Sparse
Author: mo_52
Dare: Chris Hobbs presses charges.
Warning/Rating: Spoilers for season 4
It was always there, bubbling just beneath the surface, anger that was easier to push down, bottle up and ignore. It grew with every nightmare, every look of disappointment in his mother’s eyes. He was always good at reading people, and he knew that almost everyone in his life missed the person he used to be. Now-a-days, he laughed a bit less and he rarely felt the rush of bravery that used to be so familiar to him. When he was seventeen, everything had seemed so much brighter.
The second that it took for the bat to swing and connect was one of those moments in life when he was reminded that the world wasn’t a very good place. Like the moment he realized his father wouldn’t love him unconditionally. Or the glimpse of a bouquet that showed that promises and relationships weren’t made of concrete.
But then Darren was bashed, beaten without mercy and without provocation. And that’s all it took for all the anger to come rushing through with a strength that had been growing ever since that fateful night.
He would be a liar if he said it didn’t feel good seeing his attacker down on his knees with tears and snot running down his face. But he wasn’t a predator. He was actually a good person. And as he walked away, Cody shouting obscenities at his back, he felt relieved that he wasn’t like Chris Hobbs. Although the bashing would always affect him in some way, he could now move on.
Unfortunately, life always had a funny way of fucking with Justin Taylor.
…
Justin was cleaning up dinner as Brian groaned in frustration at the computer.
“Work stuff?” Justin asked, using his years of experience as a busboy to balance two plates on one arm and a glass dish on the other.
Brian opted to slam his laptop shut rather than answer, and sauntered over to where Justin was situated in the kitchen.
“You can clean up later,” Brian said, wrapping his arm around Justin from behind.
“And, let me guess, fuck now?” he turned around in Brian’s arms, returning Brian’s lazy grin with a contented smile.
Brian hadn’t said a word the night before, when Justin had come home and violently snatched his pink top from the closet. He threw it in the trash with one swift motion, before sliding into bed with Brian and letting out a deep breath. This triggered Brian’s sigh of relief; the Pink Posse shit was finally over.
Brian leaned down and kissed Justin softly, before grabbing his wrist and pulling him out of the kitchen. Brian was laughing, but his eyes were filled with lust. Once again everything was normal in their dysfunctional little world.
Their journey to the bedroom was interrupted by a steady knocking. Brian rolled his eyes, but dragged Justin along to answer the door. He slid it open to reveal a police officer with a grim expression on his face.
The cop’s hand moved to his belt as he faced Justin. “Justin Taylor?” he asked.
“Handcuffs,” Brian observed, looking pointedly at the cop’s belt, “how kinky.” His tone was mocking, but his grip on Justin’s wrist tightened.
“Justin Taylor, you are under arrest for assault with a firearm.” The police man quickly removed the cuffs from his belt, as he had probably done hundreds of times before.
“Is that really necessary, officer?” Brian asked in a calm voice, but Justin knew he was angry. He also knew what this was about.
Two different nights had shown him two kinds of metal, both cool and shining. The gun had made him feel invincible; the cuffs made him feel condemned.
…
The trial was quick and fair, misdemeanor with the maximum sentence. He was sent to a County Jail, a cell reserved for him for a year.
And that was when he gave up. Even after the bashing, some of his former strength had lingered. But this was it.
You do the crime, you pay the time.
It wasn’t the fact that he was found guilty. He was guilty, he had pleaded guilty.
It wasn’t the fact that he was in jail. Carl had told him that in a few months he would probably be released on good behavior.
It was the fact that he was being punished, even though he had taken the high road. He had done Chris no physical harm. Chris had bashed him in the skull and didn’t spend a day in jail.
It was the fucking irony of it all that triggered a whispering voice that sounded a lot like Cody, telling him he “should have pulled the fucking trigger.” The click of the door of his jail cell sliding shut was another one of those moments.
He had a lot of visitors. Emmett came by and asked if jail was anything like “Oz”. Ted came by with stories from the workplace. Debbie came by with diner food, and she always asked Carl if he was treating Justin right. It could never be said that his dysfunctional, little family took things too seriously.
Brian’s visits were always different. The first few were teasing, and he didn’t miss any opportunity to make “conjugal visit” jokes. But after the realization hit that Justin wasn’t coming home any time soon, he started acting a bit distant. Then he stopped showing up altogether. Lindsay told him that Brian had taken a sudden trip to Ibiza, and Justin wasn’t really surprised. He didn’t even feel bitter; he just hoped that Brian was enjoying Ibiza enough for the both of them.
