Paradise Lost (Morning after Justin walks out of Babylon with Ethan)

The intoxicating aroma of coffee is generally enough to prepare me for a treacherous day, but not today. As I sit here at the table (I can almost smell his cooking, hear him telling me that eating bacon will not in fact kill me on the spot) I can't bring myself to take even a sip. The warm morning sun is pouring generously into the loft, yet I remain cold.

The massiveness around me still feels too tiny to hold in the abundance of my negative thoughts.

I have been sitting here, starring at the aforementioned cup of Joe for way too fucking long. Staring so intently, I'm not really sure what I am looking for. Perhaps I am hoping for a random outbreak of psychic ability. Hoping that the coffee will operate as a crystal ball (finally letting me in on the joke that has become my life.) My attempts are unrewarded. I am not psychic.

I am forever destined to be only a punch line of my own insecurities. He walked away. I am still trying to wrap my head around it. If he was hoping I was going to chase him, it fucking sucks for him. I don't need him. Yes I do.

I pour my now cold coffee down the sink. As I watch the caramel colored liquid swirl down the drain, I do not sympathize but envy. How I wish I could just fall away, down into nothingness, the dark unknown.

No. I'm fine. I'm better than fine. I don't have to worry about Justin influencing my decisions anymore. I'm Brian-fucking-Kinney I can do whatever the fuck I damn well please. Yes. Perfectly fine. Never better.

On my way to get dressed I see his damn art supplies. Fuck. He needs to come and get his shit. All of it.

I run my hands across the empty canvas that sits naked and without personality on the chair. My mind is a kaleidoscope of images just imaging what life he would have given this lonely backdrop.

An intense pang hits my heart, of what? Loneliness? I shake the unwanted feeling away.

I have easily become lost in this monstrosity of this house. House. Not a home. Not without him. His ghost is suffocating the fuck out of me.

I need to get out of this haunted place. No. screw that. He left. His choice. This was never his home. Fuck him and his fucking fiddler.

How can I miss him, he was never mine. Christ. he never promised me anything. He wanted everything I can't, no, won't give him. I told him from day one I don't do relationships.

I don't think there's anyone in Pittsburg that couldn't tell you my thoughts on love. Except him. Fucking love. What the hell is that anyway? He knows. Stop it.

I don't love him. I mean, even if I did (which I didn't) I don't anymore. He most certainly no longer feels that way for me. He's made his choice. Good. Awful.

For the first time in my life, my entire fucking life I actually let my guard down. And for what? So Justin Taylor could do exactly what I always knew he would. Hurt me. No. He didn't hurt me. Disappoint me & make me regret letting him get close.

That'll teach you to let your cock do the thinking Kinney. I should have just let him go after that first night. Instead, I kept listening to a voice inside me that wasn't mine. What the hell did it know?

I knew it was an inevitable train wreck. I knew it. I should've fucking stopped it.

I'm not even sure how this has happened. I thought he knew how I felt about (and just how is that Kinney?) him. Even though I never said it. I couldn't. I can't. I never will.

Surely he saw it. In my eyes, in my actions.

Surely he felt it. In my kisses, in my touch.

I always assumed he understood me. That he had come to accept me as I am. You know what they say about assuming.

No good can ever come out of opening your soul and letting someone peer inside. No. From now on my soul, my heart, (and whatever the fuck else causes these dastardly emotions to invade my life) will be closed ,locked, boarded and chained to the fucking world. Never again to be freed.

This only further clarifies what has been reiterated to me since birth…Brian Kinney is both incapable of & undeserving of love.

It takes everything I have to conjure memories of being loved during my lifetime. Certainly not from my parents, I suppose from mikey but that's different. He's mikey. Fuck. How could I be so fucking weak. Justin loved me, and I loved that he loved me. (So much for that.)

He stopped believing in me,(he was my soul believer) in 'us'. What, just because I wouldn't sit on the floor and feed him some goddamn strawberries or some shit? Give him roses & finish his fucking sentences?

How could he just turn his feelings off just like that? Not that I haven't. No. All of my feelings, no matter what they had or have been, have been pushed away. I don't need to be bothered.

He's gone. I don't need this lesbionic shit filling my mind. I have better things to worry about. Like drinking and fucking and not thinking about this goddamn aching in chest!

I guess the fiddler is fluent in romance, but I hope sunshine knows that romance does not always coincide with knowing the language of passion. Oh boy, Sunshine and I definitely were honor students in the class of passion.

Ugh, I feel my self stiffen & my pants become tighter. Stop it. He's not available to do as you wish anymore. So? No. I don't wish to do anything. If I see him again it'll be too fucking soon. I can go get any trick I want. I will.

I trip over one of his bags.(Littering my life and my mind with memories)Fuck. 'You've already left, so why am I stuck facing your betrayal all over my fucking loft?'

Now, now, I guess he didn't really betray me. No promises remember?

I can't help to feel some kind of betrayal. He's the one who made the rules. I've always made my own rules. What the fuck was I thinking, listening to some kid? How did I manage to let him to convince me to not only listen to but AGREE to follow them?

