"Queer Identities" -- Chapter 72 "Independent"
Justin is in pain.
You might be, too.
This is Chapter 72 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Justin Taylor, and features Brian Kinney, Ethan Gold, Dylan Burke, Michael Novotny, Ben Bruckner, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Justin makes a decision. Pittsburgh, November/December 2003.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
Earlier "QI" chapters online and on the LJ are here:
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaelmcgear/Gaedhalficpage.html
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaedhal/
Most recent "QI" chapters on the LJ are here:
Ch. 69 "Inescapable II"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/417958.html
Ch. 70 "All or Nothing at All"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/418398.html
Ch. 71 "It's Too Late"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/419286.html
By Gaedhal
Brian is holding me.
That's all I've ever wanted from the first moment I saw him, walking towards me on a rain-soaked Liberty Avenue outside of Babylon.
I wanted him and he wanted me.
It seemed so simple. So right.
Brian is holding me.
That first night in the loft. The second time. The third time. The twentieth time.
After a long night at Babylon. After I came home from school. After breakfast, after lunch, after dinner. After a shower.
Before we got dressed. Before Brian went to work. Before he dropped me off at school, at Deb's, at my mother's.
Brian is holding me.
On the dance floor at Babylon. In the alley. In the Jeep. When my hand was shaking and when my head was aching. When I thought I'd never see him again.
Brian is holding me.
"It's all right, Justin. I'm here. Everything will be okay."
He kisses my hair and I think -- Yes, this is what I've wanted. What I've needed.
This this this this this.
But...
"No!"
The word explodes out of me. From somewhere deep inside. It comes out like that creature in 'Alien' -- unexpected, bloody, terrifying. And angry. Very, very angry.
"Don't touch me, Brian! It won't work. It's not that easy. Not this time."
I wipe my eyes. I didn't even know I was crying until I feel the dampness on my hand.
He stares at me, mystified. He doesn't understand. He'll never understand... Never!
"I said everything will be all right. I'm here. Let's go upstairs and talk about it. I'll explain everything." He stops and swallows, his voice breaking in that weird way it does sometimes, like he's 13 years old. "And I have something to tell you. Something... important. I... I haven't told anyone else about this, but..."
Always an excuse. Always a reason for why he's fucked up. But I'm so tired. Exhausted by it all. And I'm angry. Furious. It's too much. Too fucking much!
"I don't want to hear it," I tell him bluntly.
"Please," he coaxes. "Come upstairs. We need to talk."
"No!" I repeat. "You think fucking away all our problems will make things better? Well, it won't! It can't! I'm sick of waiting around for you and always being your goddamn back-up plan!"
He looks puzzled. He ready doesn't get it. Not at all. "Back-up plan? What the fuck are you talking about?"
It all pours out of me. That fucking Vaughn guy. The newspapers. The gossip. My jealousy. My disappointment.
I know Brian will always disappoint me. That's the realization. He'll never give me what I really want.
But what is it I really want?
Brian. That's what I want. But Brian complete and total. It's all I've ever wanted. To have him all to myself and to have him want me in the same way -- me and no one else.
And that's impossible. I know that. He'll never be mine -- body, heart, and soul. There will always be Ron and Michael and Tim and Lindsay. Even Vic. Even Emmett! So many other guys, so many other dicks and mouths and faces, the ones with names and the hoards of nameless ones. And now Vaughn. And after him, someone else.
Brian will never be satisfied with me. And I'll never be happy until he's satisfied with me and only me.
So we're at an impasse. And he doesn't even realize it.
And then he says it. And that makes me even more furious.
"Don't forget that I love you. You should never forget that."
He fucking has the nerve to say that. To say, "I love you."
When Vic is dying. And after Vaughn. After all this shit.
I hate him hate him hate him!
"Now let's go upstairs. I have something important to tell you."
He has something important to tell me. It figures. Brian always has to play the trump card. It's always about him. Always.
Well, I won't do it. Not this time. No.
"It's too late!" I blast. "Everything's changed!" I shut my eyes. I don't want to look at him. Don't want to see his face. "Life's too fucking short."
Nothing will make this better. I don't want to spend my life waiting waiting waiting. Sitting by myself in the dark. Wondering. Never sure. Never certain. Never knowing what Brian is going to do next.
I can't take it.
My fucking head aches.
