Brian unlocked the door to their loft and held it open for Justin to enter, stealing a quick glance in his husband's direction as he did so. Justin had been noticeably quiet on the drive home, only uttering an occasional one-word sentence in answer to Brian's attempt at conversation. After a couple more tries at getting Justin to talk to him with more than a "yes" or "no" response, he had finally given up and the rest of the ride had been quiet and tension-filled.
Brian knew having to discuss their present difficulties in light of what had happened at Prescott's hands had not been easy today for Justin; it certainly hadn't been easy for him, either, and they were just beginning. He knew the worst was yet to come. But he also knew that if they had any chance of returning to the way they were before this had all happened, they had to endure pushing through the unpleasantness and the pain. They had to work through all the horror that had occurred in order to come out on the other side. He wanted so badly to get the old Justin back – and he knew Justin did, too.
He followed his husband up the steps to the main floor of their loft and watched as he walked over to their leather sofa and sat down, placing his elbows on his knees as he cradled his head in his hands and looked down at the floor, totally spent.
Brian licked his lips nervously, finding himself suddenly uncertain as to how to handle this ongoing lack of confidence in his previously self-assured husband. As the therapist had said, their journey out of this deep, black morass wasn't going to be a quick and easy one. He hadn't figured it would be. But he couldn't help the stab of pain that ran through him at the broken spirit of his normally ebullient, playful, and full-of-life husband. He had hoped that going to the counseling session today would be the start of an escape from their darkness; no, he couldn't just hope - he had to believe that. Now he had to find a way for Justin to believe that, too.
He walked over to take a quiet seat next to his soulmate. Cursing at the caution he had to take at even reaching his hand out to him, Brian tentatively placed his hand gently on Justin's shoulder and gave it a brief squeeze. "Justin," he said softly. "Talk to me." He was relieved that his husband didn't flinch under his touch; at least that was something.
Justin took a ragged breath and blew it out before raising his head to peer over at the brunet. "What do you want to know, Brian?" he asked softly, the weariness evident in his eyes.
"Whatever you want to tell me." He peered into the intent blue eyes. "What did you think about the therapist today?" Brian gently rubbed the skin over Justin's collarbone as he waited curiously for his reply.
Justin sighed. "He's seems okay, I guess. I was surprised, though, to find out that he had been at the same auction where…..where this whole fucking nightmare began." His eyes clouded over in pain at the thought that if he hadn't agreed to have dinner with Prescott in the first place, everything that had happened subsequent to that event would have been preventable.
"Stop it," Brian abruptly chided him, causing Justin to emerge from his reverie and peer over at him.
"What?" he whispered.
"Stop blaming yourself for what happened." He gave Justin's shoulder another squeeze as he stared into the troubled blue eyes.
"But…"
"Justin – you couldn't have foreseen what would happen when you agreed to have dinner with him. What could you have done? Just ignored the fact that you would have been throwing away $50,000 by refusing to do it? That fucker knew exactly what he was doing," Brian growled. "He knew you wouldn't be able to refuse if you were a decent person. He was counting on you doing exactly what you did, what anybody would have done."
Justin knew Brian was right – no normal person could have ever imagined that one, seemingly innocent dinner with an admirer would have ever turned into a never-ending saga of relentless torment. He realized logically that Brian was right, so why did he still feel like he had been a fool? "I know that," he told Brian. "I know you're right." He sighed and bit his lip. "But why do I still feel like I should have known better? Why did I have to be so fucking trusting? Why didn't I listen to you, Brian?"
Brian scooted a little closer to his husband and wrapped his arm around the slender shoulders to pull his body against his own. "Because you wouldn't be you if you ignored an opportunity to help someone less fortunate," he declared. "And at the time, if you recall, I may have had some ulterior motive in mind when I told you not to go out with him." Even now, Brian could remember his feelings of burning jealousy as he had realized the winning bidder hadn't been some gray-haired, little old lady who was buying Justin's painting out of some altruistic sense of philanthropy, but rather an elegant, powerful, affluent man who could steal Justin away from him instead. Even now, the thought that he could have lost Justin to someone like Prescott filled him with unreasonable feelings of self-doubt. Justin was still a young man; he was talented, beautiful, intelligent – everything another man would want in a partner. Despite everyone's admiration of him and his own self-assuredness that he was one hell of a catch himself, when it came to Justin he still couldn't help feeling afraid that one day he might lose him.
