Chapter Five: Interventions 

----------Ben's Point of View-------------------

You’re the one who’s always bruised and broken 

Sleep may be the enemy, but so’s another line… 

You should take more time…

You should close your fly. 

I was in New York City to be a guest lecturer at NYU for two days. I got there on a Saturday morning and Justin picked me up from the airport. 

He looked beyond exhausted, pale skin accentuating the dark circles under his eyes.  When I asked about his art, he just shrugged. 

“Things aren’t going too well,” I said. It certainly wasn’t a question.  He’d shrugged again and looked away, out at the traffic buzzing around us. 

“How’s Brian?”  I ask, thinking this might cheer him.  Instead I think I see tears in his eyes. 

“You tell me,” he says tersely. Wait. Me tell him? I don’t know. I have hardly seen Brian, except for when he’s been trying to drag Michael out of the house at all hours. And Michael has been refusing him, mostly. Brian leaves with a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders… one strikingly similar to the one I’d already seen twice on Justin. 

“You haven’t talked to him?” I ask as we near his apartment.  He shakes his head and bites his lip a little. I watch him as we climb up his staircase. I’ve never seen him so drab, so listless. 

“You don’t seem…” I paused, searching for words, looking at his room. No art supplies. Just a sign that read, “My visit to New York.” I wondered what it meant.  Justin looks at me so I finish my sentence, “You don’t seem happy.” 

“I -- I’m okay.” 

“You’re not happy though,” I say simply. He doesn’t deny it. 

“Why haven’t you talked to Brian?”  His eyes shift around and he  gestures to the desolate room. 

“And tell him what? That I’ve failed? That I’m just a messenger for an art place, and I got one painting into a show, three months ago, and then couldn’t get any more? He’ll be so ashamed.” His voice is thin  and frail. He shakes his head for a second, as if shaking away the image of Brian’s disapproval. 

I turn him toward me and make him meet my eyes. He looks so lonely and scared. 

“Talk to Brian.”  He shakes his head again. 

“Justin. Listen to me. He loves you. He wants you to be happy. That’s all he wants. If you’re not happy, he wants to know that.   Talk to him.”

He takes a deep breath and licks his lower lip before answering. 

“You think so?” 

“I know so. Justin…he wants to know. He asks about you all the time.” 

His eyes light up and I see a genuine, if small, Sunshine smile.

“He does?”  I nod and quickly grab my phone. Before Justin can stop me, I dial Brian’s number and then, as it’s ringing, I tell Justin -- 

“Tell him you’re flying in tomorrow.” 

Justin nods, excited but a little scared, and grabs the phone from my hands. A moment later I hear him leave a message for Brian. 

“Brian? Hi -- I… I wanted to tell you that I’m coming out for a visit tomorrow -- I hope you’ll get this message. Call me. Please.” 

-----------------Ted’s Point of View------------------

Drunk on immorality, 

Valium and cherry wine, Coke and ecstasy, 

You’re gonna blow your mind. 

I understand the fascination

I’ve been there once or twice or more 

But if you don’t change your situation 

Then you’ll die…

Please don’t die. 

Last night at Babylon, Brian’s body was flawed. 

He had three cuts, mostly hidden by his shirt, except he had let his shirt hang off of him. They were on the inner part of his arm. One was fresh, the other two were in various stages of healing. 

I think my mouth stayed open for a full minute before Emmett shut it for me. 

“Oh my god, Brian’s cutting,” he’d said in a low, frightened whisper. 

“But -- but, why --” I had stammered, feeling myself break into a sweat. 

“Well, different people have different reasons. Lots of times people say it helps them either escape emotion, or control it, or feel it. Guess it depends on the person or the situation… I read about it in last month’s Today’s Gays issue. It’s a big trend right now,” he explains as if he were talking about a trend in footwear. 

“What -- but. Brian. I mean -- he… he already does drugs and I mean, he’s okay, right? I mean….” Emmett puts his hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t feel bad that you missed the signs. Just figure out what we can do now.” 

He’s right. What to do now… That’s what got us to our plan, for me to be at his apartment at 9AM on Saturday morning. 

He answered the door hungover and shirtless. It was the perfect opener for our little chat.  He invited me in with a rather careless wave of his hand.

“Brian -- I saw you last night… and I see you now --” here, his eyes widen, realizing that his cuts are openly viewable, “ -- and I know what you’ve been doing. And I’m here because I want to talk to you.” 

Brian swallows hard and turns away from me. 

“Get the fuck out of here, Schmidt. This isn’t any of your business,” he said, using his commanding-yet-dismissive I’m Your Boss tone. We’re not at work, though, so I stand my ground. 

“What’s going on, Brian? Is everything okay between you and Justin?” 

At the mention of Justin’s name, Brian meets my eyes, his darkly intense.  He shrugs his shoulders again, feigning indifference. 

“You tell me,” he says, voice almost inaudible.  Huh? Me tell him? But how would I… oh. 

“You haven’t talked to him,” I surmise softly and Brian nods. “Brian! In six months you haven’t talked to him!?”  He shakes his head and looks down. I sigh. 

“You need to talk to him, Brian, because obviously something is going on with you. And he loves you. He’ll want to know about this. He deserves to know about this.” 

He frowns when he’s sees my implication -- if he doesn’t tell, I will. 

“No, he’s out in New York, becoming a success. Rubbing elbows with the best. I’m not bothering him with,” he looks down disdainfully at himself -- “with this stupid shit.” 

“It’s not stupid. It’s serious. You’re hurting yourself,” I say, keeping my voice steady and solemn. 

“It’s not a big deal.” 

“Brian, it’s me you’re talking to, not Michael, okay? I know… I know what a problem looks like when it surfaces into someone’s behavior. I know self-destruction. Self-hate. And I know about escape and manipulating your feelings and --” 

I stop when I think for a second that I see a tear in Brian’s eye. Then he turns fiercely at me. 

“It’s not a problem! I’m FINE. FUCKING FINE. So leave me ALONE,” he growls. I pull out my cell phone and open it.

“If you won’t tell Justin, then I will, because maybe you’ll let him help you. Maybe you need him and --” 

“NO! No, don’t,” he says desperately, blocking my phone with his hand.  I keep it, closing it and bringing it close to my body. Brian sits back, embarrassed and haunted.

“Call Justin right now, Brian. Or I’ll call the moment I leave here.”