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

A/N: Sorry, I meant to have this up last Sunday, but I had some computer issues, then some problems posting. It's all sorted out now, though, so...here's chapter seven.

~. Michael .~

By the time Brian arrived at the shop to pick up Justin, he'd stopped crying and was sitting, zombie-like, in a chair behind the counter, staring at his shoes. When Brian entered the shop, he had looked understandably bewildered. From what my best friend had been telling me, Justin refused to leave the loft except when absolutely, totally necessary, and now suddenly he was sitting in my comic shop in the middle of the day for no apparent reason. I listened while Justin rattled off some elaborate lie about his professor having to leave early and he and Daphne going out shopping, until a work emergency had resulted in her dropping him off here. I had never heard Justin lie to Brian, and was amazed at the ease with which he did it. Well...I thought bitterly...three weeks worth of practice makes perfect.

The hardest part had been that look Brian had given me. Quizzical. Perplexed. His eyes begging to know what I knew. I had never wanted to tell him something so badly than at that moment. Justin kept shooting furtive glances at me, as though expecting me to burst at any second, and I'll admit, he wasn't exactly being paranoid, thinking I might. It nearly killed me to watch the two of them walk out of the shop together, Justin still staring fixedly at his shoes, grasping Brian's hand tightly.

Nothing, no far-fetched explanation Brian and I had come up with these last few weeks, had even come close to the horrible truth behind Justin's misery. Whatever I'd expected, it wasn't rape. How could this even happen to him? I could barely wrap my mind around it. And now, just like Justin, just like Daphne, I held his secret in my hands. A secret I'd promised to keep.

I'll admit, when I said I wouldn't tell Brian, I hadn't actually made up my mind yet. Maybe it was a shitty thing to do...lying to him like that...but I just didn't have the heart to cause him any more anguish than he was already in.

On one hand, Brian needed to know the truth. Not only for him, but Justin couldn't continue to live like this. It was obvious this was tearing him apart from the inside, and I had a feeling keeping it a secret would only do him more harm. It would be wrong to let him continue to suffer like this. Plus, I knew I just could not look Brian in the eye and pretend not to know what was wrong with Justin, not when it was so plainly killing him, too. I wasn't doing either of them a favor by keeping this to myself. Not only that, but by not saying anything and letting Justin go on like this...well, I didn't know how desperate he was. It could possibly prove to be hazardous to his physical health, as well. Brian had mentioned that he wasn't eating much lately. Fuck knows what other damage he might do without sufficient intervention.

On the other hand, I couldn't quite ignore the image of him, sobbing on the ground as though his very soul ached, pleading with me to keep his secret. I couldn't forget the raw pain in his eyes as he looked at me, or the way he had been so quick to panic when I'd suggested he tell Brian. I'd told him I wouldn't say anything...he was hurting so much as it was...I almost couldn't stand the thought of hurting him more, even if it was to help him. Though it would be in his best interests, I would feel as though I were committing some great act of betrayal. I had given him my word.

But what was a person supposed to do in this type of situation? What was right? It was either remain loyal to my best friend, who was in such pain, trying to find the answer I currently held in my hands, and who may be the only one who could begin to fix this...or remain true to my word to the victim, to the person who, really, was the only one who had any right to divulge the information. It wasn't my place to tell anyone if he didn't want them to know.

Fuck, I almost wish I didn't have to know this. I didn't want this decision. Either way...I'd be betraying one of them. I didn't want to have to choose which one.

I'd been expecting a call from my best friend, and he didn't disappoint. Half way home, my cell began to vibrate in my pocket. What was I going to say? I didn't have time to think about it.

“Hey Mikey,” he greeted me quietly.

“Hey.”

“So...” he began, hesitating. I knew why he had called, anyway, so there was really no point in him trying to pretend he wasn't dying to ask. “What was Justin doing at the store today?”

Shit shit shit. Should I tell him? Maybe...if I just kept quiet for now, I could convince Justin to do it himself? The rationalization seemed feeble, even to me, but I just needed...fuck, I needed some time to think. This was too big a decision to make on impulse. And just because I didn't tell him now, didn't mean I wouldn't do it at all...

“You don't buy his shopping with Daphne story?” I asked, stalling.

“Not for a fucking second. He hasn't left the loft in three weeks except to go to school. Now he's suddenly going on shopping sprees with Daphne? I don't think so,” Brian snapped.

