a/n i know i haven't written in a week, forgive me!! it was pride weekend and i ad a little bit of family drama goin on, heres the next chapter, please review! -Naima Justin’s POV I feel a little bad about not telling Brian I’m moving in with Deb, but he has enough to think about. I didn’t stay for long, especially seeing as Brian almost persuaded me into giving him a blowjob when his mom walked in. I quickly excused myself and all but ran out to my car. I roll over again on the couch trying to get comfortable; it’s a long way away from my bed. At least Mikey’s gone tomorrow. Debbie and him are coming with me to the hospital to see off Brian and then head to the airport, leaving me with the in laws to wait. It wouldn’t be as bad if Mrs. Kinney hadn’t caught me making out with Brian twice. Brian keeps telling me to forget it, and that she thought it was cute, but I can never stop blushing around her. God if my mother ever saw me even hugging him she’d flip out and start telling us we were going to burn in hell and that the Lord specifically tells us that its wrong and all that shit. Except for the speaking in tongues part, she’s practically Pentecostal. That reminds me of something that Molly once said… I know I really need to get to sleep, but it’s just not coming. My mind is racing and going in so many directions, but the plastic cat clock on the wall is not forgiving. Finally, after three hours of me shifting around, counting sheep, and imagining white walls; I get up and go out the back door onto the stoop, hoping the cool night air will calm my thoughts. Wrapped up in a leopard print blanket, sitting on the concrete back steps of my new home, smoking a cigarette, I let my mind soar. About the future, Brian, Molly, Craig, my art. A tear rolls down my cheek and I don’t even know why. Deb suggested I go to counseling at the GLC but I don’t know if I can trust a stranger with my memories. They are too much a part of me, and what if that person wasn’t any good? I don’t know. I’m so fucking sick of all this shit. I stab my cigarette against the brick, enjoying the tiny bit of power it shows I have. I get up, trying to escape this self pity and go back inside and flop on the couch, determined to fall asleep. I can hear Mick Harvey’s Pink Elephants in my head, god I’m so cliché, always the little hurt boy. The next morning comes all too quickly, just like I knew it would. I get dressed fast, in loose jeans and a ripped blue sweatshirt. I don’t have the stomach for the waffles Deb insisted she make so I find myself again crouching on the back steps smoking, waiting for her to say its time to go. I absentmindedly rub the scar on my leg, one of the few reminders of my and Brian’s first joint hospital trip. It feels like it happened years ago, but really, it was what? Two months ago? Christ we need a vacation, from life and its bullshit. But somehow I feel we won’t be getting that break for a damn long time. I hear a tapping on the window next to me and I look up to find Deb motioning that its time to leave. Hold on to your butts. Hours Later I have no idea what time it is when the surgeon finally comes out to talk to us. He rambles on about how well it went and uses complex medical terms that only Mr. Kinney and Debbie understand. After I hear he’s fine, I turn back to my window and let my mask fall. After spending the entire day pacing and chewing on Styrofoam cups, it feels so good to let out a sigh of relief, the journey is halfway over. Now all he has to build his strength back, and I have every confidence that he will. Even though he’s sleeping, the doctor allows us to go have a peek at him, his parents of course go first, inviting me in after them. I walk in slowly, not knowing what I will see or say to my sleeping boyfriend. I sit on one of the leftover plastic chairs that I’m guessing one of his parents left. I run my hand over his forehead, pushing back some of his hair. “Hey Baby” I whisper. I hear a little moan and Brian’s hazel eyes flicker open, revealing exhaustion and confusion in their depths. “Jus?” “Ssshhhh, it’s over, you get some rest.” Well, what else am I supposed to tell him? He closes his eyes once again and I grab his hand, bending over to kiss it, careful of the IV attached to his forearm. Leaving it at that, I walk out of the room and subsequently out of the hospital. I have a smoke and wait for Debbie to say her goodbyes. I needed to get out of there. The glaring white walls and cheap carpet of the waiting room had been eating at me all day, I couldn’t even sketch in there, I was left to flip through old magazines and pace. Whatever, its over. It’s over. It seems as though I can never really grasp that concept. I always want to cling onto the past, and I don’t know if its because I’m afraid of the future or want to relive the memories. I think I think too much. The Next Morning After I woke up and had a cup of coffee, I got my shit together physically and otherwise, and headed out to school. Bio was weird without Brian, the rumor mill working overtime. I managed to block out most of it, and on the way to art I told Linds about the surgery and whatnot. She was nice and careful with