And then he says he didn't know about Vic.
I can't believe that. He must have known.
But he gives me a song and dance about an airport and a rental car and all of that crap.
You know what? It doesn't matter. It doesn't fucking matter!
He goes into this harangue about how he'll get Vic the best doctors money can buy and all of that. It's always about Brian taking control. Brian saving the day. Like he really thinks he's Rage. Well, he isn't! He never was and he'll never be!
Michael and I created Rage, but it was all fantasy.
A rotten fucking fantasy.
"You can't save Vic now," I tell him. I feel cold and hard, but powerful. Because I'm finally telling him the truth. "He could be dead right this minute. You're not really Rage. You can't save anyone. I always thought you could, but you can't." I pause. I don't want to say the words, but I have to. I can't not say them. It's fucking killing me to keep them in. The truth. The horrible fucking truth! "You couldn't save me from Chris Hobbs."
And then I see his face.
His face.
His arms drop to his sides, like he's helpless. Lost.
"Then there's nothing I can do." And he turns and walks back up the stairs.
Wait.
I take it all back! I didn't mean it!
"Brian!" I call.
I want to chase him back upstairs. I want Brian to hold me. Hold me hold me hold me. But I can't move. It's like I'm riveted to the floor.
I hear the door of the loft roll shut. That metal clang, like when I first closed that door on my old life and entered Brian's. The night I lost my virginity. The night it all began.
The night I lost everything and gained everything.
I stand there, waiting.
He'll come back down. Come down and hold me in his arms.
Or I'll run up there. Pound on the door. Force him to take me in. Take me back.
But he doesn't come back down.
And I stand there.
The silence is profound. I can hear the blood beating in my head.
I wait.
Nothing.
Nothing nothing nothing.
And then I leave.
There's nothing else to do.
***
I go to Ethan's place. I could go to my mother's condo, but she'll ask too many questions. I can't deal with questions right now.
Dylan answers the door. "What's up?" he says sleepily. Then he blinks and looks at my face. "Shit. Did Vic die?"
"No." I push by him and strip off my clothes. "Brian's at the loft."
"Oh." Dylan scratches his ass. "So why are you here?"
"I didn't want to deal with his shit tonight."
Ethan is snoring like a buzzsaw on the mattress. Dylan flops down on the bed and pulls the blanket over himself, making room for me.
I almost turn around and leave. Maybe going to my mom's isn't sure a bad idea. But I get into bed. It's not really big enough for three guys, but I've slept here like this, all three of us, before.
Not that I'm going to sleep at all.
Dylan is out in a couple of minutes and Ethan never even stirs. I lie next to them, staring at the cracked ceiling. Ethan's cat comes over to the mattress, his eyes glowing in the dark. And I don't have my allergy pills.
I turn over and close my eyes.
When I open them it's light outside. Ethan and Dylan are both still dead to the world and the cat is lying on top of the blanket. I get up and get dressed. Then I drive to the hospital.
Things are beginning to hop at Allegheny General. Nurses getting coffee and doctors in scrubs walking purposefully down the hallways. Up in the ICU waiting room I find Michael and Ben, eating bagels. Ben is leafing through the morning paper.
"Any word?" I ask.
Michael shakes his head. "Vic is still unconscious. Tim is in there now and Ma is in the chapel. I don't know how to get her home to get some rest. This could go on for days -- or longer." Michael rubs his forehead. "It's just like when I couldn't get Brian to go home or even change his clothes, until..." He stops and realizes who he's talking to. Then he coughs nervously.
"You mean when when I was in a coma, don't you?"
"Yes. What did Brian say to you? Does he really have to leave today?"
"How do you know I saw Brian?" I ask.
Michael frowns. "Because he was here. Didn't you see him back at the loft?"
"He came here? When?"
"Sometime after you left. He was here for a while. He talked to Tim and he sat with me until I fell asleep. Didn't you go back to the loft?" Michael is puzzled.
Brian must have gone to the hospital after I walked out. "I... I only saw him for a minute," I say.
"Are you all right, Justin?" Ben asks, his face full of concern.
"Yes. I'm fine. Listen, I just wanted to see how Vic was doing. I'll call you later, okay? I need to go back and talk to Brian. Right now."
I drive the Jeep way too fast, but I want to beat morning rush hour. And I need to get there before...
