Kid

By Besame

Timeframe: AU after Season Three.

Spoilers: Possible Season One-Three

After an incident of violence at the loft, Brian struggles with the fallout while Justin fights to be treated like an adult.

~ 1 ~

There’s been so much talk about this incident, so many stories going around, a ton of speculation, so I’m going to do
us all a favor and tell you exactly what happened. That way you won’t have to sit around at Woody’s and talk about
what kind of asshole Brian Kinney is, how you knew something like this would happen one day, what a shame he
had to take me down with him, how he almost got me killed—all of it, every last piece of bullshit I hear every time I
come into the place. Which I don’t do much anymore. I don’t go into many places on Liberty Avenue.

It all started when Brian’s mother died. I’ll bet you didn’t know that part of the story, did you? His mother died, and
not in a nice way. To be perfectly honest, she was drunk and she fell down the stairs and struck her head That was
that. Her daughter, Claire, found her a few hours later and called Brian.

Yes, he and Joanie didn’t get along. Still, when your mother dies, you feel something. Even Brian-fucking-Kinney
who’d fashioned his reputation around a certain indifference that was almost always on display. So, yes, he
pretended like it was just another day, that nothing had changed except he had to go through a pointless ritual in
order to bury his mother. He and Claire had a number of arguments, but fucking Claire, damnit, she wasn’t good for
anything. Half the time she cried, hands shaking, eyes red, blowing her nose and trying to look like a tragic heroine
in some trashy novel. Okay, I’m being too hard, but she was glaring at me most of the time. Like it was my fault. I
went along to support Brian, to be there, a person who loves him although I couldn’t say that. Couldn’t call myself
his “partner,” or his “significant other” in front of her. No, I was just this kid who somehow happened to be with
him. All the time.

Nor was Brian any help. Of course he wasn’t. If I spoke up and tried to make a suggestion, he’d look at me with
surprise, like he hadn’t known I was in the room. He refused to talk about his feelings, and after I’d made a few
attempts, I wised up and kept my mouth shut whether we were with Claire, the undertaker, the priest at his mom’s
church, or alone in the loft. The only important “talk” we had during that four-day period between finding out she’d
died and putting her in the ground was a couple of late night sessions of rough sex. Brian does pain management that
way. He gets drunk, he takes some E, rolls a few joints, knocks back some JB, and then he fucks with a great deal of
passion. Me, sometimes, or anyone in Babylon’s backroom who might be available. Just keep that in mind. It’s
common knowledge, but seems to have been forgotten in all the fury.

We buried Joanie and everyone was there: Michael, Deb, Emmett, Ted, Lindsay, Mel, and me. Oh, and my mother
came too. It was a sunny day although windy and cold. Given his expression throughout the whole damn thing,
Brian could’ve been almost anywhere doing almost anything. His face was as blank and devoid of emotion as was
humanly possible, something I found hard to watch. Afterwards, back at Claire’s, Brian sat in a corner and drank
enough Chivas Regal to give him a massive hangover the next day. I drove him home, and half-carried him into the
loft. He fell into his bed and slept, but I sat up for hours afterwards, thinking about losing my own parents, how that
would feel, how I’d cope, who might be there to help me. Typical. I seemed more affected by everything than Brian.

End of story, right? I wish.

Days later, Brian was still drinking too much, still rolling too many joints, still popping E like it was coming out of a
Pez dispenser. I was working on several projects for school and trying to cover a couple of Kiki, my coworker’s,
shifts because she needed to go out of town. So I couldn’t keep him company the way I wanted to. Not that he
would’ve allowed it, of course. I’d have to invent reasons to be around him, reasons that had nothing to do with his
grief and discomfort. By now, nearly three years into the relationship, though, I was good at coming up with
excuses. I told him my hand was really killing me one night, which wasn’t a total lie because I’d pushed too hard,

trying to get something done. Still, it didn’t hurt that bad, but I exaggerated, asking him to massage it because he
does such a good job. Another night, I showed up with dinner and a story about one of my unfair professors and
what he’d said to me. I was creative like that.

When Friday night came around though, Brian wanted to hit Babylon again. Despite the frantic schedule, I’d been
with him three nights in row, gotten four hours sleep on any one of those nights, crawled out of bed, and gone off to
school each day because I had to. And this on top of spending hours with him at the loft, when I could, trying to be
there for him, but making sure he didn’t think that’s what was going on. Exhausting. This is my life, me, the non-
boyfriend. Still, that’s what you do when you love someone. And to be fair, he’d done much more than that for me
especially after the bashing. If I told you all the shit Brian had to put up with from me, you’d run off to Rome and
insist the pope make him a saint.

I went with him to Babylon. I wasn’t about to relax my vigilance because Brian was still not being Brian. I could see
the pain behind that bored mask he wore, a lacerated expression in his eyes that tore at my heart. The guy was
hurting and I knew why. Not because his mother was this wonderful person whom he missed so much, no. She
wasn’t. I mean, sure, she must’ve had good qualities, but when it came to Brian, she’d dropped the ball big time.
Still, she was his mother and they’d never worked it out and then she’d just died. That left him high and dry.
Couldn’t hit rewind and go back a year, have that talk, somehow fix everything. No. His mother fucking told him he
was evil and going to hell. Period. Nice, huh? That’s one of the last things she’d said to him.

So, there I was at Babylon, but I was falling asleep on my feet and it didn’t take the others long to realize it. Brian
was drinking and tricking, piling it on, and even though he was considerate enough to take me to the backroom with
him once, I wasn’t really his focus. So, when Emmett commented on how tired I looked, Michael heard, and offered
to watch Brian if I’d like to go home. The professor was out of town, so Michael was by himself. He’d done it a
million times, hadn’t he? Michael was Brian’s childhood buddy. He knew how Brian could be about suppressing his
feelings, how dangerous it could get if someone didn’t monitor him. All these thoughts went through my head in an
instant, and it made perfect sense.

So, I told Brian I was going back to the loft. It barely seemed to register.

Then I did just that.

~ 2 ~

It was some time after 3:00 a.m. when I heard the loft door rolling back. From my place burrowed deep in the bed, I
could make out voices, but figured it must be Brian and Michael. I expected Michael to appear, supporting Brian, as
he brought him to bed. I debated helping him, but since I wasn’t dressed, decided it would be easier to just pretend I
was asleep. Closing my eyes, I listened, and sure enough, I heard Brian’s drunken chortle. Damn, I wished we could
talk about this instead of pretending like it didn’t exist, but, that was part of being with Brian, wasn’t it? Along with
not doing boyfriends, he didn’t do grief.

“Wow, great place. Is this the bedroom?”

My eyes flew open. Oh, shit. That was not Michael.

“Come on, my man. Where’s this luscious little friend of yours?”

Another voice. Oh, fuck. Two of them.

Brian giggled again. “Yeah … up here.”

Rolling to the right, I groped in the dark, looking for my sweatpants, but right then, the light behind the bed came on
and the whole area was bathed in orange light.

A big, hulking type stood there, swaying a little, a stupid grin on his ugly face. Trust me, this was not a hot guy.
Yeah, he had the muscles, the ripped abs, the pecs, all that good stuff. But that was all. His face looked a little like

someone hit him with one of the weights he used—smashed in nose, eyes too close, almost no lips. And being shit-
faced at 3:00 a.m. did not add to his appeal. “Ow-wee, look what I found?” he said when his eyes lit on me. “The
fuck-toy, in person.”

Brian was behind him, hanging onto the arm of another beefcake, this one with big, doe eyes and lots of tightly
curled hair. Curly, that’s what I called him, so the other one became Moe. Curly grinned like a motherfucker as his
eyes met mine. “Howdy, there, pretty little thing. Why you’re just about perfect, now aren’t you? We are going to
have us a par-tay!” I swear that’s what he said. Then he hoisted a bottle of something and chug-a-lugged.

“Brian, what the fuck are you doing?” I’d raised my voice to talk over Curly. “Get them out of here.”

Brian’s eyes were not focused, but he smiled when he heard my voice. “Let’s have fun, Sunshine,” he said, his
speech slow and slurred. He let go of Curly, but instead of coming to the bed, he staggered toward the bathroom.

