Why Not With Me? 

Chapter Forty: Words Exchanged

-----------------------------------------------------------------

I’d give anything 

But I won’t give up on you.

I’d say anything 

But not goodbye.

I’ll roll with your changes

 And I’m always at your side.

There’s not a word that I’ve ever heard

That would make me change my mind.

- from Words, by Train

--------Justin’s Point of View-------

We’re on our way to Sunday dinner at Debbie’s. We haven’t gone for a while, and Debbie practically begged me last time I stopped in at the diner. I’m really looking forward to seeing everyone and getting things back to…well, back to how they used to be, before New York.

No, I don’t want everything to be the way it was. I definitely don’t want to undo everything that Brian has done in the last six weeks. I’m so proud of him and I couldn’t be happier with where we are now. 

But, it will be nice to get back into seeing everyone, hanging out, babysitting sometime -- that sort of thing. It’ll be great to be around people who care about more than the latest opening or some reviewer in an obscure underground newspaper.

----------Brian’s Point of View-------

I pull up to Debbie’s house and notice that we’re the last to arrive, just like I told Justin when he couldn’t find the sneakers he wanted to wear and spent fifteen minutes looking for them. Oh well. 

I’m just going around the block so I can park across the street when Justin asks something. 

“Should we tell them?” 

Tell them?  Tell them what? 

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

I can tell by the slight furrow in his brow that he doesn’t have any idea what I’m talking about. 

“Tell them -- about us?”  Instantly Brian turns to me, catching my eye. His eyes are wide with alarm. 

“I…well….I guess we could,” he says, sounding uncertain. 

----------Brian’s Point of View-------------

Justin smiles and brushes his fingertips against my cheek.

“Never mind,” he says, bringing his lips to kiss mine. 

“No -- no. We could,” I say, finding my voice as Justin pulls away. 

He gazes into my eyes for like thirty seconds. Luckily no one is behind us or we’d be holding up traffic as I wait to parallel park. 

He shakes his head and smiles softly. Then he ruffles my hair before I can pull away. 

“Not now,” he says and kisses my forehead.  “Someday. But we don’t need to do it now.” 

-------Justin’s Point of View -------

Brian tries his best to look annoyed at me, or about the parking, or something. But I can tell he’s relieved that we won’t be making any big announcements today.  Really, I should’ve known better than to suggest it; it’s not going to be easy for him to go back to something that he claimed so adamantly before. 

Of course, he did propose and send wedding invitations, so I’m sure it won’t come as a total shock to anyone when the day comes. 

-----------Brian’s Point of View-----------

Everyone is just sitting down when we get inside; they’re just pouring drinks. I take Justin’s jacket and mine into the guest room. As I’m walking back in, I hear Ben’s voice. 

“So Justin, what’ll it be? We have some red wine or Scotch.” 

“Uh, nothing for me, thanks. Just iced tea,” he answers. 

I freeze in my tracks hearing his answer. I feel my cheeks getting red with -- with --- with embarrassment, or anger, or something.  Justin does not have to do this. He doesn’t have to stop drinking -- he…he’s not an alcoholic, or even close.

So he’s doing this for me? 

I don’t want that. Not at all. He’s young, and he’s a much more responsible drinker than I am. He doesn’t drink alone; he doesn’t drink at work. He doesn’t even drink that much, compared to me. He’s just likes alcohol sometimes, like most people do. 

 So there’s no reason for him to stop. No reason except me. 

Fuck. He’s never not had alcohol at Debbie’s before. They’re all sure to notice something. What if they ask questions? What if they think Justin’s the one -- the one with the drinking problem? Fuck. 

I guess there’s nothing I can do about it right now though. Fuck, now I want to drink… well, I want to….but I don’t want to. 

Oh fuck. Fuck alcohol. 

I take a deep breath or two and hope that I look less flustered than I feel.

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

Brian comes in looking a little odd, but not bad. He settles in next to me, sliding his hand down my thigh before it settles on my knee. 

“What’ll it be -- wine or Scotch?” 

I turn my head to watch Brian answer, and I swear time slows down. 

“Scotch on the rocks.”  Ben nods and goes to the kitchen with Brian’s glass. 

 My heart is racing and I think my breath is getting fast. I almost don’t hear it when Lindsey stops explaining why Mel stayed home with the kids and starts asking me about art. 

Fuck, he ordered a drink. I mean… I guess he didn’t promise anything. But I guess I thought…I assumed…fuck. 

-----------Brian’s Point of View---------

I didn’t mean to order anything. I wasn’t going to ask for alcohol; I really wasn’t.  But then, when Ben asked, “ Wine or Scotch?” I’d have to be actively refusing alcohol…. Not just choosing something else.