"That works both ways, you know," he suddenly heard Justin saying; he hadn't even realized he had zoned out temporarily until he re-focused his eyes on the soft blue ones staring back at him and he shook his head, not understanding the meaning behind his husband's words.
"We're not both going to take another detour down the 'what ifs' again, are we?" Justin asked softly, reaching over to link his fingers with Brian's. He sighed. "As much as I'd love to undo everything that's been done since that day – well, not everything," he clarified hastily as he gazed into his husband's eyes – their wedding day had been the happiest day of his life and he would never, ever regret doing that – "As much as I'd like to go back and forget none of this ever happened, we both know we can't. And if I can't blame myself for what happened, well then, neither can you."
Brian's lips turned up into a self-deprecating sort of lopsided grin. "Well, I suppose that's only fair," he whispered in agreement. "Can you stick to that part of the bargain, though, Justin? Can you quit blaming yourself for all that happened with him?" He curled his fingers around Justin's palm as the blond squeezed back in response.
"I'm not sure," Justin answered honestly. "But if it means you'll finally quit blaming yourself, then I'm willing to try. Have we got a deal, Brian?" he asked pointedly.
Brian could feel the warmth of Justin's touch under his fingers; it was moments like these – these brief little glimpses of a time before the attack – that gave him hope that one day they would return to normal again. He nodded as he pressed back against Justin's hand and squeezed. "Deal."
Justin seemed satisfied with his affirmation as he pulled him more tightly against him. Brian glanced over at the clock hanging over the kitchen counter and noted the time: 2:00 p.m. "Hungry?" he whispered in Justin's ear, brushing his cheek against the soft blond hair.
Justin shook his head slightly against Brian's cheek. "Not really," he murmured.
"Justin, you didn't eat anything for breakfast and it's after two. You have to eat something." He couldn't believe he was saying that; normally that would be an absurd comment when it came to his husband. One thing hadn't changed since they had met – Justin's appetite. At least, until recently anyway. He bit his lip to prevent the sigh of melancholy from escaping before stating, "Well, I'm getting hungry. Why don't I order us something from the deli down the street and we can eat it upstairs?" Brian secretly hoped that Justin would yet develop a desire to start a new art piece up on the roof where he had set up an easel and paints for him; as of yet, though, Justin had steadfastly ignored his efforts and it filled him with a profound sense of sadness as well as just a little helplessness that he couldn't do something to return his partner back to normal. He knew it wouldn't be that easy, though.
There was no discernible sound forthcoming from the blond as Brian waited. "Justin?" he finally pressed.
"Whatever you want to do, Brian," was the noncommittal reply at last.
The brunet bit back a retort that threatened to spring from his lips. He would never blame Justin for what had happened – hell, if anyone was to blame it was him – but for just a second he longed to shake Justin by the shoulders and simply growl at him to just fucking snap out it, to fight back, to explode with fury, to let go. Just once he wanted the fiery, passionate, devil-may-care man he had met, fallen in love with, and married to re-emerge. He wanted the confident, outspoken man he knew was still hidden inside there somewhere. He wanted his old Justin back; God, how he wanted that. Almost as much as he wanted to be inside Justin, to move in passionate synchrony with him as only their two bodies could do. He missed that so fucking much. But he also knew that Justin did, too, and that was what stopped him from saying anything other than a simple "okay" as he gently disentangled himself from his place at Justin's side and rose from the couch to hunt for the phone number of the restaurant.
Thirty minutes later, they were seated under the upstairs gazebo, eating a couple of cold sub sandwiches from the neighborhood deli that Justin often loved to haunt when Brian was at work. It would have been absurdly normal if it weren't for the proverbial elephant in the room hanging over them. Justin slowly munched on his pastrami on white while Brian stole surreptitious glances over at him when he wasn't looking, wondering once more how to help his husband regain more of a sense of normalcy.
"What?" he heard the blond say, as he realized he had been caught staring.
Brian shook his head as he chewed on a bite of his food. "Nothing," he mumbled quietly.
"Bullshit," Justin replied. "Tell me what's on your mind."
Brian swallowed the bite and sighed. "I….I just want you to get better, Justin, that's all."
Justin placed the half-eaten sub down on his plate to stare over at the brunet. "Better how, Brian? My ass is pretty well healed now, thank you, if that's what you're worried about."
