Why Not With Me? 

Chapter Forty-Eight: Knowing You

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

I know what the problem is 

I know you 

I know what the matter is 

I know you

‘Cause you’re just like me

Yeah, you’re just like me 

And I know you… 

- lyrics from I Know You Part II, by Morphine

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

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

So I haven’t been drinking for…over a week? And it hasn’t been too difficult. It turns out that I can choose not to drink.  And I like making that choice. I like having that control and asserting it.

Of course, it’s a choice that comes up a lot more often that I thought it would. It comes up at work daily. It comes up at lots of simple social calls. At Mel and Lindsey’s, dropping off some new soccer cleats for Gus. At Emmett’s, going to discuss the holiday Gala.  At Michael and Ben’s, where I’d stopped to prod Michael into working more on the next issue of the comic. Even Deb had a drink in her hand, ready to pour when I had to stop her.

“Just water?” she’d asked, turning to me with a funny expression. 

“Sure -- you have it, right?” I’d asked, hoping she wouldn’t pry. But she did. 

“Are you okay, Brian?” She asked, handing me the water and settling into her old couch.  She was looking at me in this way that she sometimes did -- in this sort of scrutinizing way, as if she were trying to distinguish something about my soul. 

“I’m fine,” I said, “why did you ask me to come over?”  Instead of answering she looked closer, leaning in a little ways. Her finger running along my jaw. I turn away from her. 

-----------Debbie’s Point of View------------

I’d invited Brian over because the diner’s business was slow, and the owners were thinking of revamping the place. New decorations, new menus, new colors, that sort of thing. And I figured he might be able to offer some suggestions on attracting more people. 

Or at least, that’s the story I told him. And it was partly true. Of course, I could have talked about it with him any time. But I’d noticed some changes in him lately. When he came in, he was a little quieter. A little politer. And the other day, he asked me how my day was. 

Then there was the other Sunday, when I noticed that he barely touched his Scotch. Now, I’d heard through the grapevine that he’s been going through something…it’s sort of known among the group, that something is going on. That maybe he was in therapy. 

Ted had mentioned he had some kind of standing appointment on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Michael also heard Lindsey say something about Brian talking about his childhood.  He told me he thought Brian was in therapy.  That Justin had talked about some kind of support system thing with him a while back… I didn’t believe it. So I figured I’d go to the source. 

Then I get him here and he asks for water. Something definitely seems a little weird. 

“Well -- for some advertising advice but… I wanted to talk first.” He scowls at me, and stands up to leave. 

“Just wait a minute. I’m just -- worried about you. That’s all.” 

“Worried about what?”  His voice is sharp, his eyebrows arched at me. 

“I wanted to know if you were okay, kid,” I say softly. 

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

What the fuck is she talking about? What the hell…   Debbie sighs and sits back a little. Waiting for me… 

Sometimes she does this mothering thing. I guess that’s what it is, even though it’s nothing like what my mother does. It makes me uncomfortable  -- I have no idea how to react to it….but in a way…sometimes it’s good. Like when she came over after I lost the Stockwell case, when I was down. It was nice, even if it was annoying. 

“I’m okay,” I say as nicely as I can.  She looks at me skeptically. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asks. 

“No, because there’s nothing going on,” I insist, wondering how I fell for this trap of coming over in the first place.  Debbie scoots in closer to me on the couch and pats me a little on the knee. I roll my eyes appropriately. 

“I saw you Sunday, not drinking… and Michael thinks something’s going on.” 

Fuck… Goddamn it, I knew this was going to happen eventually. Fuck, fuck… Mikey. What does he know? I mean -- oh. Suddenly I remember when I walked in on him, right after Justin hit him. 

They’d been talking about -- about my thirtieth birthday and the…suicide attempt. 

Fuck. 

