Brian’s POV

I groaned and slowly opened my eyes. Fuck, it was morning.  I had just lived through the most fucked up days of my life and you would think that goddamn night could have had the decency to hang around until I was ready to get up. I could hear the shower. That meant Justin, with his fucking “sunshine” smile, would soon be in here to drag me out of bed to take him to school. I muttered a few vile curses to myself and tried to remember why I had told the brat that he couldn’t ride the bus from here. The reason was escaping me at the moment. I slowly sat up. My head was pounding like someone was in there trying to get out through my fucking temple. I rubbed my forehead and ran my hand through my hair. Christ. 

Justin the fucking little twat. He was behind all this. Him and his goddamn “it’s better than no father at all” speech. His words and a faulty memory had driven me to go visit my own father. The drunken bastard; the same old story, not even a new tune or a new sheet of paper. Always asking for a handout, continually regretting that he had ever become a father at all. I had news for goddamn Justin Taylor there were worse fucking things than having no father at all. There, that right there was the fucking thought that was the bottom of my troubles. God damn shit. The day before yesterday I had gone to see the bastard who had fathered me. Yesterday I had told Lindsay and Melanie that I would not give up the parental rights to my son. Fuck had that been a goddamn scene or what? I couldn’t be swayed, I never fucking could once I made up my mind. I had gone there to sign the papers. I swear to fucking god I had, but the goddamn pen wouldn’t write and then…Christ. I couldn’t shake the vision of Justin’s reflection in the mirror as his eyes met mine. His belief in what he was saying, that even a sorry father was better than none at all, shining in their depths. Fuck. I got up and pulled on my jeans. That wasn’t the main reason. I had to admit that if I was going to be honest with myself. And who the fuck had time for that? Put it away. I told myself, just put it away.

“Justin are you fucking coming?” I yelled pulling a t-shirt on over my head and stepping into my loafers.

“No.” Came his infuriatingly cheerful voice, “but I’m ready to go.” He came out of the bathroom once more dressed as the proper little school boy. Just thinking about what he would let me do to that hot little ass under those khakis stirred my cock and challenged my resolve to get him to school on time. Fuck I had to get a grip. I grabbed my keys and he tossed me my wallet from where it’s place on the bar. 

“Get one of those protein bars for breakfast.” I told him, he skipped eating in the morning way too often. Fuck he was turning me goddamn domestic. I had to figure out what to do with him and get him the fuck out of here. He dug through a drawer to find the chocolate ones he favored and shouldered his bag.

“OK, let’s go.” He said with a flash of that smile. I glared and led him to the jeep. Thoughts of Gus wouldn’t leave me alone. His sweet trusting baby face had touched me in a way that I didn’t understand and that I had no way to defend against. He was mine in a way no other person had ever been before. If I didn’t screw it up he would love me in a way that I had never known. Fuck. My entire life was one huge screw up. I glanced over to where Justin rode beside me in silence for a change. One day my fucking kid might riding in a goddamn jeep on the way to school with a man he barely knew because he couldn’t stand to live with me. I almost laughed at the thought, my son didn’t have to live with me. He had the dykes. Goddamn Melanie. She already hated me, not that I gave a fuck. Now she would hunt me down and castrate me if she could. I didn’t even blame her. Fuck. I had agreed. From the beginning I had told them I didn’t want the goddamn kid and when it was time to sign the papers I would. I had intended to right up until I found out that I couldn’t. 

“Don’t count on your father.” I had told my son and I had felt Justin beside me about to bust out of his skin wanting to protest but he managed to keep his fucking mouth shut for once.  My plan had been simple, the dykes wanted sonny boy, I didn’t and so I would give him to them. I had fully intended to do it but something got in the way. Something that tore inside when I remembered growing up knowing that my father wished I had never been born and even more than that, had actively tried to orchestrate my murder. Long ago I had buried that part of me so fucking deep that I had thought it would never see the goddamn light of day again. But it had been resurrected in all its glory when I had held my living breathing son for the first time. I had been rejected sight unseen by my asshole of a father and now those cunts were asking me to do the same thing to my son. Well fuck them. I might be the sorriest goddamn father that ever walked the earth, but my son would never look at himself in the mirror and try to find in the lines of his face or the shape of his character the thing that had caused his own father to despise him. I glanced at Justin again, I did not even have the security that came from knowing what was wrong with me.  Christ, what the fuck was wrong with me?? I scrubbed my hand over my face and wished I had a drink. 

