Why Not With Me?

Chapter Twleve: Partners 

I used to say 

“I” and “me.”

Now it’s “us” 

Now it’s “we.”

- from Ben, by Michael Jackson  / Jackson Five 

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--------------------Justin’s Point of View -------------------

A day has gone by and I am not any closer, really, to knowing what to do for Brian. 

After his breakdown Saturday, I couldn’t press him any more. Just couldn’t. 

To have him crying in my arms is an experience I never thought I would have. 

In that moment, the whole world was under my feet. Everything else paled in comparison to him; his feelings and his heart.

I would do anything for him. I would do anything to make him feel real love; to know my devotion. 

But Brian is Brian is Brian. 

And Brian doesn’t know how to say anything; he’s so uneasy with the words. I’ve seen him at Kinnetik, when words flow through him that capture hearts and minds, that persuade and sell.

But those are words for things. 

When it come to words for feelings, Brian can hardly open his mouth. 

What’s worse, he so independent.  Even more so than usual. He doesn’t seem to want me to do anything for him -- make dinner, get him a glass of water, anything. He keeps saying he’s put me through enough already.

Put me through enough already -- that’s his phrase.

I am fucking going to kill Jack and Joanie, I fucking swear it.

He’s always been like this to a large degree, but now it’s like, since he showed the slightest hint of emotional need, he’s hit his limit, he can’t ask anyone for anything. 

But then, at night, in his nightmares, he’s crying out for help.

In those moments, in my heartache,  I know that I will do whatever it takes. That *we* will do whatever it takes. 

But we will not be able to do it alone; we are going to need professional help.

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I wait until after we get home from having breakfast with Gus to broach the subject. He has been quiet all morning; I suspect he might have had a nightmare that he is not sharing.

He’s sitting on the couch, watching the morning political news shows half heartedly.  I go over and sit myself next to him.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” I say, knowing that these words will be a red flag for him, but I don’t know what else to say. 

He glances over at me, “You’re flying back tomorrow?” His eyes show his fear; his voice does not.

I slip his hand into mine. 

“No, I don’t have to be back for a couple of weeks. Gallery’s getting ready for a new show.” I’m pretty much lying and he knows it.

He nods and squeezes my hand really hard.

I swallow and feel myself getting tense. This is not easy.

“I need to talk to you because I’m worried,” I say honestly. He lowers the volume on the TV to tell me he’s listening. I’m “watching” it too, knowing he won’t want me looking at him. 

“I’m worried because for the last week…I’ve known that you were going through something. Are going through something --”  I feel his whole body tense.

“something really difficult. And honestly…I’ve been scared. Because I don’t think I can do this, that we can do this, alone. I want so much to help you. I’ll do anything… But I don‘t totally know what to do.” I can’t help it; a tear goes down my cheek.

He turns the volume all the way down. We stare straight ahead for a long minute of silence.

“I didn’t mean to put you through that,” he says, his voice almost inaudible. 

I link my arm with his, twining us together, and lean against his shoulder. I whisper in his ear. 

“Of course you didn’t, Brian. You would never want that for me. I know that.”

He bites his lip and lets his head fall a little against mine. He still cannot look at me. 

“What I’m saying is, I think we should call the psychologist that you met on the plane.”

“You think I need professional help,” he says, his voice dripping with derogatory tone. 

I pause, carefully choosing my words. 

“I think we need professional solutions.”

He sighs and I take that as my cue to continue. 

“I just don’t know the right way to deal with --”

“Me?” he asks. “You don’t know how to deal with me.”

I set my jaw and wait for a moment.

“No, Brian. I can deal with anything you can dish out, and I swear that I will.” I am totally serious and he knows it.

He squeezes my hand again. In apology, I think. 

 I wait a few moments before continuing.

“Do you remember after…after the bashing? How you felt?”

His eyes widen and I see a flash of pain on his face, remembering.

“You wanted to help me; I know it,” I take a deep breath, “That’s how I feel now.”

He looks sideways over at me, his voice quiet. He looks a little shaken.

“I…I talked to a psychologist about you. Informally. At the baths,” he admits.

I breathe a deep sigh. I know better than to make a big deal of this, but I am so relieved I could cry.

