~. Brian .~

I wasn't sure what was preventing me from slamming the door shut, but suddenly all I could do was stare at the man in my doorway. “What the fuck do you want, Michael?”

“Can I come in?” He wasn't looking at me, just staring uncomfortably at the ground, as though hoping to sink right through it.

“What for?” I demanded, my arm blocking his entry into the loft.

I pushed the door open wider and turned my back on him, heading for my abandoned drink over by the computer. I could hear him following me inside, closing the door behind him.

He sighed. “Look, there's something I need to tell you...” he began.

He closed his eyes briefly, as though accepting that he'd deserved the comment, resisting the urge to make a remark in return. “It's important.”

“And it wasn't before?” I squeezed the cool bottle of JB against my palm.

“Brian—”

“If you came here to apologize....” I started gruffly.

“I didn't,” Michael said. “I already told you I was sorry.”

“Sorry's—”

“Bullshit. I know,” he said, rolling his eyes. “But I told you before, and I am sorry. I should have told you about Justin.”

“You're damn right you should—”

“Will you just give me a break?” he asked sharply. “I'm trying to tell you something, here.”

He sighed again as I took another gulp of my drink, the liquid burning my throat on the way down. “I...I was talking to Ben. Over at my place.”

With what seemed to be a great effort, he bit back his reply and continued as though I hadn't interrupted. “I was talking to him...about what happened.”

“You told him?” I asked, forgetting for a second to be angry. What right did Michael have to tell anyone? Though he had told two other people what had happened to him, I doubted Justin wanted anyone else in the group to know. He wouldn't be happy about this.

I forced my clenched jaw to relax long enough to drain a good fourth of the JB bottle in one gulp.

My grip tightened on the bottle in my hand. “Emmett knows?”

“Yeah...but I'm not finished. He kind of...he told a few other people...well, one other person...”

“Who?”

“Well...”

“Who the fuck did he tell, Michael?” I demanded, my voice rising. Justin...he was having a hard enough time trying to deal with all of this as it was. He didn't need the rest of the group finding out...interfering, interjecting themselves into his life in order to 'help.' Debbie, in particular...I didn't even want to imagine what she would do.

“Ted. He told Ted.”

“That's it?”

I swore inwardly, already seeing the ramifications of a domino effect here. “Who's 'everyone else?' Did he tell your mother?”

Michael's silence said it all.

“Fuck.” This...this was a problem. Not only was Debbie on her own difficult enough to handle in such a situation, but she was good friends with Justin's mother. Debbie, naturally, would see it as a mother's right to know what had happened to her son, she would tell Jennifer, and Justin would...oh shit...

Michael looked like he would rather be anywhere but there. I wasn't feeling merciless. “I'm sorry.”

“Sorry for what? For not telling me, or for telling everyone else?” I asked angrily.

“I didn't tell everyone else,” he snapped. “I didn't mean for it to happen like—”

“Just...get the fuck out, Michael,” I said, losing what was left of my patience, and throwing myself into the computer chair. I spun around to face the desk, my back to him.

“Brian—”

“Are you still here?” I asked bitingly.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I didn't make myself clear?”

“This isn't fucking fair!” Seizing the back of my chair, he spun me around roughly to face him.

“I'm not leaving,” he said hotly, crossing his arms in a credible imitation of Debbie.

“Then I am.” I stood up so fast, he stumbled when I pushed my chair back from the desk and strode past him. He followed me to the door, and grabbed my arm when I attempted to pass him.

“Get the fuck off me,” I warned him.

“Will you just listen for a minute?” he pleaded, wedging himself between me and the door.

“You had your minute. Now move.”

“Look, I'm sorry I lied, I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I'm fucking sorry that everyone else knows...but you know now, and...”

“They fucking raped him, Michael!” I yelled, as if he didn't already know. He flinched, falling silent. “And you didn't do anything! You knew what they did to him...and you didn't tell me a damn thing.”

“But you know now—” he began.

