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Author's Chapter Notes:

 

This might be a tear-jerker chapter for many. Major 'Angst' alert, folks. Also, it's heavy on the child-abuse theme so please don't read if this will negatively affect you. If you do choose to read on, I hope you like what I've written - it expands on what may have happened in Brian's past to make him the adult he turns out to be. It isn't pretty. It IS inspired by real life stories, though. And, although the statistics are disputed, many professionals claim that Super Bowl Sunday is the biggest day for domestic abuse hospitalizations in the United States. I sincerely hope this isn't the fact for any of my readers. TAG

 

 

 

Chapter 4 - Melancholy.

 

Super Bowl Sunday. Shit, Brian really hated Super Bowl Sunday. In his experience this always turned out to be one of the worst days of the year. See, Jack Kinney was an avid football fan, which meant that Super Bowl Sunday was like a holy day and the event was celebrated religiously every single January.

 

It also meant that father would be parked at home in front of the television all day long, that he would have laid in an extra large supply of alcohol in anticipation of the big game and that, more than likely, he'd be joined by at least a couple of his loser buddies who would all be just as loud and rude as Jack. Inevitably, before the game was over, Jack would have made at least one bet which he'd lose. Then his celebratory mood would turn more sullen. By the end of the evening, he'd be drunk, angry, mean and ready to take all his frustrations out on the most convenient target. Traditionally, the most convenient target had been Brian. Which explained why Brian hated this day above all others.

 

This year, Brian had planned to make himself scarce for the day. That kid he'd rescued from a locker last week, Michael, had invited him over for dinner this evening - he said his mom always cooked a big Italian feast every Sunday and she'd be more than happy if her son brought along a friend. Brian figured he'd leave the house early, before father was even up, hang around at the park or someplace else for most of the day and then head over to the Novotny's when it was time for dinner.

 

At least that was the plan before he got up and looked out the window this morning. Unfortunately it had snowed about six inches the night before and the temperature in Pittsburgh was expected to hover just below freezing all day. Fuck! No way could Brian manage to stay outdoors in a park all day in this weather. The dinner at Michael’s house wasn't until six this evening and he had no place else he could go in the meantime. Which meant he was stuck at home with his father for Super Bowl Sunday again this year.

 

Trying to the make the best of a bad situation, Brian attempted to lay low. He managed to hide out in his room all morning, foregoing breakfast in favor of remaining unnoticed by Jack. Instead, he put a couple of his favorite tapes in the dual cassette player, put on his headphones and then curled up in bed with a book, hoping against hope that he could fly under Jack’s radar for the day.

 

And it worked until just after lunchtime. He was almost finished with his book - The Talisman, by Stephen King - and was right in the middle of the scariest part of the final chapter, when he was startled by the door to his room being slammed open and knocking against the bookcase in the corner. In the open doorway loomed his father, backlit by the light from the hallway so that Brian couldn’t see the man’s expression from where he sat in his dimly lit room. Brian could see his father’s mouth moving and guessed that the man wasn’t shouting compliments at him, but because his music was playing so loudly, he couldn’t hear anything.

 

Reluctantly, the worried boy pulled the headphones off. “I’ve been calling you for ten minutes, Sonny Boy. What the fuck are you’re doing up here? I wanted you to come down and join me and the guys watching the game, so get your ass up off that damn bed and get downstairs,” Jack yelled his invitation to his son.

 

“I was just reading,” Brian started to explain.

 

“Well, fuck that! Reading’s for schmucks and losers. I don’t want the guys thinking my son is some goddamned pansy who sits around reading books all day. Come on downstairs and watch the game with the rest of the guys like a real man, Sonny Boy!” his father demanded, already turning and heading down the stairs, assured that his son wouldn’t dare to disobey him.

 

Brian unwillingly put his book down, heaved a huge sigh and followed his father down to the family room. Jack and his cronies were all gathered around the small coffee table which was heaped with opened bags of chips, half-spilled bowls of salsa and ranch dip, and rows of empty beer bottles. The small TV was sitting on its stand in the center of the room and the guys were all intent on the images being broadcast. He pasted on his most convincing ‘I’m-so-glad-I-get-to-watch-the-game-with-Dad-and-the-guys’ face, and quietly sat down on the floor next to the couch as close to the door as he dared. Maybe he could sneak back out at some point when they weren’t watching him.

