Mechanical Michelangelo part 41
FORTY ONE Breakfast at Tiffany’s
Justin was tense as his extended family crammed into three different booths at the diner. Molly sat next to him, her hand holding onto the pocket of his jacket, as if she was worried he would disappear.
He couldn’t remember whose idea it was to come to the diner first, and he couldn’t remember who had persuaded him to leave the loft on today of all days anyway.
He would like nothing more than to hide from the world and forget everything that had happened. He glanced up at Brian and amended his thoughts, well, not everything.
He tried not to show how worried he felt, for Molly and for everyone else. He made his body relax, it was similar to hustling, really. He could fool everyone by loosening his limbs and giving them a sunny smile.
Sickness rolled in his stomach, churning the eggs he’d forced down, making him want to vomit, but he knew if he left the table he would be followed by at least three other people, looking at Daphne, he realised that hiding in the men’s toilet wouldn’t stop her from going in after him either.
It was just after the breakfast rush on a Wednesday, which meant the diner was slow and almost empty. Justin shovelled some scrambled egg onto his fork using his left hand, chewing it and forcing it down.
Debbie practically beamed at him as he ate and he rustled up a small smile for her. He didn’t want anyone to worry about him. He just prayed he wouldn’t throw up at the table.
For once Debbie was also seated and eating at the diner, Justin could barely remember seeing her there unless she was working. She was dressed in what she would consider a fancy outfit, dark gold velvet and matching tie in her hair, no wise crack t-shirt in sight, but no one could take away her PFLAG badges.
Justin pulled at the tie on the white shirt his mother insisted he wear. His gloves were back in place, for the first time since he’d woken from the coma he’d put them on, too self-conscious to go there without. He didn’t know why he’d give into his mother, the shirt wasn’t him at all. He shouldn’t go there denying who he was, a fucked up, ex-prostitute, tattooed, fag who got bashed in the head.
He was going to spew.
A bright pink stress ball careened towards Justin from the opposite side of the table. Dropping his fork back onto the plate and holding the edge of it with his good hand he attempted to catch the ball with his right, before disaster struck.
He managed to stop it hitting him in the chest with his palm, but his fingers were too slow to grasp it and it bounced off, landing painfully in his lap. Justin glared at Bren and picked the ball up, squeezing it between his fingers.
“Jeez, Bren, not while I’m eating, OK?”
Bren smiled as innocently as a man covered head to toe in tattoos could. “Just making sure you’re paying attention.”
It seemed like relaxed body language couldn’t fool everyone. There were at least four pairs of eyes who weren’t taken in.
Bren, Cam, Daphne and Brian had devised a work out plan for him that involved throwing balls at him, it was their way of trying to make him laugh and trying to make him keep up with the exercises the hospital had given him to do.
It was unorthodox, but Justin was under no illusions, the flying stress ball had kept him sane.
Squeezing the pink rubber one more time he pretended to throw it back at Cam, only threw it at Brian instead, catching him unawares on the chin. Justin smiled triumphantly; it wasn’t often that one of them dropped the dreaded pink stress ball.
Brian raised an eyebrow at smiled, making Justin feel proud of himself. “Good going Sunshine.”
“Thanks, but can I please eat without worrying if a ball is going to go flying over my head?”
“Scout's honour.” Brian saluted him and smirked.
Justin took another bite of his eggs happy they were almost gone.
Lindsey pushed her plate away from her in disgust, leaving it mostly untouched. “I don’t know why we bothered, I can’t eat this.”
Justin looked around. It seemed he wasn’t the only one that was having trouble eating. Giving up the pretence he leant back in his chair, giving Brian a smile across the table as he felt the older man’s leg touch his.
“Coffee everyone?” Debbie said, getting up.
“Ma, you’re not working today, remember?” Michael pulled her back down and gestured to the waitress. “More coffee over here, please.”
Mel quietly went over the notes in Justin’s file, the only one that hadn’t ordered breakfast. Her face was serious and determined, Justin was glad to have her on his side.
Her hair framed her face, giving her a soft, feminine edge, but the look in her eyes and the dark navy power suit seemed to give her anything but. She looked ruthless.
She wanted to nail Chris Hobbs almost as much as he did. They weren’t kids anymore, his bullying wouldn’t be over looked any longer, and what Chris had done was a damn sight more than bullying. He’d attacked with intent to kill.
Justin shuddered and paled. He didn’t want to think about this, didn’t want to be there at all. To see Chris standing there, perfect in his expensive suit while he stood a broken man, unable to draw, unable to tattoo, with no career prospects if he couldn’t regain proper use of his hand.
“Justin, you alright?”
He jumped slightly and looked up at Brian. “I’m fine.” He wasn’t, and Brian knew that, but he let it pass, Justin needed to look strong in there.
“OK, people, it’s time to get this show on the road.” Melanie looked up from her papers, stared long and hard into Justin’s eyes, letting him know she would do whatever possible to help him.
She collected her files and placed them in her briefcase, waiting for their mismatch of family to trail out of the diner and make their way to court.
Justin took in a deep, shaking breath, feeling his palms start to sweat. He shuffled out of the seat and stood, watching everyone. Brian stood next to him silently, jacket touching jacket.
It was Brian that first made contact, the slight brush of skin, before threading his fingers with Justin’s, walking out of the diner hand in hand, putting up a united front.
“You look hot,” Brian murmured. Justin looked towards Brian, his blond hair blowing in the cold breeze as they entered the streets of Liberty Avenue.
“I know.”
Brian laughed, a deep, rich sound that quelled the butterflies in Justin’s stomach. The rest of the family looked at him like he’d grown a second head. Now wasn’t the time for humour.