--------Debbie’s Point of View--------

Brian hates it when I’m right. It really burns him up inside. It always has, even way back to the days when he came to our house pretending it was a social call and I knew it wasn’t. I knew it was escape. He hated it that anyone knew, that anyone could see what was going on with him. 

I squeeze his knee, just like I used to do then when he would sit on our couch and watch stupid cartoons with Mikey, holding an icepack to his ribs. 

“It’s just me, kiddo,” I tell him now, like I used to tell him when Mikey was asleep and I’d find him sitting at our kitchen table, examining his bruises.

He turns to me, the phrase obviously bringing memories back for him, too.  He blinks a couple of times and his expression softens. 

“I’m okay,” he says, gently now. 

“What’s going on?” I ask again. He sighs takes his time in answering. 

“I’ve just been…trying to deal with things…” I nod encouragingly, keeping my mouth shut so he might say more.  He doesn’t. 

“Like what?”   He presses his lips together in annoyance, but I can tell he’s caving in a little. 

“Uhm, you know. The past. My parents. That sort of thing.” 

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

She nods  and smiles sadly at me. 

“It’s never over, is it?” she asks, her voice so gentle and kind. It used to be like this sometimes… sometimes it used to be just me and her late at night. And she’d use that tone and it would make me want to run away and cry at the same time. 

“No, I guess it isn’t,” I say, barely able to meet her eyes. Suddenly my past is between us, linking us like it used to. It’s fucking hard to sit with someone who saw it… who really knows and remembers and who saw. 

I clear my throat and decide to change the subject. 

“So, the diner. Do they have the budget to completely redo the interior, or --

“Brian,” she says firmly, bringing her fingertips to my chin. Silencing me.

“I know it hasn’t been easy for you… you’ve been through too much. Far too much,” she says, again in that soft tone. 

--------Debbie’s Point of View-----------

He looks at me, those beautiful round eyes wide and almost misty. In all the times he came here -- in all the times he escaped here -- I only saw him cry once. The time Jack dislocated his shoulder…that day Brian’s screamed sobs had echoed through the living room. 

One other time I’d been bringing a towel into the bathroom while he was showering and I’d heard him crying. I think he figured the water would mask the noise.

“You’re making it through okay?” I ask him. He nods and takes a deep breath. 

“Yeah… Yeah. I’m doing better… Justin’s been amazing.” 

“Good,” I say, seeing him smile a little as he thinks of his Sunshine. The one who broke down the walls. 

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

“I’m thinking of talking to my mother,” I find myself saying. I don’t know why I would say it, but I did. She makes a face at the mention of my mother. The two have never exactly gotten along, though the hostility as certainly faded through the years. 

“About what?” she asks.  It’s a good question. 

“I don’t know -- just things,” I hedge. She watches me closely, her expression kinder now. 

“Have you ever told her off?” she asks pointedly. 

“Kind of… a little… not much,” I finally admit. She sighs and frowns a little. 

-------Debbie’s Point of View---------

Here’s a guy who tells off anyone, who is full of harsh truths for everyone… except the people in his life who deserve it most. 

“You should,” I say, “you don’t hesitate to tell everyone else off. To let them know they’ve fucked up… So tell her,” I encourage.  He presses his lips together and clears his throat. 

“I guess I could.” 

“Sure. Just let her have it. It’ll do you some good to get it off your shoulders. To just let the monkey off your back, so to speak.”  He sighs a little sadly and looks away. He looks so uncertain in that moment. It’s not a familiar look on him. 

Seeing him there and thinking of all those visits… all those injuries. All the relief in his eyes when I’d open the door and let him inside. And that was only four years. Only the last four years of living with them. Trying to imagine the first fourteen left me sick to my stomach. 

He still hasn’t said anything so I put my hand on his shoulder. 

“You can do it, Brian. You’re strong. You’ve always been stronger than her.” 

He turns to me and slowly smiles. Then he thanks me, gets up and leaves. 