 

Brian really had no interest in American football at all and didn’t even know what teams were playing - all he could tell was that one team was wearing black jerseys with silver helmets and the other team was wearing red. It seemed that his Dad and the guys were all rooting for the red team, so he figured he’d better do the same. It didn’t look like the red team was doing very well, though, although it was hard to tell since after every other play the station would cut away to another commercial, which made it kind of hard to follow the game, Brian thought.

 

Apparently, only his physical presence was required this afternoon. Neither father nor any of the guys seemed to pay Brian much attention. They were too busy kidding each other, cursing at the ineptitude of ‘their’ team and telling raunchy jokes as they sloshed their beers around and tossed chips across the room for emphasis. Jack was being his jockular self. The legendary Kinney charm was fairly oozing out of his pores as he joked around with his guests. Brian just sat there and watched them with distaste and tried to remain invisible.

 

At halftime, the guys had ogled the cheerleaders for a bit and then made fun of the silly pansies putting on the “Disney” halftime show. Then it was time for Reg and Frank to make a liquor run while everyone else loitered around in the kitchen and took turns using the john. Jack ordered Brian to clean up the empties off the coffee table and toss the empty food containers. Brian thought that maybe he’d be able to make a break for it after he’d picked up a bit - it was still a few hours until he could politely show up at the Novotny’s but he’d really had enough bonding time with his father and would take his chances with the cold if he could manage an escape.

 

Rushing to get the room picked up, Brian grabbed a half-dozen beer bottles off the small table in one arm and carried a teetering stack of empty dip bowls in his other hand. He managed to successfully dump the bowls in the kitchen sink and then was about to turn around to deposit the bottles in the trash near the back door, when he bumped into one of the guys who’d been standing in the kitchen. The guy he bumped was a big dude and knocked into him pretty hard. Brian stumbled forward, reaching his arms out to catch himself before he fell into the countertop, and in the process dropping his armload of glass bottles. The bottles, of course, crashed to the floor, shattering into thousands of shards which flew everywhere with a resounding crash. The dregs of beer from the mostly emptied bottles splashed up off the scuffed linoleum and drenched those standing nearby, among whom, unluckily for Brian, was his father.

 

“What the FUCK!” the old man roared, grabbing Brian by the scruff of the neck and spinning the boy around. “Can’t you do ANYTHING right, boy? Fucking retard!”

 

Brian lost his footing as he twisted around and fell backwards, landing in the remains of the smashed glass and puddles of brown liquid. He hit the ground at an awkward angle, the brunt of the fall being absorbed by his left forearm and hand. Hundreds of the little splinters of glass pierced through the skin on his palm and arm, causing the injured boy to cry out in pain. The tears continued to run down the boy’s face as he sat in the pile of detritus and pools of beer, cradling his bleeding arm in shock, while the adults all stood around him staring down at the unexpected spectacle.

 

“Well? What the fuck are you doing just sitting there?” Jack finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. When the boy on the floor didn’t start moving right away, the irate older man aimed a good solid kick at the huddled form and then added, “Get the fucking broom and clean this goddamned mess up. You made this fucking mess, so you better damn well get it cleaned up!”

 

Just then Reg and Frank came back in with another four cases of beer. Jack grabbed one and led the rest of the pack out of the kitchen and back to the family room where the game was just starting up again. The guys were already joking and laughing again before they even got back to the other room. It was like nothing at all had happened.

 

Brian blinked back any further tears and climbed to his feet. He sniffled as he retrieved the dustpan and broom from behind the fridge and started to sweep up the yeasty smelling mess. His left arm was still bleeding, so he pulled a dishtowel from the drawer and wrapped it up as good as he was able - he didn’t want to get in trouble for getting blood on the floor as well - but he couldn’t hold the dustpan and the broom at the same time because of his arm. He managed to prop the pan awkwardly against his foot long enough to sweep up the glass and then dumped the mess into the trash. Then he unwound several sheets off the roll of paper towels, got back down onto his knees and mopped up the liquid as best he could.