And that just seems like too much. That will draw attention; that will raise eyebrows. I’m not ready for that. At all.

Fuck…. 

I see Justin watching me through dinner. I feel his eyes on me, every time I reach for anything. My water glass. The salad. The pepper. 

He’s watching me and he’s so fucking nervous. When I lift up the glass of Scotch and just hold it, Justin looks like he’s going to have a panic attack. 

And for some reason, it really makes me angry. The more I watch him -- his eyes on my hands, practically holding his breath. Not paying any attention to anyone or anything else. Just fucking watching me, to see what I’ll do. If I’ll drink or not. 

He doesn’t trust me, doesn’t believe me. I told him the other day that I was experimenting. That I wanted to see how it felt. I wasn’t promising anything. And I still haven’t. 

And after twenty-whatever years of drinking, one goddamn drink at Debbie’s is not the time to start getting worried. 

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

I can’t concentrate. I can’t… all I see is Brian’s glass of Scotch.  

Is he going to drink? 

I mean… he could. He could. It’s okay if he does. It’s okay if he does. 

Maybe if I tell myself that enough, I’ll believe it… I’ll feel like it’s okay. Right now I don’t feel like it’s okay. Right now my stomach’s in knots. 

I look at Brian’s face, finally -- I guess my attention’s been elsewhere -- and I can’t miss the hardness of his features, the  furrow of his brow. The very slight flare of his nostrils. He is fucking pissed off. 

He catches my eye and raises his glass up into the air. Then he raises his eyebrow, crooks it at me. Then he continues talking to Emmett about the holiday gala thing.  He keeps holding the glass, knowing full well that it’s driving me crazy.

---------Brian’s Point of View----------

I stir the Scotch, my pointer finger pushing ice around in the glass. 

But I don’t drink.

Not at all. 

-----------------Later That Night ----------------

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

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Brian says as we get into the loft after a very quiet car ride home. 

“Don’t have to do what?” 

He glares at me, his eyes intense because I’m there lying to his face. Immediately I change my answer.

“I know I don’t have to,” I say, meeting his eyes. He’s calmer because I’m telling the truth. 

“Then why did you do it?” he says, getting closer to me. Examining me. 

I swallow and have to look away for a moment. I look back at him to answer. 

“I thought it would help you.” 

He looks at me for a second with no expression on his face. Then he turns on his heels and walks away. 

--------Brian’s Point of View---------

Help me. 

He’s been helping me…for like a month now.

And I’m glad; I truly am. I don’t want to think about where I would be without him. 

But…he doesn’t have to do this. If he has to help, can’t he do it in a different way? 

He doesn’t have to stop drinking, too.  Fuck… 

Fuck.

It’s bad enough knowing that he’ll have to be drinking alone; that we won’t be that way together anymore. That we won’t be loose and high and hot together anymore. 

I hate that I’m taking that away from him. Those nights that were so innocent and so harmless, at least for him. 

I don’t want to be taking everything from him.

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

Brian walks around the apartment, footsteps heavier than usual, arms crossed. At first I stand there and watch him, not knowing what else to do. 

I really hate it when he’s angry.

Then I move to the couch and turn the television on. I watch for a few minutes, my brain not really registering any of the news before me.  I’m just there, watching the newscasters, the headlines, the scrolling words at the bottom. Listening to Brian’s footsteps. 

“It doesn‘t help,” he says, walking close to the couch. 

I look over at him. He’s rolled up his sleeves and taken off his shoes.

----------Brian’s Point of View----------

Justin’s just staring at me blankly. He doesn’t look hurt, though perhaps he does look a little bit confused.

“It doesn’t?”

I shake my head and look back at him.  

“Why not?”  Why not. He wants to know why not. Why it doesn’t help. 

“Because -- fuck, Justin. It just doesn’t, okay? Tonight was -- too much. I can’t do that. I can’t….feel like that again,” I manage to say, feeling myself getting angry again.

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

“Can’t what? Not drink?” I ask pointedly.   I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth.

And I can’t miss his reaction; he looks like he’s just been slapped in the face.

“Brian -- I’m sorry,” I try to say. He shakes his head.

“No,” he insists, “no.”

“But I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He shakes his head and shrugs his shoulder, turning away from me. 

Fuck me.

---------Brian’s Point of View------

Fuck, that hurt…. Fuck. I have to turn away for a second and look out the window.

“I just can’t do it -- I can’t. I can’t ask you to do that,” I say, my back still turned to him. 

“You’re not asking me to do anything.” 

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

He lets out a huff of air and glances in my direction. 