Justin spent most of his time sketching. He sketched the other inmates, the police men, the jail cells and the shitty cafeteria food. He didn’t hate or love jail; he just kind of numbed himself to the whole experience. A few months passed, and just as Carl said, he was released.
He went to the loft and found Brian retching over the toilet.
“Food poisoning?”
“Something like that.”
…
Brian was in the shower when Justin heard the message. The words “oncologist” and “operation” stood out. It turned out that Ibiza was actually doctors and scalpels and cancer.
When he played the message back for Brian, he was quickly expelled from the loft.
Pre-jail Justin would’ve fought for his place in Brian’s life. Post-jail Justin couldn’t muster the vigor. They drifted apart, and when Justin caught Brian staring at him in the diner he still didn’t make a move. He didn’t want to be with Brian anymore, because he deep down he believed Brian deserved someone more alive.
…
“The gallery is having a show for up-and-coming artists, and I think your recent sketches would be a wonderful addition,” Lindsay said.
Justin nodded half-heartedly.
“Look Justin, I’m worried about you. We all are. You’ve changed so much.” She wore her concern obviously on her face.
“Yeah well, jail…” Justin made a gesture with his hand as he trailed off. She didn’t say anything, so Justin got up to leave.
“Please, do the show,” Lindsay asked.
Justin looked back, keeping his eyes fixed on her face for a minute before nodding once. He gave her a bit of a smile, and it was such a rarity as of late that Lindsay beamed back.
...
He selected five drawings from his “jail period” (as Daphne had dubbed it). Two were of inmates, two were of his jail cell and one was of Chris Hobbs, on the stand at the trial.
On the night of the show, Daphne was fussing around finding him something to wear while he lay lifelessly on his bed.
“Maybe the black shirt, the one with the blue cross?” suggested Daphne.
“How about an orange jumpsuit?” Justin replied.
“Oh, shut up,” Daphne said, but she was laughing. Justin was the closest to his old self around her.
“You’re coming, right?” he asked.
“Of course.” She smiled at him. She was always smiling, but her eyes were constantly worried. His were constantly sad.
But he smiled back.
…
The gallery was full and Justin’s drawings were a hit. Looking at them, Justin remembered all the other drawings that were ruined by his shaking hand. If Daphne wasn’t there with her arm laced in his, that thought would’ve driven him out of the building.
Brian was there, focusing more on Justin than the art.
“What do you think?” Justin asked when Brian sidled up beside him.
“Exquisite.” Brian was looking at him, and Justin could still read him like a fucking book.
“Stop worrying about me. I’m not your problem anymore,” Justin said, his eyes staring ahead at his jail cell drawing.
Brian didn’t say anything at first, and then moved his mouth close to Justin’s ear. “Have you stopped worrying about me?”
Justin knew that he couldn’t lie to Brian. “You have cancer, Brian, what do you think?”
Brian grabbed Justin by the shoulders and turned him, leaning down so they were face to face. “How about I tell you what I know. I know that you’ve been dealt a shitty hand in life. I know that it’s easier to give up than to face your problems-”
“Of course you know that!” Justin’s hissed, “After all, instead of facing the so-called problem of being vulnerable in front of me, you gave up and kicked me out. Where do you think I learned these techniques from?”
“Don’t play the blame game, Justin, it always ends badly.”
Justin rubbed his face with his hand, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, I don’t blame you. This has nothing to do with you. I’m living with this fear, Brian. This constant fear that as soon as I get a little bit of happiness, something will come along and shoot it down.” Justin hadn’t realized this until he said it, but Brian always did have that affect on him.
“But that little bit of happiness is worth the risk, Justin. And you can either take that gamble, or you can continue living like this. And right now you’re not involved. It’s cowardly, and you are not a fucking coward.”
Justin let out a frustrated laugh. “Everything you’re saying makes sense, but I still feel like I need some kind of closure.”
“Then go fucking get it,” Brian said, and he turned Justin’s head towards the drawing of Chris Hobbs. And for the first time in months, everything was clear.
…
When Chris saw him approaching, he started to back away.
“Fuck, Taylor, get away from me.”
