Six years later, Thursday, July 16th 2009…

It’s a warm day today, too warm to be out walking in the sun on the bustling Philly sidewalks. So, Justin seeks out the shade provided by buildings and overhangs after he leaves Illusion, Inc. on Lombard Street, heading downtown.

He’s just had his first job interview, to work as a designer specializing in three-dimensional computer graphics. He is pretty satisfied with his exchange with the head of that department, but he also knows it’s hard to nail a job when you lack experience and recommendations.

But, yeah, he is satisfied. He also craves a drink. He talked for one-and-a-half hours, and now, in the ninety-eight degree weather, the first beads of sweat run along his spine, beneath the cream-colored shirt he paired with his three-hundred-dollar, navy linen suit.

He removes his suit jacket, draping it over his arm, and when he reaches a small cafe, he sits under an umbrella on the terrace, enjoying the cool air wafting from inside the eatery. The waiter - a young man wearing a white apron that reminds him of his busboy days - comes to take his order. Justin smiles at him and asks for a Coke and a glass of ice water.

The waiter leaves, and Justin finally relaxes, inhaling deeply. He is amazed, still feeling the high of his first job interview, because fuck, he’s come such a long way to get here, to hell and back.

Some days are harder than others, but the bad ones are few and far between of late. He still struggles with depressing thoughts sometimes. But his nature won’t allow him to dwell on the past, on what could have been. No regrets, that’s what his first lover always said, right?

Yeah, Brian and his fucking mantras. Justin really loved the man for believing in such bullshit. Some days, his fucking insistence on ‘no regrets’ actually does help him go through the motions, so it can’t be such a bad line after all.

Brian has been dead for six years. To be exact, it’s been five years, nine months, and eleven days.The police found his body on a deserted street on the twenty-ninth of October, in 2003. He had been shot by an unidentified man, who was, of course, never arrested.

The police also said Brian’s face was unrecognizable. Apparently, the damage caused by a bullet to the head can’t be cleaned up and magically repaired as in the movies.

Well, no shit that real life sucks, and not in a positive, life-affirming way, Justin muses, before snorting. With thoughts like that, it’s no wonder that Brian is still very much a part of his life.

The not knowing has haunted Justin for years. It still does. He’s had a hard time accepting it was just a random assault, that Brian died for no reason. But that’s still the official version, as far as he knows.

Accepting this has taken years. As fate would have it, Brian died the night he left Ethan, of all the bad timing. He received the call in the morning, as he was about to head to PIFA after having crashed on Daphne’s couch, already feeling like shit. Needless to say, that Wednesday, the twenty-ninth of October, was the worst day of his life.

He is not proud of himself, retrospectively. He barely made it to Brian’s funeral. If not for Debbie and his mother’s intervention, he wouldn’t have gone at all. But they came to kick his ass off of Daphne’s couch, helped him wash and dress himself, and made him feel even shittier, if possible.

“This is your chance to say goodbye, and if you don’t, you will regret it for the rest of your life.” His mother said, using that pitying tone he loathed. She didn’t even like Brian.

“Your mom is right, Honey.” Debbie interjected and, truthfully, Justin wanted to whine and yell that it was a stupid, petty thought to make them feel better about themselves, but then, Debbie started crying, cursing God of all people. So, he kept his mouth shut and went to the graveside ceremony.

He was surprised so many people came to the funeral. Brian’s mother and sister were there, looking uncomfortable and out of place in the middle of so many fags. Justin chuckled, knowing his former lover would have laughed his ass off at the sight, proclaiming that the looks on their faces were almost worth dying for.

In the end, Justin couldn’t even say goodbye properly, because real life sucked, and the coffin had been closed. He felt like a nineteen-year-old widower, consumed by pain and despair and sorrow and grief and anger - and he couldn’t even heap those emotions on the person who had murdered Brian. The only person he could blame for those fucking, suffocating feelings which wouldn’t leave him alone was Brian himself.