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

Brian went to Debbie’s  tonight after dinner, something about advice for remodeling the diner. I just hope she doesn’t do anything to hint at his birthday project… 

I’m putting the finishing touches on the book -- including some photographs, some sketches. So it’s almost done. I have all the submissions… 

Reading them has been really emotional for me…just thinking about how strong he is, how generous and kind he always has been. Despite so much…. 

I spent part of this afternoon with Gus, recording some of his stories about his time with Brian. Those, coupled with Gus’s cute hand-written card and pictures, are the first pages of the birthday book. 

Emmett wrote about Brian saving him from Ted’s downward spiral, and then redirecting him back to Ted when the tides had changed…. Emmett wrote about how Brian’s words were more powerful because he used his powers sparingly, and his observations for good, not evil… 

Ted wrote about second chances. He wrote about turning corners, about bouncing back, and how it was only possible to do that if someone gave you strength to bounce off of -- and that Brian had been that strength. Had given him that chance, to be the person he had the capability of being…

Mel wrote about trust. She talked about how much trust Brian showed her and Lindsey -- trust to raise his son, trust to honor his wishes when it was appropriate, and above all how he had learned to trust his own instincts and that he’d been a good father because of it. 

Lindsey’s letter was about the Brian she’d first met, and the one she saw before her now. She talked about her struggle with her family, her coming out and the repercussions she faced, and how Brian had been her only steadfast supporter. She talked about his fierce independence and what a model he had been for her when she needed one most. 

Cynthia compared Brian with people she’d known in business before, and contrasted their deception with his candor. She talked about what it meant to have his opinion, and how it was the only opinion she valued because it was the only one she knew was honest, even in the toughest circumstances, like when Brian had advised her to take her father off of life support this last year. 

Michael talked about the comic book store, and how it had been a dream he’d shared with Brian back in high school. A dream he’d never thought he’d live to see fulfilled, but Brian had made it into a reality… Michael wrote about Brian as a protector, as a friend who’d stood by him and never forgotten where they came from. 

Ben’s letter included a photograph of their wedding reception up in Canada. It showed Brian between Ben and Michael, their arms around him. He’s smiling, not his usual smirk, but really smiling. Genuinely happy for them. Ben wrote about the bombing and a talk he and Brian had shared while Michael lay in critical condition… Brian had shared memories of Michael and things he had endured, and what Michael had survived, and it had given Ben reason to believe Michael would pull through.  And Ben talked about the respect Brian had shown him and Michael, and how he’d never felt judged or like he was any less because of his status when Brian was around.

Debbie’s entry made me laugh and made me cry. She wrote about a time when Brian had come to her house from his, seeking asylum, and when he got there, it turned out that Debbie had the flu. Michael was trying to alternately take care of her and steer clear of her bad mood. Brian had taken off on his bike again, leaving Debbie to moan and curse his opportunistic ways. Half an hour later he’d returned with ginger ale and magazines for her to read.

The last pages are mine… the last pages tell him about my favorite memories with him. A couple he might guess -- that first night with him… the first time I topped him. Our “second first time.” 

A few others though might be a surprise. I doubt he knows how special it was to me that night after the surgery when he couldn’t stay hard, and he asked me not to mention it. And I did mention it… and he didn’t kick me out. 

That night meant a lot to me… because I knew how much it hurt him to be impotent. I knew how much he hated to leave me wanting, to be sexually unable was practically being dead. That moment was so difficult for him… that whole time period -- it all built to that moment, and I’d been too desperate to reassure him, I didn’t keep my mouth shut like I should have. 

And that was okay. He let me stay there. We lay in bed together after that. 

I wrote about that night, and I wrote about the day he took the check from the Concerned Citizens for the Truth. God, that night… that act. Giving everything, and then accepting help -- that night he stood as the kind of man I dreamed I could become.

And I wrote about the night he confronted me with the Pink Posse gun… because no one had ever been so damn direct and honest with me. Not that his technique was flawless, but shit… he tried. Even though I was so pissed, and I was just…not thinking clearly… what came through was that he cared. 