Stupid Brian. I did too, follow them. I found myself wanting to make him happy. I needed him to trust me. Fuck. He had me snowed. I sure as shit never thought he'd be the one to break his own rules. He broke every fucking one.

He played me for a goddamn fool. Never again. He can play his newest victim, like that horrendous instrument of Ian's.

"He's broken his precious rules. How can you not confront him Brian? He was not some trick. I'm telling you, as much as it hurts me to do so, Justin's Cheating."

I have replayed Michael's account endless times. I've mostly tried to drown it out with whiskey & beer. It's useless. "He's cheating" still manages to emerge from the depths my muddled mind.

Mikey's right. I couldn't confront him. Why not? Damned if I know.

Perhaps I just didn't give a shit (not true). Perhaps I was afraid (indeed). Huh, I was afraid? I didn't know. Well, OK maybe I did.

I'd known about his 'affair' CHRIST. I sound like a fucking jealous hetero. (I shudder) Anyway, I'd known about his 'activities' outside of me for weeks.

So many nights he'd come home and couldn't get his ass in the shower fast enough. It never worked. He always remained. The fiddler's mere essence still lingered on every part of the blonde. Especially on his aura, which proclaimed 'guilt'. No amount of soap could wash that away.

At first I tried to pretend everything was the same. It'll never be the same again.

Then, I tried to retaliate (in true Kinney fashion) with any trick with an eager mouth or willing ass. Though it felt good, it hadn't helped.

Ever present on my mind was the thought of My Justin No. Yes. My Justin giving himself to that greasy Ian. Granted, he isn't bad looking per say. ( I had to see him. I sought him out and I couldn't help feeling a little triumphant as I tossed that $100 into his case. A goddamn street performer sunshine? He was definately not competition. Justin would always come home to me. If only.)

Knowing of Justin's trysts hadn't stopped me from wanting him. On the contrary, if possible it made me want him more.

Every kiss, every touch, every fuck, I savored. Admittedly I was very nervous that each one would be the last. I'm pathetic.

The night he came in wearing his 'freshly fucked' expression, my everything ached. Why? This boy wasn't my anything. No. he could go.

In an attempt to show him what he'd be giving up (please Justin don't give up) I grabbed him & kissed him like he was my only source of oxygen.

A wave of confusion assaulted me crudely, knocking the wind from my lungs. What was I doing again? Right, showing this little shit that nothing compares to a 'Kinney Kiss'.

In truth, now, I can admit (never to anyone else, especially Justin) that I was delving into him trying desperately to beg him to stay. A pleading kiss to let him know that I knew and was giving him a chance to end it. To stop this, whatever the fuck this was, with Ian.

His luscious lips exuded a delicious combination of passion & tenderness in a way only his can. God. I wanted him. No. I was fucking pissed at him. I could smell Ethan (just the thought of his name left my mouth bitter) on him. I felt sick. I couldn't touch him. Hell, I couldn't even look at him.

Fuck you Justin. Why do you have to want the one thing I can't give you? Fuck you.

Last night I decided I would rejuvenate my ego, 're-stake my claim' so to speak. I knew it was hateful before I did it. Hey, I've never claimed I wasn't an asshole. I ignored that stubborn voice advising me not to go through with it. Again, what the hell did it know?

I made sure that Justin would see me. Fucking rage? The irony was delightful. I was certain it would show him just who the ultimate top fucking was. My determination and sense of achievement quickly ceased when I saw his face. Christ. He was hurt. Really hurt. I really am a bastard.

I held his gaze. I put on a mask of 'Control' underneath my literal one. A mask of 'go ahead and go. I couldn't care less'. A mask of 'Challenge'.

Seeing him standing there holding his hand, my chest was stinging again. I starred intensely into the bluest eyes on the goddamn planet. I practically dared those eyes to 'leave me'. Leave Brian-fucking-Kinney? Fucking riiight. Wait. Fuck. RIGHT? He left.

I suddenly felt the heat of a hundred stares, all gauging my reaction. I would have NO REACTION. (Regardless of my insides reacting the fuck away!)

He met my eyes once more before he turned and left. Those eyes in which I had so often seen my future, starred back at me with empty time.

I refuse to let this goddamn boy schedule anymore appointments in my mind. The office is closed. The stud of Liberty however, is open for business. I had more than the perfect life before I met him. Now that he's 'released me back into the wild' I fully intend on getting pretty fucking wild. Wild indeed. I don't need him. Yes I do.

I'm trying, really trying to ignore it all. I don't care. Lies. I care too fucking much & I hate myself for it.

OK, yeah. Fine. I'll admit it. Now, this is only between us Kinney. I believe that maybe, perhaps, kind of, in a way that that aching sting I'm feeling really is a broken heart. I love that fucking twat. There. Happy? Shut up about it now. Christ.

Brian Kinney doesn't do apologies or regret & I sure as shit don't do groveling.

He'll realize he's made the wrong choice and he'll return. No worries. Of course there's no guarantee that I'll accept him even groveling…who am I kidding? I fucking will. He'll get that fiddler out of his system and then he'll be back. Right? Right.

Ugh. My everything is aching again. Fuck. I need to go out.