VERSE TWO Chapter Twenty-Six
HENRY
"Justin? Justin, is it really you?"
"Yeah, it's me." I can hear the smile in his voice.
"Good Heavens, what a lovely surprise." It certainly is: both lovely, and a surprise. "How are you, my dear boy?"
He's silent for a moment. "Hasn't Brian been reporting? I know he promised to."
"Of course he's kept in touch. But only to tell me that you seem more settled … that you're back at college again, and that you've started painting. Which, by the way, I'm thrilled about."
"Did he tell you that he wants us to get back together?"
"Well, of course he did! He told me that before he came to Baltimore."
There's a longer silence. "He did?" He sounds surprised.
"Do you think for one minute I'd have told him where you were if I hadn't been convinced of his intentions?"
"I don't know," he sighs, sounding so sad and unsure that I find it hard to believe I'm talking to the same assured, confident lad I'd met nine months ago. "I don't know anything anymore."
Oh, dear. Something is obviously bothering my little friend; something bad enough to have warranted his calling me. I settle myself in my armchair, prepared for a long chat. "I told you that if there were ever any way I could be of assistance to you, then I wouldn't let you down. That offer still stands."
This silence is so long I'm beginning to think he's hung up, but eventually he speaks again.
"Why did you tell Brian where I was?"
Well, that's easy. "Because on even such short acquaintance it was perfectly clear that you were from a good background, and that you had absolutely no business risking yourself in the way that you were. You were throwing yourself away, and I wasn't prepared to let that happen."
"Why? Because you like playing the Good Samaritan?"
"No. Because I liked you."
"Why would you like me?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Because you don't know me!"
"Certainly not as well as I'd like to. But I judge as I find, Justin. Even though you made sure that our relationship remained strictly professional, you were never completely able to suppress the person beneath the façade. Your intelligence, your manners. Your humour, your tact. Your kindness. Of course I liked you."
"So how did you track down Brian?"
I take a deep breath. "I pried." I swallow hard. I still don't feel proud of the way I'd betrayed him. "I apologise unreservedly. But I was afraid that something was very wrong. It seemed obvious that something had happened in your past … something so traumatic that you would take any risk rather than go home … something that gave you the worst nightmares I have ever witnessed. Something that had destroyed your future as an artist. So one night, while you were asleep, I went through your things. I found your sketches of Brian and a bus ticket from Pittsburgh. That's how I knew where to start looking."
"But you didn't even know my name."
"No, but I do know a retired detective, and he traced Chris Hobbs without any trouble at all. And as soon as I read the newspaper reports about the assault and saw the photos of the two of you, as well as one of Brian, then it was just a question of putting two and two together."
"If you knew who I was, why didn't you contact my family? Why Brian?"
I remind myself that honesty is the best policy. "Because I was afraid that you had been abused, in one way or another. And from what my friend and I uncovered, we thought your father may have been involved."
"What?" His voices rises incredulously. "You thought my Dad might have been abusing me?"
"We suspected someone had. Justin, please remember we only had the baldest facts to go on. Something terrible had happened to you. We knew your parents had divorced after you were attacked, and you yourself told me that your father had thrown you out when he discovered you were gay. I wasn't prepared to tell him where you were until I was certain he didn't pose a risk to you. And of course, the same applied to Brian."
I expect him to explode again, but he asks quietly, "And what convinced you that he didn't?"
"To begin with, nothing but gut feeling. I knew he'd taken you in after you were released from hospital and that he'd paid for your college tuition. Your mother obviously trusted him with you. But I suppose in the end it came down to the way you'd sketched him … how much love shone through every single one. That, and the way you called his name when you were dreaming. It wasn't fear I heard, Justin. Not of him"
"Then why didn't you just call him? Why go all the way to Pittsburgh to see him?"
"Because I wanted him to give me his story face to face, so that I could tell if he was hiding anything. So that I could see what, if anything, you meant to him."
"And did you?"
"If I hadn't been completely and utterly convinced that he had only your welfare at heart, I would have turned round and come home and tried to come up with another plan."
"So he convinced you how?" he demands. "By telling you how much he adored me and couldn't live without me? By telling you what a perfect boyfriend he was? The man who doesn't even believe in relationships?"
"On the contrary, by confessing how absolutely vilely he'd treated you. How he'd constantly pushed you away, how he'd humiliated you … even how he seduced the lad you were seeing, and how you walked in on them. He didn't have to tell me how much he adored you … that was obvious, as much by the depths of his regret as his relief at hearing you were safe. And by the fact that, even with you gone, he'd taken steps to help himself; so that, if he ever did meet you again, he might have the chance to do things differently."
He's silent again. I picture him chewing his lip, thinking.
"Justin, why did you ring me?"
"Because I don't know what to do. Everybody keeps telling me how much Brian's changed, and how I ought to give him another chance, but how can I?"
I feel a sudden anger. If Brian's been lying to me … "Why, has he given you reason to doubt him?"
"No!" It's almost a wail. "That's the trouble! He's been perfect … absolutely perfect … he even bought me a fucking kitten for Christmas!"
I can't help but smile, despite his evident distress. "Then what is the problem?"
"I'm scared," he whispers. "My best friend Daphne told me she thought I was still suffering from PTSD and that's the reason I blame myself for so much … the reason I think no-one cares about me. She says I've got low self-esteem issues because of the way my Dad rejected me, and she thinks Brian just re-enforced that, and now I won't let him get close because my head's still fucked up!"
"She sounds like a very wise friend," I say softly.
"But what if she's wrong! What if I'm right, and Brian's only acting like this because he's always so fucking determined, and he's set his mind on getting me back and won't stop until he does … and then what if he just gets bored again, as he will, and kicks me off a fucking cliff again so he can prove he's still Brian Fucking Kinney! What then?"
I take a moment to process his colourful terminology. "Justin, you've asked me a great many questions and I've answered them as truthfully as I can. Now let me ask you something; why can't you believe that Brian does love you?"
"Because he never came."
His voice is so quiet that I think I've mis-heard him. "He never what?"
"Never came to see me. At the hospital. Never once, not after he knew I was going to live. Never called, never wrote; not for three fucking months. So he can't have loved me, can he?"
Oh. This could be very, very bad.
"Is that what you were told, Justin?"
"It's what I know," he snaps.
"I'm sorry, but you couldn't be more wrong. He came to see you all the time."
His shock registers through his silence; when he finally speaks his voice is icy. "You're the one who's wrong. I don't know who said that to you, but they were lying…"
"Brian told me himself."
"Then he's the fucking liar!" Justin yells. "And everything he's told you is a lie, because I was fucking there and I know!"
"He came while you were asleep, Justin," I tell him gently. "Every single night until you were discharged."
"I don't believe you," he says defiantly, although I can hear his voice tremble.
"Then you must talk to your mother," I say.
TBC
