A/N: Sorry I was MIA. Holidays depress me. This next part begins a wave of serious angst. I will make this up to you all. For every ounce of pain I cause, I'll ultimately give you two of joy later.
Brian steps forward, away from me.
I persist. I step forward, too, and reach around Brian, unbuttoning his suit coat and slipping it VERY, VERY carefully over his shoulders. I do the same with his dress shirt. Brian doesn't protest. His head is still hanging down, eyes trained on the floor. But now, when I slide his shirt off, he makes a noise. Like he's choking.
I realize now that his back has many more than three of the roundish protruding marks. In fact, his back is COVERED with them.
I … I have no words for the feeling I experience then. A mixture of rage, desolation, grief, and shame. My eyes grow wide and fill with tears, and I wobble. I can't breathe. Seriously. I feel like someone has just punched me in the gut. Hard. I close my eyes and clench my fists, pushing down nausea and dizziness and trying to force myself to take in air. When I finally manage, I try to form words. Questions and comforting words fill me to bursting, desperate to come out. But the best I can do is articulate a single word, a question, and that in a squeak: "Who?" My voice breaks.
I don't really need to ask why. That's more of an existential question … like why does evil exist? Why do bad things happen to good people?
Brian swallows hard and lifts his head up slightly, but doesn't turn around. I doubt he wants me to see the expression on his face, in his eyes. Despite swallowing, his voice still comes out a rasp. "I told my pop …"
I shudder. No, God, please. Don't say it.
"About us."
I crumble. Literally. My legs give out, sending me crashing to my knees. I press my hands to my eyes, trying to stem the flood of tears, but the best I can do is muffle the sound of my sobs. I let myself fall back on my ass and bring my knees up, burying my face and wrapping my arms around my legs. I blink furiously and force air in and out of my lungs slowly. I know I need to be there for Brian. The guilt and grief I feel is nothing to what he must be feeling, and I know that. I need to pull my shit together. Then a new level of sadness and desolation hits. I actually jump to my feet, my eyes red and swollen but suddenly dry. I ask, my voice tiny and tinny, "You did that for me?"
Brian grabs his shirt and slips it carefully back on. He turns around to face me. He's paler than usual. His expression isn't sad or scared. It's solemn. Serious. He shrugs (and then winces – he has welts on his shoulders, too). "I figured I needed to tell him first. I doubt he'd appreciate his drinking buddies telling him."
Of course. If it gets around school, EVERYONE in town will find out. Brian is something of a local celebrity.
I grimace, trying HARD to push down the sobs that want to come out. I close my eyes, rub my hands hard over my face, take a deep, shuddery breath, and then look back up at Brian. I ask, my voice impossibly tinier, "You were going to come out … ?"
Brian nods. "I AM going to." He rebuttons and retucks his dress shirt. Then he slips his suit coat back on. He extends his hand and smiles (a smile he's trying hard to produce). "Justin Taylor, may I have this dance?"
My eyes nearly pop out of my head. I press my lips together hard to prevent myself from bursting into tears. This is it. Everything I've dreamed of since the school trip to Washington, and much more keenly since meeting Brian. To be with someone who isn't ashamed of me. Who isn't ashamed of being gay. Who would brave a cruel world to hold my hand in public.
But …
This … THIS is NOT what I wanted. In this moment, I hate myself. No, not hate. Abhor.
Am I so selfish that I would let Brian destroy his entire life and even put himself in physical danger just so I can dance with him at prom?
Everything that seemed so important a day ago, two days ago, suddenly seems so small, so unimportant.
I back up two steps and shake my head. Then I say resolutely, "No."
Brian looks hurt and confused by my rejection. When he collects himself, he hisses, "What the fuck, Justin? This is what you wanted?"
I shake my head and move back two more steps. "No, NO. THIS is NOT what I wanted. You …" My voice breaks. I can't say the words.
Brian is angry, very angry now. He knocks over a desk. "What? What did you think would happen? Did you think we wouldn't have to pay a price?"
Tears are streaming down my face now. I shake my head. "No, but I didn't think it would cost so much."
Brian nods slowly. He whispers, turning as he does, "No. Just my future."
I can't breathe. My chest hurts SO FUCKING MUCH I think I might die. I'm about to do something I don't want to do. Something that's going to break, no, SHATTER, my heart. But I have no choice.
