The next day, 2:00 PM “Hey Bri, will you give me a hand with this?” Justin called out, struggling with the two bags of groceries that he had tucked under his arms. After last nights — escapade — and hosting his husband’s co-workers for dinner, there was hardly any food left. Besides, Brian could not grocery shop to save his life. The cart always ended up being filled to the brim with gin, wine, vodka, beer, and instant Thai food. Yuck. “Brian!” Justin reiterated, “come ON, I can’t hold them forever — this one’s slipping!” Brian glanced up from the magazine he was reading, looking through down the hall towards the sound of the voice. He let a small sigh escape his lips at the sight of Justin. “Sure thing, just give me a second,” he replied calmly, folding down the corner of the page in his magazine before allowing it to close as he set it down on the oak coffee table. “Shit!” He heard Justin’s annoyed shout ring out, “Fucking bags!” Rounding the corner to the kitchen, Brian appeared, his eyes assessing the situation: the dropped paper bags, various foods scattered, and finally the puddle of milk and egg yolk that was pooling next to the bags. Soaking all over his hard wood floors. Expensive. Hard. Wood. Floors. “I’m sorry Brian,” Justin mumbled, doubting Brian heard him or even cared for his apology. Moving over to the bags he knelt down, picking up the food and salvaging what he could of the milk still left in the container. Turning, Justin stopped, seeing the clearly pissed look which Brian’s face sported. Dropping his head, avoiding looking into the face of the person he loved so much; Justin sidled past Brian. Cautiously, he set the milk down in the sink to make sure it wasn’t going to leak, then set the rest of the items on the counter. Lastly, his efforts of avoiding Brian almost down to an art, he picked up a sponge and dampened it. He moved back away from the sink, pausing when he felt Brian’s glare fixed on him. “Fuck, Justin, what the fuck was going on in the blonde head of yours? Would it really have been so difficult for you to simply carry one bag at a time? Or is common sense a hard concept for you to grasp?” “Christ Brian! I asked you for help!” Upset, Justin threw the wet sponge on the floor. A tight, sarcastic smile played across Brian’s lips. “That’s right sunshine, don’t blame yourself, blame me.” “I wasn’t blaming anyone….” “The fuck you weren’t!” Brian screamed in demand, reaching out and grabbing Justin’s shoulders, roughly shaking him. Justin glued his eyes to the floor, allowing his body to be knocked around. Feeling the force of Brian’s arms, the hatred and anger in his voice, he croaked, “I’m sorry Brian! I didn’t mean to! It was an accident — the bags slipped from my hands-“ “Right!” Brian snapped sharply, “That’s a new one from you sunshine; blaming your gimp hand for causing a mess…” he finished softly, watching tears form in Justin’s eyes from his comment. Justin tightened his fists. “How dare you Brian. Even for you, that’s low. It’s…its like me blaming you for not getting here over here fast enough to help me because,” he searched for a hurtful reason. Fighting fire with fire. “Because you have one ball!” “You little shit!” Brain shouted, shaking him even more, turning him around and slamming Justin against the refrigerator. Justin felt sobs choking up in his throat threatening to block off his airways. Gasping slightly for air, he finally let the sobs trying to escape break out; seeming to echo throughout the large house. “Ah, fuck, Justin — what the hell are you crying for?” Brian’s red face screamed, voice growing louder by the second. Justin attempted to shrug his shoulders to tell Brian he was sorry, but his body would not seem to work. As both shoulders were firmly clamped in the stronger man’s hands, he could not get them to move at all unless it was the way they were being made to. Truth be told; the louder Brian bellowed, the more tears he watched fall, the harder he jerked Justin around, the better he felt. Just the feeling under his grip of struggling desperate muscles was enough to — “Brian! STOP!” Justin’s mouth found words, “Stop it! You’re out of fucking control!” For a moment longer the room stopped spinning. Justin’s tunnel of vision settling on Brian’s flagrant expression. “Fucking get out of here Justin. Just fucking get out of my sight before you make a bigger mess.” Justin wavered from side to side, rubbing his shoulders and arms from the release of Brian’s iron grip. “But Bri — “ “Are you deaf? Get the fuck out!” Brian shouted, yanking Justin and threw him against a wall, ignoring the crack as Justin slid down, sobbing hard. Clambering to his feet Justin blindly stumbled past Brian and down the hall; bursting into their bedroom and slamming the door shut. Collapsing onto their bed he buried his face in a pillow. And without even lifting his head, he reached an arm out towards his nightstand to slap down a picture of Brian and him on their wedding day. What a crock of shit those vows turned out to be. Promising to love him, protect him, to take care of each other. Yeah right, Justin snorted. Marriage was a crock of shit. Down the hall, Brian stood there, staring at the bedroom door that had just been slammed. The dissonance he was feeling was palpable. Running a hand through his disgruntled hair, he listlessly walked back into the kitchen to finish cleaning up the mess. Despite his credulous belief that everything was Justin’s fault he felt…..well he felt…. “Hello?” Emotions shoved aside, Brian reached into his jeans to answer his cell phone. “Mr. Kinney? Hi there, it’s Clarence — “ Brian inwardly groaned. “What is it Queerance?” Shit, since when the fuck did secretaries call his cell? Clarence continued, ignoring Brian’s inevitable insult, “Look, Greg got sick so you need to fly tomorrow morning to Maine with Roland.” Brain didn’t bother to disguise his annoyance, “Fine. Fucking fabulous. What time does the flight take off?” “Eight-thirty. Roland will be waiting for you with your ticket at gate sixty five — “ Click. Brian had the information he needed, so fuck the rest. Drumming his fingers on the counter he made his way down the hall, pausing when he reached the bedroom door. Contemplating whether or not to knock, he decided against it. He pushed the door open to the sight of Justin curled up on the bed, red puffy eyes staring at the wall. Brian shook a thought off while opening a closet to his left. “So — I’m leaving for Maine tomorrow. Only a couple of days.” Justin’s head turned slowly, blood shot eyes surveying Brian tossing briefs into a suitcase. He didn’t respond to the statement. Blinking a few times he closed his eyes all together, sighing through the fresh tears that tracked down his face. Reaching up with one hand, he brushed the tears away knowing he was showing a sign of weakness with each tear. “Oh, stop acting so melodramatic,” Brian flopped down stomach first next to him, “beeecause,” he lifted a hand to stoke a lock of Justin’s hair, “I’m going to need a farewell fuck before leaving.” He leaned in to kiss Justin, only to hear a huff as Justin put a hand on his chest. “Don’t.” Brian raised an eyebrow. “Don’t touch me Brian.” Justin apprehensively drew in a sharp breath, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Where are you going?” Brian asked, following him. Justin opened the door to the bathroom. “Taking a shower. Alone.” He enunciated, not waiting for Brian’s reaction before shutting the bathroom door. Brian lowered his head for an obscure moment and cleared his throat, mostly taking to himself, “I’ll finish packing.”