Rehab - chapter 4
BRIAN
It's a week after I met Justin for the first and only time. I grudgingly admit to myself that I've been reluctant to go back to the Center; he struck a chord in me, the fucker. I genuinely like him and I don't really like anyone. At least, not like this. It's just that he has so much potential he doesn't see. I don't pity him, not at all. I just… admire him or something.
Guh.
Fuck knows why I want to help him. Justin doesn't need my help. I think he needs himself, to find himself. And Justin trusts me to help him with that though we talked about nothing of the kind. That tells me that frankly, he's kinda stupid, people-wise. I mean, within minutes of being with him I sensed he trusted me; and trusting people is stupid. I don't do it. And while he can trust me, I don't get why I immediately merited that 'honor'. He's had so many counselors and social workers who've tried to earn his trust, why of all the men who've volunteered to be his mentor does he like ME? I mean, he does seem to actually like me. Not my money, not my brain, not my skills in advertising. I dare to admit that I think most if not all my (few REAL) friends like me but they also like the money, smarts and skills that come with the package. Justin could care less what I make, how high my IQ is or what I do for a living... unless Mr. Marsh has filled him in, I doubt he even knows any of that stuff and he still seems to like my company. He even brushes off my brusqueness (Lindsay's word) with hardly a ruffled feather. In fact, he calls me on it. The honesty that pisses off so many people in my life seems to be golden to him. That's new. Most people don't want the hard truth - or the hard truth as I see it. Which is, of course, The Hard Truth.
I'm in the Jeep parked outside the Center and I've been here 5 minutes debating whether I should go in - whether I should blow it off, blow him off and find a nursing home or something else to fulfill my community service.
Suddenly I find myself at the door to the Center and shake my head. How'd I end up here without even noticing getting out of the car and walking to the front step? I close my eyes, clench my jaw, open the door and walk in. I sign in at the desk and a guard leads me to that same small, dank room I went to first when I met Justin. I sit and wait. Sunshine's not expecting me. Well, not anymore. Mr. Marsh called last Wednesday to tell me how much Justin seemed to like me, that he wanted to see me again, that he was disappointed I missed our scheduled time last Tuesday... REALLY disappointed...
I'd ignored the call completely. And I'd done the same to Justin.
I wait a few minutes in the disgusting little room and I decide to split and forget the whole thing but then the door opens.
"I'm not expecting any visitors! Get your hands off me! I hate this room! If it's Mr. Marsh, tell the asshole to talk to Jeremy!" I hear Justin yelling at the guard who's hustling the kid into the room. Justin's back is to me and he finally wrenches his arm away from the guard. "Fucker!!" he yells, watching as the guard leaves emotionlessly and without a word, closing the door behind him. Justin spins around to face me, staggering a little. "Look, you old fart, I don't need to see y--" he stops short when he sees it's me. "Brian?"
"Brilliant observation..."
"You came back? To see me?" he stammers. He sounds utterly shocked. Then his eyes quickly narrow in anger. "To do what? Say good bye to the hopeless twink?" he spits out.
I snort. "Yes, I came to see you but not to say good bye. I'd just blow you off if I didn't want to see you again. I wouldn't bother to say good bye."
"But I thought you did blow me off! You were scheduled to come the day after we saw each other last week." He hesitates then clears his throat. "Well, whatever! I'm fucking blowing YOU off, you old codger! Go home! I never wanted to see you again after you dropped me off last week and right now, I REALLY don't want to see you! Fucking asshole!"
Hmm. I don't move except to cross my arms and cock an eyebrow at him. He holds my stare a few moments and then looks at his fingers, frustrated. His brows knit. "I don't understand."
"Justin, let's just say I almost blew you off..."
He sways where he stands and I immediately rise to steady him but he stumbles and falls with a pissed off 'dammit!'
I stay where I am as he tries to get up; he can't get his equilibrium but I get the sense that he'd rather I didn't help him stand. Finally, he's up. I keep my face unconcerned even though his imbalance cuts me. "You're fall-down happy to see me, huh?" I say flippantly. He grimaces slightly, still unsteady; but there's a glimmer of relief in his expression. Relief I didn't freak out, I think.
"Shit," he mutters, shaken. "Y'know? They keep trying to give me a walker for fuck's sake; I hope the guard wasn't watching through the two-way mirror a second ago. If he was, I won't have a choice. A walker! At 17! I already have to sit down when I shower! It's like I'm 99 years old! I can't even get the dirt off me!!" he seethes. "I can't stand this and I'll be like this the rest of my miserable life! It'll be a short one, I'll make sure of that!" He's talking to himself at the moment. I don't think he remembers I'm even here, although his hazy focus is on me. He told me while we were playing Stratego last week that he can get spacey and his vision gets blurred and 'dark' (as he put it) when he gets a really bad wave of vertigo, so even though it seems like he's looking at me, I don't think he really sees me.