“Where is he now?”

“The bathroom. Again,” Brian said, his voice lined with poorly concealed concern.

“Well...did he say anything else?” I asked.

“Nothing. He barely talked to me the whole way back. So...he didn't say anything to you?”

I didn't answer.

“Mikey?”

“Um, sorry, I...busy intersection. Had to concentrate,” I explained hastily. “No, he...he didn't say anything. I even asked him.” I'd never been a good liar, but it had never been so important before. The stakes had never been so high.

“What did you say?” Brian demanded.

“I asked him if he was okay. I told him you were worried about him,” I said, the knot in my stomach loosening just a little. At least that was the truth.

“And what did he say?” Brian asked sharply.

“He said he was just stressed,” I said, trying to sound casual. That was true, too. Justin had said that. “He said he's got a lot going on at school.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I...” I bit my lip. “I don't know.”

Brian's sigh came in, loud and clear over the phone. “All right. Thanks, Mikey. I'm going to go see if I can get him to eat.”

My stomach squirming uncomfortably, I nodded, forgetting he couldn't see me. “Yeah. Call me if you need me.”

“I will.”

I sighed heavily as I snapped my phone shut. I had just lied to Brian. And this wasn't like when I'd fibbed and told him that Ted was the one who had broken his brand new Prada sunglasses after I'd accidentally sat on them...this was something huge. Life-altering. Fuck, he'd never forgive me for not spilling the secret the moment I'd learned it. What was I doing? I didn't know how to even begin to handle this, but one thing was for sure...I had a decision to make.

~Justin-One Week Later~

All week, I had done my very best to keep Brian away from Michael. He'd given me his word that he wouldn't tell anyone, but...well, this was Michael we were talking about. Even if he somehow managed to be in the same room with my boyfriend for longer than ten minutes without breaking down and confessing, Brian knew Michael, he'd know something was wrong in a heartbeat. I'd made a grave mistake in telling him, I was sure of that...I knew Michael, too, and I knew that the inevitable guilt coupled with his inability to lie directly to Brian's face would eventually break him down.

So all week, I'd done my very best to keep Brian in the house, or at least tried not to give him a reason to go to Michael. I'd controlled nearly every impulse to panic, every urge to snap at him when he got too touchy for my liking or badgered me about not eating. The nightmares were still uncontrollable, and I had more school work than ever, but things were generally pleasant around the loft, at least for him.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he greeted me one night when he got home from work. I was sitting at the table, working on a project, but taking a deep breath, I stood up and went over to him.

“Hey,” I said, swallowing thickly, but wrapping my arms around his waist. I kissed him then, eyes slightly open and forcing myself through it, even poking my tongue out to slide across his bottom lip. It had obviously surprised him, as I hadn't done that in nearly a month, but I felt him squeeze me a little tighter and kiss back softly, tentatively, and I supposed I should at least be thankful that he was gentle, and let me decide how far it went. Though I couldn't shake the thought that it shouldn't be this hard to kiss him this way, it made things so much easier on us. Maybe not on me, but on us.

I pulled away rather quickly, and the entire time he was in the shower, I'd spent sketching the only thing now on my mind. The thing I now associated with sex. Sapperstein.

I had drawn a couple of the others, too. At least the ones I could remember. Some of them I knew...well, knew of...and some of them I just knew from memory. I couldn't be sure how many there were, or how many times I'd been...well, I couldn't be sure of all the details. But I could remember some of their faces, their voices. Sometimes, I think I remember more than I'd like to, and other times, I wish I could remember more. I'm not sure if the knowledge of what happened scares me more or less than the stuff I don't know, the things I can't remember, and I know there are things I can't. Even if I did remember everything from my drug-induced haze (not likely), anything else could have happened from the time I blacked out to the point where I'd woken up on the floor with no memory of being deposited there. Though there was hardly anything else they could have done that would've made it any worse. They'd already done whatever they wanted, and hadn't cared if I'd been there to feel it...or at least mostly there. But still, sometimes I wish I knew exactly what had happened during that time I was unconscious.