Justin’s concern was coming off him in fucking waves. He had shown what a twat he could be when I got home just in time to take him to school yesterday and he had been there waiting, not ready to go but ready to scream at me like he was a goddamn wife. I had not minced words reminding him who the fuck I was and just what he was and then I left him there to get to school or not. I lost myself in drugs, alcohol and sex and it was only when Mikey had brought me home in the wee hours before dawn that I had discovered he had not gone at all. Mikey had passed the fucking responsibility of me to him with bad grace but Justin had ignored him. Mikey’s fucking doctor was waiting and so I chased him out. I could get in my bed without goddamn nurse maids.

Justin had ignored my unwillingness completely. He made me eat. He gave me a shower that didn’t include my ramming my cock up his tender young ass, what a loss that had been. He had put me to bed and climbed in beside me. I had been too fucked up to protest any of it. What I didn’t understand was why the fuck he wasn’t still pissed off. Justin could maintain a pout that sometimes rivaled Emmett’s. I wondered about that right up until he had wrapped me in his arms, pressed his face into my damp hair and whispered. “Lindsay called.” I had passed out before I could tell him what I thought about that fucking piece of information. That had been about two hours ago. Fuck my mouth tasted like shit and my eyes felt like they had been lined with sandpaper.

That’s what was causing this ridiculous introspection, my goddamn hangover. I’d have a shot or ten when I got back to the loft and fix that. I was Gus’ father and I was going to stay his fucking father and the goddamn lesbians could just get over it. I brought the jeep to a screeching halt in front of Justin’s school and waited in a stony silence for him to get out. I could feel his eyes on me but I didn’t turn to look at him. He touched my thigh and then opened the door.

“You did the right thing Brian.” He said and managed to get out and intercept Daphne before she became the next victim of my foul temper. Fuck me what did I care what that goddamn twink thought about my actions. He was nothing to me, fucking nothing. Christ I needed a drink, I called Cynthia and told her that I would be out again today and that no I didn’t have the fucking flu. Just this massive fucking headache. Traffic was light and cooperated with my desire to out race my thoughts. If the fucking police had stopped me there would have been more than a warning in it for me. I didn’t care; but I quickly discovered that I could not out-run either my thoughts or my feelings. I was in a tangle of convoluted emotion. I felt as if I had betrayed Lindsay, who really was my friend no matter what I thought of Mel. But at the same time I was sure that I would betray myself beyond repair if I did what she wanted and signed away my son. I would not betray myself. I was the only one in this fucking world that I could count on and nobody gay or straight was ever going to take that away from me.

Having my resolution finally firm and justified in my mind helped to calm my temper and by the time I was back in the loft even the headache was bearable. I decided to go ahead into work as soon as I had juice or maybe a shake. Tossing my keys onto the bar I made my way to the refrigerator lost in thought mentally coordinating the rest of my morning. I had that leather pants account to finish for presentation tomorrow but that was no problem, it had been the easiest fucking account I had worked on in months. I opened the refrigerator and peered into what had once been the comfortingly empty depths…pre-twink, now…ah now Justin cooked and it seemed he did so with flair…or at least with abundance. My refrigerator no longer reflected my free and easy bachelor life style and instead looked like something out of Martha Stewart’s kitchen. It was filled with foil wrapped packets and plastic containers with snap on lids. Where the fuck had those come from? I know there was no Tupperware in my goddamn cabinets. Ah there was that lemon pie he fixed a couple days ago, maybe I could stand the taste of that. I often berated him for the high calorie foods he continually set in front of me but his only response to date had been smart assed comments about me being too skinny, even his fucking mother said so. I hesitated reaching for the pie, ah fuck it a couple extra miles on the treadmill would take care of the calories and the thing was damn good; melt in your mouth ambrosia if the fucking truth was told. 

I set the pie on the counter and spotted my juice pushed into a far back corner. Christ he and I were really going to have to have a chat about this. I shifted some things out of the way so I wouldn’t knock anything out when I pulled out the container. Something caught my eye and I frowned. What the fuck was that? It looked like a can of paint, one of those pint sized cans but what the fuck was it doing in the refrigerator? There was enough crap in there without the fucking artist storing his supplies in there as well. I had never heard of paint that had to be refrigerated. I took it out and looked at it. The can was unremarkable, some off brand of acrylic paint. I shook my head and set it aside. The kid was fucking weird that’s all. There was nothing on the label about refrigerating it. I would put it under the sink or something after I ate. 