Brian's eyes flashed with irritation. "That's not what I meant and you know it!" he couldn't help retorting.
"That's what you've been waiting for, isn't it? For my ass to get all better so we can fuck?"
Brian shook his head in disbelief as he stared back at his husband. "Justin, where is this coming from? You know that's not what I meant," he repeated, unable to believe the turn this conversation had abruptly taken. He watched as his husband pushed his chair back from the table and stood up suddenly. "Justin…." He rubbed his hand over his face as he, too, stood up and watched Justin walk over to the edge of the rooftop to look out onto the street below.
He licked his lips, hit teeth coming out to nip the lower one contemplatively as he rose to follow and slowly walked up behind his husband, noticing his shoulders shaking in silent pain. "Justin," he whispered softly, reaching out, wanting to place his hand comfortingly on the slender shoulder but inexplicably afraid to. He watched in heart wrenching alarm as the blond head bowed and he cradled his face in his hands.
His need to comfort his husband outweighed his fear of being rejected as he quickly walked up and firmly wrapped his hands around Justin's waist. He heard Justin make a sort of choked, whimpering sound before he turned around in his arms and burrowed his head in his chest, sliding his owns around Brian's waist and latching himself tightly onto his body. "I'm sorry," he heard Justin whisper against his chest. "So fucking sorry. I wouldn't blame you if you just fucking gave up on me."
Brian angrily wiped a tear out of his own eye before wrapping his arm back around Justin's trembling waist; he had lost track of how many times he had cursed Prescott for what he had done and wished he could have been the one to personally send him to hell. But he had more important matters to take care of now. He wasn't going to spend one more second wasting valuable time on a monster that didn't even deserve being the recipient of a shoe smashing him to a pulp like some pesky bug, although the thought momentarily filled him with satisfaction. He pulled Justin even more firmly into his embrace as he murmured, "Now you know I can't do that, Justin; I would never do that."
He rubbed soothing circles all over the lithe back and whispered nonsensical whispers of comfort to him until he felt Justin's trembling diminishing and his silent sobs ebbing. He placed his chin on top of the soft, blond hair for several seconds and just held him as he closed his eyes to breathe in the familiar, sweet scent of his lover. How could Justin ever think he would give this up? Didn't he realize by now that was not an option? Didn't he realize how much he loved him?
He heard Justin emit a mournful sigh as he pulled his hands away from his waist and watched as the glistening blue eyes slowly rose to regretfully and shamefully meet his. He placed his hands on Justin's cheeks to stroke them softly as he whispered, "Justin, I know you don't want to hear this, but we have to give this time. Even the doctor said that. We both know he's right. Just because you may be physically healed doesn't mean everything's going to revert back to how it was." He held the pale face firmly in his hands as he gazed into the soft blue orbs. "We're going to go back to Dr. Anderson, Justin, and we're going to keep going back until you're better. And then I'm going to fuck your brains out afterward." He was greeted with a slightly amused smile as he tenderly smiled back in return before he added in explanation, "We've got a lot of lost fucks to make up for."
"Brian…." Justin opened his mouth, no doubt to emit yet another apology, but he was promptly prevented from doing so when Brian placed one long index finger gently over his mouth and shook his head in warning. Justin pursed his lips together before nodding his understanding.
Brian stared into the beautiful, vulnerable face for a moment before slowly lowering his gaze to stare at the full lips. He couldn't help it as he body leaned in with hopes of getting a taste; it had been too long since he had stolen the last kiss and he was craving another sample. His heart skipped a beat as he watched Justin slowly respond to his unspoken request by meeting his lips halfway.
As their mouths tentatively touched, he couldn't help the small sigh that escaped as he snaked his tongue out to gently wipe across his husband's mouth, asking, wishing fervently for entrance. It wasn't the first time they had kissed since they had been reunited, but it seemed that each one since then had a degree of poignancy to it, almost as if it was the first time all over again – almost as if he had to treat Justin like some fragile, precious jewel. He knew that his husband's psyche was certainly fragile at the moment – his behavior since their counseling session earlier was obvious proof of that.
The kiss was sensual, slow, and gentle; not their normal passionate, greedy, lustful ones. But it was more than enough. It was enough of a reminder of how they used to be, and hopefully what would come to pass. He wound his one hand around Justin's neck to settle at the back, almost subconsciously feathering the soft hair he found there as his other hand remained lightly on Justin's cheek. Justin's hands began to slowly roam over Brian's back as he returned the kiss with the pent-up emotions he was feeling.