“I should've known before! I should've fucking been there, but everyone in the fucking world decided I was better off being kept in the dark!” I snapped, a pure, now familiar rage building up inside me.

“He was scared! He told two people...”

“So I waited around for a fucking month scared shitless, while everyone else took him to the clinic, and had all their little chats with him...I was the only one who had no fucking idea what was going on!”

“So that's what it is,” he said quietly.

“What? What brilliant insight does Dr. Novotny have for us today?” I asked sarcastically.

I didn't say anything to that, but it felt as though something had wrapped around my lungs, squeezing the air from my chest. “Get out of the fucking way,” I warned him darkly.

“I'm sorry,” he said desperately. “I'm sorry you didn't know...but, Brian...you were still the one with him all the time. You were still here for him...”

“Yeah, trying to drag him out to Babylon every night, and pushing him to have sex...” I wasn't sure why I was saying this. Why I was telling him this. Maybe I had just finally had enough. Enough of feeling guilty. Enough of being pissed at him. Enough of feeling the murderous rage that coursed throughout me whenever my thoughts turned to Sapperstein. Enough of watching Justin hurting. Enough of knowing this had happened, that I had let it happen...

“You didn't know!” he cried.

“That's my fucking point!” I yelled. “I fucking let this happen, then no one bothers to tell me when it—”

“You didn't let this happen!” Michael interrupted, looking stricken. “Brian, this isn't your fault...”

“Then who's fault is it, Michael?” I demanded. The words were out of my mouth before it even registered that I was thinking of saying them. “Who warned him that Sapperstein was bad news? Who didn't stop him from going to that fucking party? I fucking let him walk right into it!”

“You didn't know they were going to rape him...” Michael said, almost indignantly. “Brian, you couldn't have known this would happen...”

“I knew it was a fucking stupid idea. If I had—”

He didn't get it. He didn't understand. I allowed them to rape him. I allowed Justin to get hurt. Again.

There were tears in my eyes, tears strangling my voice. Michael's face looked rather pained, as well. “Brian,” he said, his voice choked, “you didn't do this—”

Seconds later, the plate was in pieces on the floor. I barely realized I'd broken it. It wasn't enough. Screaming and crying and raging wasn't enough. If it didn't erase what had happened, it never would be.

“All the shit he's been through, and I practically stand back and let them do that to him...”

I blinked, a little surprised at hearing the familiar words directed at me, and another furious tear slid down my cheek. “I'm listening,” I snapped. I wanted to throw his hands off, but I just stood there and took it in.

Michael glared at me, as if daring me not to listen as though my life depended on it, and I swear he looked more like his mother in that moment than was natural. “He needs you to help him through this, Brian...”

“I'm the one that let this happen to him...” I started again, but he wouldn't have it.

“He went there! You told him it was a stupid idea, that's all you could've done. It was his choice to go there, and...”

“Do not even fucking blame him for—” I began, immediately infuriated at his implication.

I was breathing heavily. The tears I had managed to mostly hold back for weeks were rushing forth now. In the back of my mind, I felt a twinge of discomfort, but overriding the uncomfortable feelings was an intense, staggering relief. I'd cried more than once these last few weeks, it was true, but I hadn't cried like this. I hadn't lost it completely and broken down. I suppose I might have, had I not worried so much about trying to be strong for Justin...he didn't need to have to deal with me losing control when he could barely keep himself together...but here and now, I could let this out. I wasn't even sure my body was going to give me a choice in the matter.

“Whatever happened before, you're here now,” Michael said firmly. “You can help him now.”

“I can't,” I said honestly. Even after all these weeks of this, I still had no idea what to do. I hadn't felt so helpless since the night Justin had been bashed. I just...I couldn't. I could hold him all night long, I could vow to protect him from here on out, I could regret it all until the day I died, but...it still wouldn't help him. When he had been bashed...he needed certain things. He needed to relearn his motor skills. I could help him with that. He needed to learn to be touched, to be around people. I could help him with that. But touching him now would do more harm than good. I didn't know how to help him with this. Didn't even know where to begin.