But when I walk into the loft it's empty. Brian is long gone.
I look in the closet. He's taken two of his Versace suits and one of his vintage Armanis, along with a pair of boots. I look in his drawers, but nothing's been touched.
Then I notice the plain white envelope. It's on the tall dresser, next to a photo of Brian and Gus when he was just a few months old.
Scribbled on the front of the envelope is "Justin." Nothing else.
I sit for a long time, holding it. I don't want to open it.
I don't I don't I don't.
But I have to.
I tear open the flap.
Inside is a plain gold chain with a little red enamel heart dangling from it.
Brian's Christmas present. The one I gave him six months too late as we sat in the waiting room at JFK before Brian got on the plane that took him back to Los Angeles -- and Ron.
The one he wore in 'Hammersmith.' The one that launched a fad among 15-year-old girls all across Britain.
I hold it in my hand. I almost think I can feel his warmth still on it, but I know that's bullshit.
I gave Brian my heart -- and now he's giving it back.
"You're free, Justin," I can hear him saying. "Make the most of it."
Freedom.
Fucking freedom.
***
"This place is great!" says Ethan with real enthusiasm. "I told you it would be! Look at all this room. All three of us can live here and we'll have all the space we need! You can have all your paints and art stuff, J. And there's a great echo in here -- my violin will sound amazing when I practice!"
"But there's no fucking bathroom," Dylan points out.
"There's a toilet," says the guy showing us the apartment. Except it's not really an apartment. It's a loft space, like Brian's must have been before he had it made into something a human being could actually live in. He walks over to a shower curtain hanging in the corner and pulls it aside. Sure enough, a toilet is sitting here, with a utility sink next to it.
"Where are we supposed to take a shower?" I ask.
The guy shrugs. "I don't know. But that's why it's so cheap. And you don't need to sign a lease. It's cash, month-to-month. But I gotta warn you boys -- the owner wants to gut this building and make it into condos, except he doesn't have the financing. But if he gets the money, then you'll have to take a hike."
Dylan walks over to the toilet and looks into it, grimacing. "What are the chances the owner will get that financing?"
The guy laughs. "Slim and none. But you never know. He could sell the building. Or the city might take it over if he can't pay the taxes. Either way, the price is right until that happens."
There's no way I want to live in this dump, let alone live here with Ethan and Dylan. But I have to find something. I can't stand to be in the loft and I'm going crazy staying with Ethan in the rat hole. But this place -- it's the worst!
I'd be better off moving back in with my mother.
I have to find my own place. It's the only way I can be independent. Until I get a place of my own, I'll never feel free.
"It's freezing in here," Dylan comments. "It's only the 2nd of December -- what's it going to be like in January?"
The guy laughs. "I told you -- this place rents as is. There's no heater. But you could put a couple of space heaters around. Should warm the place up a little."
"Yeah, and set fire to the place," I add. "We'll let you know."
Once we're out of there and in the Jeep I say, "That was a fucking waste of time."
"Why?" says Ethan. "I thought it was perfect!"
Dylan and I exchange glances. "I don't think so."
"Let's go to Pistol," says Dylan. "We'll be just in time for Happy Hour. The guys there will buy us plenty of drinks."
"We might as well go to Boytoy, then," I reply. "Or the hustler bar down in the Warehouse District."
"Getting some hot older guys to buy you drinks isn't a crime, Justin," says Dylan. "You ought to know that."
"Shut the fuck up, Dylan!" I gun the Jeep and drop both of them off at Pistol.
"Aren't you coming in, too?" asks Ethan as he gets out. "How will we get back to the apartment?"
"Take the fucking bus. Or get one of those hot older guys to take you home."
"Will do," Dylan says, smirking. "Get that bug out of your ass, Justin. You'll feel a lot better."
"Fuck you."
I don't know why I'm so angry. And frustrated. The semester ends on Friday and I'm pretty much finished with all my projects. And my 21st birthday is next week. Fucking 21! Then I'll really be independent.
I have to get my own place -- now. And not another dump I have to share with Ethan and Dylan. Something that's mine and no one else's. But it's going to be a lot more expensive than I thought to get someplace decent. I have to really watch my money. Fred Karr won't like it if I keep tapping into my capital. And my quarterly allowance only goes so far, especially if I have to pay my tuition, rent, living expenses, gas -- and I'll need to buy a cheap car. I can't keep driving the Jeep and still claim that I'm no longer living off Brian.