“Wait, Chris!” Justin yelled, jogging towards him. He caught up, looking Chris straight in the eye.
“What the fuck do you want? Try something and your ass will be back in jail so fucking fast…” Chris looked genuinely scared, and Justin gained a bit of perverse pleasure in that fact.
“I just want to know one thing,” Justin said, his voice calm.
“What?” Chris spat, trying to summon some sort of false bravado.
“Do you ever regret it? Bashing me?” Justin asked, desperation obvious in his voice.
“Fuck off, you fag,” Chris replied, turning to leave.
“Sometimes I regret ever pulling a gun on you,” Justin said to Chris’ retreating back. “Other times I regret not pulling the trigger.”
Chris stopped, and then slowly turned around. He walked up to Justin.
“I don’t regret a thing,” Chris said coldly. Justin nodded, turning around. He was angry to feel tears burning his eyes.
“Instead, I’ve spent every day,” Chris continued, his voice eerie and soft, “telling myself that it was the right thing to do. I’ll probably spend the rest of my life trying to convince myself that I don’t deserve to die for what I did.”
Justin spun back around, tears of frustration in his eyes “Then why the fuck did you do it?” He slammed his fists into Chris’ chest, “What made you think you had the right?”
Chris’s face hardened and he started to walk away. Justin continued to shout after him, his fists clenched in aggravation.
“Fuck!” Chris yelled, a few feet away from the door to his home. “Look, Taylor,” he said over his shoulder, “You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know how it felt every time I was fucking my girlfriend and picturing your face. I needed to do something about it.”
“Did it work?” asked Justin, counting down the seconds before Chris’s revelation hit him.
“Of course not,” Chris answered, looking ashamed.
Justin started to shake, as he pressed his hands over his eyes. He heard the door of Chris’s house slam shut, but he couldn’t move just yet.
…
“How do you feel?” Brian asked, lying beside Justin. They were in the loft, both naked but not touching.
“Lighter,” Justin answered, his eyes searching the ceiling.
Brian laughed, before rolling on top of Justin and looking straight into his eyes. “Just focus on right now. Don’t think about what just happened, or what might happen tomorrow. Just right now, be fucking happy.”
Justin nodded and smiled tiredly. He could handle that.
Dare: Chris Hobbs presses charges.
Warning/Rating: Spoilers for season 4
It was always there, bubbling just beneath the surface, anger that was easier to push down, bottle up and ignore. It grew with every nightmare, every look of disappointment in his mother’s eyes. He was always good at reading people, and he knew that almost everyone in his life missed the person he used to be. Now-a-days, he laughed a bit less and he rarely felt the rush of bravery that used to be so familiar to him. When he was seventeen, everything had seemed so much brighter.
The second that it took for the bat to swing and connect was one of those moments in life when he was reminded that the world wasn’t a very good place. Like the moment he realized his father wouldn’t love him unconditionally. Or the glimpse of a bouquet that showed that promises and relationships weren’t made of concrete.
But then Darren was bashed, beaten without mercy and without provocation. And that’s all it took for all the anger to come rushing through with a strength that had been growing ever since that fateful night.
He would be a liar if he said it didn’t feel good seeing his attacker down on his knees with tears and snot running down his face. But he wasn’t a predator. He was actually a good person. And as he walked away, Cody shouting obscenities at his back, he felt relieved that he wasn’t like Chris Hobbs. Although the bashing would always affect him in some way, he could now move on.
Unfortunately, life always had a funny way of fucking with Justin Taylor.
…
Justin was cleaning up dinner as Brian groaned in frustration at the computer.
“Work stuff?” Justin asked, using his years of experience as a busboy to balance two plates on one arm and a glass dish on the other.
Brian opted to slam his laptop shut rather than answer, and sauntered over to where Justin was situated in the kitchen.
“You can clean up later,” Brian said, wrapping his arm around Justin from behind.
“And, let me guess, fuck now?” he turned around in Brian’s arms, returning Brian’s lazy grin with a contented smile.
Brian hadn’t said a word the night before, when Justin had come home and violently snatched his pink top from the closet. He threw it in the trash with one swift motion, before sliding into bed with Brian and letting out a deep breath. This triggered Brian’s sigh of relief; the Pink Posse shit was finally over.
Brian leaned down and kissed Justin softly, before grabbing his wrist and pulling him out of the kitchen. Brian was laughing, but his eyes were filled with lust. Once again everything was normal in their dysfunctional little world.
