Breakneck
Chapter 5: Cling
When I got home from school on Friday afternoon, my mother did not immediately pass Luke off to me and then disappear into the kitchen, as she had been doing all week. She sat on the couch, waiting for me, while Luke played his stand-and-fall game with the leg of the coffee table. He was giggling to himself.
I hesitantly dropped my backpack to the ground. What did she want?
"There's a message for you on the answering machine," Mom said, her voice not giving anything away.
My stomach swooped. Fuck. What could it be? Obviously, no one was sick or dying, because she would have told me that right off the bat. Had the school left a message about my cutting school yesterday? Had Daphne's parents called about something? Had Brian called? Debbie?
I made my way over to the answering machine and pressed play.
"Message one, left at 9:32 am, Friday." A beep. "Hi, this is Lindsay Peterson calling for Justin. Justin, I just wanted to let you know that I'm actually going to need your entries for the art show by noon on Saturday. We'll be setting up on Sunday, but if you can't make it, just attach an index card with the title of each piece, your name, the medium, and when the piece was created, and I'll take care of it. If you have questions, call me at (412) 555-3901. Thanks!"
Oh. Well, that wasn't so bad.
I turned around to face my mother, who was raising an eyebrow at me.
"Why didn't you tell me you were in an art show, Justin?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
That was what she was pissed about?
"You haven't exactly been speaking to me," I said brattily. "And anyway, it's at the GLC—that's the Gay and Lesbian Center—so, you know, there's gonna be a bunch of fags there. I didn't think you'd want to come."
She sighed.
Luke let go of the leg and fell back on his butt, giggling madly. I was waiting for the day that he let go, went rolling back, and hit his head on something.
"I'm sorry for the way that I've been acting this week," Mom said finally, her face open and honest. "I was trying to gain a little clarity for myself, and in the process, I was hurting you. I'm sorry. That wasn't fair."
"No, it wasn't," I said stiffly.
"But I still love you," she went on. "And I want to support you. Being in an art show is something that you should be proud of. It's an accomplishment. I want you to share your accomplishments with me, Justin. I want to be proud of you."
"And I haven't given you much to be proud of lately, have I?" I asked, the sarcasm practically dripping.
Her lips thinned. "No, you haven't. I'm not going to coddle you and tell you what a mature, responsible person you've been lately, because it's not true."
She was so frank, and so calm. It pissed me off.
"Sara's death was a tragedy, but the way you've been handling it..." Mom looked pained. "Going off with your boyfriend, completely disregarding your father, treating me with next to no respect..."
"And what do you want me to do?" I demanded through clenched teeth. "Stay home all the time with Luke? Hide out in my bedroom like the embarrassment I am? Suddenly turn straight so that I don't have to be afraid of my own family hating me?"
"Of course not!" Mom exclaimed, standing and crossing over to me. "Neither your father nor I want that for you. But honey, you have to admit—"
"No," I snapped, jerking away. "You have to admit that you don't know what you're doing. One moment you're siding with Dad, and the next you're sneaking behind his back, and then you're telling me that he's actually right! So don't yell at me! At least I know whose side I'm on."
"Justin..."
"Daphne's coming over to watch Luke tonight," I said, leaving her to pick up Luke. "I'm sorry if that makes me a bad father and an immature brat in your eyes, but I need one night a week where I'm not trapped in a house with people who fucking hate me."
ooo
Five hours later, I cornered Brian at Woody's.
"I need a favor," I said, sitting on the edge of the pool table.
Brian was playing against himself tonight. Apparently, Michael was still seeing Dr. Dave, and Brian was hurting for pool partners.
"Get in line," Brian said curtly, lining up his shot.
I rolled my eyes. "Not a sexual favor. A favor-favor."
"And what the fuck is a favor-favor?" Brian asked, glancing up with raised eyebrows.
I gestured for him to take his shot, and he did. Two striped balls fell into the left corner pocket, and the cue ball did a wobbly spin off to the right.
"I need you to get this to Lindsay before noon," I told him, plunking down the large manila envelope.
Brian picked it up with two fingers, holding it as though it might bite him and give him rabies. "And why, pray tell, are you corresponding with the munchers?"
"Lindsay suggested that I submit some pieces for the art show at the GLC. I have to get them to her by tomorrow at noon."
Brian looked interested. Or rather, his eyebrow twitched, which I took to be a sign of intense interest.