He cared enough to try to stop me, and he never tried to invalidate my feelings. Only my methodology. And he let me see his fear, and he made me feel it a little, too. I felt him fighting for me that night, and it means a lot to me to this day. 

Finally, on the last page, I wrote to him about the last two months… about the best two months of my life.  I told him that I felt like I was more of myself now than I’d ever been… that being with him this way made me the best homosexual I could ever be. 

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

Maybe Debbie is right.   Maybe what Joanie needs is a little dose of the truth… Nothing so hard in that, right? I mean, I do it a dozen or more times a month at work. It’s practically my trademark. 

The words would be so fucking hard to say.  The words are hard to even think.  

What would I say? You hurt me, mom? I hated myself and I didn’t think anyone would ever love me, and that’s because of you and your goddamned husband? 

Or maybe I could ask questions. Questions like… what kind of mother stands by while her son is beaten savagely? Week after week? Year after year? What kind of person watches someone abuse a young child and does nothing to stop it? Or -- maybe this: Mom, do you remember any of my childhood, or did the alcohol block it for you? Because I wish to shit that I could forget… even for a day, I wish I could forget. 

For a few moments I feel like I could do it. That I could possibly say those things to her -- it’s an exhilerating thought.

But then I can almost hear he voice. 

You’re a worthless sinner… 

No one will love you until you have God’s love. 

Repent so you can be saved. 

You’ll die for your sins.

Your life is worthless the way you live it. 

And I can’t. 

Can’t say it. Can’t see her. Can’t, can’t, can’t.

I take a deep breath and park the car, glad to be home. 

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

He comes in looking tired. I’d just stashed away the birthday book stuff into a big craft box. He wraps his arms around me before he even takes his jacket off. The cool night air clings to him and I shiver a little in his arms. 

“How was Debbie’s?” I ask, pulling back to look at his face. 

“Uhh, fine,” he says, hesitating. He looks tired and raw. 

“Did you go over the remodeling ideas? Did she choose new colors?” He rolls his eyes slightly before answering. 

“No -- no. Turns out that was just the cover story. She brought me over there to see if I was okay… seems hat they’re starting to piece together --- to figure out things.” 

Figure out things? Huh? 

“What do you mean, figure out things?” I ask. He frowns a little, walking toward the kitchen. 

“She knows I’ve been going through… a lot of shit and she wanted to be sure I was okay.” He’s in the kitchen now, getting a glass out.  I swallow hard and watch him, wondering how he’ll respond to this. I know how much he wants this private. And I know this is probably a little my fault for talking to Michael. 

“I’m sorry I said anything to Michael --” 

He cuts me off with a sharp, firm shake of his head, holding up his right hand. 

“No apologies.” 

There is silence for a second. I can’t figure out if he said that because he’s pissed at me and doesn’t want to talk about it, or if maybe he’s saying that I was right in telling them and don’t have anything to apologize for, or -- 

“Did she bother you too much?” I ask, watching him get ice from the freezer. 

“No more than usual… it’s just weird being over there,” he says, sounding exhausted. He’s walked to the window now, leaving his ice and glass on the counter.

“Weird how?” I walk a little closer to hear him.

“Weird because -- because she knows. I mean…she knows. She saw.” My throat tightens at his words and I walk closer to him, sliding my arm around his waist. For a moment he doesn’t move, doesn’t respond. Then he drapes his arm around my shoulders. 

I lean against him a little, affectionately. 

“She thinks I should talk to Joanie,” he says, gazing out into the dark night and lighted windows outside. 

“And how do you feel?” I ask, feeling a little like Dr. Stevenson.  He turns around and walks quickly back to the kitchen. He picks up his glass, looks right at me with a wry smile. 

“Like filling this with Beam.”