He heard Brian moan as their kiss began to deepen; he closed his eyes as he could feel his body beginning to respond until a flash of another man kissing him appeared abruptly in his mind like a maelstrom of dread. He could almost still feel Prescott's lips roaming hungrily over his chest, his nipples, his belly….. "Stop," he said, opening his eyes wide and tearing his lips away from Brian's as he frantically began to push against the hard chest. "Stop!" he cried out a little louder as he began to struggle in Brian's arms.
"Justin…." Brian's eyes widened in alarm. What the fuck…..? "What is it?" He held onto the slender body, unsure what to do. "What….?"
"Let me GO!" Justin shouted as he wrenched himself away from his husband, his body shaking as he took deep, gasping breaths. As Brian stared back at him horrified, Justin realized where he was and who he was with and he once more covered his face in his hands in shame. He raised his eyes to take one more look at Brian before abruptly twirling around and rushing over to the door to violently pull it open.
"Justin!" Brian called after him, but his husband was too fast for him. He had opened the door and slammed it shut before he had a chance to follow him. "Fuck!" He stood there in shock for a few seconds before quickly hurrying to the door to open it. "Justin!" he shouted down into the narrow passage, but there was no response. He could hear the echo of footsteps in the loft as he began to run down the steps, not stopping until he had reached the landing. He turned his head to peer into the open living room/kitchen area but there was no sign of his husband. Willing his heart to slow down and forcing himself not to jump to conclusions, he turned the opposite way toward the end of the hallway and stopped at the open doorway to their master bedroom. There, curled up with his back from him in a fetal position, was his husband, lying on top of the mattress.
Brian inhaled a shaky breath before letting it out softly; silently counting to ten as he gave thanks that Justin hadn't rushed out of the loft on his own. He was afraid in his agitated state that if he had, it would have only made matters worse. He slowly walked over to his side of the bed and looked down at him. There could be no way that Justin didn't realize he was there, but he made no movement to turn around and face him.
Brian couldn't believe they had come to this – unable to be together, at least in every, desirable sense of the word, and unable to be apart; they were merely somewhere in between. One emotional step forward and then two tumultuous steps backward. How long would it go on this way? He already knew the answer to that difficult question, though. As long as it takes….
He knelt on the bed now, his knees dipping into the mattress as it sank slightly under his weight. "Justin," he whispered softly. "Justin, it's okay." He knew that sounded so fucking trite, so patronizing, but what else could he say? That things were shitty? That they would never get better? No, he would not even entertain that thought.
Justin turned in the bed finally to face him; his face was streaked with tears of sadness and regret over what he had done up on the rooftop. "No, it's not okay, Brian!" he cried out. "When….when you kissed me, I saw him….I felt him…..I was there again. He had me pinned to the bed and….and he was kissing me and he wouldn't stop…."
Brian felt his blood boil at the thought of what that man – no, he refused to call him a man because he wasn't a human – his blood boiled at the idea of that monster kissing and pawing his husband against his will. The idea made his skin crawl with fury, it made him want to tear the fucker's eyes out and stomp on his head until he was a bloody pulp. It made him want to pull out each of his fingernails with pliers, one by one. It made him want to cut the psychopath's dick and balls off with a chainsaw. The worst part of all, though, was that he was helpless to do any of that because the man was dead – unlike Justin, his pain was over, at least in this life. But as he looked down at the anguished face of the man he loved, he could only hope that Prescott's pain was just beginning somewhere in another life. You're not going to win here, you fucker. I won't let you.
If he was honest with himself, the last thing he really wanted was to hear Justin describing his ordeal in painful, specific detail again because it just brought to the surface all of his own feelings of helplessness and guilt over what had happened . But he also knew he had to listen – for Justin's sake. Justin needed to talk about it, as abhorrent as it was to both of them.
As he knelt there staring at his husband, Brian admitted, "No, it's not okay – you're right. It's not okay what he did to you, and it's not okay that he isn't being made to suffer for it." He reached out with the intention of touching Justin's shoulder reassuringly but hung back as he fisted his hand into a tight, clenched ball. "And it's not okay that I'm fucking afraid to even touch you!"