“No time like the present.” Grinning like a fool, Moe was pulling off his shoes and socks then his shirt, his muscles
rippling in the garish light.

“No fucking way.” I pushed away from him. “Get you and your friend out of here. I’m not doing anything with a
bunch of drunken fools, and that includes Brian.”

Moe wasn’t listening. He pulled off his pants and came onto the bed, crawling on all fours toward me. “You’re hot,
know that?”

I was at the edge of the bed, still looking for my pants, hoping Brian would return and take control of the situation,
which I wasn’t liking very much. In case you’re wondering, though, I wasn’t panicked. I’d dealt with drunks before.
Besides, it wasn’t exactly me against these two hunks. I knew Brian would never let anything happen although I
have to admit I was a little concerned he’d brought them into the loft in the first place.

“Get off!” I said when Moe threw back the covers and pounced on me, half covering me with his big, hairy body.
“You fucking need to get out of here and—” I was silenced when the asshole kissed me, teeth grinding, tongue
exploring, the whole obnoxious deal.

Curly decided to join the fray right then, and it wasn’t more than thirty seconds later that I found myself in bed,
sandwiched between two ugly, naked, drunken guys, both groping me like I was a marked down item at Barney’s.
Yeah, I was complaining whenever I had a chance, but they were doing a good job of directing the activity and, in
an instant, I was on the losing end. Moe had my arms pinned and continued to ply me with nasty, spit laden kisses
while Curly sat on my legs and decided to give me a hand-job whether I wanted one or not. Between them, I was
looking at close to four hundred pounds of determined male, and it seemed clear I had no say in what we were
doing.

Brian did not come back and even over the smacking, sucking, slurping sounds these two creeps were making, I
could not hear anything coming from the bathroom—no water running, no toilet, or shower, nothing. After a few
minutes of this, all I could think was, shit, I am fucked. Literally. These guys are gonna do me whether I want them
to or not. Wasn’t there a word for that? Oh, yeah, right. Rape. I was yelling by then, calling Brian’s name, trying to
buck them off me, cursing when Moe bit my neck, when Curly figured a blow-job would be a lot more fun, but I
was losing on all counts.

Desperation set in.

It was time to get clever.

“Hey, hey!” I said when Moe relinquished control of my mouth for one fucking second. “Listen, would you listen to
me? Let’s slow it down a little, huh? Get a few toys, a little weed. Have some real fun.” I gave them my best smile
although I’m sure it seemed more like a grimace. I was throbbing from stubble burn, teeth marks, and finger
imprints, but despite that, I tried to look interested and excited by all their attention.

Moe grinned back, his one brain cell activated. “Hey, Kinney’s right. You are fun. Let’s fuck.”

“Sounds good. Just let me get some lube and condoms. And let’s get Brian in on this!” I was working hard to be
cheerful and happy, the cute kid who couldn’t wait to service the two hunks who’d turned up in my bed so
fortuitously.

I could’ve wept when Moe loosened his grip. “Good thought, baby. Let’s get some weed. Where’s Kinney?”

“You’ve got a big dick for such a tiny little thing,” Curly said as he uncoupled himself from my cock and moved
back.

“Thanks.” I sat up in bed, cleared a little space between me and Moe, smiled my most winning Sunshine smile then
punched him as hard at I could.

“What the fuck!” Curly lunged but I kicked him in the chest with the heel of my foot, twisting away, almost off the
bed.

“No you don’t!” Moe smacked me hard, my head snapping back as the blow caught me just below the right eye. I
fell off the bed, and hit the floor with a resounding crash, landing hard against one shoulder. He looked after me,
rubbing his jaw. “What the fuck you think you’re doing?”

The wind had been knocked out of me, but I managed to grab my sweatpants and scuttle backwards. “Get the fuck
out of here, both of you!”

Moe jumped off the bed in pursuit. “We came here to have fun. You got no reason to hit me like that.”

I’d managed to stand, still backing away from him. “You don’t jump on someone in bed without their permission or
didn’t your mother teach you any manners?” The bathroom door, I saw, was closed. Shit, shit, shit. What the hell
happened to Brian? “Either get out or I’m calling the cops.”

Moe grabbed my arm. “Kinney said—”

“I said, get out!” I pulled against him, and we struggled. He slammed me back against the doorframe and everything
went gray. Then I swore at him and punched him again. Somehow, I tore loose from his grip and made it out of the
bedroom. Winded and tottering, I snatched up the phone on the desk and held it up when they both stampeded after
me. “I mean it!” I raised my voice to scream at them. “Get the fuck out!”

They were drunk, they were disorderly, but as it turned out, they weren’t ready to go to jail. As I stood there,
trembling, trying to breathe, so angry I could barely see straight, they gathered their clothes and left, grumbling and
disgruntled that the fuck-toy wasn’t playing their game. No apology, no backward glance, they were just gone.

After that, I stood there and shook like someone having a seizure. My teeth chattered and I hung onto a chair,
worried my PTSD, which hadn’t been much of a problem, might make a comeback. I kept flashing on blood, Chris
Hobbs, cold cement, Brian’s voice calling me, the sound of the bat hitting my head--all that good shit. Clinging to
that chair, I breathed deeply and focused on where I was—not there, but here, in the loft, safe. Thank God, it didn’t
go any further.

Even then, I wanted to rip Brian to shreds. I couldn’t believe he’d done something so incredibly stupid. And
Michael! What the fuck happened to Michael, to Brian’s good friend, the guy who was there to look after him? He’d
been a lot of help. Finally, I was able to let go of the chair, and pull on the sweatpants. I crossed the floor and went
back upstairs, a little worried about Brian. Pushing open the bathroom door, I saw him, lying on the floor, curled on
one side, his hands cradling his arms. Sound asleep.

Just to be sure, I checked his breathing, but no, he was fine. Just dead drunk. I debated trying to haul him into the
bed, but after what I’d just come through, I was not in a charitable mood. Fuck, what did he think he’d been doing?
Well, nothing, of course. He was too stinking drunk to know anything. I got a blanket, covered him, and propped his

back with pillows so he couldn’t roll over. Then I made sure the loft door was securely locked, and went back to
bed. My body was throbbing, but I didn’t want to deal with any of it. So, I tried to go back to sleep.

Eventually, I did.

~ 3 ~

The next morning, well … it wasn’t pretty. I don’t want to spend a lot of time explaining what happened because it’s
about what you’d expect. Brian stumbled up off the bathroom floor at an ungodly hour, groggy, disoriented,
murmuring strings of obscenities, so fucked up. He came into the bedroom and when he saw me asleep in the bed,
he cursed. I was still asleep, so that’s what I heard as I woke up: Brian swearing at me. What the hell was I doing?
Why’d I leave him on the floor? Thanks a fucking lot. Stuff like that. Nice, huh?


He didn’t wait for an answer, but stumbled back into the bathroom, and showered for a long time while I continued
to drift, half asleep, half awake. My half awake part was aware that I hurt all over, that my face was sore, that my
shoulder was tender where I’d smashed onto the floor last night, that my back hurt when I moved a certain way.
Given everything I needed to be doing that day, dealing with bruises was one thing, but having a huge fight with
Brian? That seemed inevitable and very inconvenient, so I was avoiding it as long as possible. Coming back into the
bedroom, he must’ve pulled on some clothes and gone to make coffee because I lost track of him for another half
hour or so except for his occasional groan. Good. His head hurt. In the end, I guess, he couldn’t stand it, and came
back up the steps, determined to wake me.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He stood over me, growling. “Would it have been too much to let me sleep in my
own bed?”

Of course, he didn’t remember anything. I turned around then to look at him.

His eyes widened. “What the fuck happened to you?”

I had a black eye, a couple of bruises on my neck, an ugly bruise on my shoulder, another on my lower back not to
mention numerous cuts, scrapes, and bruises everywhere.

I watched his face as he scrutinized me and tensed when I realized it was anger I saw in his eyes. “Fuck, Justin. I
told you to stay out of the backroom. I fucking told you, but would you listen? No!”

