shannon finished off. “I’m actually included in the invite to sing for my supper, as it were. He’s got a bunch of us coming to showcase the music we’re working on. He actually contacted my agent, and since I know this fucker,” she kicked at Connor, “wouldn’t bring me as a guest, I just hijacked his ride.”

“Hey,” Connor said, looking over at her archly, “John told me I could bring two beautiful boys, one gay, one straight, so I couldn’t ask a slightly off-her-rocker rocker with me, unfortunately.”

“Oh…” Shannon’s face had fallen with this last. She shook her head, gazing intently at Justin. “So you’re gay-gay. Not bi-gay? Damn it. That figures. Too bad.”

“Not for me,” Justin grinned.

They were all laughing as the limo stopped at the gate of John Poole’s house, got the all-clear, and pulled in.

***

The house was gorgeous, set in the hills over Los Angeles. Justin spent most of his first couple hours there in the huge living room with its back wall made almost entirely of glass, looking out to the back terrace where the stage was set up. Music was piped into the house from outside. Shannon was asked to perform within the hour; until then, she had stuck by Justin’s side, introducing him as “That Rage Comic Art Guy,” while he introduced her as “That Hot New Singer Girl,” to everyone they didn’t know. He was becoming increasingly drunk. He thought Daphne would love Shannon. Then again, he thought, feeling the trace of Shannon’s hand trailing down his arm as she took her leave to do the proverbial sing-for-her-supper, maybe not. Daphne would not give up official best female friend spot easily. Even when she was pissed at him. And he wouldn’t give her up, even if she was a pain in the ass. But she sure would not appreciate his enjoying anyone or anything that drew him further from Pittsburgh, PIFA, and her. And Brian.

He thrust that thought out of his head. He was here to have fun, to get away from his homesickness. It was ridiculous, anyway. The place was gorgeous, the drinks were top shelf and plentiful, the men were hot, the lights of Los Angeles spread out beneath them, stretching across the valley as if the sky had fallen and lay beneath them.

Connor caught up with him sometime after midnight. Justin was trying to speak with a minor actor whom he found so beautiful that Justin wondered why he wasn’t yet a star. And then Justin tried to talk to him. The guy had nothing to say. At all. Justin had tried everything, asking him about his work, his travels, his childhood for god’s sake, and had gotten one-word replies as the kid kept looking down at Justin’s dick. Oh, hell, maybe I’ll just fuck him then, Justin thought, wondering if they could escape further into the house, when Connor showed up and dragged him away.

“Thank you,” Justin said.

“No problem,” Connor replied, throwing his arm around Justin. Justin was just drunk enough to ignore it. “Have you seen the play rooms?”

“Play rooms?” Justin asked.

“Ah, obviously you haven’t. You need the tour.” He turned and steered Justin toward the back of the house. As the music faded, Justin could hear other sounds, familiar. “Hm…” Connor said. They stood at the foot of a staircase, and Connor walked him up it. “Okay, het sex is in the rooms to the right, I don’t suppose you’re interested in that. A variety of alternates to the left, though,” he added, opening a door. They walked in.

The lights were down, very low, with a green tinge. Naked men everywhere, doing lines in the corner, fucking against the wall, getting blown on the divan that dominated the center of the room. Connor gestured toward the wall to their right, where a closed door led into the next room over. “This is how it works, the four rooms along this wing open up into each other.” As if to prove this, the door in the wall opened to reveal a man exiting a room bathed in violet light just beyond. “The amusements get increasingly… intense as you go through. This room apparently is for couples who want to get it on. Would you like to see the whole thing?”

“Sure,” Justin shrugged. Connor’s hand on his arm stroked down to the sensitive spot inside his elbow, and he felt his body respond to the familiar smell and noises around him. Couples, huh. Maybe he’d find someone more available further in.

The violet room was for multiples. The same layout as the green room, but more interesting. A very hot man who reminded Justin of Brian was getting a blow job and rimmed at once. He thought he’d probably linger here if Connor didn’t seem so determined to pull him through. The next room was lit in orange, a toy room. Dildos, cuffs, whips, silk ropes for tying up. Not so many guys in here, just as many watching as playing. Connor and Justin paused to watch a blindfolded man on his knees servicing a man in a mask while a third ran a riding crop around the kneeling man’s hole, every so often cracking the whip across his ass, leaving a red welt where it passed.

“Makes you wonder what’s in the last room,” Justin murmured.

“Probably the slaves,” Connor answered.

“Slaves?” Justin asked.

“Mm… Want to see?”