Justin stared up into the tormented hazel eyes as he slowly sat up in the bed. "Brian….." He couldn't stand the look on his husband's face. He realized that he wasn't the only one who was in turmoil at the moment. How could he forget that? He reached over to lightly place his hand on Brian's shoulder. "I never want you to feel that way. Fuck!" he whispered, pursing his lips together in sorrow. He gazed at Brian intently for a moment before saying, "Hold me, Brian. Just hold me."
The dam of tension and uncertainty broken for now, Brian sat with his back to the headboard next to Justin and swept him firmly into his arms. He tightly wrapped his arms around Justin's upper body and just clung to him like an emotional buoy. He heard Justin sigh softly as he tilted his head to lean it against the blond mop of hair as they sat there silently, each drawing much-needed comfort from each other. Brian's heart warmed at the sound of Justin whispering, "I love you."
His mouth lifted up in the corner affectionately as his lips fervently uttered the words so easily that once were almost impossible to verbalize. "I love you, too." More than you'll ever know…so much fucking more….
"So that explains why you put up with all my shit," Justin answered soberly.
Brian smiled, even though he wasn't sure if Justin was being facetious or serious. "You bet your ass," he quipped softly. "And quite an ass it is, too," he added with a slight drawl to his voice.
He heard Justin snort quietly as he said, "Well, I just hope you get to revisit it soon."
Brian sighed in longing. "Me, too, Justin," he assured his husband. "And we will – count on it." He shifted their positions to slowly sink fully down onto the mattress, still holding tightly onto Justin as they silently lay embracing for several minutes until he heard the eventual, steady, soft pants of breathing coming from the blond. The latest emotional roller coaster having abated for now, he slowly closed his eyes to join his husband in slumber.
The Next Morning Blackbird Loft
"Are you sure?"
Justin stood next to Brian near their dresser in the master bedroom as the brunet adjusted his tie. He placed his hands on his hips before replying, "Yes, Brian, I'm sure. You can't keep staying home to babysit me. I'll be fine, I promise."
Brian had his doubts, however, especially after yesterday. There had been no more emotional outbursts or episodes of pulling away from his overtures since Justin had pushed away after their kiss, but his husband's moods seemed to swing so violently back and forth lately that he never felt a hundred percent comfortable leaving him alone. The last time he had done that, Justin had ventured outside and promptly freaked out. But he knew if he pressed the issue, it would only make his husband even more resolved to maintain his defiant stance. Either way, he wasn't going to come out ahead.
"Okay," he finally agreed, as he took one more look in the mirror at his suit before he turned around to face the blond. "I'll go ahead and go into work. But you call me if anything comes up, okay? Anything." He couldn't help thinking for just a second that it would be nice for something in particular to "come up," but he knew that was both premature and foolish. Even if Justin did feel like having sex, from previous experience after the bashing, he also knew the chances were good that Justin wouldn't be able to go through with it, no matter how much both of them desperately wanted that right now.
"Go," Justin told him firmly. "I'll be okay."
Brian nodded as he walked up to stand next to him. He again found himself hesitating for just a second, still feeling like he was walking on eggshells before he lightly placed his hands on Justin's shoulders and leaned in to give him a soft, brief kiss. As they broke apart a few seconds later, Justin nodded and gave him a slight, reassuring smile.
"Later," Brian said, giving his shoulder a small squeeze before reaching in his pocket for his car keys and walking over to the door to leave.
"Later," Justin called back to him softly as he watched him go. He actually hated the thought of being apart from Brian but he knew it wasn't healthy for either of them to have Brian at his every beck and call. Besides, they had their second counseling session with Dr. Anderson tomorrow, and Brian needed to take care of his own business, which had been sadly neglected over the past few weeks as a result of what had happened.
After his latest trek outside the loft, however, he had no intention of venturing outside again. Sighing, he wondered what he would do today. He walked out of the bedroom and over to the kitchen to pour a still-hot mug of black coffee, pouring a couple teaspoons of sugar into it before taking it and descending downstairs to his already sun-drenched studio. He had loved the tall, wide-open industrial space from the first moment Brian had shown it to him; both of them knew it was the ideal artist's gallery with its tall windows that let in the first morning's light to the built-in corner nooks that were perfect for displaying Justin's completed works. And he had done just that in the year they had lived here; he had been almost like a man possessed with inspiration after they had moved here, painting piece after piece, most of which were quickly gobbled up soon after being hung.