My breath catches for a second and I don’t know what to say. I feel my heart beating a little faster. 

“Well -- it’s your decision,” I force myself to say, against the fear coursing through my body. 

He puts the glass down and sits on a stool, looking down for a moment. 

“I’m not going to,” he says softly, “but I want to.”  I walk over to him and rub his back with my hand, making soft patterns.  For a couple of minutes neither of us says anything. 

“What were you thinking about that made you first think about drinking?” I ask. 

“Well, Dr. Stevenson,” he says with a sharp, unmistakable glance, “I was thinking about seeing Joanie.” 

I swallow, not sure whether to continue.  While I’m thinking it over, Brian’s voice comes through, deadly serious and quiet.

“You don’t need to be my therapist…just be my partner.” 

--------Brian’s Point of View--------

His eyes widen when I say it and I can see his embarrassment and his apology in his eyes. I take his hand in mine and squeeze it a little. I know he was only trying to help… and he’s probably right about what I should be thinking right now… 

 He takes a deep breath and starts again. 

“You’re frustrated,” he says softly. I look into his eyes and nod. 

“I was thinking about all the things she used to say to me… she could say them again,” I say, suddenly wanting to answer his question anyway. 

“But you can say things back to her, Brian. And no matter how many times she says it, she’s still wrong,” he says.  I sigh. He’s right, of course. 

“I know,” I say, unable to keep the slight annoyance from my voice.  Neither of us says anything for a long time. I fill my glass with water and sip it, relishing the icy coldness as it goes down my throat.

“I think I want to talk to my dad,” Justin says, covering his hand with mine on the counter.  I’m a little shocked and I think he can see it in my face. 

“What are you going to say?” I’m no longer annoyed… I put my arm around him.  He snuggles a little into the crook of my arm and leans against the counter. 

“I think I’ll just tell him that  -- that it hurts to know that I never really knew him, and that I feel like he never loved me… that he’ll never know me.”

I look down at his earnest eyes, at his unbelievable strength, and I believe him. I know he can do it -- that he will do it.  I squeeze him close and kiss his soft hair. 

“You’ll do it,” I say, and a silence fell over us for a while. 

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

I can feel Brian’s support.  I’d been thinking about it -- about confronting my dad. And hearing my own advice to him…I knew I had to follow it. That if I was right, I had to put my money where my mouth was, so to speak. And once I said it, it felt right. 

We’re settled there and quiet. I feel Brian shift around a little, then I hear his voice, low and clear. 

“I think I should too.” I wrap my arms around him. I wait. His words are really clear in my mind -- he thinks he should. 

“I know you could do it, Brian…you can stand up to her. You could survive anything she says. You’ll win. She might hurt you, but she will leave knowing what she has done. And she will have to live with that. And you will live knowing that you never backed down.” 

--------Brian’s Point of View--------

Justin’s right. I can’t back down. Not from her…

The truth is -- I want to tell her. I want to say it. I want her to have to fucking hear it. 

Right now I’ve been silent. I haven’t really stood up for myself… and it feels pretty shitty. Knowing that she never hears my voice questioning her, the way I hear her questioning me…. 

Knowing that she has slept peacefully with what she has done, while I’ve suffered through nightmares and flashbacks…

I have to say it… God, it felt good the last time… The weight that had been lifted, just with those few words. The thought of seeing her while she hears the words -- seeing it in her eyes…

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

Brian turns to me, his face serious, his eyes clear and bright. He draws his lips into his mouth and blinks a few times. 

“I’ll do it.”

I feel strength and determination in his words, a sort of fighting, determined spirit. Confident and sure. I know the decision is made. 

I hold him against my body, the tension of our discussion gradually turning into warmth. Into heat. I kiss him, his lips warming against mine. 

His hands slide down, finding their way to my hips. He presses me against him, his hands sliding into my pants, cupping my ass. I feel his cock harden against me. I kiss him again, our mouths slow and wet together. His hands find the back of my head, his fingers twisting in my hair. 