"It's on Tuesday at eight," I added offhandedly. "Lindsay said I'm for sure going to be in it. She says my work is incredible."
"Keep up that attitude and you'll never need an agent to sell your shit for you."
"Will you be there?" I asked, unable to help myself.
Brian glanced at me, and then he dropped the envelope on the pool table it. "No. The GLC makes me feel itchy."
Asshole.
"That's just the crabs acting up again, not the GLC," I sniped, glaring at the cue ball.
I realized Brian was staring at me a moment later.
Suddenly a bit self-conscious, I shrugged. "What? People get a little spiteful when you turn them down."
Brian smirked. "Been picking up my leftovers, Sunshine?"
"It's hard to find someone who isn't your leftovers," I shot back, scowling at him.
Brian grinned. "Oh, look. The kitten has claws."
"Will you give these to Lindsay?" I asked, holding up the envelope again.
"Whatever," Brian said, focusing on the pool table again.
I grinned, and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you."
He grunted. "My car's parked on the opposite side of the street. Go slide it under the front seat."
I grabbed the envelope and bounded out of Woody's, unable to stop grinning. I couldn't wait to get back into Woody's and thank him in a way that he'd appreciate, not just some stupid kiss on the cheek.
But when I returned, Brian had gone, and I didn't see him the rest of the night.
ooo
"So, what do I need to do for you in order to get you to babysit for me on Tuesday night?" I asked Daphne the following morning.
Daphne arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me? I'm the one that got you into this show, I think I'm entitled to see what my efforts have gotten you. Have your mom watch him."
"Please?" I begged. "Mom has a PTA meeting at Molly's school, and it's election night or something, so she'll be there all night. And I won't let Dad watch Luke. There's no way."
"Well, you're right about that," Daphne said. She looked around and then leaned in, lowering her voice. "He was a total dick last night when I tried to play with Luke in the living room. I know I should have just stayed in your room like you said, but it just isn't right to coop him up like that. I felt bad."
She gave Luke a sympathetic look, but then wrinkled her nose.
"You need to learn how to eat, mister," she informed him, using his bib to wipe at the banana mush all over his face.
Luke whined and tried to twist his face away, but Daphne got him clean before he started crying.
"At least he's sticking to his beliefs," I said bitterly. "He thinks Luke should go away and never be thought of again, and that's the end. Mom's just been all over the place."
Daphne frowned. "But she's been totally cool with you being... you know." She made a few limp-wristed movements with her hand.
"I know," I said, frustrated. "I think—I mean, being gay is something that I am. She doesn't understand it, but she knows it's who I am. That I didn't choose it. Well, mostly. I think I set her straight on that. But getting a girl pregnant? That was a choice, a stupid one, and she can't defend it. I think that's what she's wrestling with. She can't stand up to my father when I was the one who did wrong in the first place, but she still kind of wants to."
"Okay," said Daphne slowly.
"Did that make any sense at all?" I asked.
She shrugged. "A little. The point is, if you want me to miss your debut as an artist, it's going to cost you. Big time."
I was wary. "What do you want?"
"You're going to pay for my fake ID," Daphne said.
I almost fell out of my chair. "That's a hundred dollars!"
"And I'll babysit the next four Friday nights," Daphne said, relenting a little.
My scowl was all the answer she needed.
"Yes!" she cried, punching her fist into the air.
"There's a word for this, you know," I muttered.
"Generosity?"
"I was thinking more along the lines of 'exploitation', 'profiteering' and 'price gouging'."
Daphne rolled her eyes. "Whatever. The guy at the tattoo parlor said they'd be ready by Wednesday. We can make an outing out of it—and Luke can come! And then we can go out for ice cream. Can Luke have ice cream yet?"
I shook my head. "Nope. He has yogurt with lunch sometimes, but that's about all he can take. You're not supposed to make dairy a main part of a baby's diet until they're at least twelve months old, and it should always be done after you've consulted with the baby's pediatrician."
"Are you quoting something, or do you just naturally speak like a textbook sometimes?" Daphne asked.
I grinned, shrugged. "Brian calls me his little public service announcement."
"How affectionate," Daphne said dryly.
"Yeah, well, he calls me his little stalker," I said, rolling my eyes. "And he didn't fuck me last night."
"Oh, the humanity."
I shoved her. "Bitch. There is no one that fucks like Brian Kinney does. It's his fault I have ridiculously high standards, now. I don't think I'll ever be sated again."