“You think this happened in Babylon’s backroom?” My voice didn’t even shake as I asked the question.

“Fuck if I know!” He raked back his hair and looked disgusted. “All I know is, I didn’t do it to you!”

Here’s the part I’m going to skip, the part where I went ballistic, the part where I cursed and screamed at him, where
he screamed back, where neither of us was rational or even sane. I know I’m supposed to be the mature one in the
relationship, but, hell, I just lost it.

After a good deal of that, I got out of bed, dressed, grabbed my things, and left. He’d gone silent by then, typical
Brian, sitting in the living room smoking a cigarette, not responding to anything I said even after I told him what
happened. It just didn’t seem to matter to him. And he didn’t apologize either. Not a peep. Nothing. So, I slammed
out of there and hurried to Daphne’s where I had to endure an outraged grilling that lasted thirty minutes or more
before she’d let me go to my room.

I spent at least that much time crying, wondering in a kind of agonized haze if our relationship had finally reached a
breaking point, one we’d never recover from. Feeling betrayed and vulnerable and fucking raw especially that he’d
seemed so unconcerned, so unwilling to accept any responsibility for what happened. All the shit I’d told him back
at VanGard about knowing what to expect from him—it was just that, bullshit. I hadn’t expected this. Not at all.

Finally, I had to somehow pull myself together, shower, and go to class looking like the victim of an assault. I made
up a story, of course, and put a lot of amused jokes into it, which I’m sure no one bought. But I wasn’t going to let
Brian fuck up my day.

That night, around 8:00, I heard Daphne let someone in the apartment. It was Brian. On my bed, working on a
project, I listened for a second then went to my door and cracked it open so I could hear what was being said.
Cowardly, I know, but I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to see him again. Okay, yeah, of course I did, but only if he was
going to start behaving like the man I know, the one who wouldn’t try to blame me for what happened.

Daphne told him he could go to hell. He said he wasn’t surprised to hear that, but he’d like to see me anyway. She
told him he was an asshole and she wished he’d drop off the face of the earth. He told her that wasn’t going to
happen, but she was entitled to her opinion. She told him he needed to get some balls and learn how to behave like a
real man or leave me alone because she wasn’t going to stand by and see me get smashed up. I smiled at that one
because I knew she was talking about the relationship stuff, not what Moe and Curly did. God, she’s such a good
friend. Brian told her he understood the anger now would she please fucking get out of his way because he needed to
talk to me?

I managed to jump back as the door was jerked open.

Brian looked worn, his face drawn, his eyes dark against the pallor of his skin. Older than his thirty-three years. He
rolled his lower lip into his mouth as he stood there and examined me. “God, you look like shit,” he said finally, and
I listened carefully for the underlying tone in his voice. Sorrow. I heard sorrow.

“No thanks to you.”

“I know.”

“You had no fucking business bringing those tricks back to the loft.”

His gaze was on the floor. “You’re right, I didn’t.”

“You’re nothing but a motherfuckin’ piece of shit for doing something like that.”

He pressed his lips together, eyes still lowered. “I am.”

“I know why you do things like that, but you’re fucking going to get someone killed and it’s going to be either me or
you.” I sucked in air, afraid I’d cry. “You can’t do that shit, Brian. Not like that. You just can’t.”

Lower lip caught between his teeth, he nodded. He sat down on my bed and fished a cigarette out of his pocket,
lighting it. Gazing at the floor, he smoked for a moment then his eyes came back to mine. “Are you all right?”

Joining him on the bed, I risked looking him in the eye, almost afraid what I’d see, but I saw him, the real him. “Do
I look all right?”

He gave his head a shake, but didn’t drop the gaze. A few heartbeats later, he touched my face with his fingertips,
just grazing the bruise there. Exhaling, pain washed over his features and his eyes, a luminous, smoky green, glowed
with palpable sadness. He swayed slightly. “That never should’ve happened,” he whispered as his fingers traced the
bruise’s edge. “That was totally fucked up.” His voice, thin and spent, deserted him.

“It was you who was fucked up.”

“I know.”

“You have to …” I knew I shouldn’t say it, and normally I wouldn’t, but I couldn’t fucking help it. “You need to
find a better way to-to take care of things when you’re feeling like that. It’s—your old way of handling it, it’s not
working anymore.”

To my surprise, he nodded, still quiet, still not fighting. “I know but … I don’t know how.”

“Do you remember that time, on Gus’s birthday, when we made love? After the bashing, after all of that?”

“Yeah.” His fingers dropped to the bruises on my neck and he stroked there, fixated.

“Remember how we talked? Afterwards?”

His eyes came back to meet mine. For a minute, we stared again until he nodded, licking his lower lip. “In the
dark?”

“Right.”

“I remember.”

“There needs to be more of that especially when things get … when things are rough for you.”

Something flared in his eyes. Fear, maybe?

“I’m not talking about hours of exploring your feelings, Brian.” I leaned a little closer, my voice dropping. “I’m
talking about … you and me. Sometimes. Alone. Talking about things—things that are just between us, like they
were that night. Things no one will ever know because I’ll never tell anyone.”

“You never told the-the fiddler?”

“Fuck, no. I didn’t talk about you to anyone. It hurt too much.”

He pulled up my shirt, determined to make a complete survey of every bruise and scrape. “That makes us sound like
…”

“…like a couple?”

“Yeah.”

I took a deep breath, ready to divert us away from that landmine, but some part of me—maybe the part that got
beaten—thought otherwise. “That’s what we are, Brian. We’re not married or anything, but we’re a couple. We
hang out together, go places together, eat together, sleep together, and fuck together. We … I think we enjoy each
other’s company. And we … sometimes, we should talk together especially when one of us is … hurting. Like I do,
when I’m upset. I know I drive you crazy with that stuff and sometimes I feel like a big loser because I bring that
shit to you, but I think that’s what people do who-who care about each other. And you—you’d have to care about
me otherwise why would you even bother? Why would you let me stick around for so long? Why would you even
be here?” My voice cracked and, yes, on cue, I had tears in my eyes. Drama queen? Give me a break. I had a rotten
night.

Brian found an ashtray and crushed out his cigarette before turning back to me. His hand cupped the back of my
neck and he give me a soft, hesitant kiss, which I didn’t resist. A moment later, we were hugging and I found myself
crushed against him although he remembered that might hurt and stopped. He kissed down my neck, rubbing my
back as he did, his breathing a little erratic. After what seemed like a long time locked in that embrace, he drew us
down on the bed, kicking off his shoes ‘til we were face-to-face, our legs tangling. We were still dressed, but I
realized right away this wasn’t about sex. I could feel him tremble against me, I could sense the emotions that
churned in him.

He gave me a soft kiss, lips barely touching, and pulled me even closer. “I’m sorry,” he whispered at my ear, his
voice rumbling in a way it never does. “I wouldn’t want—God, I’d never want to be responsible for hurting you.” I
could feel the tremors shake through him. “But that’s all I do. It’s all I fucking ever do.”

Oh, God. He’d gone back to the bashing to relive that guilt and add this guilt to it probably along with a few others. I
couldn’t let that happen. “It isn’t all you do. That’s crap.”

He shook his head.

“Brian, you’re not responsible for the fact that I incited Chris Hobbs.” I tried to look him in the eyes, but he had his
face buried in my neck. “And you couldn’t help that your mom died and you feel pain over that. You just handled it
the wrong way, a way that maybe used to work for you, but now it doesn’t. Besides, where the fuck was Michael? I
asked him to watch you and he didn’t!”

Brian, though, said nothing and as he lay there, that long, slender body of his shaking so hard, I realized with a
sickening jolt that he was crying. He lay weeping into my shoulder and I was trying to talk him out of it, which just
goes to show you how smart I am. I mean, I told him to share his feelings and the minute he did, I wanted him to
stop. Damn, what an idiot! At that thought, I clamped my mouth shut, and wished like hell I was a little older.
Maybe I really was just a kid. I held him tightly and pressed myself against him, my fingers running through his
hair. “I love you. We’re going to be all right.” I said at his ear. “You hear me? We’re going to be all right.”