Their journey to the bedroom was interrupted by a steady knocking. Brian rolled his eyes, but dragged Justin along to answer the door. He slid it open to reveal a police officer with a grim expression on his face.
The cop’s hand moved to his belt as he faced Justin. “Justin Taylor?” he asked.
“Handcuffs,” Brian observed, looking pointedly at the cop’s belt, “how kinky.” His tone was mocking, but his grip on Justin’s wrist tightened.
“Justin Taylor, you are under arrest for assault with a firearm.” The police man quickly removed the cuffs from his belt, as he had probably done hundreds of times before.
“Is that really necessary, officer?” Brian asked in a calm voice, but Justin knew he was angry. He also knew what this was about.
Two different nights had shown him two kinds of metal, both cool and shining. The gun had made him feel invincible; the cuffs made him feel condemned.
…
The trial was quick and fair, misdemeanor with the maximum sentence. He was sent to a County Jail, a cell reserved for him for a year.
And that was when he gave up. Even after the bashing, some of his former strength had lingered. But this was it.
You do the crime, you pay the time.
It wasn’t the fact that he was found guilty. He was guilty, he had pleaded guilty.
It wasn’t the fact that he was in jail. Carl had told him that in a few months he would probably be released on good behavior.
It was the fact that he was being punished, even though he had taken the high road. He had done Chris no physical harm. Chris had bashed him in the skull and didn’t spend a day in jail.
It was the fucking irony of it all that triggered a whispering voice that sounded a lot like Cody, telling him he “should have pulled the fucking trigger.” The click of the door of his jail cell sliding shut was another one of those moments.
He had a lot of visitors. Emmett came by and asked if jail was anything like “Oz”. Ted came by with stories from the workplace. Debbie came by with diner food, and she always asked Carl if he was treating Justin right. It could never be said that his dysfunctional, little family took things too seriously.
Brian’s visits were always different. The first few were teasing, and he didn’t miss any opportunity to make “conjugal visit” jokes. But after the realization hit that Justin wasn’t coming home any time soon, he started acting a bit distant. Then he stopped showing up altogether. Lindsay told him that Brian had taken a sudden trip to Ibiza, and Justin wasn’t really surprised. He didn’t even feel bitter; he just hoped that Brian was enjoying Ibiza enough for the both of them.
Justin spent most of his time sketching. He sketched the other inmates, the police men, the jail cells and the shitty cafeteria food. He didn’t hate or love jail; he just kind of numbed himself to the whole experience. A few months passed, and just as Carl said, he was released.
He went to the loft and found Brian retching over the toilet.
“Food poisoning?”
“Something like that.”
…
Brian was in the shower when Justin heard the message. The words “oncologist” and “operation” stood out. It turned out that Ibiza was actually doctors and scalpels and cancer.
When he played the message back for Brian, he was quickly expelled from the loft.
Pre-jail Justin would’ve fought for his place in Brian’s life. Post-jail Justin couldn’t muster the vigor. They drifted apart, and when Justin caught Brian staring at him in the diner he still didn’t make a move. He didn’t want to be with Brian anymore, because he deep down he believed Brian deserved someone more alive.
…
“The gallery is having a show for up-and-coming artists, and I think your recent sketches would be a wonderful addition,” Lindsay said.
Justin nodded half-heartedly.
“Look Justin, I’m worried about you. We all are. You’ve changed so much.” She wore her concern obviously on her face.
“Yeah well, jail…” Justin made a gesture with his hand as he trailed off. She didn’t say anything, so Justin got up to leave.
“Please, do the show,” Lindsay asked.
Justin looked back, keeping his eyes fixed on her face for a minute before nodding once. He gave her a bit of a smile, and it was such a rarity as of late that Lindsay beamed back.
...
He selected five drawings from his “jail period” (as Daphne had dubbed it). Two were of inmates, two were of his jail cell and one was of Chris Hobbs, on the stand at the trial.
On the night of the show, Daphne was fussing around finding him something to wear while he lay lifelessly on his bed.
“Maybe the black shirt, the one with the blue cross?” suggested Daphne.
“How about an orange jumpsuit?” Justin replied.
“Oh, shut up,” Daphne said, but she was laughing. Justin was the closest to his old self around her.
“You’re coming, right?” he asked.