"This is my sympathetic face," Daphne deadpanned.
"You're the one who lives vicariously through my sex life," I told her. "Go off to some gross breeder bar and get laid, yourself."
"Gross breeder bar?" Daphne echoed.
I nodded.
She gave me a look. "You know, just because Brain says it, doesn't mean you have to repeat it."
"Well, they are gross," I said indignantly, even though I knew that wasn't what she was getting at. "Fat old men talking about football and pussy, and girls with tramp stamps hanging out? Ew."
"Oh, that's what that thing above my ass is?" Daphne asked coolly. "Thanks for letting me know. I was wondering why that was there."
Oh. Oops.
"Daph, no! You're not a breeder," I assured her quickly. "You're different. Breeders are... they're..." I floundered for words, unable to explain what a breeder was. Brian had never explicitly told me. I just knew that it wasnot Daphne. "You're not."
Daphne sighed a little bit, looking at me almost sadly. "Justin, does Brian really hate straight people? All of them?"
I thought about it. "Yeah. More or less. Maybe not Debbie, but she's practically a gay man anyway."
"Well, you shouldn't," Daphne decided. Her expression was completely serious. "You sound like my Uncle Lenny—you know, the one who hates white people so much? Yells at my parents all the time for not sending me to an all-black high school, keeps sending me brochures for Howard University?"
I winced. "Yeah. Okay. Sorry."
She studied me for a moment. "All right. I forgive you. Especially since you're buying me a fake ID and everything!"
I buried my head in my hands. "I have shallow friends."
"Don't be silly, Justin," Daphne said, patting me on the back. "You don't have more than one friend. No need to pluralize."
ooo
I did miss Daphne at the art show, though—I needed someone to take my mind off of the fact that Brian hadn't shown up yet. Not that I was expecting him to. But I was still hopeful. And anyway, the only people I knew there were Melanie and Lindsay, who were bent on getting me a boyfriend my own age.
The problem with a boy my own age, besides the fact that he wouldn't be Brian, was that I had a kid. And no teenager wanted to date someone with a kid. At least with Brian, things were fucked up enough that I couldn't even think of our future together beyond the Friday nights that I was able to escape the house. I never had to worry about Brian finding out about Luke, because it wouldn't happen. We were never going to get to that point.
Like I'd known that night in the hospital, in the men's room—Brian didn't love me. He never would. I just had to hold on like hell to whatever I had.
"Everyone loves your drawings," Lindsay was telling me.
I grinned. That, at least, was true. There had been a steady stream of people past my stuff all night.
"Have you checked out the food?" Melanie asked, pointing over to the buffet table.
"I'm not hungry," I said, shaking my head.
"Okay, how about the cute boys?" Melanie asked.
I worked hard not to close my eyes and groan. It was the third mention of the 'cute boys' tonight.
"There's some right over there," Melanie went on, pointing across the room. "Just about your age."
But then I felt him.
I swear to God, I felt him before I saw him. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled and a low current of energy suddenly began thrumming in my veins.
"He's here," I said, just as my eyes locked onto his figure coming through the door.
Brian had come. He'd come!
"Mm," said Melanie, unenthusiastically. "Yippie."
Despite the fact that I'd been waiting all night for Brian to walk through those doors, I maintained my post by my art as Lindsay and Melanie wandered off. I watched Lindsay kiss Brian on the cheek, and then I watched Brian practically run away as Michael and some mammoth Adonis approached. I assumed the mammoth Adonis was actually the Dr. Dave that Brian had been bitching about for the last few weeks.
I casually made my way over to the champagne table.
Moments later, a familiar voice was drawling in my ear.
"Well, if it isn't the famous artist?"
I turned to him, grinning. "Did you see my stuff?"
Brian smirked. "No. I had to get a drink first."
"You didn't take it out for a peek on Friday?" I asked. I had a feeling it was something he would do.
"And why," Brian asked, in a slow, condescending drawl, "would I do that?"
"Because you knew there'd be at least one sketch of you in there," I shot back without missing a beat.
He raised his eyebrows. "Is there really?"
"The one titled 'Cock of the Walk'," I said cheekily. "It's over there. If you're interested."
"Suddenly, I think I am," Brian said, giving my ass a parting squeeze before heading off in the direction of my art.
It did not escape my notice that this was also where Michael was standing. But I'd take what I could get.
Unfortunately, that was when I discovered my mother.
"I thought you were at Molly's PTA meeting!" I hissed, dragging her off to the side.