Sure, he wanted to see, what the hell. Connor had been watching Justin’s face as they wandered through the rooms, and Justin almost laughed as he thought of how this was tame compared to some of these scenes he had actually participated in, back in Pittsburgh. Fucking Connor, thought he was some rube from out of nowhere or something, waiting for his eyes to widen in shock. Believe me, Justin thought, after three years with Brian, shock is just a word.

They entered the blue room.

The room was bare of furniture. Suspended from the ceiling, in the corner to his left, and in both corners at either end of the far wall, were harnesses. Two were full, including one in the right far corner, where a very young man was suspended, younger than Justin, a boy really, surrounded by four naked men, one thrusting into him, another supporting his head, directing the kid’s mouth to his engorged cock. A third man waited, watching, rubbing his dick against the kid’s hip, watching him get fucked, while the fourth man ran his hands up the kid’s penis. “I’ll get you a drink,” Connor said, gesturing to the bar that was set up against the far wall. Justin barely managed a nod. He needed Connor to get the fuck away. Right. Now. He was frozen, that word suddenly more than a word, but not quite shock, and not quite horror either. More like… memory. He watched the kid, the harness, those guys going at him. Then he ripped his gaze away to look toward the bar, following Connor’s retreating back, to the right of the bar where the other harness held another kid, his head lolling back, his arms held up, legs spread. Obviously completely out of it. As Justin watched, two of the guys who had been standing against the bar moved out of the way to accommodate Connor. They turned their gaze from watching the group scene in the corner, spoke briefly to each other, and walked toward where the boy floated, opened, waiting for anyone who wanted him. One of the men ran his hand down the bare ankle, licking his lips. The second man unzipped his pants, and moved in closer. Justin jerked his head to the left when he heard a voice, slurred, raised above the other sounds of moans, the thumping music playing from near the bar. A man was holding yet a third kid, obviously the third slave, tugging him toward the last corner. As Justin moved closer, he saw that the kid could barely speak, but he was definitely fighting being physically overpowered by this man who was pulling him toward the last corner of the room. “N..no…”

“Hey,” Justin said, raising his voice, “Hey!”

The guy turned. The kid stumbled, but pulled out of the man’s grip. “Hey, good, you want to help me here?” He reached for the kid again.

But Justin had already snatched the boy’s arm, and was propelling him toward the door and then out into the hallway. The kid stumbled again, his head slumping and rolling toward his shoulder. “Hey!” the guy called, and it was the last sound Justin heard as he left the room with the kid. He started pulling him down the hall, toward the staircase.

“Hey, Justin! What the fuck!” Connor came out of the room, and ran down the hallway to catch up. A partygoer coming up the stairs paused to look curiously at the naked boy slumping against the wall as Justin wheeled to face the big movie star. Justin glared at the curious face until the stranger shrugged and turned into a room on the right.

“Justin, you can’t just take the hired help away, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Hired help?” Justin spit out. “This kid can’t be sixteen.”

“Oh, please, I guarantee he’s way more experienced than he looks, in fact I think I’ve seen him at other parties, hired to do just this. Believe me, John hires these guys, it’s all professional, what the fuck is your problem?”

Justin was not going to discuss this with this clueless idiot who had never in his life, Justin guaranteed, been in danger of ending up unwillingly in one of those contraptions, propelled there by unknown hands because he was young, broke, and clueless about the fine line that sometimes existed between business and rape.

“Call your limo for me. I’m leaving, and I’m taking him,” Justin said, his voice barely holding his rage at bay.

“Justin, for god’s sake.”

“Look, we can do this the hard way or the easy way. Either you call your limo and I leave quietly with this kid, or I raise holy hell and call the police and an ambulance. Which do you prefer?”

Connor did not question whether Justin was bluffing; the deadliness of the delivery spoke for itself. Connor took out his cell phone, spoke into it, and hung up. “The limo will be out in the front at the door. Send it back when you get wherever you think you’re going.”

Justin pulled the kid down the stairs, bypassing the glass-fronted area of the mansion where the main part of the party continued, spilling out down the hillside. He walked out the front door, into the limo, and directed the driver to the nearest hospital.

***

Connor was sure to think him some hick but at this moment, almost two hours later, Justin really didn’t give a shit. He sat in the waiting area of the emergency room and waited. Nothing to do but stare at the blank walls and think. He hated hospitals, hated the smell, the sounds, the ‘squinch’ of the nurses’ rubber soles against the tiled floor, the glaring brightness everywhere. Brian had spared him this during his cancer treatment. He said he did it for himself, not telling Justin. But Justin knew that part of the reason Brian hadn’t said anything, was that he knew what it was like to sit here, in this horrible place, on the outside looking in, while someone you loved battled pain, sickness, and death alone.