And I promised money to Michael for my share of 'Rage.' And Christmas is coming up very soon. I need to buy presents for my mother and sister. And something for Deb. And Emmett. And Vic and Tim...
Jesus.
Vic. I try not to think about Vic. There's been no change. He's just hanging on.
Yes, hanging on.
Being independent is kind of a pain in the ass. But it's time. I should have done this years ago. I'm going to be fucking 21 years old and I have to stand on my own two feet.
I head back to the loft.
I haven't been here since the day after Brian left. I got my books and art supplies and some clothes and took them to Ethan's. But I can't work there. Thank God the semester is almost over. But there's next semester... I need my own space. A place I can work. A place that's mine.
There's mail stuffed in the box. Mainly bills. I'll forward them to Brian's accountant, Hilly. But there's one addressed to me. It's from Cal Arts in L.A.
I hold my breath.
Then I open it.
"We are pleased to inform you that..."
I've been accepted for transfer to Cal Arts.
Fuck.
It figures. It fucking figures.
But it's too late. Too fucking late!
California is off the table now. Cal Arts is off the table.
Brian is off the table.
I take the elevator up to the loft.
It's cold in there. Cold and dark. I get out a trash bag and fill it with clothes, just throwing them in without looking at them, without thinking about what I'm doing. I feel like someone is watching me. I turn around and see the painting of the Naked Guy. But he's looking away.
Nothing like fitting your whole fucking life into a trash bag. It only takes me about 20 minutes and I'm done.
I'm done.
I'm independent. Finally.
Who am I kidding?
I stand next to the bed and stare at it.
"No matter who you're with from now on, I'll always be there."
Such a typical Brian thing to say. Stamping me. Owning me, right from that first night.
Owning owning owning.
But I never owned him. It was never equal. Never really partners. Brian Kinney's twink. Brian's boytoy. That annoying kid.
I can't be that anymore. I can't.
I lay down on the bed and close my eyes, spreading out my arms like wings.
I have to fly. I have to.
Independent.
Such a hard, cold, necessary word.
You might be, too.
This is Chapter 72 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Justin Taylor, and features Brian Kinney, Ethan Gold, Dylan Burke, Michael Novotny, Ben Bruckner, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Justin makes a decision. Pittsburgh, November/December 2003.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
Earlier "QI" chapters online and on the LJ are here:
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaelmcgear/Gaedhalficpage.html
http://www.fortruthis.net/gaedhal/
Most recent "QI" chapters on the LJ are here:
Ch. 69 "Inescapable II"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/417958.html
Ch. 70 "All or Nothing at All"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/418398.html
Ch. 71 "It's Too Late"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/419286.html
By Gaedhal
Brian is holding me.
That's all I've ever wanted from the first moment I saw him, walking towards me on a rain-soaked Liberty Avenue outside of Babylon.
I wanted him and he wanted me.
It seemed so simple. So right.
Brian is holding me.
That first night in the loft. The second time. The third time. The twentieth time.
After a long night at Babylon. After I came home from school. After breakfast, after lunch, after dinner. After a shower.
Before we got dressed. Before Brian went to work. Before he dropped me off at school, at Deb's, at my mother's.
Brian is holding me.
On the dance floor at Babylon. In the alley. In the Jeep. When my hand was shaking and when my head was aching. When I thought I'd never see him again.
Brian is holding me.
"It's all right, Justin. I'm here. Everything will be okay."
He kisses my hair and I think -- Yes, this is what I've wanted. What I've needed.
This this this this this.
But...
"No!"
The word explodes out of me. From somewhere deep inside. It comes out like that creature in 'Alien' -- unexpected, bloody, terrifying. And angry. Very, very angry.
"Don't touch me, Brian! It won't work. It's not that easy. Not this time."
I wipe my eyes. I didn't even know I was crying until I feel the dampness on my hand.
He stares at me, mystified. He doesn't understand. He'll never understand... Never!
"I said everything will be all right. I'm here. Let's go upstairs and talk about it. I'll explain everything." He stops and swallows, his voice breaking in that weird way it does sometimes, like he's 13 years old. "And I have something to tell you. Something... important. I... I haven't told anyone else about this, but..."