I always thought of how, if Brian knew, he would most likely tell me to just forget, that I should block out what I remembered and stop trying to recall what I didn't. His answer for everything. Don't think about it. Just put it out of your mind. That had been his solution after the bashing...and it had been easy not to remember...for a while, anyway, when I would've given anything to remember, and my memory remained elusive for weeks. I could never quite help myself, though, from thinking about how my hand didn't work, or the way I was terrified to fall asleep for months, or how I couldn't be around people without feeling like I was being suffocated. There are some things you just can't ignore. Some thing are just there, in your life, entangled so deeply in who you are that there's no escaping it. It becomes a part of your life, a part of you...the way you think, the way you feel, the way you see the world...and you can't ignore that.

Just like I tried—and failed—not to let the fact that the one month mark of that night was coming up to get under my skin in any way. But it was affecting me. Even during the days leading up to it...it was like when you can feel fall coming, even before the increasingly dramatic drops in temperature or leaves changing colors...it was just something you could feel, a restlessness in the air, that I was carrying around inside my chest at all times.

This made it even harder for me to force myself through encounters with Brian, and the nightmares, down to about four or five times a week instead of the typical twice a night, pick back up again. I was clinging to Brian even more than usual, not to mention I was extremely distracted—something quite evident in my school work—and I spent more time at the window of the loft, sketching Sap's face, than anything else.

One the one month anniversary of my assault, Daphne had come over after Brian left for work. She'd mentioned having plans later with her mother, and offered to cancel in order to stay with me, but I refused. She had done enough. She'd been the one thing I could count on these last few weeks, the one stability in my life...my rock...but I couldn't ask her to stay.

She had made me a lunch that I'd barely eaten, and we sat and watched TV for most of the day. I knew that she knew what day it was, and that her staying over that particular day was no coincidence. It had been one month ago. One month ago today.

On this day, last month, I wasn't a rape victim. I was still whole. I was still pure. I was still able to sleep soundly at night. I could still draw whatever I wanted. I could still have sex with my boyfriend. There wasn't this thing between the two of us, constantly driving us apart. There was no weight on my shoulders or ache in my chest. There was no fear. There was no them or that night. I was still okay. I was still me. I was still Justin.

It was hard to believe it had only been a month.

A month ago, I never would've turned down a kiss from Brian. A month ago, I never would've told Michael Novotny my deepest secret, whatever that was back then. A month ago, I never would've gone to that party if I'd known that this is what would happen.

Now, this was my life.

On TV shows, when something horrible happens to the main character, whatever it may be...you get a glimpse of the event. Sometimes not even that, sometimes just an implication. But then it's over, and the next time you see them, they're at their house or walking around school or at their work building or sitting in a park. Not better, but dealing. And the next time you see them after that, they're just a little bit further in their progress. There are no unimportant scenes. Each one serves a purpose. You see them dealing and healing and breaking and moving on.

What they don't show is what happens in between those scenes. When some traumatic event happens, you go right from the trauma to the metaphorical “morning after” stage. You don't see the way every moment is spent in fear. You don't see the way safety precautions become habits. You don't hear the thoughts running through their heads, or understand how every breath prolongs their own agony just by keeping them alive a few more seconds. You see the big events, the checkpoints in their recovery, you don't see the stuff in between. When it's not your life, you don't have to live every second with an ache in your heart. When it is your life, it's every part of your life. There isn't one thing not affected by it. There is no safe place.

There was nothing there for me. I had been living in fear ever since the moment, that night, that I realized I had lost all control. And now I was scared, not just after the nightmares or whenever there was people around, but I was scared all the time. Of everything and everyone. Of life itself. Unable to breath without feeling that fear, even still. Unable to heal. Unable to be anything but a victim.

Again.

God, I hated that word. Victim. It carried so much meaning. It meant powerless. It meant I wasn't in control of my own life. It meant I was out there for everyone to hurt, and it meant pain, and it meant not being able to do a damn thing about it.

It meant I lost a little of me to them.

They had taken everything. Hobbes, Sap...they had taken all that was me. My art, my livelihood, my innocence, my spirit. They'd taken Brian. And school. They'd taken my life. Everything I did, it was, in some way, tied into them. Into what they'd done to me.

I just wanted...needed...to prove that there was still a bit of me inside. That they didn't get it all. They were ruining my life. They had long since passed out of it physically, but they were still ruining it. Look at things with Brian...they'd ruined my relationship. Fucking destroyed so much of what was good about it. And maybe they weren't finished. Maybe once Brian had enough and left me, once school decided they'd made enough adjustments for me and threw me out, once my world was completely and utterly fucked beyond the point of no return...maybe they would be happy. Maybe they would be satisfied.