Soon a healthy…or not so healthy portion of pie was in front of me at the table. I had even gone so far as to indulge in a small glass of that damn milk he was always trying to force on me. Fuck the goddamn brat was going to make me fat. I lifted the first bite to my mouth and paused my eyes going again to the can of paint that was still sitting on the cabinet next to the sink. I had forgotten to put it up and there was something about it that bothered me. Something eating at the edge of my mind. I couldn’t put my finger on it and tried to shrug off the feeling. I took a bite of the pie but I wasn’t enjoying it because of  that damned paint. Goddamn fuck this. I got up to put it away, out of sight out of mind right? Fucking right. Standing in front of it I didn’t pick it up. What had the goddamn can been doing in the refrigerator and why was it bugging me so fucking much? I pulled out my phone and dialed Justin.

“Brian?” his voice when he answered was somewhat incredulous, “Is everything ok?” I could hear the sounds of the school hall and realized I had caught him between classes. Christ, like that mattered. I started to make a lame excuse but my eyes settled on the can again. If a stupid paint can could look ominous and feel dark that one did. What the fuck was going on?

“Justin, why did you put this paint in the refrigerator?” I asked him making myself pick up the can again. It felt full but there were clear signs around the edges of the lid that it had been opened before. 

“Paint? Didn’t put any paint in there; why the fuck would I do that?” I could imagine his shrug, “I don’t even have my paint stuff. It’s still in my room at home.” He paused, “I was going to ask you if I could bring it to the loft but I didn’t know if you would want me painting there. It can be messy.” I looked around at my hardwood floors. I wasn’t sure I wanted him painting in here but that was a subject for another time. Right now I wanted to know where the fuck this paint had come from. 

“There was a pint of acrylic paint in the refrigerator.” I told him impatiently, he had to have put it there I sure as fuck hadn’t and here it was in my goddamn hand. A sudden chill crawled down my spine and I set the can abruptly on the counter. I almost took a step back from it. “Justin, what the fuck is it doing in there?” I was starting to get pissed off.  

“A pint? Christ Brian what the fuck would I want with a pint of paint? If it was mine it would be those little tubes, the ones you buy at the art store not that crap for painting houses they sell at the hardware store.” He was sounding more than a little put out himself. I almost laughed imagining him standing at his locker digging for books and trying to figure out what the fuck my problem was, don’t I fucking wish I knew. “What color is it?” he asked as if that would have some bearing on where the damn thing had come from.  I looked at the label and opened my mouth to answer him when suddenly the reason for my apprehension became all to clear. Fucking Christ this could not be happening. 

“Never mind.” I said shortly into the phone, “I just remembered something about it. Talk to you later.” I hung up without waiting for an answer. I stood staring at the paint can. Justin’s question had brought into focus what it was that bothered me about the paint. It was Red. I didn’t have to think hard to remember the last thing of note that I had seen painted red. That dead guy’s cock, once he had been out of the shadow and laid out flat for the body bag, it had been very, very red.  I wouldn’t forget that. They thought I should know why but I hadn’t.  Who the fuck had heard of something that fucking weird? And I had seen and done a lot of fucking weird stuff. It hadn’t mattered then why some dead guy had a red cock. Suddenly it mattered enough to dry out my mouth. Looking at that can of paint I knew, I knew beyond any bit of reason or sanity that he had not painted his own cock. It had been done by whoever had killed him. And whoever that was had put this can in my refrigerator. He had been inside the loft and he wanted me to know it. 