Always an excuse. Always a reason for why he's fucked up. But I'm so tired. Exhausted by it all. And I'm angry. Furious. It's too much. Too fucking much!
"I don't want to hear it," I tell him bluntly.
"Please," he coaxes. "Come upstairs. We need to talk."
"No!" I repeat. "You think fucking away all our problems will make things better? Well, it won't! It can't! I'm sick of waiting around for you and always being your goddamn back-up plan!"
He looks puzzled. He ready doesn't get it. Not at all. "Back-up plan? What the fuck are you talking about?"
It all pours out of me. That fucking Vaughn guy. The newspapers. The gossip. My jealousy. My disappointment.
I know Brian will always disappoint me. That's the realization. He'll never give me what I really want.
But what is it I really want?
Brian. That's what I want. But Brian complete and total. It's all I've ever wanted. To have him all to myself and to have him want me in the same way -- me and no one else.
And that's impossible. I know that. He'll never be mine -- body, heart, and soul. There will always be Ron and Michael and Tim and Lindsay. Even Vic. Even Emmett! So many other guys, so many other dicks and mouths and faces, the ones with names and the hoards of nameless ones. And now Vaughn. And after him, someone else.
Brian will never be satisfied with me. And I'll never be happy until he's satisfied with me and only me.
So we're at an impasse. And he doesn't even realize it.
And then he says it. And that makes me even more furious.
"Don't forget that I love you. You should never forget that."
He fucking has the nerve to say that. To say, "I love you."
When Vic is dying. And after Vaughn. After all this shit.
I hate him hate him hate him!
"Now let's go upstairs. I have something important to tell you."
He has something important to tell me. It figures. Brian always has to play the trump card. It's always about him. Always.
Well, I won't do it. Not this time. No.
"It's too late!" I blast. "Everything's changed!" I shut my eyes. I don't want to look at him. Don't want to see his face. "Life's too fucking short."
Nothing will make this better. I don't want to spend my life waiting waiting waiting. Sitting by myself in the dark. Wondering. Never sure. Never certain. Never knowing what Brian is going to do next.
I can't take it.
My fucking head aches.
And then he says he didn't know about Vic.
I can't believe that. He must have known.
But he gives me a song and dance about an airport and a rental car and all of that crap.
You know what? It doesn't matter. It doesn't fucking matter!
He goes into this harangue about how he'll get Vic the best doctors money can buy and all of that. It's always about Brian taking control. Brian saving the day. Like he really thinks he's Rage. Well, he isn't! He never was and he'll never be!
Michael and I created Rage, but it was all fantasy.
A rotten fucking fantasy.
"You can't save Vic now," I tell him. I feel cold and hard, but powerful. Because I'm finally telling him the truth. "He could be dead right this minute. You're not really Rage. You can't save anyone. I always thought you could, but you can't." I pause. I don't want to say the words, but I have to. I can't not say them. It's fucking killing me to keep them in. The truth. The horrible fucking truth! "You couldn't save me from Chris Hobbs."
And then I see his face.
His face.
His arms drop to his sides, like he's helpless. Lost.
"Then there's nothing I can do." And he turns and walks back up the stairs.
Wait.
I take it all back! I didn't mean it!
"Brian!" I call.
I want to chase him back upstairs. I want Brian to hold me. Hold me hold me hold me. But I can't move. It's like I'm riveted to the floor.
I hear the door of the loft roll shut. That metal clang, like when I first closed that door on my old life and entered Brian's. The night I lost my virginity. The night it all began.
The night I lost everything and gained everything.
I stand there, waiting.
He'll come back down. Come down and hold me in his arms.
Or I'll run up there. Pound on the door. Force him to take me in. Take me back.
But he doesn't come back down.
And I stand there.
The silence is profound. I can hear the blood beating in my head.
I wait.
Nothing.
Nothing nothing nothing.
And then I leave.
There's nothing else to do.
***
I go to Ethan's place. I could go to my mother's condo, but she'll ask too many questions. I can't deal with questions right now.
Dylan answers the door. "What's up?" he says sleepily. Then he blinks and looks at my face. "Shit. Did Vic die?"
"No." I push by him and strip off my clothes. "Brian's at the loft."
"Oh." Dylan scratches his ass. "So why are you here?"