And after he and Brian had gotten married and jetted off to Mykonos for their Aegean honeymoon in a secluded hilltop villa, he had been fired up even more with ideas once they had returned home. For almost a year, he and Brian had been – dare he say it – deliriously happy; both of them. Now, as he looked over at the partially-finished, forlorn looking piece he had started on before he had been kidnapped and assaulted, painting was the last thing he felt inclined to tackle.
He walked slowly over to the unfinished work and stared at it. He had begun the impressionist piece with vibrant, happy shades of royal blue, plum, and silver made with strong, diagonal strokes. He recalled distantly now that at the time he had been thinking about his and Brian's first-year wedding anniversary and had been meaning to give it to Brian as a gift to hang in his office before the day arrived. Brian already had several displayed there, but he had been hinting strongly (and none too subtly) that he would really like to have one to hang in a newly-refurbished part of Kinnetik where he had added on an additional conference room. Now, as he stared at it, the painting only reminded him of what had been and what was gone.
"Damn it!" he shouted as he kicked out with his foot and made contact with the easel; as the painting and wooden structure tumbled to the floor, he picked the painting up and violently threw it across the room. He watched as the canvas struck the corner of the brick fireplace located on the opposite wall and a large rip appeared before it felt flat to the floor with an echoing clap.
He stood there shell-shocked, unable to move. Normally he would have never destroyed any of his work, not after Debbie had talked to him so long ago about his art; it had been after he had tried to throw some of his charcoal sketches out in response to his father ridiculing his idea to go to PIFA. Debbie had made him realize that he was and always would be an artist; that was his true love and his burning passion. It was what made him who he was. It was what he was born to do and what kept him grounded.
At least it had been. Prescott had even succeeded in taking that away from him now, too. His eyes filled with tears at the realization as he slumped to the floor, placing his hands over his face as he sat cross-legged on the hard, wooden surface. His shoulders shook as he cried silent tears of loss and pain.
The harsh, sudden sound of someone firmly knocking on the front door a few minutes later made his heart race immediately with fear; as he raised his eyes away from his face, he desperately hoped that whoever it was would simply leave. But the party refused to obey as they knocked even louder. Please…..leave me alone, he silently begged as the person insistently rapped once more.
A flash of someone peering in the windows a few seconds later caused his heart to jump into his throat before he realized he knew the person. Sitting there in clear view, he knew there was no getting around answering the door now; he knew this person wouldn't just go away. Reluctantly, he slowly rose from his position on the floor and shuffled over to the foyer entrance door to flip the deadbolt and turn the knob to open it.
Debbie's smile faded quickly as the door opened and she got a good look at Justin's tear-stained face. "Sunshine," she murmured softly as she stood there hesitantly, holding a thermal casserole tote in one hand. She gently pushed her way inside as the blond closed the door behind her and locked it. As she placed the casserole dish down on top of the narrow foyer table resting against the wall, Justin's face contorted into a mask of pain as he fell into her outstretched arms and began to sob.
Debbie's own eyes filled with tears as she patted Justin's back soothingly and he wrapped his arms around her waist to continue crying into her shoulder. "Shh," she whispered softly. As she rocked Justin in her arms, she silently cursed the maniac that had done this to her normally happy, unflappable friend, the young man she had come to love as another son. Damn you, Prescott.
"Let's go sit down, Sunshine, okay?" she suggested as she continued to pat his slender back. After a few seconds, Justin finally raised his head to meet her gaze and nodded; his tears were completely spent now. He turned around mutely to walk down the hallway and up the staircase toward his and Brian's main living area, having no wish to revisit the irreparably damaged work of art he had thrown against the studio floor.
Debbie glanced over at the damaged canvas as she walked by, somehow realizing instantly what Justin had done – and why. She gazed at it sadly before picking up the casserole tote and following Justin up the steps. Walking over to the kitchen to place the tote down on the counter, she turned to look for her friend, noticing he had trod the short distance over to the living area to sit down on a black leather couch. She quietly walked over and sat down next to him, her thoughts filled with sorrow over what this beautiful, normally happy young man was going through. It was all so unfair – so fucking unfair.
"I'm not even going to try spouting some shit at you about how everything's going to be hunky-dory, Justin," she said with unaccustomed seriousness.