She eyed the glass of champagne in my hand, but thankfully decided to focus on the bigger issue at hand. "Well, I skipped it. It's just a PTA meeting, Justin—this is your first real art show!"
"If I'd known you could skip it, I'd have asked you to watch Luke! Do you know what I had to do to get Daphne to watch him tonight?"
"You couldn't have brought him with you?" Mom asked, raising her eyebrows.
I shifted guiltily. "It's not really an appropriate event for a baby."
"Does your Brian know you have a child?" Mom pressed. "Is he here tonight?"
"Look," I said, draining the last of my champagne. "The point is, you can't be here. You have to leave."
I tried to give her a nudge towards the door, but she shook me off. "Justin, I'm not here to embarrass you. I just want to see your work on display!"
"Oh, now you want to see me on display?" I said with a sharp laugh. "Now it's okay for me to come out of my room?"
"Justin, do not do this here," Mom warned.
"What? Embarrass you in public? I think it's too late for that."
Mom opened her mouth to say something when suddenly Lindsay's voice cut into the conversation.
"Justin, is this your mother?"
I forced a smile for Lindsay and Melanie.
"Hi," Mom said, holding out her hand. "I'm Jennifer."
Lindsay and Melanie introduced themselves and Lindsay praised my work, but it wasn't long before my mother very pointedly mentioned the baby in Lindsay's arms.
"And what a beautiful baby," she said, glancing at me only for a second before returning her attention to Gus. "Has he been all right for you, at such a formal event?"
You are so not subtle, Mom.
Lindsay smiled. "He's been an absolute angel. GLC events are open to anyone who supports us, regardless of age."
"Although technically, we're supporting him," Melanie said, grinning.
"At least until we're old and saggy," Lindsay agreed, turning to Melanie with a matching smile. "Then he'll have to pay for our rest home."
They shared a kiss.
I think it was only years of country club training that kept my mother's eyebrows in place. Personally, I was beginning to understand Brian's penchant for flaunting himself in front of straights.
"Sorry," Lindsay said, turning back to my mother with an even wider smile on her face.
My mother smiled, with a little effort. "That's okay. What's his name?"
"Gus," Lindsay said fondly.
"Actually," Melanie said, "Justin's the one who named him."
"Really?" Mom said. She glanced at me.
Oh no.
"That was his teddy bear's name!"
I wanted to die on the spot. My only consolation was that Brian was nowhere in the vicinity.
Lindsay and Melanie thought this was adorable, of course, and I endured their cooing for a few minutes until finally, Lindsay took pity on me and mentioned my art.
"I haven't seen it yet, no," Mom said. She turned to me. "Where's your stuff, honey?"
I pointed her in the right direction, and then ran off before Lindsay and Melanie could start up again.
ooo
Several minutes later, I was staring at a series of photographs featuring an androgynous person going through their daily routine. The angle of the shots were interesting, but the message seemed to be nothing more than 'Look how strange people live normal lives too', until I got to the last two photographs. The person at the end of the day, unbinding their breasts and untaping their testicles.
That was more interesting.
Then suddenly, an arm snaked around my torso and pulled me back against a familiar chest.
I grinned.
"Who's that guy you drew?" Brian murmured into my ear.
"Some asshole I picked up in a bar last week," I answered. I was pretty sure that he was talking about 'Cock of the Walk', not the drawing of Cal that was just to the left of it.
Brian laughed softly, nuzzling my neck a little. I turned my head, meeting his lips halfway, and we locked into a kiss. As usual, Brian immediately shoved his tongue into my mouth and pushed me back, and I let my body dip a little, held up by the arm across my back. I moaned, forcing myself up and putting up a fight, but all the blood was rushing down from my brain and into my dick and all I could think was skin Brian now.
He pulled away.
I abruptly remembered that we were in the middle of a formal art showing.
"Mikey thinks you took some artistic liberties with my... proportions," Brian said, resting his forehead against mine.
I grinned softly. "He's right. I wasn't drawing how big it looks. I was drawing how big it feels when you're all the way inside me."
Brian swallowed, his eyes dark. "Oh yeah?"
"Oh yeah," I whispered, angling in for another kiss and—
"Brian, get your tongue out of Justin's throat and say goodnight to your son."
Lindsay's voice cut in like a bucket of ice water, and Brian and I reluctantly separated. Lindsay smirked at us before offering Gus to Brian.