"I didn't want to deal with his shit tonight."
Ethan is snoring like a buzzsaw on the mattress. Dylan flops down on the bed and pulls the blanket over himself, making room for me.
I almost turn around and leave. Maybe going to my mom's isn't sure a bad idea. But I get into bed. It's not really big enough for three guys, but I've slept here like this, all three of us, before.
Not that I'm going to sleep at all.
Dylan is out in a couple of minutes and Ethan never even stirs. I lie next to them, staring at the cracked ceiling. Ethan's cat comes over to the mattress, his eyes glowing in the dark. And I don't have my allergy pills.
I turn over and close my eyes.
When I open them it's light outside. Ethan and Dylan are both still dead to the world and the cat is lying on top of the blanket. I get up and get dressed. Then I drive to the hospital.
Things are beginning to hop at Allegheny General. Nurses getting coffee and doctors in scrubs walking purposefully down the hallways. Up in the ICU waiting room I find Michael and Ben, eating bagels. Ben is leafing through the morning paper.
"Any word?" I ask.
Michael shakes his head. "Vic is still unconscious. Tim is in there now and Ma is in the chapel. I don't know how to get her home to get some rest. This could go on for days -- or longer." Michael rubs his forehead. "It's just like when I couldn't get Brian to go home or even change his clothes, until..." He stops and realizes who he's talking to. Then he coughs nervously.
"You mean when when I was in a coma, don't you?"
"Yes. What did Brian say to you? Does he really have to leave today?"
"How do you know I saw Brian?" I ask.
Michael frowns. "Because he was here. Didn't you see him back at the loft?"
"He came here? When?"
"Sometime after you left. He was here for a while. He talked to Tim and he sat with me until I fell asleep. Didn't you go back to the loft?" Michael is puzzled.
Brian must have gone to the hospital after I walked out. "I... I only saw him for a minute," I say.
"Are you all right, Justin?" Ben asks, his face full of concern.
"Yes. I'm fine. Listen, I just wanted to see how Vic was doing. I'll call you later, okay? I need to go back and talk to Brian. Right now."
I drive the Jeep way too fast, but I want to beat morning rush hour. And I need to get there before...
But when I walk into the loft it's empty. Brian is long gone.
I look in the closet. He's taken two of his Versace suits and one of his vintage Armanis, along with a pair of boots. I look in his drawers, but nothing's been touched.
Then I notice the plain white envelope. It's on the tall dresser, next to a photo of Brian and Gus when he was just a few months old.
Scribbled on the front of the envelope is "Justin." Nothing else.
I sit for a long time, holding it. I don't want to open it.
I don't I don't I don't.
But I have to.
I tear open the flap.
Inside is a plain gold chain with a little red enamel heart dangling from it.
Brian's Christmas present. The one I gave him six months too late as we sat in the waiting room at JFK before Brian got on the plane that took him back to Los Angeles -- and Ron.
The one he wore in 'Hammersmith.' The one that launched a fad among 15-year-old girls all across Britain.
I hold it in my hand. I almost think I can feel his warmth still on it, but I know that's bullshit.
I gave Brian my heart -- and now he's giving it back.
"You're free, Justin," I can hear him saying. "Make the most of it."
Freedom.
Fucking freedom.
***
"This place is great!" says Ethan with real enthusiasm. "I told you it would be! Look at all this room. All three of us can live here and we'll have all the space we need! You can have all your paints and art stuff, J. And there's a great echo in here -- my violin will sound amazing when I practice!"
"But there's no fucking bathroom," Dylan points out.
"There's a toilet," says the guy showing us the apartment. Except it's not really an apartment. It's a loft space, like Brian's must have been before he had it made into something a human being could actually live in. He walks over to a shower curtain hanging in the corner and pulls it aside. Sure enough, a toilet is sitting here, with a utility sink next to it.
"Where are we supposed to take a shower?" I ask.
The guy shrugs. "I don't know. But that's why it's so cheap. And you don't need to sign a lease. It's cash, month-to-month. But I gotta warn you boys -- the owner wants to gut this building and make it into condos, except he doesn't have the financing. But if he gets the money, then you'll have to take a hike."
Dylan walks over to the toilet and looks into it, grimacing. "What are the chances the owner will get that financing?"