“You will,” said Michael, squeezing my shoulders. He pulled me roughly against him, his arms around me, fists clenched in my shirt. And for the first time since I'd found out that he'd known what I hadn't, I didn't feel angry at him. I felt almost...numb. So I hugged him back, arms around his smaller frame that somehow still managed to support most of my weight.

I had never wanted to believe something so badly.

But it's not fucking enough, I thought despondently. He's still hurting.

We stood in front of the door for a few more minutes, me crying pathetically, until I released my best friend, trying to wipe away the evidence of my tears without him noticing. Not that it would do much good, considering I'd just practically had a meltdown on his shoulder, but it was time to compose myself, pull the broken shards of strength back around me again. Breakdowns weren't the way of Brian Kinney, but maybe just this once, it was okay. In front of Michael, at least. There weren't many people I'd let see me that way. There weren't many occasions that it happened.

So I nodded, eyes focused anywhere, everywhere but on him. “I know.”

I had my cell phone in my jeans pocket, on vibrate. Before all this had happened, I had kept it turned off in my bag whenever I had school, but these days I liked to have it charged, turned on, and on me when I wasn't at the loft. It helped, knowing Brian was only a phone call away, that he was reachable if I just reached inside my pocket.

I tried to go over to Daphne's when I felt brave enough. If I wasn't in desperate need of the loft's comfort after being at PIFA for hours. Brian had started working again, but I liked to give him evenings to himself when I could...if he wanted to stay in alone or go out, he didn't need to have me to deal with all the time. He was doing so much for me, had exceeded my expectations just by letting me stay, and while nights alone were the most I could really give him right now, they were something, at least.

I was growing restless and uneasy, gripping the phone tightly in my pocket. It was just Daphne. Just Daphne's apartment. Familiar and safe and comfortable. But not comforting. Not the loft. Not Brian.

Twice I had to resist the rising panic in my chest; I really just wanted to go home. But it was barely eight, and I wanted to give Brian a few more hours. Daphne wouldn't mind. She liked our TV nights.

I jumped when my cell phone suddenly vibrated against my thigh. Daphne looked over at me from the other side of the couch, turning back to the TV screen and the sitcom we were watching when I held up my phone in answer to her silent question.

It was a text message from Brian. 'Come home. Call me if you need a ride.'

I frowned. I was tempted to text him back, ask why, what was going on that he needed me home for, but decided against it. He wanted me home, for whatever reason, and the faster that happened, the better. So I slipped my phone back inside my pocket and interrupted Daphne's one-sided dialogue with one of the characters on the sitcom. She had offered before to drive me home, so we pulled on our shoes, and then, with considerable relief on my part, we were on our way.

I had been expecting it. Ever since I'd heard what Michael had to say, I'd been waiting for this.

I was alone in the loft; Michael had gone home over an hour previously, and Justin still wasn't home. I was simultaneously relieved and worried about this. I was afraid it would send him into another breakdown if he knew what had transpired, but at the same time, he needed to deal with this new turn of events. Besides, I really didn't want to have to handle this alone.

Before long, there was a knock at the door. Taking a final deep breath, I slid it open, and tearful eyes, highly reminiscent of Justin's, greeted me solemnly.

“Mrs. Taylor.”

I shook my head, but held the door open for her. “No. He should be back soon. Come in.”

Hesitating only a fraction of a second, Justin's mother swept past me into the loft. I heard her sniffle as I closed the door.

Talking to her now, Jennifer sounded no less upset than when she had called me a half an hour previously. I had answered the phone to find a hardly unexpected, very upset Taylor on the other end. And just like that, the domino effect met its end result. Emmett had told Ted, Ted had told Debbie, and Debbie had told Jennifer what had happened. Line them up, watch them fall. The truth had worked through that chain of people, unraveling the links one at a time.

I had told a brokenhearted Jennifer to come on over, that Justin wasn't there but that he would be back soon. Then I'd texted Justin, and a few minutes later, received a text back, informing me that he was on his way with Daphne.