Because all of that would happen, eventually. My life would end up in a place I couldn't fix. I was too afraid to let almost anyone near me. PIFA would only take so much of my sporadic bullshit. Daphne and Michael, the only two people who knew, would only be able to deal with this for so long...they had their own lives to live, after all. They would inevitably grow tired of dealing with mine. And Brian would get sick of always arguing, never having sex, and me taking up space in his loft, in his life, when I no longer had anything to offer. The most I'd done for him in the last month was make him fucking coffee and dinner, and maybe clean the loft a few times in between visits from the cleaning lady, who's schedule I'd convinced my boyfriend to change to those days I went to PIFA. But Brian wouldn't keep me around much longer if that was all I was giving him. A month was almost more than I'd expected as it was.

But what was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to get past this? Should I be past it already? How fucked up was my life going to have to be before I could begin to fix it? Maybe...

Maybe I should have tried to fix it a long time ago.

It was this precise line of thinking that had caused me to do what I did in the first place. Going to that fucking party. Thinking that I could fix things. Thinking I could, just maybe, exert some control over my own fucking life and make things better for myself.

Thinking I could take care of myself.

Maybe this time, on this day, one month later, it would work.

I had been waiting all day, so scared I felt sick, for Brian to come home. He was late...he'd told me he would be. He had some dinner thing with a client, so I hadn't bothered to order any food.

I could do this. The pain may be strong, but I was stronger, right? I could do anything I truly wanted to do. They didn't control my life anymore. None of them did. I controlled my life. Or I would, if I could do this one little fucking thing...

Besides, it would help, wouldn't it? It would make everything better. For everyone. Brian would be happy, I would be in control, and that would be one less thing I had to worry about. And it had been a month...

I was in the bathroom when he came home. Not crying, or showering, just...breathing. Bracing myself for what was to come. I kept up a barely reassuring mantra in my head. Don't be a victim. Don't let them win. Time to take control. Don't be a victim...

Returning back here to the loft the first time after the attack had been almost nothing compared to this.

I took a deep breath when I heard the door open. It was time. This was long overdue.

“Justin?” I heard Brian call, and, nerves crossing the line into nausea, I went to greet him. Just like I'd been doing every day that week, I slipped my arms around his waist and kissed him. I was getting good at it. Just as long as I kept my eyes open a little so that I could see him, I was okay. But today, that wasn't going to be enough.

He made a little noise in the back of his throat when my fingers curled just inside the top of his pants.

“Justin?” he asked, pulling away. He had lately taken to merely hinting around at sex, rather than outright suggesting it, or resorting to too much touching. It would occasionally go a little further, but it was as though he'd settled for testing the waters before diving in. It relieved me as much as it distressed me; He'd stopped expecting things...he'd stopped thinking he would come home one day and everything would just be better. But as far as I was concerned, his new 'no expectations' policy only brought us one step closer to the total breakdown of our relationship.

“Brian,” I whispered, and pressed my lips to his. He responded, but when we broke apart, he still looked confused. “Come on.”

He followed, obviously bewildered, as I led him through the loft and up the stairs to the platform. I'll admit, I had missed Brian's body. Or at least, I'd missed wanting Brian's body. Missed wanting his musky Brian scent around me, feeling him crawl up and over me, wrap his arms around me, pull me to him, desperate to feel and touch and be inside me. I hadn't exactly craved it, but I'd missed wanting to crave it, if that makes any sense.

I sat down on the bed, and tugged his hand so that he came to stand between my legs. He looked down at me as though unsure if he should trust...well, any of this. In response, as if to show him that this was really happening, I reached up to unbuckle his belt, conveniently at eye-level, biting my lip and trying to control my shaking hands. Finally, I managed the simple task and removed the belt from his pants, letting it drop to the floor.

I'd been expecting it from the moment of the clatter of the belt against the ground, but my breath hitched when he pushed me gently back against the bed, swooping down to kiss me.

Fuck, don't panic...it's just Brian...you love him...you want this... I told myself, but then another, rougher voice took precedence in my head.

You want this, don't you? You want me to fuck you, don't you, Taylor? Little whores like you like to be fucked...”