The guy laughs. "Slim and none. But you never know. He could sell the building. Or the city might take it over if he can't pay the taxes. Either way, the price is right until that happens."
There's no way I want to live in this dump, let alone live here with Ethan and Dylan. But I have to find something. I can't stand to be in the loft and I'm going crazy staying with Ethan in the rat hole. But this place -- it's the worst!
I'd be better off moving back in with my mother.
I have to find my own place. It's the only way I can be independent. Until I get a place of my own, I'll never feel free.
"It's freezing in here," Dylan comments. "It's only the 2nd of December -- what's it going to be like in January?"
The guy laughs. "I told you -- this place rents as is. There's no heater. But you could put a couple of space heaters around. Should warm the place up a little."
"Yeah, and set fire to the place," I add. "We'll let you know."
Once we're out of there and in the Jeep I say, "That was a fucking waste of time."
"Why?" says Ethan. "I thought it was perfect!"
Dylan and I exchange glances. "I don't think so."
"Let's go to Pistol," says Dylan. "We'll be just in time for Happy Hour. The guys there will buy us plenty of drinks."
"We might as well go to Boytoy, then," I reply. "Or the hustler bar down in the Warehouse District."
"Getting some hot older guys to buy you drinks isn't a crime, Justin," says Dylan. "You ought to know that."
"Shut the fuck up, Dylan!" I gun the Jeep and drop both of them off at Pistol.
"Aren't you coming in, too?" asks Ethan as he gets out. "How will we get back to the apartment?"
"Take the fucking bus. Or get one of those hot older guys to take you home."
"Will do," Dylan says, smirking. "Get that bug out of your ass, Justin. You'll feel a lot better."
"Fuck you."
I don't know why I'm so angry. And frustrated. The semester ends on Friday and I'm pretty much finished with all my projects. And my 21st birthday is next week. Fucking 21! Then I'll really be independent.
I have to get my own place -- now. And not another dump I have to share with Ethan and Dylan. Something that's mine and no one else's. But it's going to be a lot more expensive than I thought to get someplace decent. I have to really watch my money. Fred Karr won't like it if I keep tapping into my capital. And my quarterly allowance only goes so far, especially if I have to pay my tuition, rent, living expenses, gas -- and I'll need to buy a cheap car. I can't keep driving the Jeep and still claim that I'm no longer living off Brian.
And I promised money to Michael for my share of 'Rage.' And Christmas is coming up very soon. I need to buy presents for my mother and sister. And something for Deb. And Emmett. And Vic and Tim...
Jesus.
Vic. I try not to think about Vic. There's been no change. He's just hanging on.
Yes, hanging on.
Being independent is kind of a pain in the ass. But it's time. I should have done this years ago. I'm going to be fucking 21 years old and I have to stand on my own two feet.
I head back to the loft.
I haven't been here since the day after Brian left. I got my books and art supplies and some clothes and took them to Ethan's. But I can't work there. Thank God the semester is almost over. But there's next semester... I need my own space. A place I can work. A place that's mine.
There's mail stuffed in the box. Mainly bills. I'll forward them to Brian's accountant, Hilly. But there's one addressed to me. It's from Cal Arts in L.A.
I hold my breath.
Then I open it.
"We are pleased to inform you that..."
I've been accepted for transfer to Cal Arts.
Fuck.
It figures. It fucking figures.
But it's too late. Too fucking late!
California is off the table now. Cal Arts is off the table.
Brian is off the table.
I take the elevator up to the loft.
It's cold in there. Cold and dark. I get out a trash bag and fill it with clothes, just throwing them in without looking at them, without thinking about what I'm doing. I feel like someone is watching me. I turn around and see the painting of the Naked Guy. But he's looking away.
Nothing like fitting your whole fucking life into a trash bag. It only takes me about 20 minutes and I'm done.
I'm done.
I'm independent. Finally.
Who am I kidding?
I stand next to the bed and stare at it.
"No matter who you're with from now on, I'll always be there."
Such a typical Brian thing to say. Stamping me. Owning me, right from that first night.
Owning owning owning.
But I never owned him. It was never equal. Never really partners. Brian Kinney's twink. Brian's boytoy. That annoying kid.
I can't be that anymore. I can't.
I lay down on the bed and close my eyes, spreading out my arms like wings.
I have to fly. I have to.
Independent.
Such a hard, cold, necessary word.