The guilt ate at him insidiously. They had broken up months before Brian’s murder, yet Justin couldn’t help but question what would have happened if he’d stayed, if he’d realized sooner that Brian did love him, in his own fucked-up way. Each day therefore became worse than the last, once Justin admitted that he’d made the biggest mistake of his life.

And so, the self-loathing party began.

He dropped out of school, because he couldn’t draw for shit. Instead, he drowned himself in booze and sex, started taking drugs, pills, any chemicals he could afford, which weren’t that many since his job as a waiter didn’t pay much. He managed to get fired from the diner, though, Debbie having no other choice but to let him go when he stopped showing up for his shifts, not caring about the redhead’s speeches promising better days ahead. And basically, he spent his time feeling sorry for himself when he wasn’t tweaked out of his mind. He still isn’t sure how Daphne put up with his shit at the time or how he avoided overdosing, since, being pretty much penniless, he couldn’t be picky about the shit he took.

After a while, though, he couldn’t bear his best friend’s pleas to get some help, so he moved in with a guy he had met at a party, and disappeared on her. Every person who tried to help him - Daphne, his mother, Debbie, even Lindsay - he shut them all down. By that time, Brian’s death wasn’t the reason for his behavior. He had become a real addict, craving his next fix and the feeling of oblivion that would course through his veins.

It lasted for months, until one morning, Ben found him passed out on a bench while he was out for his early jog.

“Justin?” he’d called the blond’s name multiple times, shaking his limp body, trying to wake up his foggy, messed-up brain.

“Go away…”, Justin tried to tell him to fuck off, pushing at him ineffectually, but Ben was much more muscular, so he forced the blond to move, taking him back to his house. Justin was in no condition to fend him off.

“You’re staying in our guest room,” Ben announced as soon as they’d entered his and Michael’s new home.

Justin winced, staring at the dark-colored walls, the blue, white, and red kitchen, the white railing leading up the stairs. “You can’t make me,” he pettily retorted, although as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out for an entire day. The first signs of withdrawal appeared as soon as he woke up, of course. But Ben didn’t let him leave, no matter how much Justin fought him. That was also the first time he saw Hunter, who was an HIV-positive former hustler. Somehow, the fact that he wasn’t the only fucked-up person in that house calmed him down a bit, and anyway, he had no other choice but to stay, because Ben had the fucking nerve to mention Brian.

“He might be gone, but I’m sure he would have a fit if he saw you like this.”  Ben declared that evening, pushing a plate of scrambled egg whites and toast right under his nose.

“Brian is dead!” Justin emphasized forcibly. “It’s not like he can lecture me now that he is six feet under, can he?”

“Don’t be cruel, Justin. He may not have told you that with words, but he truly cared about you and he surely deserves better than this.” Ben patronized him, before ordering, “Now eat. I won’t take no for an answer.”

That’s when Justin’s stomach started to heave. He barely made it to the toilet in time. He was sick for two days, fighting his own body. The only thing he was grateful for was that Ben didn’t call anyone else. Not his mom, not Debbie, not even Michael was anywhere to be seen. Until the third day, at least.

He will always be grateful for Michael. His angry words stung deeply at the time, but Justin isn’t sure he would have succeeded in getting his shit together without him. Michael was so furious to see he’d become an addict. In his defense, the brunet had taken Brian’s death pretty hard, maybe as hard as Justin. The man had suffered a breakdown and had never been quite his old self after his best friend was killed. But seeing Justin had sunk so low had truly enraged him for some reason.

“How can you do that to him?” he’d shouted. “How can you throw away everything you’ve fought for, when Brian’s life, his dreams, even you, have been stolen away from him? You think his death allows you to fuck everything up? That you can kill yourself with that shit? Huh? You pathetic, narcissistic, little asshole! You better get your shit together, or I swear to God, I will hunt you down and fucking kill you myself!”