her words until I told her to cut the crap, and she did thank god, what are best friends for I guess. But the most wonderful happening of the day, week year, which almost made me ditch the rest of the school day to go tell Brian, came in art. I was working on this dark street scene, with this antique cobblestone street and a streetlamp with these French-style, pre-Revolution narrow buildings in charcoal and wax on a medium canvas, (what can I say, I’m totally in love with the piece) and our teacher, Mr. Gongol, came over to talk to me. “Hello Mr. Taylor.” He says in his fake British accent. Who cares, he’s a big ole softy, no matter how self important he tries to be. “Hey Mr. Gongol, what’s up?” “Well I have some very good news for you my boy.” I put down the pencil and look up at him, confused. “I was speaking with a few of my classmates who now are professors at PIFA,” he never fails to mention how proud he is I’m attending his alma mater, but let’s hope my fate is better than a high school art teacher… “And they were speaking avidly about the emerging artists show that will be held at the Sidney Bloom Gallery. They were trying to decide which of their students to place in it, and I kept thinking about your work, and how much better it was than some of the college students. Sooooo I took the initiative to bring them here and show them some of your stuff! Annnnnd you’re in!!” He finishes his tale with a flourish of his unbelievably limp wrists and a swish of his non-existent hips. Then it hits. “Ohmygod. NO WAY!!” I squeal and clap my hands, not believing a word that came out of his mouth, before I can stop myself, I hug the short pudgy man for all he’s worth. I pull back and see that the whole class is staring. Mr. Gongol smiles and announces this to the entire class, they all cheer and I can’t stop beaming, my mind already racing about what pieces I can do and what I need to finish and whatnot. He gives me a packet of info about all the requirements as the bell rings. I place my canvas in my cupboard space and thank him ten million more times. I stagger through the halls, bumping into people and walls while reading through the packet. The lunch table is as excited as I am, Linds declares herself my agent and official helper, while Emm is designing my outfit for the show. It feels so awesome to have them all behind me. I really can’t believe it, at first I was pissed that Gongol showed my stuff to strangers, but if this is the outcome, who cares. As promised, I visit Brian after school. I walk into his room to see Debbie there, apparently just visiting from downstairs. She mouths that he’s sleeping and I nod and take her place in the warm chair beside him. Knowing he might wake up, I rub his cheek and lean over to kiss his red pouted lips, but he stays asleep. I don’t really mind, he needs his rest anyway. I pull out my sketch pad from my messenger bag and pull my knees up onto the chair for a makeshift easel. My hand starts working and two embracing forms appear on the paper. I look up from time to time to watch the steady rise and fall of his chest. I smile and get back to work, fully inspired. I fold over the paper to start a new sketch, and an idea hits. I fold the paper accordion style into five sections. I rough out a sketch of the ending moment of our first date. On the first panel, two dark forms hug, the next panel them pulling apart, third, only their hands groping for each other, last panel, the forms kissing, maybe in full color, I keep working, the idea forming itself in my head. What seems like two seconds later, I hear Brian whisper hoarsely “Jus?” I look up from my pad, refocusing my vision on his angular features “Hey” “I’m really thirsty if you could…” He clumsily points at a white cup, I pick it up and guide the straw into his mouth. He sucks down the water greedily and releases it when he’s done. “Thanks.” He closes his eyes again but I want to shake him awake to listen to all of my news. “Hey Bri?” All I get is a groan in response and a tiny shake of his head. Gahh!! This is good news, wake up boy!! I let out a sigh and resign myself to telling him when he’s less drowsy. I close my sketch pad and get up to leave, kissing his forehead and grabbing my bag. I pass Debbie downstairs, and she says that she gets off in two hours, I smile and nod, making my way out of the hospital. Damn, I really wanted to share all that has been happening to me with Brian. I’m not mad at him or anything, just frustrated. He’s my boyfriend and I thought he might want to know I’m living with his godmother. I know he has all his shit to deal with right now, and I want to help him, but its so fucking hard being 17 and having to deal with all this drama bullshit on top of the regular everyday teenager crap. Before I realize it, I’ve almost passed Debbie’s driveway, as I am dangerously lost in thought, I swerve hard and just make it, accidentally hitting the seek button for the radio on the steering wheel in the process. I brake and it the car into park and I hear the last few lyrics and chords of Hanging by a Moment, taunting me with its knowing warmth. I want Brian, home, wherever that is, and in my arms.