"Justin."
His eyes get clearer and I shove a chair near him. He grabs the back and steadies himself. "Brian?"
"Yeah," I say warily.
"Hey." He acts like he hasn't seen me today at all. Even his hostility seems to have evaporated completely.
"Hey yourself. Justin, sit down."
He does. He leans forward and puts his head in his hands. I scoot a chair in front of him and sit down to face him; I take his hands from his face and hold them. When he looks up, his eyes look rheumy and his lower lip is trembling. "Sorry," he mumbles sadly.
Instead of snarking at him how 'sorry is bullshit': "There's nothing to be sorry about. Unless you're purposefully ripping my Armani suit, denting my Jeep or producing sub-par work product, I'm actually pretty tolerant."
He smiles slightly, slowly regaining his concentration.
"Justin, what do you mean when you say that you're gonna make sure you have a short life?" I whisper. Normally, I'd ignore an inadvertent admission, by anyone. But not if it's a veiled suicidal one.
"What?" he asks, a little surprised.
"What you just said... that you're life will be a short one; that you're going to make sure of it...?"
"I didn't say that!"
I nod at him. "Yes, you did. That you're gonna make sure you have a 'short life' sounds a lot like you've considered, or are truly considering, suicide." I keep whispering so any guard or nurse who may be trying to listen in can't hear me. "That's something I can't ignore."
He stays quiet. Somber and quiet. His silence speaks volumes.
"Sunshine, you'd really piss me off if you did something to yourself, you know..."
"Yeah, why should I care if I piss you off?" Ah. There's the hostility.
"Because I do, you twat. I care if you piss me off; I don't like people who piss me off."
"Ha! Who cares if the oh-so-wonderful Brian Fucking Kinney is pissed off!!? You think I give a rat's ass? You think I give a SHIT if you like ME? That is a JOKE!
"I'm already dead, Mr. Kinney! I drank myself virtually dead! I'm brain dead, hopelessly addicted and almost literally went to my grave with pancreatitis at 17! My parents beat me, my first grade teacher raped me, my pastor raped me, my PIMP raped me - I don't fucking care anymore! You being pissed at me is the least of my concerns!"
Oddly, I'm surprised by this frank outburst; I suck in a breath. What the fuck do I say to that? I exhale slowly and hold his hands a little tighter. Why I don't just say 'fuck you' and leave, I'm not sure. Except I know he's lying about not caring. He cares. Maybe not about me or if I'm pissed at him but deep down, he does care about himself. And he's struggling like a madman over it. Idiot. "Justin, you're wallowing in self-pity and that's goddamned pathetic. If you do something drastic to yourself, you're not just gonna piss me off, you're letting the bad shit win. You're… you're better than that." What am I saying to this little freak? Some tinny, annoying, small voice in the way back of my mind is telling me that I'm not really - not really - talking to him. Or at least, not only to him. And there are only two of us in the room.
"Pfft. How the fuck do you know?"
He's right. Kind of. How do I know? Because I do. "Because I do. Justin, you don't know this about me but I'm an asshole when--"
"You're kidding, right? I do TOO know that about you!" he interrupts angrily.
I poke my tongue into the hollow of my cheek, getting annoyed. If I didn't know better I'd think the guy was on something. "Okay, so you know that I'm an asshole but that's not all I was going to say. I'm an asshole especially when I first get to know someone and yes, before you say something obnoxious, I know you know that too... but the few friends I have are close. They're cretins but they're okay, really. I don't suffer fools and I don't warm up to people easily, if at all. You've kind of slid under the wire. But one of the reasons I put off coming to see you till now is because I didn't want to deal with this needy, weak, woe-is-me shit."
Justin practically snarls at me when I say that. "FUCK YOU! Get out of here! Get out now!"
I ignore him. "Yet," I continue quietly, "for some twisted reason, I came anyway."
"God! You blow me off for a whole week, dance in here and expect me to fucking pretend it doesn't matter you didn't show, you get all preachy about not feeling sorry for myself and then call me weak and needy? Oh great god Kinney, I grovel at your Prada's; I am not worthy, your insight into the human condition is so vast and all-seeing, my feeble brain cannot grasp its delicate complexity!" he mocks dramatically. "Fuckin' get bent and get lost, old man!" he adds. Nice touch.
Okay. Okay, this bites. I don't have to take this crap; I don't have to take ANY crap. I've only got a few more hours of community service and I can find some homeless shelter somewhere I'm sure.