 

As soon as the kitchen was clean enough that he thought he could escape without incurring further punishment, Brian pulled his jacket off the hook by the door and ran out into the cold and dark.

 

~~*~~*~~*~~

 

Justin felt it the exact moment that Brian had fallen. He was already waiting, standing on the sidewalk across the street from the Kinney’s house, partly hidden by a large boxwood hedge, when Brian came running out the door and headed down the street. Justin could feel his boy’s pain as if it were his own arm that had been shredded by the glass. And even worse, Justin could feel the boy’s sense of betrayal and dejection that his father’s callous words had inflicted. As always, he felt his heart cracking just a little bit more at the fact that he had again failed to protect Brian and he could do nothing to help the frightened boy right now.

 

Justin started to follow after the escapee who was still running down the block as if his life was in jeopardy. It had started to snow lightly again and the walks were covered with a dusting of fresh new white. The snow made it easy to track Brian’s footsteps, which Justin quickly saw were headed off towards the local park. Halfway there, however, Justin noticed that the snow on the sidewalk next to the footprints was now dotted here and there with bright droplets of red. More and more red the farther the boy ran.

 

The worried guardian knew that he had to get Brian to help. The boy was probably in shock and didn’t know how badly he was really hurt. Or maybe he was just too scared of Jack to slow down long enough to figure out he was still bleeding. Either way, Justin knew that he had to help his boy. This being an incorporeal soul was really annoying sometimes - he couldn’t do anything to help physically, so how was he going to save Brian?

 

By the time he was only a block away from the little park, Brian was finally starting to slow down. He dropped to a walk as he struggled to pull his jacket closer around him to ward off the ongoing snow. Justin easily caught up till he was walking beside Brian. Both boys continued to look directly ahead, neither overtly acknowledging the other.

 

"All I wanted was to finish my book and then go eat Italian food," Brian said, his voice barely above a whisper, as the pair stepped across the street and headed into the park grounds.

 

"You could still go to dinner," Justin suggested quietly, still not looking right at Brian for fear of driving the boy away.

 

"Like this?" Brian shook his head and briefly held up his injured left hand, the dish towel still wrapped around it now a soggy red-brown color.

 

Justin shrugged. "Debbie seems pretty cool," Justin replied nonchalantly. "She probably has Band-Aids or at least another towel. And I bet, if you asked her, she wouldn't say anything."

 

Brian stopped. He stood still for several long minutes, his eyes scrunched closed as he supported his injured left wrist in the palm of his right hand. Just then another rivulet of liquid red dripped down off the soaked dish towel and started to dribble into his open palm. Brian looked down at the mess, took a deep breath then nodded his head decisively. He turned on the spot and walked resolutely back out of the park in the direction of Michael Novotny's house.

 

~*~*~~*~~*~~

 

It had taken Debbie more than an hour, using a pair of slightly bent old tweezers, to get all the splinters of glass out and properly bandage Brian's arm. When she'd asked him what happened, he only said he'd fallen in some glass. Something about the boy’s face as he said it made the kindhearted woman hesitate to ask anything more.

 

Michael had hovered just outside the door to the bathroom, watching over the proceedings and acting like a broody Mother Hen until Debbie had shooed him downstairs with orders to check on the Ziti. Brian hadn’t been this fussed over in his entire life and he didn’t really know how to handle all the attention. If he hadn’t been in so much pain, Brian would have laughed at the overly concerned and protective air the other boy exuded.

 

Eventually, though, Brian was cleaned up and given one of Debbie’s old t-shirts to wear while his was thrown in the wash. Then the three of them sat down at the large kitchen dinette and Debbie started loading the table with dish after dish of food. Brian was amazed at the sheer quantity of food displayed. There was salad with homemade croutons and crumbled blue cheese, ziti with a thick meat sauce, fresh hot italian bread, mounds of grated cheese that you could add to everything, and for dessert, homemade cannoli. There was more food for the three of them on a random Sunday night than you’d see on the Kinney table at Thanksgiving. The tall, skinny and always hungry boy eagerly dug into the spread and gladly let his hostess dish up second and even third servings onto his plate. It had been so long since he’d felt really and truly full like this. It was heaven.