He made a sound, a gulp, maybe, or a sob? His arms encircled me, gently, but snugly. He held on for dear life.

But it was a long, long time before he spoke to me again.

~ 4 ~

Two hours after Brian and I talked in my bedroom, we decided to head back to the loft. Before we did, though,
Brian wanted to talk to Daph. He asked me to stay where I was



because he didn’t want her influenced—he really wanted to hear what she had to say. He went into the kitchen
where she was banging pots and rattling silverware, and let her have at him. Take my word for it, that was a brave
thing to do. Daphne might be small and a girl, but she is seriously ballsy and not in the least bit afraid of Brian even
thought he towers over her. She ranted at him again and wasn’t nice about it. After her initial ten minutes of using
every curse word known to humankind, she told him he needed therapy. And when he apparently made some
remarks about shrinks (I couldn’t hear the entire conversation even with the door cracked open), she hooted at him,
and wanted to know who he went to when he had a toothache … a piece of string and a doorknob? She kept up that
analogy through a few professionals, making the point that a shrink was nothing more than an expert in
psychological shit and he was a silly little faggot if he couldn’t hack that. She was brutal. I guess, though, that he
was able to convince her of his sincerity because she came back to the room with him, and smiled at me.

“Okay, you can go with him. If he gives you anymore shit, just call me.” She was smirking when she said it, and, to
my astonishment, Brian was looking like, well, not a silly little faggot, but a pussycat. Totally tame.

After that, over the next three days, things entered The Twilight Zone as Brian and I talked. Not in a bad way, just
… well, at times, I had to remind myself it was us, Brian and me, actually spending this much time together, talking.
Don’t get the wrong idea. He didn’t turn into this different person overnight nor were we yakking every single
minute of every single day. That’s not Brian. It was more like long periods of silence followed by Brian making a
remark, me answering cautiously, Brian saying something else. Sometimes we’d argue or even yell. I tried to stomp
out of the loft at one point, flailing my arms and telling him he’d never see my face again, but he stood in front of
the door and wouldn’t let me leave. That was good too because I’d told him not to let me get away with that shit,
giving up like that, queening out in a moment of despair. Still, we talked about a lot of good stuff.

Yeah, we fucked. Of course we did. We do some of our best work that way. We fucked and ate take out and watched
a few movies and smoked weed. Then we talked. Or fucked again. Oh, and I forgot to say, while this was going on,
Brian was hovering over me like I had two broken legs. He was so concerned about my back, he wanted to take me
to the doctor’s. I mean, I had to wrestle the phone out of his hand, he was that insistent. I did let him massage my
back, which turned into a full body massage, which led to more sex—not a bad deal. He ordered all my favorite
foods and even went down to the store to get me about fifteen pints of Ben and Jerry’s and a couple of boxes of
Lucky Charms. On his way back, he bought me the DVD of Yellow Submarine, which had commentary from the
animator and designer in it as well as many of the original drawings. That’s when I knew we were in an alternate
universe. He hates that movie. Maybe because I’ve watched it with him about two dozen times?

He even talked about shrinks, about consulting a friend he has who’s a psychologist. I was shocked when he
confessed to seeing this guy during the early days after I came to live with him. To talk about me. Brian, who has
such a thing about all psychology being bullshit. Now he was saying it depended on what the situation was, that
there was a big difference between some nelly bottom fluttering on and on about his love life, and a guy who
thought he was already damn smart endangering his boyfriend’s life thanks to drugs, booze, and tricking. He
actually used that word too—“boyfriend.” I had to struggle to keep my face straight when he said that one. No, he
wasn’t rushing to the phone and making an appointment, but he was talking about it. The whole Moe and Curly
thing had shaken him on a deep level, one I’m not sure I understood. For my sake, he tried to stay cheerful, but I
caught him sometimes just staring out at nothing, this look in his eyes, a despair there that made me wrap my arms
around him and draw him back. So, I knew we’d taken some kind of quantum leap. What kind I wasn’t sure.

Still, it was good. I knew it was good. Because Brian was opening to me, just a crack. And that was something I’d
always wanted, something I never thought I’d see. Now, strange as it sounded, the assault had given me the means
to that end. And I was thrilled. Him saying he loved me could not have been any better than what he was giving me
now: himself. I caught a glimpse of the darkness at the center of his soul, a darkness that needed love’s illumination.
I didn’t say that to him, of course, but I could see it, clearly. Once, a long time ago, when he’d been a kid, he’d been
hurt over and over again, hurt even though he’d gone on hoping that would change, hurt until he learned to never
trust anyone who arrived with the word “love” on their lips. The thought made me ache all over, much worse than
the beating I’d endured. I’d seen pictures of Brian as a boy and had no trouble imagining the cynicism and anger
that’d little by little replaced that open, trusting face I’d seen in those photos. That he somehow needed to come to
terms with that, I knew. That he and I could do that, I had no doubt. I know, another dumb, idealistic kid—that’s
what I sound like. That’s okay. It’s what I believed.

Then the other shoe dropped.

We’d been out of touch with everyone, our cell phones off, Brian’s answering machine silently picking up messages
at home. Brian was even ignoring the front door buzzer. And Kiki, back from her trip, took all my shifts for the
weekend. Of course, I wanted a word or two with Michael, but taking care of Brian and me was a whole lot more
important than reaming him out. So neither of us was prepared for what had taken place in our absence.

You know how gay boys are, right? They love good gossip and the best gossip of all, the stuff dreams are made of,
is when someone big, someone deliciously grand and unattainable, is brought down. Someone like Brian. And so it
was that Curly and Moe, who were really Eric and Steve, went from trying to rape me to bragging about it at
Babylon, Woody’s, anywhere people would listen. They thought it was uproariously funny that Brian Kinney’s little
blond twink was the one throwing punches while Brian lay passed out on his bathroom floor. In their twisted way of
looking at things, that was hilarious, that made Brian the biggest pussy on Liberty Avenue. Naturally, the fact that
I’d kicked their asses and thrown them both out of the loft has been conveniently overlooked in their retelling.

Brian and I discovered this when we went into the diner for breakfast Monday morning. We knew there’d be grief
because my shiner was still obvious, but we had a story prepared. Unfortunately, we had no idea what awaited us.

“Sunshine!” Debbie shrieked the minute we came through the door and I cringed even though that’s what I
expected.

“Hi, Deb,” I said as she scuttled across to me.

“My God!” She took my head in her hands and practically jerked it off my shoulders as she examined the bruise.
“You asshole!” she hissed at Brian, who was standing behind me. “You’ve finally gone too far!”

“Wait a minute—” I started to say, confused that she’d jumped to such a conclusion, but I might as well have tried
to stop a tornado.

“I told you one day you’d hurt someone with this shit and now look what you’ve done, you fucking bastard!” She
smacked Brian on the arm. “I am not going to stand around and let you screw up someone else’s life the way you
screwed up your own.” She hit him again. “Taking tricks back to the loft and almost getting Sunshine killed! I’ll
never forgive you!” She raised her hand.

“Hey!” I grabbed it. “Cut that out. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Look at you! Look how he hurt you!”

I was aware that all activity had ceased in the diner and we’d become the focus of everyone’s attention. Great, just
great. “He didn’t hurt me, not directly,” I said, trying to keep my own voice down. “Those jerks did. And I’ve
forgiven him for that or doesn’t that matter? How’d you know about it anyway?”

We stood there, barely moving, and listened while she told us about fucking Eric and fucking Steve.

“Shit,” Brian said when she’d finished, pinching his nose with thumb and forefinger. The color had disappeared
from his face, and I could see that same aching despair creep into his eyes.

“So, you just take their word for it? You don’t want to hear Brian’s side or my take on it at all? Is that what you’re
telling me?” I asked Deb, but right then, Michael walked in.

“Justin, God, look at you!”

This was getting old. I pushed his hand away when he wanted a closer look. “Just what the fuck happened to you
last Wednesday?”

Michael looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Michael, remember? I asked you to help me that night, at Babylon.” I didn’t want to be too specific because that
would really make Brian look bad.