But then, Brian had never done what was expected of him.
Justin was tense as his extended family crammed into three different booths at the diner. Molly sat next to him, her hand holding onto the pocket of his jacket, as if she was worried he would disappear.
He couldn’t remember whose idea it was to come to the diner first, and he couldn’t remember who had persuaded him to leave the loft on today of all days anyway.
He would like nothing more than to hide from the world and forget everything that had happened. He glanced up at Brian and amended his thoughts, well, not everything.
He tried not to show how worried he felt, for Molly and for everyone else. He made his body relax, it was similar to hustling, really. He could fool everyone by loosening his limbs and giving them a sunny smile.
Sickness rolled in his stomach, churning the eggs he’d forced down, making him want to vomit, but he knew if he left the table he would be followed by at least three other people, looking at Daphne, he realised that hiding in the men’s toilet wouldn’t stop her from going in after him either.
It was just after the breakfast rush on a Wednesday, which meant the diner was slow and almost empty. Justin shovelled some scrambled egg onto his fork using his left hand, chewing it and forcing it down.
Debbie practically beamed at him as he ate and he rustled up a small smile for her. He didn’t want anyone to worry about him. He just prayed he wouldn’t throw up at the table.
For once Debbie was also seated and eating at the diner, Justin could barely remember seeing her there unless she was working. She was dressed in what she would consider a fancy outfit, dark gold velvet and matching tie in her hair, no wise crack t-shirt in sight, but no one could take away her PFLAG badges.
Justin pulled at the tie on the white shirt his mother insisted he wear. His gloves were back in place, for the first time since he’d woken from the coma he’d put them on, too self-conscious to go there without. He didn’t know why he’d give into his mother, the shirt wasn’t him at all. He shouldn’t go there denying who he was, a fucked up, ex-prostitute, tattooed, fag who got bashed in the head.
He was going to spew.
A bright pink stress ball careened towards Justin from the opposite side of the table. Dropping his fork back onto the plate and holding the edge of it with his good hand he attempted to catch the ball with his right, before disaster struck.
He managed to stop it hitting him in the chest with his palm, but his fingers were too slow to grasp it and it bounced off, landing painfully in his lap. Justin glared at Bren and picked the ball up, squeezing it between his fingers.
“Jeez, Bren, not while I’m eating, OK?”
Bren smiled as innocently as a man covered head to toe in tattoos could. “Just making sure you’re paying attention.”
It seemed like relaxed body language couldn’t fool everyone. There were at least four pairs of eyes who weren’t taken in.
Bren, Cam, Daphne and Brian had devised a work out plan for him that involved throwing balls at him, it was their way of trying to make him laugh and trying to make him keep up with the exercises the hospital had given him to do.
It was unorthodox, but Justin was under no illusions, the flying stress ball had kept him sane.
Squeezing the pink rubber one more time he pretended to throw it back at Cam, only threw it at Brian instead, catching him unawares on the chin. Justin smiled triumphantly; it wasn’t often that one of them dropped the dreaded pink stress ball.
Brian raised an eyebrow at smiled, making Justin feel proud of himself. “Good going Sunshine.”
“Thanks, but can I please eat without worrying if a ball is going to go flying over my head?”
“Scout's honour.” Brian saluted him and smirked.
Justin took another bite of his eggs happy they were almost gone.
Lindsey pushed her plate away from her in disgust, leaving it mostly untouched. “I don’t know why we bothered, I can’t eat this.”
Justin looked around. It seemed he wasn’t the only one that was having trouble eating. Giving up the pretence he leant back in his chair, giving Brian a smile across the table as he felt the older man’s leg touch his.
“Coffee everyone?” Debbie said, getting up.
“Ma, you’re not working today, remember?” Michael pulled her back down and gestured to the waitress. “More coffee over here, please.”
Mel quietly went over the notes in Justin’s file, the only one that hadn’t ordered breakfast. Her face was serious and determined, Justin was glad to have her on his side.
Her hair framed her face, giving her a soft, feminine edge, but the look in her eyes and the dark navy power suit seemed to give her anything but. She looked ruthless.
She wanted to nail Chris Hobbs almost as much as he did. They weren’t kids anymore, his bullying wouldn’t be over looked any longer, and what Chris had done was a damn sight more than bullying. He’d attacked with intent to kill.
Justin shuddered and paled. He didn’t want to think about this, didn’t want to be there at all. To see Chris standing there, perfect in his expensive suit while he stood a broken man, unable to draw, unable to tattoo, with no career prospects if he couldn’t regain proper use of his hand.
“Justin, you alright?”
He jumped slightly and looked up at Brian. “I’m fine.” He wasn’t, and Brian knew that, but he let it pass, Justin needed to look strong in there.
“OK, people, it’s time to get this show on the road.” Melanie looked up from her papers, stared long and hard into Justin’s eyes, letting him know she would do whatever possible to help him.
She collected her files and placed them in her briefcase, waiting for their mismatch of family to trail out of the diner and make their way to court.
Justin took in a deep, shaking breath, feeling his palms start to sweat. He shuffled out of the seat and stood, watching everyone. Brian stood next to him silently, jacket touching jacket.
It was Brian that first made contact, the slight brush of skin, before threading his fingers with Justin’s, walking out of the diner hand in hand, putting up a united front.
“You look hot,” Brian murmured. Justin looked towards Brian, his blond hair blowing in the cold breeze as they entered the streets of Liberty Avenue.
“I know.”
Brian laughed, a deep, rich sound that quelled the butterflies in Justin’s stomach. The rest of the family looked at him like he’d grown a second head. Now wasn’t the time for humour.
But then, Brian had never done what was expected of him.