I had always felt, even—or maybe especially—after Justin's bashing, a certain obligation to his mother. It felt uncomfortably reminiscent of how a boyfriend would feel toward his girlfriend's father—that tension, that need to prove something. It was ridiculous, particularly for me, but there'd always been that disapproval on her side that I'd always thought I was better than. When she had asked me, (well, told me) to stay away from Justin after he was bashed, I'd respected that. More because of me than because of her. Because the things she said, the blame she'd thrust upon me, her reasoning...it was exactly what I'd been feeling, spoken out loud. I remembered thinking that at least someone had had the balls to say it. So I had granted her wish, and stayed away from Justin.

Until she had asked me to take him back. I had been a wreck after the bashing, I'll admit. So out of guilt and obligation and, if I was honest, a very real desire to help him, I accepted. When I had allowed him to get hit, get hurt, it felt like I had proved her right. I was no help to him. I had failed to protect him. I seized the second chance, and, if only on a subconscious level, tried to prove, to her and to myself, that this time I would do it. I would protect him, make him okay and keep him that way.

But now he had been hurt again. I had failed again. Proved her right again. Maybe he would have been better off if he'd just stayed away from me after the first time. If his mother had never asked me to take him back.

Jennifer shook her head in answer to my question, though I'd already forgotten what that was. To my discomfort, she gave a small, quiet little sob. I may be the designated comforter of the youngest Taylor, but I wasn't sure what to do for this one. I couldn't very well take her into my arms, whisper comforting words and kiss her forehead like I did Justin's. Hell, that wasn't working very well even with him at the moment.

Jennifer let out a shaky breath, nodding. “How did it happen?” she asked desperately. She wasn't at all her usual collected self. She was crying, make up smeared a little around her eyes. A mess. An understandable mess, but she had to have broken down when she heard. I could imagine that conversation. Debbie calling her up, maybe asking her to come by the house, informing her gently that she had something to talk to her about...that it was about Justin, something she had heard...asking what she already knew...and then, right when Jennifer was starting to panic and demand to know what had happened, what was wrong...Debbie would have told her. Your son was hurt. He was raped.

Jennifer loved Justin, far more than my mother had ever loved me. I doubted dear old Joanie would give a damn even if I was lying in a hospital bed with a gunshot wound to the heart...but Jennifer...she cared. My mind flashed back to the imagined scene between her and Debbie...Jennifer would have been horrified at the knowledge that her son had been hurt. Gang raped, because that was what it was. She would have broken down. Debbie would have tried to console her as best as she could, but ultimately, nothing would help. Nothing would sooth the pain.

But then, with a strength summoned from some hidden reserve, deep inside, Jennifer would have pulled herself together. Nowhere near her normal composed self, but enough to do what needed to be done.

And now she was here. Needing to see Justin. Needing to know everything.

“Debbie said...there was a-a party...”

I swallowed around the lump in my throat. This was not going to be easy.

“Why didn't anyone tell me?” she asked. She was struggling to keep her voice level, though it wavered with pain in its purest form, and I could still hear the slight crisp note at the fact that she, like me, had been kept in the dark for so long.

Her eyes widened in apparent surprise. “Then how did you...?”

“Long story,” I told her. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and didn't ask again. Which was good, as I really didn't want to go into it. What was I supposed to say? That I'd found out that his rapist was being charged with the assault of another guy, a month after Justin had been attacked, and I had put two and two together from there? That I had let him deal with this alone for a month before finally realizing what had occurred? Well, I supposed something along the lines of the first one would have sufficed, but I still didn't want to go into it.

I sighed. Where to begin? “Are you sure you want to hear any of this?” I asked gingerly, skeptically. She nodded, and I knew what she was saying. No. She didn't want to hear it. She needed to, in the same way I had. The way I still needed to, with everything he was still keeping to himself.