He scrunched up his face although I wasn’t sure if he was trying to remember or simply frowning. “I think … he
told me he was fine. I had a couple of bumps and I might’ve lost track of him, but, shit, he’s a grown man, isn’t he?”

“Hello? Standing right here.” Brian raised an eyebrow as he looked from me to Michael and back. “I take it the
trial’s over?” he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “I’m convicted and sentenced?”

“Ever since you picked him up, you’ve been endangering Justin’s life.” Debbie shook her finger in his face. “And
the worse thing is, you don’t give a fuck. Not about him, not about anyone!”

“Including you, I hope?” Brian shot back.

“Fuck you!” Michael yelled and stepped between Brian and Deb. “Maybe it’s time you listen to her, Brian! You just
need to fucking grow up and stop behaving like some twenty-year-old without any responsibilities who thinks he
can fuck everything in sight and drink ‘til he pukes! Enough is enough! Everyone knows that but you!”

During this lovely speech, Ted had wandered in along with Emmett. They stood watching as Michael spoke. When
he finished, Ted nodded. “Truer words have never been spoken, Bri.” He shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Teddy!” Emmett said immediately, looking from person to person. “Not nice.”

“Not nice, but admitting the truth is a necessary first step.”

His face impassive, Brian stared at all of them and must have seen the hardness in their expressions. Something
flashed in his eyes. “All right, then. Thanks for clearing that up.” He turned on his heel and walked out.

“Thank you, so much,” I whispered to them. “Did you guys forget what happened last week?”

Debbie cracked her gum. “He never gave a shit about his mother. I doubt he gives a shit about anyone.”

“And you’ve lived how long?” I turned to follow Brian out.

“Don’t talk to my mother that way!” Michael yelled at my back.

I stopped and turned in his direction. “Michael?” I said in a soft-and-innocent kind of voice. I crooked a finger,
really tired of the audience.

Michael frowned, but came toward me, following when I opened the door and stepped out onto Liberty. “Yeah?”

“You are at least partly responsible for this you little shit!” I shouted at him. “You said you’d help me out and you
fucking didn’t. And you know what? I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you had something to do with those two jerks
coming back to the loft!”

“You’re fucking insane!”

“Am I? It would be just like you to not do something, to use your passive/aggressive bullshit to stick it to me again.
As long as I’ve known you, that’s what you do, paste on your innocent face while you’re putting a knife in my back.
Who’s to say you didn’t do that at Babylon? Maybe you saw those two guys leaving with Brian and just let it
happen!”

Michael stared at me, mouth firmly shut, brown eyes blazing. I could tell he was gritting his teeth just to keep
himself from saying another word.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I turned away, and went looking for Brian.

~ 5 ~

Of course, Brian was gone. We might’ve made a lot of progress in the last three days, but Brian still didn’t stop
being Brian. And I had to get to school. So, whatever damage his so-called friends had done, it would have to wait.

I had a shitty day at PIFA. One of my professors really gave me a hard time about a project, one that was very late.
And no, my still-bruised face did not get me any sympathy with this guy, who probably thought it was part of my
disgusting lifestyle. Daphne, meanwhile, must have been channeling Cruella De Vil because she didn’t want to hear
anything I had to say. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, I ran into one of Ethan’s old friends who believed Ethan could
do no wrong, that if anyone fucked up the relationship, it had to be me. Then she told me why. You got it. Because
of my association with Brian. Obviously, it’d rubbed off.

So, by the time I got back to Brian’s place that evening, around 5:30, I had a headache and my brain was whirling
with so many thoughts I couldn’t grasp even one. I kept wondering why I could forgive Brian for what he’d done,
but his friends were ready to lynch him. Wasn’t I the one who got beat up and nearly raped? Shit. Of course, I loved
him, but didn’t they love him too? Why didn’t they understand that nothing would ever change unless they were
willing to help him deal with things? That business about relationships being equally split, fifty-fifty responsibilities,
well … that’s bullshit. Relationships go through cycles with one partner sometimes bearing the brunt—I’m pretty
sure I read that online. Maybe right now, I was the one doing most of the heavy lifting, but it sure as hell wasn’t
always that way.

I punched in the building code then pounded up the stairs to the fourth floor, but stopped at the top because the loft
door was opened. Stepping a little closer, I listened, afraid what I might hear.

“How do you think it makes me feel? If you can’t even protect your lover, how’re you going to protect our son?”

Fuck. It was Lindsay.

“Yeah, right. I’m likely to be tricking while I’m watching Gus.”

Brian sounded aggravated, his voice husky like he’d been smoking too much.

“How do I know that? You went to the Leather Ball that one time when you were supposed to be watching—”

“Would you get off that? I told you what happened. Justin was watching him.”

“Yes, funny thing about that. It’s always Justin, isn’t it? Your own personal little slave. God, Brian, he could’ve
been killed by those guys. Or raped. Don’t you think this needs to be a wake up call, that you need to consider how
fucked up your behavior has become?”

Leaning my forehead against the cool metal door, I bit my lip to keep from screaming. Lindsay was lecturing Brian?
Lindsay who’d been a fucking champion of Brian’s sex-drugs-and-clubbing lifestyle since she’d first met him? Did
she know the meaning of the word hypocrite?

“I wish you’d stay the fuck out of my relationship with Justin.”

“Oh, so, what? You can completely ditch him like you did before? Well, given your recent behavior, you may not
have to resort to many more theatrics. He might just do it for you.”

I drew in air, my heart pounding like crazy. I knew I couldn’t rush in and start screaming at Linds because Brian was
not liking that shit, at all. So, I waited a second until I felt more in control then I rolled back the door.

They both turned.

“Hi.” I managed a smile that might have looked authentic.

“Oh, Justin …” Lindsay came over to do her poor-Justin routine, but I fended her off when she tried to touch my
face. “What’s wrong?” She looked hurt.

“I’m fine. I’m just tired of this whole thing.”

“But Justin, my God, look at you!”

I went around her and set down my bag on the kitchen counter.

“Sorry, Lindsay. I’d just rather not talk about it, okay?” I busied myself pulling off my coat, getting water, taking a
drink, digging around inside the bag like I was looking for something—anything to keep her from starting up again.

A minute later, she was gone.

Brian walked to the middle of the floor and stopped. He rubbed the back of his neck, and glanced at me.

“Brian—”

“Just don’t saying anything,” he said, a definite edge in his voice.

“Listen, you don’t have—”

“That’s all I’ve been hearing all day. Listen while I tell you what a shit you are. From every single one of them. So,
could you kindly—”

I went toward him. “No, I can’t. I can’t kindly let you buy that shit when it’s just that, a huge pile of shit being
heaped on you by people who’re supposed to be your friends.”

“They are my friends.”

“Really? I don’t see them supporting you very much. Isn’t that what friends are supposed to do?”

“In this case, they’re being your friends.”

“No, they’re not. If they were my friends, they’d be wondering what they could do to help. They’d understand that
we’re in the middle of a fucking crisis and they’d try to lend a hand, to help fix it. It wouldn’t be about tearing you
down, which is exactly what they’re doing!”

Brian went to the table near the window and got a cigarette. “They have a point,” he said with his back to me. “A
legitimate point.”

I went cold all over. Oh, God. I followed him. “That point being?”

“You know what they’re saying. Don’t play dumb.”

“That somehow you’re a menace to me?”

He turned, unlit cigarette in hand, and came to where I was standing. His expression somber, he tipped up my face
and rubbed at the fading bruise with his thumb. “Somehow?”

With a light touch, I put my hand on his. “Brian, people get hurt in relationships all the time.”

“Getting hurt in a relationship usually means your feelings get hurt,” he said, stepping back, his gaze still locked on
mine. “It shouldn’t mean you get physically abused.”

Right away, I noticed he’d ignored the R-word, “relationship.” That scared me more than anything else. “I’ve never
been abused by you. That’s absurd.”

“Depends on the definition.” He went back to the table and got his lighter, lighting the cigarette as he stood there,
staring out the window. His shoulders were hunched, one hand clenched into a fist. “From what I saw the other night
…”

“Okay, so you were responsible for bringing home those guys, and that was totally fucked up, but—”

“I don’t mean that night.”