 

After dinner, Debbie ordered the boys out of the kitchen while she tidied up. They ended up sprawled out on the couch watching Knight Rider while drinking ginger ale straight out of the can. Brian tried to stay on guard, unnerved by the relaxed and homey atmosphere, but eventually he gave in and let himself enjoy the unfamiliar sense of ease.

 

Justin sat at the top of the stairs where he could peek through the stair rails and smile down at the sight of a happy, relaxed Brian. Finally the blond breathed a relieved sigh. This was exactly the type of haven his boy needed right now. And if Brian occasionally glanced up at the elusive blond sitting unobtrusively on the staircase and let a ghost of a smile drift across his lips at the knowledge that he wasn’t here alone, he didn’t let on to anyone what was engendering his happiness.

 

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

 

It was hard for Brian to get up and leave at eleven o’clock when the movie they’d been watching ended. He’d never wanted anything as much as he wanted to stay in this warm, seemingly happy household. Before tonight he didn’t even know such a place existed outside of the constructs of Hollywood sitcoms. Now he knew exactly what he’d been denied all these years and he resented it more than he was willing to acknowledge.

 

But he had to go home sometime. These people didn’t know about his real life and he didn’t want them to. To Brian’s mind, the Novotny household was some kind of Xanadu that only existed outside of his reality. He might be allowed to visit, but he would never reside there. Brian had to return to the hell of real life.

 

He hadn’t been in his own house more than sixty seconds before he was accosted by his mother demanding to know where he’d been.

 

She’d been hiding out in her bedroom but had heard the crash of the exploding beer bottles and the commotion afterwards. When she’d finally dared to venture out to investigate what had happened, all she found was Jack and the guys replanted in front of the television with a new supply of beer, a wet spot on the kitchen floor and Brian apparently gone. Joan was sufficiently cowed by her husband that she didn’t dare interrupt his game to find out what had happened, but she did wonder. Jack and the boys left the house right after the game to go drink away their disappointment over their team losing and then Joan felt free to start to worry.

 

“Brian! Where HAVE you been? I’ve been worried sick about you,” Joan immediately started in on him before he’d even got through the doorway. When she saw the layers of gauze bandages rolled around the hand that protruded from the sleeve of his jacket, she gasped. “What the hell happened to you?”

 

Brian sneered at her but didn’t bother to answer. He was still wrapped up in the euphoria from his evening out and didn’t want to let his mother bring him back down to reality. She wasn’t easily deterred though.

 

“Brian. Let me look at your arm,” she demanded, grabbing his sleeve as he tried to slide by her, her rarely displayed maternal instincts kicking in for a moment.

 

Brian didn’t say anything, though, and Joan really didn’t know how to respond to this situation either. She scanned the bandaged arm briefly, not really knowing what she was looking at, but feeling that a mother SHOULD look at her injured son’s hand for some unknown reason. When it appeared to her to be adequately taken care of, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do next.

 

“You know that your father and I love you, Brian. We just . . . we . . . he’s just trying to teach you right from wrong, you know. Your father wants you to grow up with strong morals and . . .” her voice tapered off, unable to complete the utterly inane statement.

 

Brian didn’t bother to respond. He’d already had enough of THIS kind of love. He turned away from the woman who claimed to be his mother and headed up the stairs to his room. As soon as the door was closed, he pulled the comforter off his bed and retreated to the safe comforting confines of his closet. He didn’t care that this was completely infantile. All Brian knew was that he didn’t feel safe out in the open. He hunkered down in the furthest, darkest corner of the closet and slid the door closed, shutting out the cruel, hard world.

 

When the comforting presence of a friendly, older, blond boy sat down on the closet floor beside him, Brian didn’t question the feeling of safety that enveloped him. He leaned into the warmth beside him and let his head drop onto a sympathetic, soft shoulder. Several minutes later he let out the sobs that he’d been holding back all night. Justin put his arm around the slim boy’s shoulder and pulled him closer, holding back all the other boy’s fear with only the power of his heart.



“I don’t want to be loved,” Brian whispered into the black of the closet. “If that’s what it means to be loved, I don’t want it. I don’t want it ever.”

 

 

Chapter End Notes:

 

*Sigh* I'm feeling too melancholy tonight myself to be witty. You'll have to just read the chapter and go without my typical bon mot at the end. Sorry. TAG

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