I get up to leave and pause, for some reason still holding his hands tight in mine. I think a moment, standing here. I sure as hell don't need this aggravation; he says he doesn't want me here and I don't really want to be here… why do I feel a thin strand of something holding me back from marching out the door without a second glance? Pfft, fuck it. I drop his hands. I'm outta here.
Having made the decision to leave, suddenly I can't get out of here fast enough. I stride towards the door and am startled by a clumsily-thrust arm that reaches out to stop me. "Wait." His depth perception is fucked and his grab for my arm fails at first but I stop anyway. I stop, yes - but that's all. I have a sneaking feeling that I'm being childish but I don't move at all; not to look at him, not to pull my arm away, nothing. I'm fucking pissed.
Finally, "What, Justin? You told me to go and as I promised, you only have to tell me once. I'm going. I'm not a bleeding heart masochist whose gonna stick it out come hell or high water for a 17-year-old crippled "victim" who feels sorry for himself because Mommy and Daddy and life have treated him like dirt. I told you: For some twisted reason, I did come back here today. But you know the saying: Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I'm no fool. Toodles, Sunshine. Have a nice day." I move on towards the door.
"Fuck you," I hear behind me as I open the door. Original. Despite myself, I close the door behind me a little more forcefully than necessary but I'm angry. I'm about 4 hurried strides from the exit when I hear, "Stop!"
Fuck.
I do, and turn around. The door opens and Justin stands there gripping the doorknob for balance looking royally ticked off, frustrated… and a little sad; a guard comes up, perplexed and annoyed.
"You have 10 more minutes, Mr. Taylor!"
I snort. "Fuck off."
The guard appraises me; I glare at him. He backs off and returns to his little booth or whatever it is without a word.
We stand there facing each other a full 5 of those 10 minutes. Strangely, I find myself realizing how he must be feeling in this situation: Angry because he's proud but scared and honestly, pretty fucking helpless. He's mad as hell at me right now but maybe he doesn't want me to go and as much as I've told him to get over himself and be the blunt motherfucker he truly is, I see now that he may feel that if he is, I'll split. I break our stare-down and look at his hand on the doorknob, seeing how tightly he's holding it to keep himself steady so he doesn't lose face and seem weak by swaying in place. "Justin, just for one second, put aside your rage at me and your pride. I won't hold it against you," I add quickly. "Do you really want me to go?" Quiet. I ask quietly. "I will. But I'll stay too if you want me to." I look back up to his eyes which haven't wavered.
He regards me skeptically, seeming to reevaluate whether he should trust me or not. Who knows what's going on in that blond-haired, beautiful, damaged head. "No," he answers finally.
No what? No what? Don't go or don't stay?
"I need to sit down," he says flatly and turns, stumbling a bit as he disappears back into the disgusting little room. Jesus. I realize I'm not mad anymore. But I'm something. Emotions are pretty alien to me, so I don't know what that 'something' is. It's there, though, and I choose to take his answer as 'don't go'. I follow him into the room to find him sitting across from the chair I'd vacated. I go sit down and for SOME reason, I take his hands into mine again.
It's well past the remaining 10 minutes Justin had left for our visit but no one comes in for him. His eyes are totally clear now; he focuses on me intently. He stares with an incredulous expression on his face - well, it's more pissed. Anyone else would probably call it pissed. But there's more to it than just that. He looks down at our hands and back up at my face, taking a deep, overly dramatic breath. I don't think he's mad anymore either. I think we're both... exhausted. "Soooo - you'll kill me?" he asks after a few moments.
Huh? "If you off yourself?" I grin, a little relieved for whatever reason. "Nah. That'd be overdoing it. I'd just spit on your grave."
Suddenly he smiles and I have to admit, my denied inner lesbian gets warm all over. "Mmmm. Kinney spit..." he chuckles.
"Oooookay. We have to get one more thing straight here. So to speak. Stop with the passes and sexual innuendo, Sunshine. I may be your 'big brother' but I'm also a man."
He finally relaxes completely after our little PMS moment but he looks at me oddly. "What do you mean?"
So maybe this kid's not as smart as I thought. "Um, that brain-damage must've done a real number on you if you don't understand me..."
"Huh?"
Oh, lord. "Duh! I'm only human! I'm a sexual person, idiot! In fact, most consider me an over-sexed pervert! So lay off!"
"…Do you mean you're honestly attracted to me?"
"Oh, for fuck's sake. No, okay? I'm now seeing a stupid side to you I haven't seen before. I'm glad you showed it to me. It's a real turn-off."