I gasped, and Brian looked up from my neck, which had been actively receiving his undivided attention. “Feel good?” he asked, and I knew he hadn't really mistaken the gasp for pleasure, but was actually genuinely asking if that was what it was. Coming back to myself slightly, I managed to nod.

“Don't stop.”

I kept my eyes open as he resumed his gentle ministrations on my neck. Again, I was grateful for his tenderness...I supposed he was expecting me to freak out at any second and start yelling at him, like I had done nearly every time he'd tried to touch me like this for the last month. But I had to do this. For myself and for him.

I did this, and I wouldn't be a victim. I could prove, once and for all, that I was in control of my life. That they couldn't hurt me now.

I did this, and Brian wouldn't consider kicking me out. He'd want me. He'd let me stay. I could stay safe, here with him. Fuck, I couldn't lose this. If I lost this, I lost everything. All I had to do was let him fuck me...

“You taste good, Sunshine,” Brian remarked, voice muffled against the skin of my collarbone, slowly uncovering more skin from beneath my shirt.

“Swallow it! That's it...careful, don't choke...so how's it taste, blondie? You ready for some more? You want to suck my cock again? Have it down your throat...you little slut...”

Wait, no...that wasn't real. That wasn't real, that wasn't happening now... “Brian...”

“I'm going to fuck you...” he muttered, and his hands were under my shirt and stroking my skin, teasing my nipples, his touches soft and easy as his voice.

“Welcome to the party...you're going to have a lot of fun here, I promise. So, who wants to go first?”

No one...please no one...stop touching me...why was he still touching me...? Get off me!

Ah, we'll all take a turn fucking that gorgeous ass...let's see how much you can take, blond boy...oh yeah, you were made for this...”

Wait, don't! Please help me, somebody help me...Brian...Brian, where the fuck are you? Why am I here? How do I stop this? Please make it stop...

An ass like yours...it's just begging to be fucked...so hard...I bet you're tight...”

Fuck, no...no they shouldn't be there...don't touch me there, just make it stop...no, no, no...stop it!

Brian made a soft noise in the back of his throat, his lips just above the top of my jeans, my shirt unbuttoned and exposing my chest...and for the briefest of moments, my mind flashed, not to that horrible night in that swing, but to a happier time in our lives...I could remember what it felt like, when he would fill me up with himself and make me feel so good all over...when he'd bury himself inside me so deep that I could almost still feel him the next morning...fuck, I used to love that I could always feel him, ever since that first night, he was with me, just like he'd wanted...

But this amazing, beautiful illusion—or was it a memory?—lasted only seconds, gone almost before it came. And then the warmth of Brian was gone and I was cold and bound and there were rough hands and skin and they were there instead...thrusting themselves inside me and down my throat and they were inside my fucking body and they shouldn't be and I couldn't stop them...

“NO!”

I had never felt so out of control of my own body. None of the panic attacks I'd ever had could have measured up to this. It was more like I was watching this happen, feeling it as if watching a movie...rather than living it. I just couldn't breathe and couldn't think and couldn't feel anything but fear and suffocation and desperation like I'd never known it.

“No! Stop!” I yelled when Brian tried to touch me, maybe to comfort me, I couldn't tell. I could hear his voice, as though from far away, but it was like I was partly inside my head, and partly there with him, and partly there with them, and I couldn't sort out what was real and what he was saying or what I was doing...

Brian wasn't on me, but they were...no, they weren't here, Brian was here...but he was touching me...no wait, they were touching me... “Don't!”

“Justin!”

“I said don't!”

I was dimly aware of the tears running down my cheeks, and squeezed my eyes shut. “NO!” I screamed when that fucking face leered at me from the darkness.

And suddenly I was on my feet and running for the door, barely conscious of what I was doing or of Brian's voice or him chasing me, and the next thing I knew I was bolting down the steps in a blind panic until I reached the street outside. There were people around, which only increased my terror, and I was running and I couldn't breathe and couldn't see through the tears in my eyes. All I knew was that my feet were moving, Brian was somewhere behind me, I had no idea what was in front of me and there were people all around. I was trapped, just like I'd been trapped in that swing, trapped with them...defenseless, powerless...