Yeah. It had stung, like really, really stung. Michael has always been a little irrational where Justin is concerned. But bottom line is, Michael’s outburst worked, even though Justin isn’t sure exactly why, since the ‘Brian would so have your ass’ argument had been used and overused before, without any noticeable results. Maybe it’s because the man truly loved Brian, and understood Justin’s feelings better than anyone.

“You’re using the money he left you, okay?” Michael declared one day in late 2004, after Justin had come back from rehab. He’d discovered a short time ago that Brian had left him some money to finish school and to start his own life. Of course Brian would do that, and make sure everything was in order in case anything happened to him.

“Yeah…” Justin nodded. “New life. New school. New city. I’m starting over.”

“Good,” Michael encouraged. “And you’d better keep in touch. If you don’t, you know Ma will turn up on your doorstep to rip you a new one.”

“As if she’d be the only one,” Justin chuckled as he bumped his shoulder against Michael’s. Looking at Ben and Hunter, Justin stated bashfully, “I will miss you guys.”

“I won’t,” Hunter countered, earning a slap on the head from Michael. “Ouch! What was that for?”

“Why do you think?” Ben asked.

“I don’t even know him,” Hunter scolded, giving them his best duh-face.

“Watch your mouth,” Michael chided.

“My mouth is fine. I’m not sucking any old cock anymore, remember? What more do you want?” Hunter bravely snarked, before storming off to the kitchen, where he chugged directly from a milk carton.

“Use a glass, damn it!” Michael chastised his foster son as he chased after him, snatching the carton out of his hands.

Ben chuckled as he eyed them, an amused smile on his lips, “Michael was meant to be a dad, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” Justin responded, happy to see that Michael would be alright.

He left for Philadelphia the next day. He started a new life, going back to school, although he pretty much gave up on painting and drawing, focusing instead on getting a degree in graphic design. He’s made friends, though he has never connected much with anyone here. He’s had sex with random men, and even dated a couple of guys for a while, but so far, hasn’t fallen in love again.

He rarely visits the Pitts, but he calls a lot. He even bonded with Ted - of all people - ringing him anytime he feels in any danger of a relapse. He talks to Lindsay and Melanie, and started a correspondence with Gus a couple of years ago. They don’t write much, but they draw cartoons, with notes about what they’ve been up to, anything they want to share. Sometimes, Gus calls just to say hi, and Justin ends up talking for both of them, the kid being too shy to really say much.

His life is not so bad, overall. It could be better, but it also could be a lot worse. Thinking about Brian still hurts, though. Justin suspects it always will, that his resentment against the rulers of this fucked-up universe will never truly disappear.

His phone suddenly rings, bringing him out of his musings. He peers at the caller ID before picking up, “Hey, Mom.”

“Sweetheart,” Jennifer greets him. She seems to be walking down the street, a little out of breath. “Is it as hot in Philly as it is in Pittsburgh?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Justin concurs. “I’m literally dying here.”

“Hmm,” Jennifer half listens. “So, tell me! How was your interview?”

“It went fine, Mom,” Justin responds, taking a sip from his Coke. “I mean, the head of the graphics department seemed pleased, but you know how it is. I won’t know if I’m hired, not for a couple of weeks anyway.”

“Well, you graduated barely a month ago. I’m sure if this doesn’t work out, you'll have other opportunities.” Jennifer encourages him. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll even consider coming back here?”

“Mom…” Justin states her name accusingly. “You know I don’t want to return to the Pitts.”

“I know, but it’s been years now, and…”

“I’ll visit you soon, okay?” Justin cuts her off, not wanting to begin another debate about his decision to stay away from his hometown. “I promise.”

“Okay,” Jennifer relents. “Love you…”

“Love you too,” Justin answers, before disconnecting the call. He lets out a sigh. He knows his mother’s biggest dream is to have her son near her, but even though he has truly moved on with his life, he still wouldn’t want to go back. He should suggest that she move here instead, and he probably will, as soon as Molly heads off to college. Until then, it’s too much for his mom to consider.