I hesitated. “It started...when he needed money for his school tuition,” I began. “I...offered him the money...but he wouldn't take it, even as a loan.”

Jennifer let out a miserable sound halfway between a gasp and a moan. “Don't tell me this is all over school tuition...”

I didn't answer.

At this point, I was forced to hastily swipe at my eyes. It didn't matter; Jennifer gave another choked sob, her eyes closed, her hand over her mouth.

I shook my head. Suddenly, I felt the need to explain myself. To apologize. Whatever Michael said, it was very much my fault that Justin was where he was, that Jennifer Taylor was sitting across from me crying over the knowledge of what had happened to her only son, that this entire ugly thing had exploded in all our lives. However “un-me” it was...I owed it to her. “I'm—sorry, Mrs. Taylor,” I said quietly. “I tried to give him the fucking money...”

I was genuinely surprised to hear this from her, of all people. Out of everyone, I would have expected her to hold me accountable. After telling me in no uncertain terms that it was because of me that Justin was almost killed on the night of his prom, I thought she would have hated me for allowing this to happen. For not protecting her son.

Fuck, I hated me for not protecting her son.

“I don't...” I began, clearing my throat when the words came out a little less steady than I had intended. “I don't fucking...know how to help him,” I admitted.

I let out a low breath. I wasn't sure how he'd feel about me telling his mother these things, but I couldn't not tell her how her son was faring, under the circumstances. “Physically, so far...he's HIV negative. He got his latest test results back a couple weeks ago...he's got—he's got syphilis,” I admitted. “He has an appointment next week at the clinic, to make sure it's clearing up.”

She was nodding, drinking the information in. “So...he'll be okay?” she asked, the hope in her voice so clearly fragile.

“We won't know his HIV status for a while...a few months...but syphilis is treatable.”

But I couldn't. Wouldn't lie. Because he wasn't. Wasn't fine. Wasn't anywhere near normal.

“He's...” I pinched the bridge of my nose briefly. “He's about the way you'd expect. He feels ashamed, disgusted...” Just something else I hated about this. I hated knowing that he felt this way, when it should be them who felt ashamed and disgusted by what they had done. By the life they'd smothered. The senseless act of cruelty they'd committed.

“This is all my fault,” she moaned, burying her face in her hands. “I tried to pay for his school, he wouldn't let me...”

“I tried to pay for it, too...”

I sighed. “He won't go. He tries to deal with it all on his own, and...he can't.” I swallowed the lump in my throat, blinking a little more rapidly than strictly necessary, and desperately hoped the break in my voice hadn't been as obvious to her as it had been to me. “But he's finally talking a little more, to me at least.” Now that he knows I won't leave him with this.

I nodded, taking the hint, the understood 'alone' at the end of that sentence. “He should be getting back any minute.”

Her face crinkled as more tears leaked out the corners of her eyes. “I can't believe this is happening. My son was...” But she couldn't finish. “Why didn't he tell you?” she asked. It was an honest question. Not the same as when Michael had pointed out to me, in that heated not moment, that Justin had kept it quiet. However, it was a question I didn't want to answer, especially to Justin's mother.

It was plain by her expression that she didn't understand. I sighed. “He thought...I'd think he was disgusting, and kick him out.”

She closed her eyes. I was expecting her anger, a sudden burst of rage at me for making him think he couldn't trust me, for not being there, but... “So he didn't tell anyone? He's been dealing with all this alone?”

She looked at me quizzically. “Debbie's son?” she repeated.

Maybe she caught the slight bitterness in my tone, because she dropped the subject. “Brian?” She bit her lip, as though uncertain if she should continue. “If...are you okay?”

I hadn't expected the question at all, nor was I quite sure how to answer. So I decided to go with honesty. Didn't I always? “It's been fucking hard,” I confessed. It hurt, more than I could say, to watch Justin going through this. Even without knowing all the details, my mind conjured its own image, it's own horrifyingly vivid video—that just replayed in my mind continuously, torturing me by torturing him.