I didn't know how, once I calmed down and just wanted to feel Brian's arms around me again, I was going to explain this to him. Out of the blue, after a month, making him think that I wanted what I'd been holding back for so long, then freaking out and going crazy on him like I did. The way I had the very first time I'd ever had a nightmare after the bashing, in the hospital. I'd panicked them, too...had that same inability to tell dreams and delusions from reality. But here, now...it didn't make sense. It wouldn't to him, anyway. Nothing about any of that made any type of sense at all, unless you factor in that I'd never felt more fucking desperate in my life, except for maybe in that fucking swing.... What had I done?

I had fucked up. Again. I had tried to fix things and made them worse. Fucking things up beyond repair seemed to be about the only thing I could actually accomplish. I'd fucked up my relationship. I was in the process of fucking up my chances in school.

I'd fucked up my entire life, and I was getting sick of having to live it.

~. Michael .~

I had settled into my favorite chair in the kitchen, a bowl of cereal in front of me and a Captain Astro comic propped up against the box, when a knock at the door made me jump.

Frowning, I got up to answer it, half expecting to see Emmett, having returned early from his night out, and forgotten his key. Again.

I swore softly when I opened the door.

“Michael...” There was Justin. Crying. Looking more fucking miserable than that day in the comic shop. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah...of course...” And I let him inside. He thanked me quietly, sniffling.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled, wiping away tears. “I didn't know where else to go...I mean, I would've gone to Daphne's, but she had this dinner thing with her mom tonight, and she was already with me all day...”

“Shh, it's okay. I don't mind,” I assured him. I moved to touch his arm, but he jerked away, so I backed off. “What's going on?” For one fleeting, fearful moment, I wondered if he'd finally told Brian the truth...had Brian kicked him out or something? But I quickly shook the thought from my mind. Brian may be an ass, but he wasn't that heartless.

He shook slightly with the force of his sobs. “I...I'm so...fucking screwed up!” he cried, running his hands over his face and through his hair. “I'm such a fucking...mess, I...” he gasped. He couldn't seem to catch his breath.

“You got to breathe, Justin. You're going to hyperventilate,” I said sternly. He was already close. “Come on, look at me, look at me, Justin...” he looked up. “Breathe.”

He nodded, and slowly, his erratic breathing pattern began to even out. It was another few moments before he spoke as he finally caught his breath. “Michael,” he said finally. “I tried, to...I just wanted to make things better...for me and him...”

“What are you talking about?” I demanded calmly. His body convulsed with the most powerful sob yet, and I had to restrain myself from reaching out to him again.

“I tried to have sex.”

Oh.

“I tried...” he cried. “I just wanted to fix things myself. I didn't want to leave...I need Brian...and I wanted to be okay...I didn't want to...I didn't want to be a victim,” he explained. At least, I think that was an explanation. I didn't really understand what he was talking about.

“Shh,” I said again. “Let's go sit down,” I suggested, and, making sure to keep my distance, I led him inside to the couch. He sat down on the far end, pulling his legs up underneath him, and I sat on the other side, making sure to leave a generous amount of space between us.

“Where's Emmett?” he sniffled, glancing around as though expecting him to come bounding into the room at any second.

“Out. He won't be home for a while,” I told him, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to relax just a bit. “But you need to talk to me, here...what happened? You tried to have sex? Why?” I couldn't understand it. A week ago, he could barely kiss Brian, and now he was trying for sex? It didn't make any sense.

“It's been a month,” he said in a choked whisper. “A fucking month. And I'm still not...I want to be better. I want to, so much...”

I chewed on this for a moment. “But, Justin...” I said slowly. “These things take time...”

“I don't have time,” he said sharply. “I can't...I can't be a victim. I can't do this anymore. I just...I can't do any of it.”

“What do you mean?” I was trying to get it, trying to understand. But...well, he was a victim. A rape victim. I mean, I get not wanting to be, but I didn't get how having sex would keep him from being one.

“I wanted...I wanted to know I still controlled my life,” he admitted. “They fucked up everything!” he yelled suddenly, and I wasn't entirely sure who the 'they' was in reference to. His rapist and Hobbes maybe? Who else had hurt him? “I mean, Brian's not going to wait around forever...”

“So, wait...was this for you, or for Brian? Because if it was for Brian...Justin, I...” I had no words for that. If he was trying to force himself through this shit on Brian's account...