Dismissing the thought, Justin finishes his Coke. He picks up his phone, but then he notices the man who was sitting at the table next to his an instant ago walking away, leaving a glossy magazine behind. “Mister, wait!” Justin shouts as he stands hastily, intending to return the item to its owner, but when he looks up after grabbing the magazine, the man has disappeared among all the other pedestrians on the sidewalk.

Frowning, Justin keeps staring into the crowd for a moment longer before going back to his table. He sits back down and gazes at the article on the open page. His brow furrows, as he realizes this is an edition of PleinAir, an art magazine he used to read when he was younger.

The article features an annual, national photography exhibition that took place in Lakevallée a couple of weeks ago, at which many prominent artists unveiled their latest work. Justin has never heard of this event before, even though the name of the city is vaguely familiar. Perusing the write-up, Justin remembers that Lakevallée is in Montana, located near a huge lake and basically lost in the middle of nowhere. The images of the small, isolated town are truly stunning, though.

There are pictures of a few people gathered together for the exhibition as well as some of the photographs displayed at the event. Noticing the caption, Justin reads names he doesn’t know, all professional photographers.

His eyes fall upon one in particular. Four people are posing at the front, smiling, but Justin doesn’t care about them, because all he can see is him.

The man looking away at the back of the picture.

A grey, Ascot-style cap is pulled down low on his forehead. He is tall, lean, dressed casually in a faded pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. Justin can’t really discern his face, although he can see glasses as well as a beard.

And for a second, even though it’s impossible, he could swear this is a man who died years ago.

“You’re fucking crazy,” Justin says out loud as he keeps staring at the picture.

It can’t be Brian. Brian is dead, killed by a fucking psycho who was never caught. And yet, Justin never had the chance to get closure. Is that why he wants to see something that can’t be real?

“Stop,” he breathes out, closing the magazine in frustration, throwing it back on the table, and squeezing his eyes shut, wincing at the pain he feels right now. “Just stop,” he repeats, trying to calm himself. Refusing to believe for one more second in this nonsense, he stands up, pulls a ten-dollar bill from the front pocket of his pants, and tosses it on the table, next to the magazine.

He wants to move then, but he can’t as his eyes land once more on that picture.

“Shit…” he curses as he picks it up from the table before walking away.

***

He can’t sleep that night. He knows he is being irrational, and he tries to shut down his brain, but he fails. He realizes it’s pointless, that the man in the picture has simply made him remember Brian, that he shouldn’t dwell on it any longer. He should just forget he ever saw that article and move on.

Yes, he should. And yet, the first thing he does after he gets up at five in the morning is sit at his computer and search for information on the Internet. He visits the gallery’s website, although he doesn’t find anything related to the man, since he doesn’t even know his name. After a couple of hours, he shuts his laptop, angry at himself for acting so stupid, and tries to go back to sleep.

He nods on and off for the next three hours. When he wakes up, he takes a shower and decides to go out. He walks aimlessly around Philly for a couple of hours, but it doesn’t cure his restlessness. By the time he ends up in a crappy bar downtown, he wants nothing more than to drink himself into oblivion, but he can’t. So, he orders a beer, rolling the bottle between the palms of his hands for a minute, before picking up his phone and dialing Theodore.

“You okay?” the man answers as he picks up the phone. Justin almost wants to smile at his friend’s concern, but he is feeling too agitated for that.

“I’m at a bar,” Justin intones sardonically.

“Oh…” Ted eloquently responds. “That bad?”

“You ever think that we're really fucked up?” Justin ignores his question. “That… fuck, I don’t know,”

“Justin, what's going on?” Ted inquires, going straight to the point.

“It’s just… one of those days when I’m fucking angry at him for dying, and I want to take something, but I can't and it makes me even more pissed off at the whole fucking world.” Justin reveals, resentfully.

“Well, that's why you have me, so that you remember that getting wasted or high won’t make you feel better,” Ted reminds him firmly.