Maybe it was enough for her now. Maybe she saw it in a way she hadn't before. And I nodded in agreement with her statement. Because it was true. I did care. And I was finally coming to terms with what that meant.

I had been anxious enough these last few hours, wanting just to come home, wanting Brian, fighting the panicky sensation threatening to control me if I let it...but when Daphne offered to walk me up to the loft, I declined. I wasn't sure if it would be tense, if she or Brian would find it awkward, but that wasn't the main reason anyway. I liked to do things on my own when I could. Just to prove to everyone and myself that I wasn't completely helpless. That I was still me. So I left Daphne in her car and hurried as quickly as I could into the building, though I was fighting a rising panic all the way up until I was outside Brian's door.

Despite the general reason for my trips to Daphne's being to give him time to go out if he wanted, Brian's text implied that he was home, (why else would he want me here?), for which I was glad. Though he'd dropped me off for class that day, it felt like I'd been away from him for ages, and I really just wanted to be in his arms, where I would be safe. Anything outside the loft, anywhere away from Brian, there was a constant, lurking danger. It was senseless and ridiculous, my ceaseless state of paranoia, but I couldn't stop myself from wondering if that person coming around the corner was going to hurt me, or if that guy over there was just waiting for the perfect moment to...

To do what?

I didn't know. It was stupid to think that every person I passed on the streets, in the halls, everyone who looked at me, wanted to hurt me. But what if...? The world was full of dangers. I knew that all too well. What if that random person I passed in the hallway was waiting for their chance, like Hobbes had? Or what if they were creating their chance, the way Sap had done? What if I was walking into a trap? My own undoing? Or even, sometimes, despite its absurdity, I'd wonder...what if that man I had seen that day, walked right passed, had been there that night with me? What if he had been one of the men who'd helped them tie me up? One of the men who'd raped me? Taunted me, called me every demeaning name he could think of, hit me to subdue me when I tried to fight, got off on my cries and pleads and screams?

I shuddered, so relieved to finally be home, where I was safe and Brian wouldn't let anyone hurt me, and slid open the door.

I froze. My mother? What was my mother doing here?

My world was crashing. Imploding. Please, no...not her...tell me she doesn't know...

I walked numbly into the loft, seeing no other choice, and sat down next to my mom. I grabbed Brian's sleeve as he passed me.

“Aren't you staying?” I asked, with a slight edge of desperation. He pulled his lips into his mouth, glancing at my mom.

“Mom? Please...” I began. She conceded, nodding, and Brian sat down again. He gripped my hand tightly under the table.

I swallowed thickly, looking from her to Brian and back. My mother knew, there was no other explanation. How did this happen? Had Brian told her? How could he do that to me? My mother? How could I ever face her now? Every time she looked at me, she would see them, in her mind...she would know what her son was, what I had been through. No, no, no...

“I...I didn't know...about any of this. I'm so sorry, Justin,” she cried. Tears immediately sprung up in my own eyes, at the sight of her crying.

“Mom...” But I wasn't sure what I could say. Words weren't necessary, however, as the next second she had pulled me into her arms, and was crying and holding me and whispering that she was sorry.

We sat there for so long I was beginning to get sore from the awkward position. We finally pulled away, both of us wiping our eyes, but it had felt sort of nice. Comforting. I guess I wasn't too old for my mother's hugs, at least in something like this.

“They hurt you,” she whispered. “More than one.”

“I'm sorry,” I said quietly.

“It's not your fault, either,” she told me firmly. I didn't say anything.

Uneasily, I wondered exactly how much Brian had told, but I assuaged her. “Yeah. I mean...I've got medicine. I'm...hopefully I'm okay.” I wondered if she knew about the syphilis, but decided not to bring it up. It could be cured. I'd be okay.

She nodded. “He's been taking care of you.” It was half a question, half a statement. But all true.

“Yeah. He's been really great.” More amazing than I'd ever expected, and I didn't want her doubting that.

“And Daphne? She knows?”