“Okay, that’s exactly what I mean.” 

I let him think it over for a little while. We pretend to watch the latest argument over social security funding on TV. Really pretend to watch -- the volume is still not on.

“Okay,” he says faintly. 

I kiss him on the cheek. He turns his head and we kiss softly on the lips. My heart is soaring. He agreed. He agreed! This is going to be okay. 

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I know Justin is right. 

I’ve felt a lot better since he got here. I’ve been sleeping better. I’ve been happier.

But the nightmares haven’t stopped. Only now, I fall back to sleep easily, with Justin in my arms. 

It’s a big improvement but I know it isn’t enough…

Oh my god, I’m going to see a psychologist. 

My heart races at the thought. How can I do that? Like some crazy person or something. 

My head is starting to pound a little. 

What was it Justin called it….professional solutions. 

I like that. I’m a professional myself; maybe it’s only right that I get professional solutions. 

Or at least, I can look at it that way.

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Justin offers to call and set the initial appointment for me, but I can’t have him do that. After everything he’s done, the last thing he needs to do are errands around the house. 

He doesn't need to do anything else for me.

---------------------------- Justin’s Point of View ---------------------------

His appointment is for Monday morning; Sunday night we’re laying in bed together. He’s running his fingers through the cum on my stomach and sucking it off his fingers.

I am so glad I am not going back to New York in the morning. 

“What time should we leave tomorrow?” I ask him, not sure how far the office is from here. 

“I’m going to leave at about 8:30.”

“Okay, so we can leave here about 8:30, and maybe get breakfast at the diner afterward?”

He sighs.

“I don’t need you to go with me.”

“I know.” I can play this game, Brian.

We’re quiet for a minute. He’s not sucking the cum from his fingers anymore. Maybe he’s got it all.

“I can go by myself,” he tries again.

“I know you can.”

Quiet.  

“You’re not coming with me.” He takes his firm stand..

“Not into the office; just into the building.” I can bargain. 

He sighs again and his head falls back against the pillow. For a little while I think we might be done with this.

“Why?”

I didn’t see that coming.

“Because…I want to.”  He lifts his head back up and looks at me.

“You want to. Why? Because that’s what a good “partner” is supposed to do?”

I bite my tongue. Breathe in, Justin, and breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

“No, Brian. Because I love you.”

Now I see him biting his tongue. 

He huffs out a breath of air in his frustration.

“You love me because that’s what a good “partner is supposed to do?”

WHAT? Where the fuck does he get this shit?

I flip over as fast as I can move and suddenly I’m on top of him. He’s looking at me with big eyes.

“No, I’m a good partner because I love you,” I say forcefully.  He blinks. 

“The love comes FIRST, Brian. The reason we’re partners is BECAUSE I love you….”

He swallows, looking surprised and innocent. 

That’s when I learn something. 

He’s not asking to anger me; not to make a point. He’s asking because he wants to know and doesn’t. 

I smile at him and soften my tone, instantly sorry for having been a little harsh before. At least I have his full attention though.

“I love you no matter what. I loved you before we were partners…”

He’s looking deep into my eyes, his hazel eyes a deep bronze.

“and I loved you…even when we weren’t.”

He looks away. For the next minute, all I hear is our breathing and the traffic outside.

“Nothing changes that. I love you always.” He looks back in my direction, his eyes glistening. 

“And I’m going to at least go with you…. I won’t walk in the building,” I say, compromising because he looks so goddamned vulnerable underneath me in the moonlight, “we’ll leave the house together. And I’ll meet you afterward, at that crepe place down the street.”

I know he won’t want to see anyone after that; the diner was out.

He looks at me for along moment and brings his hand to the back of my head, pulling me down for a grateful kiss.

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Monday morning in the ‘Vette, neither of us mentions the word “office,” “appointment,” or “doctor,” much less “psychologist.” 

When he calls in to Cynthia early Monday morning, he tells her about a series of important “business meetings” that start today, of unknown duration. 

I almost spit the orange juice out of my mouth when I overhear him say that. I’m was still coughing and choking when he came in and looked at me funny.

He drops me off at Daphne’s, where we’re planning on catching up for the morning til I meet Brian at ten thirty. 

“Later,” he says after kissing me goodbye.