He presses his hips into me and captures my lower lip with his teeth, tugging a little before releasing me. I unzip his pants and pull them past his hips. I feel the intake of his breath when my hand gently grasps his erection. 

“Justin,” he softly drawls, his head tipping back a little. He steps out of his jeans and I push away his shirt and jacket. I take his hand and we walk away from the clothes strewn on the floor. I settle myself on the edge of the couch, feeling his eyes on me wantonly.  I look back at him the same way. 

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

God…Justin’s lips are so perfectly ready. Wet. Soft. We haven’t done this in a while… It’s just right for right now. For now -- now when he’s looking at me hungrily… His eyes lidded.  Licking my precum from my cock like dripping ice cream from a cone… His hands on my ass… pressing me forward… 

But I need no encouragement. I wait until he’s slipped me all the way in, until I can feel the back of his throat with the head of my cock. Then I slide my fingers into his hair and I widen my stance. Then I watch, looking down at his golden locks and his wet lips as they take my cock… 

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

I’ve only ever let one other person fuck my mouth this way. And that’s when I learned that with others, I don’t like it. 

Only Brian makes it intimate and hot, and not at all objectifying. The way he laces his fingers through my hair. He murmurs my name. He lets one hand rest on my shoulder and the pressure of his fingers lets me know how close he is to coming. 

He loves to do this… he thrusts so hard that sometimes it’s hard to keep up. And I love it, because I can hear his rough breath, I can  feel each little jerk of his cock. I can feel it when he slows just slightly to make it last longer.  Today he lasts a long time; he doesn’t want it to end. 

“So hot…god. The way you hold your mouth…fuck I’m so deep in your throat… so amazing,” he murmurs, his head tipping back. I know it’s almost time; that he’s starting to lose control a little. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him deeper, hearing him groan. 

“Jesus, god, I’m going to come,” he grunts, trying to breath the urge away.  His fingers are pressing so hard into me, like a little gauge of the pressure build up in his body. Fuck, I can feel how hard I am, too. 

I swallow a few times in quick succession and it’s enough; he comes and I take it all in. 

He sways, holding himself up with his hands on my shoulders. After a moment he opens his eyes and smiles at me. Then he leans over, his body easing mine into the couch and he pulls off my clothes. 

Just a moment later his mouth is next to my cock, as he kneels on the floor next to the couch and his breath is hot on me. 

“Gotta taste you, Justin…just have to lick you. Suck you… taste you.” 

Aughhhh….. 

He does it, burying his face in my crotch, taking me in, sucking and  pulling against me while I lay back against the couch. He is so goddamned amazing at this…the way he can target certain spots with his tongue and the way he is so fucking rhythmic…jesus… 

I look down to watch him, eyes closed, mouth open, lips wet. 

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

He tastes so good, and he never stops saying my name. Brian, yes. Brian, more. Brian, Brian, Brian… I love the way he says my name. I love the way  he clutches the pillows on the couch and arches his hips into my mouth. I love the way his head falls back against the pillows, and now that he’s really close, he can’t help but move it side to side. 

I slide my right hand under those hips and rest my pointer finger at his pucker. He arches deeper, almost making me gag. Then he starts to whimper while I just massage his hole. 

--------Justin’s Point of View-------

He controls me so well -- he has me balanced right on the edge of orgasm, and just holds me there. Fuck…..his finger just pressing and rubbing and stroking until -- until he starts to open and close his throat. 

Then I’m done, coming hard into his mouth, hearing him sucking and licking everything from me.

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

He’s a pile of mush and I drag him to bed right away. When he’s laying there, not a minute after his orgasm, I settle myself on top of him and kiss him, making sure he can taste me in his mouth.  He groans and beams at me, then swipes his tongue against mine a few times. 

A couple of minutes after that, I roll off of him, put my arms around him, and fall asleep.