“Um, yeah. They've both been great, Mom.” I felt a little guilty at the look on her face. Was she hurt that I hadn't come to her? Not that I was a little kid, needing his mommy every time he cried, but...was she angry that I hadn't confided in her?

“How...how are you doing, Justin? I mean...really?” she asked. So much meaning in the simple question, so many potential answers.... I felt like dying, crying, screaming...I was alive, surviving, but sometimes I wondered if that was just part of the punishment...I wanted out, but I was stuck, trapped inside myself...I was hurting, and anything else was a lie...

Deciding to give the two Taylor's some some space, I figured Justin was in good hands, and left them alone. I took a shower, and when I came out, they were talking quietly, so I took the stack of DVD's I'd picked up back to the video store, choosing a few more from the shelves. Most were eye-roll-inducing romantic comedies that I usually wouldn't bother with, but Justin liked them, and occasionally one of them would actually pull a giggle from him. It was worth suffering through hours of trite plots and bad PG-13 jokes and sickeningly sweet happy endings if they made him smile, even just for a second.

Jennifer left shortly after I returned. Both hers and Justin's eyes were a raw red, but they each looked a little more content than when I'd left them. I wasn't sure what Justin would have to say about this, or what his mother had told him, but I figured I had some explaining to do.

He closed the door, just standing in front of it for a moment, listening to the sound of the elevator. When it finally faded, he turned around.

“She wants me to live with her, Brian,” he said quietly, coming in to stand beside me in the kitchen. He leaned over the counter, arms folded.

“What?” He did not just say what I think he said...

“She said if I wanted, I could come back and live with her.” Okay, so he had said it. Christ, live with her? But that would mean...that Justin wouldn't be living here. Which meant he wouldn't be living with me. Which meant...fuck, no.

“And...what did you say?” I asked. Personally, honestly...I wanted him here. I wanted to know that he was okay. I wanted to hold him and kiss him, be the one to wake him from his nightmares and comfort him. If he wasn't here...how could I deal with not knowing how he was? But I would have to, if that's what he wanted. Jennifer was his mother...naturally, she thought she was the best candidate to heal him. Same thing as after the bashing. But...hadn't she changed her mind? Hadn't she let him come back?

He looked nervous, but relaxed into me when I wrapped my arms around him, soothing his doubts.

“I don't want to leave, Brian,” he said softly. “I know she just wants what's best...she wants to know I'm okay, but...I want to stay.”

“And you think...I'm best? For you?”

“Of course,” he said, turning in my arms to lay his head against my shoulder. I closed my eyes. “But, Brian...there's something I want to—to talk to you about.”

“Yeah?”

I sighed. This was where the explaining came in. “Turns out, Emmett overheard Michael telling Ben. Emmett told Ted, who told Deb, who—told your mother.”

A hiss, an intake of breath. “I didn't want everyone to know...”

“I know, I'm sorry.”

“They're all going to know I'm just some...pathetic rape victim that can't take care of himself,” he sniffed.

“No one thinks that.”

“I think that. And that's all they're going to see...every time they even think of me, they're going to know what happened...”

His breathing slowed, but his hands gripped my arms tightly.

“No one thinks that. They're all just worried about you.” I twisted my fingers loosely in the strands of blond at the back of his head, nuzzling my nose in his hair.

“How do you know?”

“I talked to Michael,” I told him. “He came over earlier...he says everyone wants to see you, but they want to give you your space.”

“You talked to Michael?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“And...?”

“He's worried about you, too.” I knew that wasn't what he was asking, but I also knew that he took the response as the answer he wanted. Michael and I would be okay.

He shrugged. “Okay, considering the circumstances. She said even if I don't move back in, she wants me to come over when I can. Just to see me, make sure I'm doing okay. Or she says she'll come here if that's okay with us.”

I nodded. Justin had a solid support system behind him, people who would do anything and everything in their power to help him. Exactly what he needed. I hoped that Michael had been right. That we would both get through this. That we'd be okay. I hoped I'd be strong enough to hold onto him.