Is this what maturing feels like? I'm not sure, but I feel like I'm getting stronger by the second. Making adult choices. And it fucking hurts.
I can't do THIS to Brian or to myself. I deserve to live openly and honestly. To share in every teenage milestone heterosexuals enjoy. And Brian deserves a shot at getting out of this cowtown, away from his abusive alcoholic father and Neanderthal football 'buddies.' And football is his only chance. His only chance to attend college, maybe even a good one. He'll never be able to get in or pay for it otherwise. His entire life will be defined by what happens here, in this moment. They'll never even let a fag stay on the team, let alone lead it. I know that. So I blink back tears and bite my lip, until I think I can say what I have to say without bursting into tears. I look at Brian … God, he's so fucking beautiful … and I almost lose my nerve. I really don't want to be doing this.
"We're done."
Brian wheels back around. "What?" He doesn't even try to hide his shock.
I take a deep breath and force my muscles to tense up. It's all that prevents my body and voice from trembling to breaking. "We can't see each other anymore."
Brian groans softly in confusion and asks, a hint of desperation sneaking into his voice, "At all?"
The hurt in his voice, in his eyes, on his face … is almost too painful for me to bear. For him to be unable to hide it … the hurt must be unfathomable for him, too. All I want to do is run into his arms and take it back. Promise we can still be secret boyfriends and spend the night nursing his welts and kissing him everywhere. I want to hold him and never let go. But … I can't do any of that. I have to be strong for the both of us. And to do that, I have to hurt him even more.
In an emotionless monotone, I say, "At all. I know you need to be in the closet right now, but I'm not going back in there with you. I deserve better."
Then I turn and walk out. Walk out of the classroom and out of the building. I ignore Brian's pleading (PLEADING) voice, "Justin, don't …."
I bite the inside of my mouth, until I taste blood, to delay the storm that's building inside of me.
When I reach the far side of one of the trees outside, I fall back against it and let myself slide down. I bury my face in my hands and I let out the sobs that have been clawing their way out for the past 30 minutes. I cry and moan low in my throat for about two minutes. Then I force myself to stop.
This hurts like hell. But I've saved myself much keener, deeper pain and I know it. Watching Brian suffer on my account is NOT an option. Watching him ruin his life for me … NO WAY. But being his dirty little secret and missing out on everything – holding hands in the hall, dances, double dates – that's just as unacceptable. Hiding who I am … unacceptable. I'm going to be myself, come hell or high water.
Starting right now. I go to my locker and get my hair gel and eye liner. Then I head into the bathroom, splash some cold water on my face, style my hair and put on the eyeliner. I nod. I look hot, and I know it. Well, my face and hair do anyway. I ditch my dad's suit coat and unfasten the top two buttons of my shirt. Much better. I walk back toward the gym, tossing the jacket in my locker on the way.
The DJ is playing "I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance With You." I scan the dance floor, ignoring the heat of Brian's eyes on me, which I feel KEENLY. His gaze burns into me. Against my will, I flush. Finally, I locate Daphne and Tom. I smile and walk towards them.
Daphne looks behind me uncomfortably (I assume at Brian) and then at me. "Hey …"
I smile brightly. "Hi! Mind if I join you?"
Daphne looks over at Tom and then at me, surprised. "No!"
I do a little spin and start 'shaking my groove thing.' I force myself to smile and laugh. I guess it's true … just the act of smiling makes your heart feel less heavy. By the next song ("Fighter"), Emmett and Ted have joined us, and now we're all singing the words to each other and dancing all fierce.
I blush when Emmett breathes, "You look h-o-t HOT!" For the first time, I notice how tall and fit he is. I'd never realized because it was buried under layers of femininity, which I don't usually go for, but he's kind of hot. I shake my head. Can't think about that right now. Too busy acting like I don't know Brian's watching me.
How does that famous quote go? "Sing like no one's listening. Love like you've never been hurt. Dance like no one's watching. And live life like it's heaven on earth."
That's what I would try to do.
But … tonight at least, I would take Brian to bed with me. I dance and laugh until we are almost the only ones left, but as soon as Daphne and Tom drop me back home, I strip out of my dress clothes and pull Brian's Steeler jersey over my head. I crawl into bed, curl into a ball, and just breathe Brian in (I haven't washed it).
Well, and cry like my heart is irrevocably broken. Because … it is.