"Good," he answered shakily, as he glanced over at her. "Because that's the last thing I want to hear at the moment." He knew that would be so much bullshit as to be laughable; at least Debbie had enough sense to realize that apparently.
She nodded her head. "I'm sure it is," she said, gazing unblinking into his eyes. "But remember what I told you before after the prom when your hand kept giving you fits at the diner?" Justin nodded slightly as she explained, "I told you that sometimes you just have to hang on, Honey, and that's exactly what you have to do right now." She reached over to lightly stroke his cheek with one wrinkled, red-lacquered finger before whispering, "I am so sorry that you have to go through this, Honey. So fucking sorry. But I do know that you have a lot of people that love you and believe in you. And I know how fucking strong you are, Justin, whether you realize that right now or not."
"Deb….."
"Let me finish, Sunshine," she gently chided him as she cradled his cheek in her hand. "There is a man who is hurting every bit as much as you are that loves you with every bone in his stubborn body. So if you ever think about just giving up, you think about him."
Justin let out a breath of frustration. "Deb, you don't know what he's done to me," he whispered in a choked voice. "What he's taken away from me, from Brian."
"No, I guess I don't," she admitted quietly, although she certainly knew enough about the atrocities Prescott had committed to know that Justin had been through a horrible ordeal. "Not all of it. But does that really matter? Are you going to just give up and crawl into a hole somewhere so he can win? Is that what you want, Sunshine? Is that what Brian would want?"
Justin pushed away for her touch to snap, "It's not that fucking easy, Debbie! I just can't turn off the nightmares I've been having like some light bulb! I can't even go outside without freaking out!" He turned his back away from her, his voice barely a discernible whisper as he painfully admitted, "Brian and I can't even make love because of me."
Debbie's heart broke over that statement. Her sweet, compassionate young friend not able to express his love to the man he cared so deeply for had to be the ultimate in pain and humiliation for him. She swallowed the lump in her throat and took a breath before reaching out to place her hand lightly on Justin's shoulder; she watched as the blond flinched slightly at her touch but didn't pull away. "First of all, Justin, it is NOT because of you; NONE of what happened is because of you; let's get that straight. You are the innocent party here. That inhuman monster is the one who has done all this. So don't you dare go blaming any of this on yourself, do you hear me?" She could hear Justin sigh plaintively in response but that was all. "Justin? Do you hear me?" she repeated more firmly.
Justin finally turned around to nod slightly. "Yeah, Deb, I hear you. I just wish it was that easy."
"I never said it was going to be easy," she argued. "But surely you realize that neither you nor Brian were the ones to blame for what happened. But you ARE the ones who will have to be strong enough to overcome it, and I know you can." She stared into the red-rimmed blue eyes before quietly suggesting, "Maybe you need to seek some professional help, Justin; someone who's impartial and trained to help with these kinds of things. There's no shame in seeking help if you need it." She silently chided herself over that statement; if it hadn't been for Carl's assistance when Vic had died suddenly, she ventured she would have fallen apart over it. Only his love and support had helped her overcome the terrible remorse and guilt she had felt over that last farewell argument they had had. But that also made her believe that with Brian's love, Justin could do the same. She was surprised, though, with the reply Justin gave her.
"We are," he told her softly. "We went for our first session yesterday; we have another one tomorrow."
Debbie's eyes widened in surprise. "We?"
Justin nodded. "Brian and I are going together."
Debbie gasped softly. "You mean he's going to counseling with you?" Perhaps Justin meant he was merely accompanying him there; that would be more typical of what he would do.
But Justin shook his head. "No, we're seeing a joint counselor," he verified, smiling slightly at Debbie's look of shock.
"How…..How did you ever convince him to do that?" Debbie asked in wonder. Of course, Justin would be about the only person who could talk Brian into doing things he normally would never do, but counseling? She was stunned.
Justin shrugged. "I just told him I wouldn't go unless he agreed to counseling with me."
Debbie smiled softly. "That makes a little more sense," she replied. "But I'm still surprised he agreed to do it." She decided, though, that it was just further testimony to just how much Brian had been changed by her young friend sitting next to her. "I'm glad, though, Honey. I know Brian's carrying around a lot of guilt over what happened."
"It's not his fault!" Justin cried out. "He had nothing to do with what happened!" He had heard enough of that from Brian and it rankled him to hear the same statement coming from Debbie.