Shit. He meant the night we came back from Daph’s. Okay, I guess I skipped that part of the story, didn’t I? The
thing is, what happened to me hasn’t been my focus. Maybe that’s wrong and psychologically unhealthy. Maybe his
friend the shrink would say I’m in denial. Maybe I am. I’m not sure. I just know that since Brian’s mom died, my
focus has been on him. And even through all the shit that happened, that’s where I stayed … mostly. Yeah, I kinda
did a meltdown the night we came home, just when we were getting ready for bed. It wasn’t nearly as dramatic as
some of my screaming, thrashing PTSD attacks, trust me. But the bed reminded me of what happened, and, yeah, I
ended up crying and Brian felt like shit and held me while I did. Now, though, I realized he was going to pull out
every weapon at his disposal, including that one. “You are not responsible for—”

“I am responsible!” He’d snapped so quickly, I flinched. “It’s bullshit to say otherwise. God, Justin, I hate it when
you get so caught up in your tunnel vision concept of the world you can’t see the truth. I bear primary responsibility
for at least two times you’ve gotten hurt. Period. End of bullshit argument.”

“And?”

“And it fucking has to stop.” He took a deep drag on his cigarette. “I can’t let it continue.”

My breath left my body. “Which means what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. You’re not the kind of guy who says something like that without having a solution.”

Silence.

I came to where he was standing. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” I said to his back, my voice low. I tried to keep
the fear at bay, but, shit, he was starting to frighten me.

“I don’t know.”

“You do know and I know too. You think you have to protect me from you, don’t you? Because I’m a clueless little
kid who’ll get smashed if you don’t. You’re responsible, you should stay away, end of story. Brian, that’s bullshit.” I
laid a hand on his shoulder and tried to turn him around, but he wouldn’t budge. “Look at me. God, Brian, don’t
scare me! That’s not how we should be handling this! The stuff we were doing before your ‘friends’ started sticking
their nose in—that’s how we should continue.”

Brian stared out the window.

“You’re dealing with some heavy shit. Do you remember that part of it?”

“That’s nothing but a fucking excuse.” He took a drag on his cigarette. “Jack … he used to be great at that too.”

“Oh, so now you’re being your father? And that makes me you?”

He continued to smoke, back to me, saying nothing. “I don’t want you hurt,” he said, his voice very strained.

“Then wrap me in bubble wrap and stick me in your storage area. People get hurt, Brian, all the time. You, me, all of
us. You can’t prevent that.”

“I can prevent my part of it, for you.”

The tears ran down my face then. Shit, I was tired, and I was really sick of this whole thing. Really, really sick. “By
getting rid of me, right? You just end the relationship and then poor little Justin never has to get hurt by big, bad
Brian again. Right?” I grabbed his shoulder and he turned this time. “That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? You’ll
make yourself a fucking martyr in service to the cause of me! Right?”

He stared at me, lower lip sucked in, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Right.”

I pointed a shaking finger at him, jamming it right in his face. “Fuck you! Just … fuck you!” Then I turned, grabbing
my coat and bag. I’d rolled open the loft door and was half-way down the steps before I realized something that
scared the shit out of me: This time, he didn’t stop me.

~ 6 ~

The next four days were hell. I didn’t see Brian, and didn’t talk to him—in fact, I didn’t talk to anyone. Daphne
became even bitchier because I refused to discuss what was going on although she must’ve heard me cursing and
kicking stuff. Even at the diner, I kept to myself, shaking my head whenever Debbie tried to pry information out of
me, hardly speaking to any of the gang unless it was to take an order. Fortunately, I only had three shifts during that
period, and two of them were late evening, so I didn’t see that many people, except, of course, for Debbie, who was
relentless. She would’ve made a good interrogator, but I refused to bite no matter what she said, no matter how
many speeches she gave about being respectful to people older than me.

Brian didn’t stop by the dinner, which worried me. I heard Michael ask Emmett and Ted if they’d seen him at the
gym, Woody’s, or Babylon, and no one had. Of course, they asked me too, but I wouldn’t talk to them even when
Michael cornered me in the kitchen and demanded answers. I just stared at him, though, because I knew if I started
talking, especially to him, I’d soon be screaming. He looked at me like I’d lost my mind and went back to the boys,
complaining loudly. They were all confused, angry, upset, and all I could think was, Fuck you! Yeah, real articulate.

Walking out on Brian that way … I don’t know why I did, but I’d made a huge mistake. Again. At the moment I
left, it just seemed like he’d joined the chorus and was going to disrespect me right along with everyone else. I
couldn’t stand that and I knew we’d never survive if he thought of me that way, if, after all this time, all I was to him
was a kid who couldn’t hack it. Still, what was wrong with me? Was I that fucking stupid that I’d make the same
mistakes over and over again? Didn’t I love him enough to stick with him? That’s what I thought I was doing when I
forgave him so quickly, but then, fuck, look what I did! So, if I knew him so well, why was what he did such a
surprise? Okay, maybe not a surprise, maybe just the breathtaking kind of turn in a relationship that leaves you
wondering what just happened.

But, shit, I had to fix this somehow and I knew it wasn’t just me who’d need fixing, it was all of us. And by “all” I
meant our dear friends who wanted to make sure I remained in the role of victim and Brian was typecast as my
abuser. That kind of thinking had to stop if our relationship had any chance at all. But what the fuck could I do?

Friday night. Debbie was hosting a family dinner. She’d nagged me about it all week, to make sure I’d be there. Of
course, I had no intention of going and I knew hell would freeze over before Brian showed up. When I thought about
them, eating puttanesca in Debbie’s living room without us, I knew we’d be the main topic of conversation and
when that picture had planted itself in my mind, I realized what I had to do. It was going to be a little risky, but,
fuck, I didn’t have a lot to lose.

When I arrived that night, I stood on Debbie’s front porch for a few seconds, inhaling deeply, and wiping my
sweating palms on my coat. I had to do this. Had to. Yet, it seemed like what they said about me was true. I was a
boy sent to do a man’s job and I wasn’t up to it. I’d been raised to be respectful to my elders and everyone on the
other side of the door was just that—older than me. I was nothing but a kid play-acting at a relationship with a man
too old, too complex, too “tortured” for me, and they all knew it. Who the fuck did I think I was, telling them about
Brian?

It all went through my head in those few minutes I stood there, but my mom was right when she said I could be very
determined when I wanted something and if there’s one thing I’ve always wanted, from the first moment I saw him,
it was Brian. And I wasn’t about to lose him now.

I knocked. Vic opened the door, and gave me a big smile. “Hey, look who’s here!” he called as soon as he saw me.
“Come on in, Justin.”

“Thanks.”

“Let me take your coat.”

“No thanks.” I moved a little further into the room, noting Debbie standing in the entrance to the kitchen, Emmett
and Ted on the sofa, Mel and Linds in a couple of chairs, Michael standing next to them with Ben just coming
behind Debbie to peer over her shoulder. Walking a little further, I faced them, looking from person to person, my
hands jammed in my pockets. I was shaking, but hoped they couldn’t see. “I’m not staying. I just … I needed to say
something.”

“Oh, Justin, we know it’s been a rough week for you.” Lindsay spoke immediately, her soothing tone a little
wheedling. “Why don’t you sit with us and relax for a little while?”

I straightened my spine, but managed a smile. “No. I just need to … I have something to say.”

“Maybe we’d prefer not to be lectured,” Michael said, glowering at me. “Especially by you.”

“Me?” My hands balled into fists. “Meaning the twink who busted his way into your little group a few years ago?”

“We don’t think of you that way!” Lindsay protested.

“Of course you do. That’s why you’ve all been so vocal about what happened, because when you look at me, you
see a kid who needs to be protected, someone who’s playing out of his league. I’m sure some of you weren’t
surprised when you heard about Steve and Eric. I’ll bet some of you thought it was long overdue.”

