Midnight Whispers
QAF Brian and Justin Fanfiction
Author's Chapter Notes:

Chapter discusses the months of Brian's recovery. 

Please note that I am not a professional and this is not meant to be a recommendation for treatment and representations just one possible idea.

 

Epilogue: What Remained

 

-----Justin’s Point of View----

 

All I need is you 

Come please, I’m callin’… 


And say it for me, say it to me…

 

The next months with Brian were a struggle. 

 

It was obvious that I couldn’t waste any time in moving back; it was all said and done within the week from that day. My trip was over and I was home. 

 

That didn’t make things easy, though. On the contrary. Brian was used to working a lot, to never being home, and had arranged his schedule to take up every conceivable moment of his time. It took a while for me to get him to change this; to realize that us being together required actual, literal time that we were physically together. 

 

He fought me about it and at first I didn’t know why. Days were going by when he would get home so late from work  that I would be asleep when he got here. 

 

Then one night I woke up to see him sitting up in bed, his whole body bathed in shadows, holding a kitchen knife.

 

I flipped out. I screamed at him and threw the knife at the wall while he watched, his eyes wide.

 

 

He insisted that he wasn’t miserable, that he just sometimes didn’t know what else to do. He told me that it was harmless habit now, that he hadn’t actually broken skin since that day I’d watched him. 

 

But there were scratches nonetheless. 

 

I insisted that he see someone. He refused. 

 

I told him I couldn’t watch this and do nothing, that something had to be done or I couldn’t be there.

 

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

Show me what it’s like 

To be the last one standing 

Teach me wrong from right 

And I’ll show you what I can be

 

The night Justin woke up and found me with the knife was bad. 

 

I hadn’t been cutting. I’d been -- well, easing myself out of it. Kind of. It wasn’t easy, because Justin saw me naked every day, so I’d been just sort of… scratching over old wounds. That’s all. 

 

What I’d told him was true: I wasn’t miserable anymore. Especially when he showed me how we had to really spend time together. I felt much better. 

 

But then these urges would come and I had to… had to cut myself somehow. 

 

I can’t explain it. It was like my fingers had a certain itch for it. I could go a few days if I really tried, but then I’d end up doing it again. 

 

The feeling was sort of different now. Now I was ashamed and scared, and not much else. Before I’d felt a measure of relief, and I’d felt the pain that I was avoiding. I wanted to stop but I couldn’t seem to extricate myself from that action, and other feelings were getting tangled up into the mix.

 

Justin was obviously furious and terrified… he wanted me to see someone, like a psychologist or something. I didn’t think it was so serious and told him so. 

 

He said he couldn’t stand by and watch as this was not dealt with in some way. He said he would have to leave if something wasn’t done. 

 

My heart had fallen through the floor. Justin leaving again was not an option. Not at all. 

 

So I agreed to talk to Alex, the guy from the Baths that I’d spoken to so long ago about Justin. 

 

That started the journey. I learned that it was essentially an addiction now, and Alex recommended doing two things. One, to come up with an alternate, non-destructive behavior to replace the cutting with. Thinking of non-destructive behaviors was difficult. Justin suggested a few things and finally I decided on one -- when I wanted to cut, I used this huge, heavy punching bag we set up in the corner. 

 

The second part was emotional. When Alex found out about how the cutting made me -- no, let me -- feel, he said I had to start expressing those feelings another way. 

 

This took a long time, but Justin proved to be a big help. He talked with Alex once and hatched a plan. Justin would push me. When something was wrong, or if I seemed at all upset, Justin would push, and push, and push until I told him what was up with me. 

 

It wasn’t pretty. Even though I knew what he was trying to do for me, I hated how needy this made me seem, and I hated having to tell him so much mushy shit. 

 

-------Justin’s Point of View--------

 

I was ruthless with him about it.  Especially when I would see him at his punching bag. When he would walk away, I would nag and badger and cajole and annoy until I could tell he wanted to kick me out. But he never did. 

 

What he did do was explode. The beginning was the worst; he would yell, drink and more than once slammed a glass to the floor before he finally told me what was wrong. 

 

Gradually it got better. He would balk and make rude comments and slam doors. But that was okay. Eventually we got to the truth; he would tell me he was frustrated from work, annoyed with his family, and even when he was mad at me. 

 

In the first weeks of his recovery, I would see him sometimes standing near the knives in the kitchen. My stomach would turn. I would catch his eye and he would bite his lip a little. I would shake my head firmly, take his hand and lead him away, to his punching bag. 

 

Then he would go there himself, and I didn’t feel nervous every time he was home alone. 

 

These things became a part of our daily life together, staying even as the cutting had faded to a memory. The bond that it revealed between us -- a bond of trust -- was what remained.

 

 

 

Chapter End Notes:

Well... I hope you liked the epilogue! I tried to give some idea of the issues involved in the struggle in a realistic way; I hope I succeeded.  I'm sorry it was so late! Thanks so much for your support of the story everyone. :)

 

Lyrics this time from Savin' Me, by Nickelback


**Anyone struggling with this issue should seek outside help. Here is one resource page that has some good information: http://www.helpguide.org/mental/self_injury.htm

Also, a community: http://self-injury.net 

And a phone number: 1-800-DONT-CUT

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