“Of course.” She smiled at him. She was always smiling, but her eyes were constantly worried. His were constantly sad.
But he smiled back.
…
The gallery was full and Justin’s drawings were a hit. Looking at them, Justin remembered all the other drawings that were ruined by his shaking hand. If Daphne wasn’t there with her arm laced in his, that thought would’ve driven him out of the building.
Brian was there, focusing more on Justin than the art.
“What do you think?” Justin asked when Brian sidled up beside him.
“Exquisite.” Brian was looking at him, and Justin could still read him like a fucking book.
“Stop worrying about me. I’m not your problem anymore,” Justin said, his eyes staring ahead at his jail cell drawing.
Brian didn’t say anything at first, and then moved his mouth close to Justin’s ear. “Have you stopped worrying about me?”
Justin knew that he couldn’t lie to Brian. “You have cancer, Brian, what do you think?”
Brian grabbed Justin by the shoulders and turned him, leaning down so they were face to face. “How about I tell you what I know. I know that you’ve been dealt a shitty hand in life. I know that it’s easier to give up than to face your problems-”
“Of course you know that!” Justin’s hissed, “After all, instead of facing the so-called problem of being vulnerable in front of me, you gave up and kicked me out. Where do you think I learned these techniques from?”
“Don’t play the blame game, Justin, it always ends badly.”
Justin rubbed his face with his hand, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, I don’t blame you. This has nothing to do with you. I’m living with this fear, Brian. This constant fear that as soon as I get a little bit of happiness, something will come along and shoot it down.” Justin hadn’t realized this until he said it, but Brian always did have that affect on him.
“But that little bit of happiness is worth the risk, Justin. And you can either take that gamble, or you can continue living like this. And right now you’re not involved. It’s cowardly, and you are not a fucking coward.”
Justin let out a frustrated laugh. “Everything you’re saying makes sense, but I still feel like I need some kind of closure.”
“Then go fucking get it,” Brian said, and he turned Justin’s head towards the drawing of Chris Hobbs. And for the first time in months, everything was clear.
…
When Chris saw him approaching, he started to back away.
“Fuck, Taylor, get away from me.”
“Wait, Chris!” Justin yelled, jogging towards him. He caught up, looking Chris straight in the eye.
“What the fuck do you want? Try something and your ass will be back in jail so fucking fast…” Chris looked genuinely scared, and Justin gained a bit of perverse pleasure in that fact.
“I just want to know one thing,” Justin said, his voice calm.
“What?” Chris spat, trying to summon some sort of false bravado.
“Do you ever regret it? Bashing me?” Justin asked, desperation obvious in his voice.
“Fuck off, you fag,” Chris replied, turning to leave.
“Sometimes I regret ever pulling a gun on you,” Justin said to Chris’ retreating back. “Other times I regret not pulling the trigger.”
Chris stopped, and then slowly turned around. He walked up to Justin.
“I don’t regret a thing,” Chris said coldly. Justin nodded, turning around. He was angry to feel tears burning his eyes.
“Instead, I’ve spent every day,” Chris continued, his voice eerie and soft, “telling myself that it was the right thing to do. I’ll probably spend the rest of my life trying to convince myself that I don’t deserve to die for what I did.”
Justin spun back around, tears of frustration in his eyes “Then why the fuck did you do it?” He slammed his fists into Chris’ chest, “What made you think you had the right?”
Chris’s face hardened and he started to walk away. Justin continued to shout after him, his fists clenched in aggravation.
“Fuck!” Chris yelled, a few feet away from the door to his home. “Look, Taylor,” he said over his shoulder, “You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know how it felt every time I was fucking my girlfriend and picturing your face. I needed to do something about it.”
“Did it work?” asked Justin, counting down the seconds before Chris’s revelation hit him.
“Of course not,” Chris answered, looking ashamed.
Justin started to shake, as he pressed his hands over his eyes. He heard the door of Chris’s house slam shut, but he couldn’t move just yet.
…
“How do you feel?” Brian asked, lying beside Justin. They were in the loft, both naked but not touching.
“Lighter,” Justin answered, his eyes searching the ceiling.
Brian laughed, before rolling on top of Justin and looking straight into his eyes. “Just focus on right now. Don’t think about what just happened, or what might happen tomorrow. Just right now, be fucking happy.”
Justin nodded and smiled tiredly. He could handle that.