Chapter Title: Agliophobia (Fear of Pain)
Summary: Brian heads towards Justin's not-so-shabby apartment, and we finally hear from Sunshine.
Previous Chapters: In my Memories
This is chapter three of the great ficbeast I call Need. All chapters of the ficbeast are in my memories, under Need, if you wish to read them.
Can we resolve the past?
-The Doors An American Prayer
Things have changed.
I’m sure that goes without saying, but it honestly doesn’t seem that long since I’ve been here last. Just about four years. Thinking of that makes me stop in the street, and I get honked and yelled and cursed at. But who can blame me.
It’s been four fucking years. And I hadn’t even noticed. Time does fly when you’re having fun, right?
And sure it dragged, when I knew that he was with the fiddle fuck. Hour after hour, day after day, all filled with old nightmares and new scares that weren’t vanquished by the light of his smile so aptly named by my pseudo mother of choice. And then…
BAM! There he was my little whirlwind back in my life at first, then my bed, but always in my heart. And things were good, even great for a while, until the cancer and the movie.
Gawds above, that year sucked. Not just the lack of sex, as I’m sure Melanie would rub in. But the lack of connection, and the lies, and buried feelings.
And yeah, I’m partly responsible for that. I know it. I put my pride over him, I lied, I put his living with me for the third time as ‘connivance, nothing more’. And I knew it was wrong. That it hurt him like nothing else, much worse than any bashing. Because he loved me, and I wouldn’t publicly acknowledge it. And that is what ticked him off all the time. Justin has a moral code, so strong it’s down right scary. He’s never lived a lie, never backed down when it mattered. And I knew that, too.
And as much as I knew, I just couldn’t do it. Because that would require taking down years of barriers and shields for one twink that I was falling for. And that simply wouldn’t do for the Stud of Liberty fucking Avenue. And I knew why Michael disliked, maybe even hated, for so long.
Because Justin changed things. First guy I did more than one. First guy-hell first anyone that I went to Prom with. First guy I held and prayed to whomever was listening that he wouldn’t leave, that I would do anything, give anything for him to be alright. Because nothing worked right when he wasn’t. Alright that is.
And we both so desperately needed that sense of normalcy that throwing a ball and best girlfriends couldn’t provide. And I did what I could, despite the queen out on both our parts.
I sigh as I shove my hands in my warm winter coat, smiling at the chilly skies. Despite the sunshine, it was still only 28 or so, quite warm for a Northeast winter day. Hitting play on my silver iPod mini-something trendy yet expense that will remind you of me; a going away present of sorts, I supposed. Now I just laugh at the little Rage and JT chibies he doodled on it in black sharpie after watch Toonami one Saturday. The song that comes on is by one of his favorite groups. The lead singer, to no surprise, is gay-well bisexual-and he’s grown quite attach to his CDs.
Waxing with the candlelight and burning just for you
I snort at the singer’s nasal voiced but I also hope-wonder I mean-if that would happen to us. Sure, it may only be time, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing.
And by the look on his face, he realized that too. He always was a smart little fucker, brain and mouth. Pot, kettle, black, I know.
Thought I was getting karat gold but what I got was you
I shake my head at the lyrics which seem to perfectly describe the artist whose studio I have finally reached. It’s not half bad, actually. Much better than that rotten place in Pittsburgh that made me want to call the HAZMAT squad or something dramatic like that. But the look on his face when I expressed my indifference of ruined Armani was priceless.
I debate whether to use the intercom and have him buzz me in, or use my two sets of keys. It’s very confusing. I now know how he must have felt.
If I buzz him, there’s the chance that he won’t want to see me. That he’s moved on.
If I don’t…the same really.
I shake my head, figuring that the shitty airplane food has scrambled my brain like that stupid anti-drug commercial; one I helped to make. I honestly think I was stoned, or had a hangover that day. How ironic.
I put in the shiny silver key and twist it, pushing the door open so it wouldn’t squeak and alert him to my presence. I decide to use the stairs, again hoping to surprise my boy.
Well….this is it. His door. I knock.
New York: the place to be in the art world, the crème of the crème. Bullshit.
New York was not the living, breathing heart of the modern art world everyone said it was. Or maybe not just that.
It was dirty; tinted gray by the true sins and crimes and hate and war that filled it to the brim like Deb pouring diner coffee. Everything is dirty, or tainted. Or at least to me. After all, I had made a big mistake, one I swore not to make again.
I left. I left him, the love of my life, because he told me to, and others told me to, for my own greater good. And look at how well that went the last time, with Ethan-that-bastard of all people.
I pause my inner ramble and gaze out the rather large, somewhat-clean windows at the industrial scene I’m turning into my latest ‘masterpiece’. I grin at the epithet that I had picked up from Daph: Ethan-that-bastard. It always cheered me up, and brought me back down. That…period, should we say, has always been an unconscious memory, reminding me of what life was like without Brian.
And of course, to make matters worse, I leave the city. How dumb was THAT!
Which reminds me how this city suits my mood. Life was always washed out without Brian. But it took me months to realize this. So I made a decision. I’d go back to Pittsburgh. Just to visit. Which meant that I needed to start packing.
Well…as soon as I answer the door, that is.