“Just don’t,” he says, voice still angry and low. 

“Don’t what? Stop drinking or stop helping?” 

He sighs and turns to me. 

“Don’t change your whole life for me, Justin. Don’t sacrifice for me. Don’t settle because of me.” 

I feel tears of both anger and sadness rushing up to my eyes. 

“I’m not, Brian. I’m not --” 

“Don’t you listen!? I’m telling you -- I’m asking you. Just don’t. Let me do this… Don’t fucking watch me every second. You’re not…you’re not my mother. You’re not the alcohol police…and you don’t have to stop your life for me. I don’t want that.”

He’s looking at me as he says it. Then he turns on his heels and stalks away before I can answer.

-------------- Late that night-------------------

I sit on the couch and watch the news and random game shows for like three hours. Mostly I’m staring into space.

I’m trying to convince myself that it’s good. We had an argument that didn’t involve him trying to make me leave physically.

But that doesn’t seem like enough; I feel hollow and empty and my head really hurts. 

Brian’s been on his computer. He made coffee and brought me some, silently. 

I want to say something; answer him somehow, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t know…his words really…hurt. And I don’t even think I understand. The more I sit here and think about it, I’m sure I don’t understand…. He doesn’t want me to watch him near alcohol? That’s what he’s upset about? I don’t get it.

I try a couple times to say something, but I can’t find the words. I don’t think the time is right; he’s still too angry anyway, by the looks of it. 

A couple of hours after that, we fall asleep next to each other, without fucking first. 

-----------------Around 3AM that Night-------------------

----------Brian’s Point of View---------------

I can’t sleep. I know what I said hurt Justin, just like what he said hurt me.

And I can’t sleep knowing that I hurt him. Knowing that I left it like this. 

Truth is, I sat at my computer for hours, pretending to work…trying to work. But I couldn’t. All I kept thinking was that I really needed to say something else to Justin. 

But the words just weren’t there. I didn’t know where to start, what to say….So it is that we fall asleep without fucking, which happens so rarely I can remember every time it has.

Now I’m sitting here in the living room, looking out over the street. Lit up with streetlights but still dark. A few people walking home from a bar; a couple getting a cab. The occasional car, no horns, no real traffic noises. 

Nothing to distract me from how shitty I feel right now for hurting Justin, but still I just don’t know where to go from here. What I said was true; I meant the words….but they came out wrong. They came out mean and biting and not at all like what Justin deserves.

I don’t know how to fix it and I feel like shit, and I know Justin does, too. 

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

When I wake up, Brian isn’t next to me. He’s usually a sound sleeper, so this is unusual. Then I remember our argument. 

I try to fall back to sleep, but I can’t. I’m still thinking about it. It took me forever to fall asleep, and now that I’m awake, I can’t go back to sleep again. I keep thinking about what Brian said.  You’re not my mother…

Finally I give up and decide to get some water and maybe something to eat.  That’s when I see Brian, sitting at the window, looking out. 

He looks so sad and serious, body perfectly still in the moonlight. 

“Hey,” I say softly. He jumps a little in surprise, turning to look at me. 

“Hey.” 

He sighs deeply and reaches to take my hand with his.  I step closer so he can. 

“I’m sorry, Sunshine.”

“I’m sorry too,” I say, stepping closer to him and kissing the top of his head. 

We are there in silence for a minute. Brian looks over at me occasionally as if he wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what to say -- he opens his mouth a little, pauses, and shuts it again. 

Then he sighs a little and settles back against the chair, looking frustrated. 

----------Brian’s Point of View--------------

“Come here, Beautiful,” he murmurs to me, pulling me to my feet. 

I go willingly…no, more than that. I go gratefully. 

When we’re seated in the chair, bodies so close together, the chill of the window gone, I feel so much better. I wish I would have thought of this hours ago. 

“I don’t understand, Brian,” he begins, his left arm wrapped behind my back, “what I’m supposed to stop doing.” 

I sigh. 

“Stop watching me.” 

Now Justin sighs a little and burrows deeper against me. 

“I was watching because…I was nervous.”

“You don’t trust me.” 

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

He doesn’t say it mean. He doesn’t say it to accuse. He states it as a fact. 

“I do trust you,” I counter quietly. He shakes his head.

“No, I do…I’m just scared because if -- if it was addiction then… that’s a real battle. That’s not just you… it’s not really you. It changes you…. I trust you but I don’t trust the disease.” 

Brian watches me closely and gently cups my chin in his hand for a moment, gazing into my eyes. 

“I didn’t drink,” he says.

I nod. 

“But I could have.” 