Justin still shook from the sudden adrenaline rush that was his reaction when he had entered that blue room. Connor going to get him a drink, while around the room this scene played out, other men standing around, watching this horror, as if nothing were amiss. As if they had any right… Fucking Christ, Justin thought. Even “fucked up” didn’t do it justice.

He couldn’t think, he was still experiencing the purely visceral reaction that had got him through the ride down from the hills, holding the naked kid next to him and trying to warm him up, the kid puking into the ice bucket Justin held up for him, passing out while Justin tried to keep him awake, tried to ask him what he was on. If this kid’s experience was anything like Justin’s own, he would have no idea. Then the hospital, practically carrying the kid in, making up some bullshit story about finding him on the street passed out. Then sitting down and waiting.

Brian. It was all he could think of, that familiar ache for the older man’s hand, the need to feel Brian’s presence, to close his eyes and sink into him. Justin took a deep breath. Brian can’t always be there, he reminded himself. You have to get through things on your own. Stand on your own. Figure these things out, be a man. Handle this shit, deal with your own shit. Brian can’t help you. You have to do this, you can’t always lean. Brian can’t always be there.

Yes, another voice in his head answered, but he may be there now.

He dialed without letting himself think anymore, he needed to hear Brian’s voice, damn it. He could hate himself for giving in later.

“Hey,” the familiar voice answered on the third ring. “You getting in from the clubs?”

“Something like that,” Justin took his first really deep breath in the past hour, relieved, immediately feeling the ground under him had been restored. “Where are you?”

“You don’t want to know what I’m wearing?”

“Hm… what are you wearing?” Justin heard his voice turn to the familiar purr it fell into only for Brian, as comforting at this moment as a cool touch on a feverish brow. The woman sitting two seats down from him in the uncomfortable plastic chairs looked up from her magazine, smirked, and looked down again.

“Well, I’d love to say nothing, but Gus is sleeping on your side of the bed at the moment, and Lindsay made me promise not to raise the boy with the mistaken notion that men don’t wear clothes at home.”

“Oh…? Is Lindsay taking the night off Gus? Is she still separated?”

“Lindsay is dating my secretary.”

“Cynthia? Are you serious?”

“Please tell me you didn’t know she was gay, too.”

“She’s bi,” Justin answered, actually feeling a small smile tug his lips at Brian’s groan and his comment that he was the last person on the planet to hear this news. “It would help, Brian, if you asked people about their personal lives.”

“Okay, I’ll do that. How is your personal life?”

Justin’s stomach dropped and his throat closed up as the night’s events crashed back in on him. “Things are not great back here,” he whispered, unable to continue.

“Tom riding your ass? Not in a good way?”

“No,” Justin started, then closed his eyes, struggling for control.

“Justin? What’s wrong?”

He had to say something, but he wasn’t ready to speak the words; the real problem was too big, it stuck somewhere in his throat. “They’re turning Rage into a chase movie,” he said instead.

Brian snorted. “And we know how much we love those. Except for the Hitchhiker, of course.”

“And Terminators.”

“Yeah, those too. So you couldn’t talk Brett out of mangling things, hm?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Everything is. But that’s business , the guy in charge buys the idea, and your soul is sold. So is that what’s bothering you?” Brian knew him far too well. He knew if the movie was the real problem, Justin would be angry, ready to spit, yelling about changes to his script. Not unable to speak. Brian knew something else was up. He just did.

But when it came time to open up on the rest of it, to let him know just how big this was, Justin was silent. He couldn’t. Brian didn’t even know about that party that Justin had almost been raped at. And the horror still rolling around inside him, it was too big, it was too soon to address it. He hadn’t managed to process this, to get over feeling as if he had just been in a train wreck and was looking at the mangled remains he had managed to escape. He couldn’t bear to look down to see where he was bleeding, or how much. He just knew it was bad.

“Justin.”

Justin took a deep breath. He couldn’t talk about this, he was barely holding his shit together.

“Justin, damn it, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Justin managed.

“Bullshit, something’s wrong.”

He took a deep breath. “I just… fuck.” Whispered.

“Oh, hell, I’m not gonna do this. Are you expecting me to show how much I care by demanding you share your feelings, throw in a little begging maybe? Would that help you out? You know I don’t play that game.”

“Fine, fuck off then!” Justin screamed into the phone, slamming it shut. The woman sitting two chairs down looked up, startled, then determinedly looked back at her magazine.

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck!!! He knew better than to call Brian in the first place, what did he expect? Justin rubbed his temples, and willed Brian to call him back, to just fucking give him a minute, to just somehow know that something was very wrong here and Justin needed him to get it. He willed the phone to ring.

It didn’t.