Fuck. I rubbed the back of my hand over my mouth and my fingers through my hair. FUCK. When. When had he been here? That day? The next? When the fuck could he have been here? How had he got in without setting off the fucking security alarm? What the fuck was I supposed to do with that goddamn can? Call the fucking police? Panic fluttered just outside my control, threatening to overwhelm me it had not been long enough since I had been standing over that body so much like Justin’s for me to face this calmly. Then I remembered that the police had searched the loft the night of the murder, they had searched all the apartments in the building. I was sure this can had not been here then or they would have found it. I rarely got into the refrigerator for more than water or a juice and Justin kept my water in the door so that I at least didn’t have to dig for that. So this can had been put there after the night of the murder, but I had no way of knowing exactly when that had been. Fuck the goddamn alarm was always set, there wasn’t a time that he could just have just fucking waltzed in here. Even though he done just that into the supposedly secure foyer. That was different, everyone had that number. It would not be very difficult to get into the hallway, my loft was a different matter entirely... and then I remembered that Justin had been home alone two nights in a row. No matter how I stayed on him about it he habitually failed to set the alarm if he was inside the apartment. My blood ran cold at the thought. Oh fuck no, not Justin. I tried to tighten my control but the panic threatened again as the certainty that that killer had not only been in my apartment, but that he had been here while Justin was sleeping blossomed in my gut. 

My imagination ran rampant. Justin sleeping on the couch as he had been when Mikey dragged me home this morning. The loft door sliding open and a dark figure slipping inside. I couldn’t move I was transfixed by the near vision unfolding in my mind. The loft lit by the fluorescents in the bedroom, I never turned them off and there wasn’t a time that the apartment was ever in complete darkness.  I was sure that said something embarrassing about my mental condition but didn’t dwell on it. The point was my habit of always leaving a light on would make navigating the apartment easy even for someone totally unfamiliar with it. In my mind’s eye the figure moved with little caution to the refrigerator and opened it without fear to place that can inside. 

I shook my head in an attempt to clear it. The real question was not how he had done it but what was I going to do now. Did I call the police to tell them a can of paint that I thought had been used to paint some dead guy’s fucking cock was in my goddamn refrigerator? Fuck how did I even know that’s what this was? It was true enough that any number of people could have done it but staring at that can I didn’t believe it.

I forced myself to pick up the can. Christ the can wasn’t evil. It was just a can of fucking paint and to prove it to myself I pried off the lid. It came off much more easily than I had anticipated. Paint lids stick notoriously after having been used, the paint acts as a fairly competent glue once it’s dry. The ease with which the lid came off surprised me and I splashed some on the counter. Fuck! I grabbed a towel to wipe it up and the smell hit me. I dropped the towel. My eyes widened in horror and my stomach rolled. It was not paint in that goddamn can. Fucking Christ. I grabbed the lid and fumbled with it my hands shaking as I tried to get it back on the can, trying not to breathe. I finally got the lid securely pressed back on and now panic beat real wings in my chest. The worry about paint seemed trite and insignificant. The can was full, nearly to the top, with blood. I fought desperately with the sense of helpless panic that came with knowing that someone had come into my home and left this here. Some twisted dark creature who murdered blond twinks, bled them dry and left them as a calling card on my front door. 

What the fuck was I going to do. I imagined calling the police and trying to explain exactly how I came to have a can of blood in my secure apartment. I would be guilty from the start simply for being queer and if not me then Justin. What the if it fucking came out that we had covered up that he was the one who really found the body? I could fucking deal with them thinking I had done this fucking crap. What if they thought it was Justin. The thought of him being tormented by the goddamn police made my blood run cold but what had me truly frozen with indecision was the imagined vision of him on the couch sleeping innocently, his arm over his head, his mouth open like it always was when he slept on his back while a dark figure stood watching. A figure with blood on his hands and murder in his heart. I forced back the panic and took control. I had already made my choices about this when I removed Justin from the scene initially. Suddenly calm I wiped up the rest of the blood and put the can and the cloth into the trashcan under the newspaper that Justin had thrown out yesterday. I washed my hands and disinfected the counter. And then went to get dressed. 

I did not need the bit of yellow hair neatly cut and tied with a bit of string laying on my dresser to remind me how vulnerable we were and the sight of it bred no new panic in my heart. I was being warned but even though I could not figure out what the warning was I was no longer afraid. I couldn’t imagine anyone hating Justin enough to want him dead, or even hating me enough to kill him. I considered Justin’s father but even having been attacked by the man twice I could not imagine him going this far to insure that I left his son alone. What the fuck did all this mean? My worst fear was that it meant Justin was next. Well the asshole might think so, but it would never be Justin. I knew that I would have to protect him myself. One lesson I had learned well over the years was that the police were never a queer’s friend and if we were going to survive we would have to look after ourselves to do it. I pocketed the lock of hair. I wasn’t going to forget this. That fucker had already made his biggest mistake. He had fucked with Brian Kinney, and Brian fucking Kinney always gets his man.


TBC
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