"You are attracted to me! Ha! Wow! I mean… WOW!! You're…" He doesn't finish. Thank fuck. He's grinning and practically bouncing in his chair.
"Shut the fuck up and let's get out of here."
"Can we go back to your loft?"
"Whatever." I stand and pull him up with me, still holding his hands. As we leave I notice several men and a lot of women staring. "What the fuck is everyone looking at?" I ask him under my breath.
"You don't know? It was the same last week," he whispers back. I frown at him. "You really don't? Shit. Brian, they're staring at you."
Fuck, these people need to get a life. I'm not unused to being stared at, but here? I look around more closely to find they're gawking at US, not just me. Were this the real world of Brian Kinney and not Brian Kinney Lite, I'd give Justin a sloppy, I-wanna-fuck-you kiss right here. But no. I'm Big Brother Kinney. Justin's Off Limits.
We drive to the loft without much talking although Justin seems happy and is almost vibrating in his seat. When we get in the loft, I'm immediately attacked. He pounces on my back and holds on, laughing. Staggering under the weight of his bubble butt, hell must freeze over because I find myself laughing too and I collapse on the sofa with him clinging to me. Fuck-all. This isn't happening. This isn't me. He starts tickling me, one thing I normally can't stand, but…
"Twat!" I wrangle around so we're roughhousing face to face. We're both laughing like 4 year old schoolgirls at a slumber party... it's retarded. Then he gets completely serious. That makes me quit acting like an idiot and suddenly he's kissing me, pressing against me, his erection digging into my thigh. He tastes like mint and honey and my eyes slide shut. In the back of my mind, I know this is stupid, wrong and definitely corny... but really, his kissing me feels… well….
The kiss is one of the most passionate I've experienced in my life, which is saying a lot. When our lips part I open my eyes a little. Justin's eyes are half-lidded and he's watching me, breathing erratically and looking slightly delirious. "Brian...." he breathes.
Without letting myself consider what's happening, I lean up and kiss him again; he rubs against me. I can feel the hot breath from his nose on my cheek. He shifts slightly and reaches his hand down for my cock and caresses it through my pants with his slim fingers. I moan. Fucking 'Big Brother Kinney,' ’Big Brother Kinney,' 'Big Brother Kinney' echoes in the back of my head; argh. I force myself to pull back. "Justin...!"
"Shhhhh..." he whispers. "Don't... don't stop... fuck me, Brian. I want you. I want to feel. I want to feel you..."
I start to really think this all through and as right as this feels, this is wrong. This is a violation of some kind and especially given what just went down at the Center, this has to stop. How many people has he trusted enough to fuck him, people who then turned on him and ended up fucking him over instead? I don't plan to fuck him over but I can't fuck him either. This is it: Brian Kinney, the pod person. Never before has something like this happened - never before have I been in this situation, nor have I been with someone like Justin, someone in Justin's situation. "Justin, no. We have to stop... get off me..."
"Brian!" He sounds miffed and confused.
Pfft! "I can't believe this…" I mutter angrily to myself, shifting away slightly. "Justin, this just... this just can't happen." I extricate myself from the blond completely and try to move over to the chair across the way as gracefully as I can. Which isn't very, what with a raging hard-on and only one shoe.
Justin doesn't say anything but he blushes and it's not a 'cute' oops blush. It's an 'I'm-so-embarrassed-I-want-to-die' blush. "After all this shit..." he mutters.
"..."
He gets up to move away and staggers a little before losing all balance and falling forward onto my lap. "Shit. Sorr- sorry!" he says after a moment, obviously embarrassed and definitely a little dazed. "I mean..."
"Hush. And quit with the stupid "sorry"s. You're still acting like a genteel beauty contestant - why, "after all this shit", as you put it? I mean, I'm still here…" I pull him fully onto my lap and he sits unsteadily on my knee, the muscles in his ass and legs working hard as he tries to balance himself. I hold his thighs for support and he grips my arms.
He's quiet a few moments as he gets his bearings. "Thanks," he says simply; I'm surprised to see tears wet his lashes. He huffs, exasperated. "Shit. I'm a fucking emotional basket case," he grumbles. His grasp on me gets tighter. "Oh no. Oh NO... I'm getting one..." he whispers. "Noooo…"
"What?"
Suddenly he's convulsing, his eyelids flutter and his eyeballs roll back. What the fuck!?
What the hell do I DO?