“I know,” I say very softly, closing my eyes. I’m really starting to hate this in-between phrase we’re in. He’s in. Whatever. 

“What if I would have? What would you have done? Had a heart attack?” he asks. 

I hate when he queens out like this and overreacts by claiming that I’m the one overreacting. Well, I hate it, but it is a little bit funny. 

“No, I think I’d survive,” I say dryly. 

“Okay, so you’d survive. So just…don’t watch like that.” 

--------Brian’s Point of View-----------

Justin leans his head back a little, close to mine. 

“Fine, I won’t watch. But tell me, Brian. How did you feel when I was watching you?” 

Oh god, not him too! First Dr. Stevenson with “how do you feel?”, “How did that feel?”, and now Justin?

Oh well, at least I’m getting to be practiced at this. 

“Fucking…awful. It’s too much pressure…and it’s embarrassing. Like I’m your child out on their own for a few minutes and you’re waiting to see if I’ll do something embarrassing or horrible.” 

Justin is really listening…I can tell by the softness in his eyes and the way he hardly blinks, and how his hand finds mine and squeezes.

He looks at me and frowns. 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I’m sorry, Brian. You’re right…I should have just talked to you in private…I didn’t mean to…make a show like that. I know this is just between us.” 

He pulls me against him tight and  kisses my cheek a few times. 

“What did you mean when you said you couldn’t feel like that anymore? Feel like what?” he asks me, proving again how he had really been hearing me all night. 

“I mean…I can’t feel like this anymore. Like I’m taking things away from your life.” 

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

Taking things away from my life? 

“What things do you think you’re taking away?” I ask.

“New York, for one….and… those times together…here and at Babylon, when we’re high together…” 

I turn his head and make him look back at me. 

“It’s true that I’m here now, and not in New York…that has been taken away. But you aren’t the one that took New York away. I am.  And I took away New York because I got something so much better instead. I got you.”

He looks at me. His eyes are wide, then  he smiles softly at me, the corners of his mouth turning up just a little. 

“And when, or if, the time comes that I take away the option to be high around you, it will be the same… it’s because I get something better in return. I get to be with you for something bigger.  To be with you through something deeper.” 

------------Brian’s Point of View--------------

I’m blinking back tears and biting my lip…. 

God…it feels so good to hear him say that. 

I bring my hand to the back of his neck and pull him over for a long, tender kiss. 

We sit there for a long moment, just snuggled there. 

“Justin?” 

“Yeah?”

“When you asked if…if I couldn’t give up drinking. Did you mean that…do you think I can?” 

Tears immediately spill out of his eyes and he shakes his head vehemently before he can speak. 

“No…I didn’t mean it. And I never should have said it. I was just frustrated because I didn’t understand, because I didn’t know how you felt or what to say. I’m sorry. I…don’t just think you can quit, Brian. I know you can. I know that with every breath…every bone in my body…every thought in my mind. I know it, because I know you.” 

-------Justin’s Point of View-------

Brian curls himself against me, holding me so tight, kissing me, my hair, my cheeks. I take a deep breath, so happy that we’re here together again. 

I want to just stop here, with this nice warmth… but I can’t…. there’s one more thing that I want to talk about…. 

“Brian?” 

“Uh huh?” he asks, kissing along the crook of my neck.

“When you said…that I wasn’t your mother….I…” 

That’s when I ran out of words. 

He freezes, stops kissing and leans his head back, closing his eyes for a second. 

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he says, looking over at me.

“But you did…because it means something.”  He bites his lip and looks over my shoulder.

I think back for a moment to what he said -- about feeling like I was going to be embarrassed by him.

“Is that how she made you feel? Like you were an embarrassment to her?”

His eyes lock onto mine and a pink flush spreads to his cheeks. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice almost inaudible, “she would…watch me when her friends were over from church and…she’d tell me all these stupid things not to do. Things I would never do…only…she didn’t know that. Because she didn’t know me… now she’s mortified by me because -- because I’m gay.”

I hold him to me, resting his head against me, running my hands through his silky hair for a couple of minutes, feeling his body tensed with the memories.

“Brian…I don’t feel like that at all…I am so proud of you. I…didn’t mean to make you feel like that…I know you’re going to do what’s best…you have better judgment and better resilience than anyone I know…and you’re always true to yourself…I admire you so much for that. I know who you are, Beautiful, and I’m proud of you and everything you’re doing. I‘m not your mother. I love you.” I murmur into his ear, my hand still in his hair. 

He nods a little, letting me know he heard me. 

I feel the wetness of a few tears against my neck.

I just hold him there like this for a long time, until I feel his breathing slow and I know he’s asleep.