“Both,” he admitted quietly. “I just...can't take anymore, Michael. I still feel so fucking trapped.” He looked up at me, and didn't think I'd ever heard someone sound so broken. The result of suffering too many times, at the hands of too many people. He'd been assaulted physically, by that asshole classmate of his, sexually by the sick fucker who had done this to him...and he wasn't even fucking twenty years old yet. How much shit did he have to go through before the world was fucking satisfied?

“I just...want to...” he struggled to find the right words, and another tear slid down his cheek. “I don't know. Fuck, I want to stop...”

Hurting. I thought he'd say he wanted to stop hurting. It was, to me, the natural end to that sentence.

“Living,” his voice cracked as he shrugged helplessly.

And that was not an acceptable substitute.

My stomach clenched tightly at that word. He wanted to stop living? He wanted to...did that mean he wanted to die? Well, no...I was sure he didn't want to stop living, just stop living like this...but Jesus Christ...was he thinking suicide? Suddenly, I wanted to kick myself for even considering keeping his secret to myself.

“Justin...” I whispered. He jumped, and the glazed curtain his eyes had suddenly fallen behind snapped open, as though I'd just pulled him from some sort of trance. Maybe I had. “Don't...don't even say that,” I said weakly.

He sniffed again, closing his eyes, more tears leaking from beneath them. “Michael, I don't know what to do. I just can't keep doing this,” he whispered, and yet he sounded so certain, if only of his own doubts. “I thought I could be...I wanted to be okay...strong...”

“You are strong,” I said honestly. Fuck, after getting bashed, being raped, and all between the various periodic emotional assaults of one Brian Kinney...I don't think I've ever met a teenager stronger than him. Hell, I don't think I've met a stronger person than him. He may be in a vulnerable place right now, but that didn't detract from his strength...it didn't make him any less a person.

“But...I'm scared,” he confessed. “I'm so fucking scared. What if I...what if I lose Brian? I can't let that happen, Michael, I can't...I need him. And what if I'm never better? I'm just so fucking done. Trying to...trying to deal with this all the fucking time...”

“You're not going to lose Brian,” I assured him softly. “He won't leave you. And neither will Daphne, and neither will I. And you will be okay, you'll get through this.”

“How do you know?” he asked, his voice thick with tears.

“Because. I'm older than you. I'm wiser,” I said, meeting his puffy, tearful eyes across the couch, and I thought I might have caught the hint of a potential smile, but maybe that was just wishful thinking, because upon second glance, he looked as heavyhearted and broken as ever. “And because you have everything you need around you to get through this,” I added quietly. He didn't answer.

“Hey...” Hesitantly, I reached across the couch and took his hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. He looked at me beneath long lashes, teardrops still clinging to them. “Everything will get better. I promise.”

“How can you?” he asked fairly.

I looked at him steadily. Because I know the way you heal. I know who heals you. “I just can.” He averted his gaze to the fabric of the couch, his lack of a response conveying exactly how much he doubted my words more clearly than if he'd expressed the opinion verbally. “Do you want to stay the night?” He nodded wordlessly, still not looking at me. “I'll get you a blanket.”

I returned a few minutes later with a pillow and blanket, only to find him fast asleep on my couch, cheeks glistening with dried tears, somehow appearing unhappy even in his sleep. I sighed. Who would have ever thought, that night I'd first seen Brian checking out this blond boy under that streetlight, that we'd have ended up here? That he'd be here, over a year later, on my couch after he'd been brutally attacked for a second time?

“Goodnight, Boy Wonder,” I whispered, and draped the blanket over his slumbering form, setting the pillow against the arm of the couch. I didn't think I'd ever felt more sorry for anyone in my entire life. I'd never seen one person in so much pain. How could someone do this to him? I mean, we weren't exactly the best of friends, but Justin was, I'll admit, a pretty sweet kid. He was a good person. Why did all these fucked up things have to happen to him? What had he ever done to deserve something this horrible and inhuman? It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

And it wasn't fair, I realized, for me to sit here knowing what was wrong with him and letting him live like this. That wasn't right either. He was in a fucked up place right now...but I was supposed to have the clear head, the objective point of view...I was supposed to do what needed to be done. And now I knew what that was. He may hate me for it, but it was what was best for him, hurting him to help him. Justin needed to begin to turn his life back around...he needed a turning point on this fucked up path he was on. I had promised him his life would get better, and this time, I planned on keeping my word. It was time he started getting the help he needed.

It was time for Brian to know the truth.

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