"No, I don't mean that," she hastily said, squeezing Justin's arm in clarification. "I just meant that he feels that way; I agree with you," she verified firmly. "The only one who's to blame here is that fucker that started it in the first place." She looked over sorrowfully at Justin to add, "If anyone should feel bad about this whole thing, it should be me. If you hadn't wanted to help out with Vic's House you never would have agreed to have dinner with that asshole in the first place."
"Deb…..I don't blame you, for fuck's sake!" Justin growled back at her. He sighed; he'd had enough of the blame game. "You're right – no one's to blame except him. I just have to work through all the other feelings going on inside me – and so does Brian."
She nodded. "Well, you've taken the first step in the right direction, Sunshine. Do you like this therapist?"
Justin considered that question for a moment before he slowly nodded. "Yeah, I guess he's alright so far. We just met him yesterday; it's a little too soon to see what's he going to be like." He snorted. "Do you know he was actually there the night of the auction during the bidding?"
"No," she breathed out in surprise.
Justin nodded. "Yeah….of course he had no idea who had bid on the painting, but he certainly remembered the amount of the bid." Of course, anybody would have remembered such an absurdly-high amount for one painting, especially one painted by an unknown student artist at the time.
"So he's gay, too?" she asked him.
Justin nodded. "Yeah…I think that will help. At least I won't feel quite as awkward talking to him as I would somebody else." He licked his lips subconsciously as he confided, "But it's all so personal, Deb. It's so hard to talk to a stranger about everything." It was particularly uncomfortable talking to a virtual stranger about his and Brian's sex life; even though Brian had never made any secret of his sexual prowess, surprisingly when it came to what they did alone his husband could be quite reclusive and secretive about how they fucked and made love. It was as if once they became monogamous, he had shut out all other details about it; Justin actually had found it oddly endearing. But now it simply made it even harder to discuss it in public with someone they really didn't know.
She nodded understandingly. "You two love each other so fucking much, Sunshine. You can work your way through this, I know you can."
Justin eyed her intently. "I hope so, Deb," he replied in a heartfelt whisper. He had never hoped for anything harder in his life. He couldn't continue to live in fear and sorrow the way he was now.
She smiled sympathetically at her young friend before giving his shoulder one more squeeze and letting go. "About Vic's charity," she said softly as Justin averted his eyes in embarrassment over the attention. "I heard what you did, Honey," She whispered. "I got a call from Vic's House and I about had a fucking heart attack when I heard about the donation."
Justin shook his head in irritation. "No one was supposed to know," he growled out. "It was supposed to be done in secret."
"Well, someone let the cat out of the bag," she told him flatly. "It's kind of hard to hide a two-million dollar donation." She shook her head. "Shit! Even now I can't believe it." She looked over at her friend tenderly. "Honey, what you did…..Do you know what kind of difference that will make to so many people now?"
Justin stood up, suddenly feeling embarrassed over all the attention. He walked over to the loft railing to stare down into his studio, noticing the lonely-looking, damaged painting still lying where he had thrown it earlier. "I…..just wanted some good to come out of all this," he whispered to her.
Debbie stood up and walked slowly over to stand next to Justin. She gently placed her hand over one of his as she whispered, "And it will, Honey. It will help people like Vic and people like Ben – good people. People who might have a fighting chance to live now, thanks to what you've done." She stared into Justin's beautiful but sad face. "So the next time you doubt that you and Brian can work your way through this and come out stronger from it, you think of that, okay?"
Justin felt the lump appear in his throat and found it hard to speak, so he merely nodded in response. Debbie reached up to wipe some stray hair from Justin's eyes. "I brought you and Brian some of my chicken Parmesan," she said. "I'll expect you to bring me the clean dish back to the diner whenever you're ready. And you will be ready one day, Justin. When it's time, you will be ready. And I'll be waiting for you."
He turned to stare at her, the tears brightening his eyes as he nodded once more. Debbie reached over to kiss his cheek. "I'll let myself out, Sunshine," she murmured as she lightly stroked his cheek with her thumb to remove the red-lipstick reside from his face before nodding at him with a slight smile and turning to walk away. He stood there, both hands on the railing, as he heard her footsteps echoing down the steps and the eventual latching of the door behind her. A few minutes later, he slowly turned to retrace her steps as he flipped the deadbolt and turned back into the studio to reach down and pick up the damaged painting. Walking over to the easel, he righted it and placed the canvas back in its original spot.