“That has nothing to do with you.” Debbie spoke from where she stood, a huge frown pulling down her mouth. “It’s
Brian and the life he leads. You shouldn’t be exposed to that kind of fucked up behavior and at his age, he ought to
know better.”

“He didn’t deliberately do anything to me. That’s the point you guys seem to forget. Yes, what happened was really
fucked up, and he bears responsibility for it—a responsibility that, almost from the very beginning, he's accepted.
But despite what you may think, I’m an adult and can make my own decisions. And I get a little tired of all of you
trying to second-guess every move I make. You spend all your time telling me how bad Brian is for me, and when
you’re not doing that, you’re telling Brian the same thing.” I stopped to glare at them. “I hope you know, you’ve just
about got him convinced. He’s very close to breaking up with me, if he hasn’t done so already.” My voice cracked,
and I mentally gave myself a shake. Fuck, stop it!

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, Jus,” Vic murmured from his place on the arm of the sofa.

“Maybe that’s for the best, Sunshine,” Debbie said at the same moment. “You might be better off—”

“I might be better off, if you’d all give me the courtesy of letting me live my own life. I don’t need people riding
roughshod over my relationship. I don’t do that with you.” I focused on Lindsay. “I never told you to break up with
Mel just because you guys had trouble, did I?” I swung my gaze to Michael. “And I never told you that Dr. David
was a bad choice even when Brian was jealous and acting like a complete fool.” I looked across the room to Debbie.
“I didn’t even say anything bad about Carl Horvath when I thought he might be a homophobe. Did I, Deb?”

No one spoke.

“So, why in hell am I fair game? Yes, I know!” I said when Debbie opened her mouth again. “I’m a kid. What do I
know? I need your help, your advice, your wisdom. Well, that all might be true. I know I’m younger than all of you.
I don’t know shit about a lot of things. But when you mess with the person that means the most to me, you’ve gone
too far. And that person is Brian.”

Michael tossed his head like he was ready to do battle. “He means a lot to us too.”

“Oh, sure, he does. Sure. That’s why you’ve all condemned him for what he did. Have any of you thought about
what he’s going through? His mom died, remember?” I threw another glare at Michael. “And don’t give me that shit
about him hating her. It doesn’t matter if he hated her, she was still his mom. Do you know the last thing he said to
her after she'd called him all kinds of names and told him he was going to hell? He said, fuck you, that's what he

said. His last words to her. God, doesn't that mean anything to you? I think sometimes none of you knows him, not
even you, Michael. What does Brian do when he’s in pain?”

Michael looked like he’d eaten a sour pickle. “He-he drinks a lot. Does drugs. Tricks.”

“So why in hell didn’t any of you remember that when this happened? Why’d you jump on the blame-Brian-and-
drag-him-through-the-mud bandwagon, especially when you saw that I’d apparently forgiven him? What the fuck is
wrong with you?”

“Justin.” Debbie’s voice had taken on that warning tone that always made me pay attention. “Do not talk to me that
way.”

“I’m sorry, Debbie, but it’s the truth. You of all people … God, didn’t you know him when he was a kid? You saw
what his life was like. Can’t you remember any of that?”

Debbie just stared.

“Then why don’t you have compassion for him? Why don’t you behave like the second mother you’ve always
claimed to be? Why would you go around calling him a jerk and an asshole instead of helping him?” To my shock
and horror, tears were running down my cheeks. “Fuck, Debbie. Don’t you know how much he hurts beneath the
façade he puts up? I’ve known him three years and I see that.” Angrily, I wiped my face, trying to regroup.

“He behaves like an asshole, so it’s his own fault if that’s how he’s treated.” Mel spoke up for the first time, but she
sounded less than convinced.

“Well, that’ll sure help him change, won’t it?” I took another look at them and saw that maybe I’ve gotten through
although it was hard to tell. “I want you guys to stop jumping on him whenever he behaves in a way you’ve always
encouraged him to behave.”

“We don’t encourage him to do anything!” Michael said, his voice rising.

“Yes, you do.” To my surprise, Emmett spoke up. “You’ve spent years driving him home after he gets wasted at
Babylon, which makes you …” He touched his lower lip, raising his eyes toward the ceiling. “I believe the exact
term is, you’re an enabler.”

“I am not!”

“It’s certainly true,” Ted said, craning his neck to look at Michael. “I mean, you’ve always admired his stud of
Liberty Avenue thing. You brag about him to us, to other people, all the time.”

“You guys are full of shit!”

“They’re right.” All eyes turned back to me. “But I didn’t come here to argue that with you, not now. I came here to
ask you to back off. If you can’t be supportive of Brian, or supportive of me—”

“We are supportive of you!” Lindsay said in protest.

“No, you’re not. Not if you’re telling Brian I’m some delicate little flower who might get killed at any moment.”

“Justin, you almost did get killed.”

“I did that to myself!” I raised my voice, gesturing at all of them, hands flying. “I fucking antagonized Chris Hobbs.
Why don’t you understand that?” I took some breaths, trying to calm down. I hadn’t come to debate them. “Like I
said, if you can’t be supportive, can you please stay out of the relationship? Can you please just let us be?”

“Brian doesn’t even acknowledge he’s in a relationship,” Michael said, his voice with that shrill edge to it.

“You don’t have any idea what Brian acknowledges when we’re alone.” I looked at them again. “It is a relationship.
And it’s between us, him, and me. I’m not seventeen and I know things about him none of you do, I know him in
ways none of you do, and I understand him better because I don’t have the same history with him. So could you
please give us a moment’s worth of respect and butt out?”

Again, silence reigned.

Long since, I’d stopped the tears, but the shaking had gotten a lot worse. I suddenly wanted to apologize, to tell them
I was having a bad week, to beg them to understand where I was coming from. But … fuck it. None of that was
going to make any difference whatsoever. They either heard me or they didn’t.

“And one more thing,” I said when I realized part of this whole process involved all of us taking responsibility for
what we’d done. I looked across to Michael. “When I left Babylon on Wednesday night because everyone
encouraged me to, I asked you to watch Brian.”

“And I did just that,” Michael said in a blustering tone.

“No, you didn’t. You partied because your husband was out of town—that’s exactly what you told me.” I let my
eyes once more stop on each one of them. “And I think you deliberately let Brian leave with those tricks.”

“That’s bullshit!” Michael’s angry denial exploded in the small room. “I never did—”

“So, if you’re interested in getting at the truth, why don’t you start with him?” I pointed at Michael, and, yes, I really
enjoyed the dumbfounded look that came upon his face.

“Michael …” Debbie said in a wondering tone.

Without another word, I turned on my heel, and left.

~ 7 ~

Back on Tremont, I went up the stairs and didn’t bother knocking. No, I just unlocked the door and went on in. I
knew he’d be there. And I knew, one way or another, we were going to deal with this.

Inside, it was dark. The only light on was the small one in the kitchen. Since it was only a little past seven, I figured
Brian couldn’t be asleep, but as I stood there, letting my eyes adjust, I became aware of one thing: the sweet smell of
weed. Blinking a few times, I looked around and saw the lit end of the joint. Then I saw Brian. The coffee table had
been pushed back and he was stretched out on the white carpet, his lanky body a familiar shape against the rug’s
brightness. Slipping out of my coat, I walked across to where he lay, coming to stand in front of his bare feet. The
glow outside cast a soft mix of white light and shadow on him, but I could just make out his eyes. They were on me.

“Thought you’d be at Debbie’s.” His voice was nearly invisible. The tip of the joint lit up as he took another hit.

“I was, but I didn’t stay long.”

“Yeah, actually, I know that.”

”How come?”

“Lindsay called. It sounds like you’re not too fond of them anymore.”

“No, I like them just fine.” I crouched down then dropped onto my knees, my hands in my lap as I sat back on my
legs. An odd sense of peace had come over me. Maybe it was the smoke in the air? I wasn’t sure, but the frenzied

anxiety I’d been feeding off of all week had disappeared and I could feel my muscles relax. “I just … asked them to
stay the fuck out of my-our business.”

“So I heard. I’ll bet that went down well.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t stay for the reviews, I just got the hell out.”

“Ballsy.”