Panicked, I quickly stand and carry his jerking body to the bedroom and lay him down. I put a thin sock in his mouth so he doesn't bite off his tongue and swallow it while also taking extreme care he doesn't bite off my finger and swallow it. His mouth is frothing slightly. Hell! I hold his head in my lap and try to not completely lose it as he goes rigid and then limp over and over. "Justin...Justin..." I say quietly. "Sunshine!" Damn this kid! I feel like some helpless child! "Sunshine, wake up!" I decide if we don't end up in the emergency room tonight, Justin's staying overnight here. "Sunshine!"
As abruptly as the seizure came on, it's over. Justin's suddenly as loose as a rag and in a complete daze but his eyes are no longer rolled back and his convulsions have stopped. I cradle his head in my lap and gently remove the sock from his mouth, wiping the slight traces of froth from his lips. He looks at me dreamily, hazily. "Brian, is that you?" he finally chokes out. I nod, trying to smile, my vision blurring a little. "What happened? Brian, are you crying?" He reaches out a clumsy hand and touches my face. "Your cheeks are wet... what's wrong? What did I do wrong?" He's really out of it.
"I'm not crying, brat. You didn't do anything wrong. You had a seizure. You're in my loft; you're safe. You're a bit dazed right now, but I'm here and neither of us is going anywhere, okay? Just relax." Fuck, I sound like some nurse in a soap opera. "Asshole," I add for good measure.
He takes a deep breath and smiles, then frowns. "A seizure... wait a minute - did you say I had a seizure? I've never had a seizure in front of somebody! I'm so sorry. I'm really sorry."
He's got to be joking. "For the fucking LAST time: Sorry's bullshit!! But Justin, does this mean the Center doesn't know about the seizures either? No-one knows? How long have you had them?"
He shakes his head groggily. "No, no-one knows. No-one - well, except you now. They started about 3 months ago, I guess. One morning, I woke up on the floor with 30 minutes of my life unaccounted for. Then it started happening kinda often - still does... it's so scary..."
Huh. Understatement. "Yeah, well... whatever. But you should tell your doc about this. Seizures can be dangerous; there are meds to help."
A little more aware of himself now, he turns slightly and buries his face in my lap. I hold and rock him gently. Fuck. Cocky, obnoxious, crazy little shit or not, no-one should have to suffer like this. No-one- whether they drank, drugged, were beaten, were born with a brain issue - NO-one... after several minutes of silence, the only sounds being his broken sobs, he finally speaks. "At least I didn't pee on your duvet," he jokes lamely.
I grimace. "Be grateful for that, twat." I reach over and turn on the blue neon lights over the bed. The loft is darkening as night falls and the blue lights are soft, soothing.
"Um... I know I've freaked you out--"
"I can take it," I interrupt. "Justin, you're spending the night here. When I take you back to the Center tomorrow, I'll explain what kept you here and what happened but if you don't talk to your doctor about the seizures, I will."
He turns again and regards me from my lap with red eyes. "I can spend the night?"
"Here or in the ER. You have no choice but those two."
"I definitely choose here! And I'll tell Dr. Billings about the seizures..." he says. "Uh…?"
I sigh. "What now, you high-maintenance ass?"
He chuckles. "Brian, if I control my hands, may I sleep next to you? For some reason, even though you're a royally rude, arrogant prick… I feel safe with you..."
I smile inside but keep my face even. I lean down to softly brush his lips with my own. "Yeah. You can sleep next to me. Just don't tell anyone on Liberty Avenue. I fuck a lot of men but I don't sleep with them... ever... I don't want to."
"I'm special?"
Yeah, fucker. "You're especially persistent and a total pain in the ass, let's put it that way. Using seizures to make me bend my rules and all."
He smiles. "Hmmmmm," he reaches his hand up to play with my hair affectionately.
"Quit acting like a wanna-be diva in a B movie, Taylor."
He ignores me. Shocking.
"Your hair's so soft, Brian. Why aren't you bald like so many 33 year olds?"
I wince inwardly, though part of me is fascinated that he thinks "so many 33 year olds" are bald. "Well, I'm not like 'so many' 33 year olds, I suppose."
"Thank God," he whispers. "You aren't like 'so many' anythings, Brian."
Have we noticed a pattern here? Justin's a fire-breathing dragon one minute, a damsel in distress the next, and a cornball maven the NEXT. He's almost as unpredictable as I am except he's pretty consistent with the schmaltzy comments and suspiciously lovelorn gazes. Pfft. "Don't get all soppy on me, Justin. I've crossed the line and am deep into CreepySoftieLand already and I hate it. You may be sick and delirious but I won't tolerate soppy."
He snickers and closes his eyes.
"And," I add quietly. "I'm 35..."
Already on the way to sleep, he doesn't hear me. Just as well. But he has a small, mysterious smile on his face like. I lay back keeping his head on my lap and am soon asleep myself.