“I know,” Justin breathes out. “I’m sorry, I just… sometimes I think I’m going crazy, you know?”

“You miss him. It's human. We all miss him.” Ted commiserates. “But remember what Ben always says. ‘Forgetting by shutting down your thoughts is a human mechanism to prevent you from dealing with your pain, when real strength comes from allowing yourself to explore your feelings without losing yourself.’”

“Ben and his Buddhist bullshit…” Justin counters, but there is no malice in his words. Ted is right. No matter what, he can’t let his pain fuck everything up. He’s worked so hard to put his life back on track that it would be insane to fall prey to his old demons, just because he saw a photo of someone who vaguely reminds him of Brian.

“I will tell him you were pleased with his words of wisdom,” Ted quips.

“You do that,” Justin drily retorts. “Thanks Ted.”

“Anytime,” Ted sincerely replies. “You take care of yourself, okay?”

“Will do. Tell Blake hi for me,” Justin bids him goodbye and disconnects the call.

He feels a little better after that, convincing himself that he just needs to rest more. He exits the bar and heads back home, where he spends the rest of the day eating junk food while watching a rerun of Supernatural on CW. He finally passes out on his couch at eleven.

He dreams of Brian making love to him after the bashing; he is lying on his right side as his lover pushes into him, the bloody scarf forgotten by the bed. By the time he wakes up, he is crying.

So he does the most stupid thing in his life, impulsively booking an airline ticket and a car to drive to Lakevallée from the airport.

He considers calling Daphne to make sure one person knows he is going away, but his best friend would see right through him and demand answers, answers he can’t give her, since he has no idea why he is going to Lakevallée in the first place. So, he calls his mother instead. It’s barely eight, but he knows she is working and therefore will already be up.

“Justin?” she answers after the second ring, surprised to hear from her son so early in the morning and so soon after their last call.

“Hey, Mom,” Justin greets her as nonchalantly as possible.

“Everything okay?” she immediately questions.

“Um, yeah…” Justin replies hesitantly. He doesn’t say much after that, though. Truthfully, now that he has her on the phone, he feels foolish. He knows he can’t confide in her, or she will try to dissuade him, to convince him he is going on this trip only because he is still grieving, almost six years later.

Hell, even he knows he is out of his mind to plan a trip merely because of a guy he doesn’t even know.

“Uh, Justin…” Jennifer reminds him she’s there. “Why are you calling?”

Justin clears his throat. “I…” He tries to come up with something but he truly has no idea what to say.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” Jennifer inquires, the concern now evident in her voice.

“I’m going on a trip,” Justin suddenly blurts out. “I read an article in PleinAir yesterday and… it made me want to try and rediscover my inspiration to paint.” It’s complete bullshit, but it’s the only thing he can think of right now.

“Oh… okay?” Jennifer seems genuinely surprised, and Justin can’t blame her. It’s been years since he touched a paintbrush. “Are you sure this is the right time to do that, though? I mean, I’d love for you to paint again, but with your interview and-”

“Illusion, Inc. won’t contact me for a least a couple of weeks. I don’t want to just wait, doing nothing in the meantime,” Justin cuts her off, the lie easily slipping from his lips, “I really want to paint again.”

“If you’re sure, then...” Jennifer pauses. “You have everything you need for that trip to...?”

“Lakevallée. And yeah. I’ve got it covered, don’t worry,” Justin reassures her. “I just wanted to warn you that I may be unavailable for the next week.”

“When are you leaving?” Jennifer inquires.

“This afternoon.” Justin informs her. “Speaking of which, I really need to pack. I’ll text you when I arrive, okay?”

“Okay,” Jennifer agrees. She seems quite puzzled by her son’s plan, but Justin is grateful she doesn’t voice her misgivings, simply stating instead, “Be safe. I love you.”

“I will. Love you too.” Justin responds as usual, before hanging up, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

A couple of hours later, he locks the door to his apartment and takes a cab to the airport, the magazine safely tucked into his duffle bag.