I shrugged. “Why’d she call?”

“She apologized. Said she’d been way out of line—bullshit like that.” Brian raised an eyebrow but still looked
somber. “Apparently Mikey is coming in for some criticism.” Amusement crept into his voice. “It seems like you
kicked him just like you kicked Eric.”

My eyes widened. “How’d you know I kicked Eric? I never told you how that whole thing went down.”

Brian raised a shoulder in a sort of half-shrug. “Well, you see, he and I had a little talk today. In the alley behind
Woody’s. Oh, and Steve joined us too. Nice to visit with old friends, don’t you think? I was gonna pound their sorry
asses into the fuckin’ ground, but they told me you pretty much did that already.”

I stared at my hands in my lap, remembering that night with something less than affection. “I got in a lick or two.”

“They somehow overlooked those salient points in their retelling of the story. They were astonished it’d gotten so
twisted. And when I told them how you and I planned to sue them for everything they were worth, Eric was
particularly concerned.”

I shifted a little, biting my fingernail. “How come?”

“He works as a personal trainer and owns his own gym, which I discovered after Cynthia ran their names through an
online service. Many of his clients would be horrified to learn he’d attempted to force himself on someone.” He took
another toke then handed it down to me.

“So, what was the outcome of your chat?”

“Eric and Steve, who’s an employee of the gym, are gonna donate a sizeable amount of money to the rape crisis
hotline. Eric wanted to give it to you, but I had a feeling you wouldn’t want any of his filthy money.”

I shuddered at the idea, took another hit, and passed the joint back to him, shaking my head.

“They’ll also be offering you a profuse apology, both in person and in writing. The written one’s got to detail
exactly what they did and I told them it needed to be signed.” Brian twisted his mouth. “They won’t be offering any
alternative versions again.”

To say I was astonished was putting it mildly. While I’d been busy reaming the family and trying to get them back
in line, Brian had dealt with some issues of his own. “That’s … I’m—that’s really wonderful,” I managed finally
say. “So-so what about us? Your thing you said … before?” Shit, I could not put two words together. My brain felt
like a melted ice cream cone, and it wasn’t just the weed either.

Brian looked at me and the longer he looked, the softer his face became, even in the dim light. Finally, he raised a
hand, crooking his index finger. “Sunshine? C’mere.”

You’re gonna think I should’ve argued with him, read him the riot act, done more shouting, something that would
go with my new ex-twink status as ball buster extraordinaire. But shit, I didn’t need a second invitation. At that
point, I had no strength left and it never occurred to me to argue with him. Fuck, the up-and-down emotions were
killing me.

I toed off my shoes and crawled between his legs ‘til I’d shimmed onto his lean torso, looking down into his face.
We were so close we were breathing the same air. As he steadied me with his hands, I gazed into his eyes, wanting
to get lost there, sighing as his body warmed mine.

He laced his hands into my hair and brought out lips together, insistent, and tender. Cupping his face with my hands,
I deepened the kisses, but then he rolled me off and leaned over me. He smoothed back my hair, eyes fixed on me.
“How’d you like to visit a friend of mine?”

I touched his lips. “Friend?”

“His name’s Matthew.”

“The shrink?”

He struggled with his face, but didn’t look away. “Yeah.”

“You want me to go with you to see the shrink?” The whole Twilight Zone thing returned. “You?”

“Yeah. I talked to him. He thinks it’s a great idea.”

“You called him? Already?”

“I did. Did I tell you he’s gay?”

“No.”

“You’ll like him.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Brian Kinney wanted to see a shrink? “Why do you want to do this?”

He continued to run his fingers through my hair, separating strands and then sifting them. “Lots of reasons. The stuff
you said about me and my …” He crooked a couple of fingers in the air …’issues.’ Plus, for you. Especially for
you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you need it. You’ve been running on adrenaline since that whole thing went down. I know you did it for me,
because that’s how you are, single-minded and so fuckin’ determined to see a thing through. But you’re gonna have
to deal with it at some point.”

I felt the tears well up in my eyes. “I am?”

“Yeah.” He kissed my forehead then under my eye where the bruise had faded to a mottled purple-and-yellow. “You
were assaulted by those assholes and you can’t just cruise past it like nothing happened. I know you’ve got feelings
about it. Let’s deal with that. And by the way, if you do want to fucking sue Eric and Steve or report them to the
police, whatever, we’ll do that. It’ll be your call. They will, of course, be paying for Matthew's time.”

When I closed my eyes, I felt my eyelashes getting wet, but the next moment Brian was kissing them. “I-I don’t
know, I guess I’ll have to—I need time to think about it.”

“Of course.”

“So all that stuff you said about-how I needed to be protected from you and—” My eyes fluttered open and I
scrutinized his expression.

Brian looked momentarily angry, but it was directed inward. “Shit, that was nothing but me, being a drama queen.
I’m sorry, Justin. What a fuckin’ shitty thing to do to you.”

“You scared me so much with that shit.”

“I know. I fucked up, big time. All the way around. Shit.” That same haunting despair I’d seen earlier gripped Brian
again. “Everything in me wants to push away the things that are good, that would be good for me. It’s all I can do
sometimes to fight that urge, even with you.” He exhaled rapidly. “I know that’s not an excuse, but …”

“Then you’re not—”

“Getting rid of you? Fuck, no.” Brian pulled back enough to give me a wobbly smile. “Not now, when we finally
have our first appointment with our very own, personal shrink. I mean, if we’re fucked up, let’s be fucked up
together … although, I think in your case, it’ll be short-term.” He touched his lips to mine. “You’re pretty fucking
amazing, you know that? And strong. Fuck, you amaze me with your strength. I think I’m Superman, but—”

Right then, wanting to be such a shining example of that strength, I began to cry in earnest, the tears washing down
my face like they’d been waiting for permission to do so. Trust me, it wasn’t pretty. In a matter of seconds, I was
bawling like a five-year-old who’d lost his mommy in the mall. Brian wrapped his arms around me as I sobbed
against his chest, but, really, they were tears of joy, not sorrow. Okay, maybe a little of both—I’m not sure. I felt
like I’d been wearing a heavy coat that’d been pressing down on me for I don’t know how long and suddenly it was
gone. It fuckin’ made me lightheaded.

Brian hung onto to me, kissing my hair, rubbing my back, his legs wrapped around mine. And he was saying things
too and what things! His low, soothing tone was fucking me up even more. “Justin? You listening? It’s going to be
okay. We’re going to deal with this and get past it, you and me, because, fuck, we’ve come this far, who’s going to
stop us now?” He massaged my shoulders, pulling me more tightly against him, tucking me in until we were molded
together. “No one’s going to bring us down, Justin. You hear? Not even our friends and family, that’s for sure. And
not the assholes on Liberty. I think for right now, we ought to just avoid all of them, at least ‘til we get our bearings.
What do you say?”

I was sputtering and sobbing and shaking, all traces of my former macho self gone. And, fuck, what was wrong with
that? Everyone needed someone else to be strong for them sometimes, even Brian. I was twenty, for fuck’s sake, and
I’d been strong and would continue to be, but that didn’t mean I could never let down, it didn’t mean that I didn’t
need Brian’s strength, Brian’s presence, Brian’s love in my life. I needed all of that and more, just as he did. That’s
why we worked so well. We were good together. I knew that and I’d fought for it, fought until I was ready to drop.

“Can we … go to bed?” I managed to gasp when I could finally talk.

“First, we eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Brian looked fiercely determined. “First, we eat. If we’re going to be psychologically sound, we need to be
physically sound too.”

“I’m just so tired.”

Brian kissed my nose. “I will personally feed you your grilled cheese sandwich bite by bite.”

“You can make a grilled cheese sandwich?”

“Like a champ.” He kissed me on the mouth. “And I can open a can of tomato soup too.”

I gave him a goofy smile. “I think maybe you’re the man of my dreams.”

He smiled back. “Of course, I am. And you’re mine. Even me, the guy who wants to push people off cliffs … even
I’ve got that much figured out.”

After that, you couldn't pry the smile off my face no matter how hard you tried.

End