"You're leaving?" I asked her.
Brian was holding Gus the same way he had the night Gus was born—so far away from his body. I almost asked him why he was so afraid to let Gus get close to him, when I remembered that I didn't have a death wish. My thoughts then turned to Luke, who was probably asleep by now. He should have had a bath tonight, except Daphne had never bathed Luke before and I didn't want her going at it alone, so Luke was skipping a bath tonight. I'd give him one tomorrow.
"No, Mel's going to take Gus home," Lindsay answered, breaking up my train of thought. "I've got to help clean up when this is over."
"Good night, Sonny Boy," Brian said softly to Gus, staring down at him with a half-smile.
For a split second, I saw Brian with Luke, speaking to him in that same tender, loving tone, but then it was gone. I closed my eyes and forced the spurt of hope down, down, quashing it into the back recesses of my mind. That was never going to happen. I was being stupid. What the hell had made me think of that?
"Don't abuse my son too much, tonight," Brian called.
My eyes snapped open and I realized that Lindsay was walking away with Gus, laughing a little.
"So," I said, pushing a grin onto my face. I wrapped my arms around Brian's waist, pulling him close again. "Wanna take this to the bathroom?"
"I'm in the mood for something a little rougher, tonight," Brian said casually. He tried to step back, but I followed.
"Like that night at the hospital?" I asked. I was unable to hide the note of trepidation in my voice. I didn't want something rough tonight. I'd wanted it rough that night at the hospital because I was so incredibly numb, but right now I was feeling too much. I needed something gentle. But more than that I needed Brian, and I'd take him any way I could.
"Rougher than that," Brian growled, bringing our heads together.
Rougher?
"Okay," I breathed.
"Wanna fuck you so hard you'll pass out," Brian said into my ear, nibbling on it a little bit. "And then I'll fuck you awake again. You'll be screaming in pain, sobbing—"
It was so far from what I wanted tonight, it wasn't even funny. But I nodded my head, trying to breathe. If that was what Brian wanted...
Then, abruptly, he stopped talking and shoved me away. "You stupid little fuck."
My eyes widened. "What?"
Brian grabbed my wrist and pulled me behind the nearest faux-wall.
"Is that what you think I want?" he demanded, right up in my face. "Is that what you think I like? You think I'm some kind of fucking sadist?"
"I—wh—no!" I struggled for words. "No, I don't think that!"
His nose was an inch from mine. "Is that what you like? Pain? You get a hard-on thinking about me fucking you so hard there's blood dripping out of your ass?"
"No!" I cried, horrified. "I'm not a—a masochist."
"Don't lie to me," Brian growled.
"I'm not!"
He grabbed the front of my shirt. "Then why have you been following me around ever since that fuck at the hospital? Why are you so fucking eager for me to do it again?"
"I'm fucking not!" I yelled, shoving him off of me.
It went very quiet, out in the art gallery.
"Fuck this shit," Brian said, letting me go. "Go wander on over to Meat Hook, find yourself a big leather daddy for the night."
"No, fuck you," I said furiously, grabbing his arm and pulling him back around to face me. "You don't get to blow me off. I was following you around before that fuck at the hospital, and I'm so fucking eager all the time because you're really hot, okay? That's it. And I don't want a repeat of that night, it's the last thing I need right now, but if it's what you need then I'd... I'll..."
Brian raised an eyebrow, and I got pissed again.
"I told you that night at the hospital was a one-time thing, and if you don't believe me, then fuck you," I snapped. "Fuck you, Brian."
And then I was done.
We stared at each other for several long moments, until it occurred to me that Brian was hard. Like, obviously hard.
"You should stand up for yourself more often," Brian murmured, drawing me close. "You're fucking hot when you're angry."
"I'll keep that in mind, next time you want to accuse me of being some crazed, masochistic stalker with leather daddy fantasies," I said stiffly, giving him a pointed look.
Brian grinned. "Well, if you take out the masochistic part, I don't know how untrue—"
I smacked his chest. "Shut up. I have not been stalking you."
"You're just a Brian-Kinney-seeking-missile every time you leave the house."
"I get one night of freedom a week. Do you have any idea how horny I get, waiting for Friday night?" I asked, rubbing my nose against his with a grin. "Who else on Liberty Avenue could fuck me as well as you?"
"The number is low." Brian thought about it for a moment. "Possibly in the single digits. Possibly a number less than two."
I laughed and leaned up for a kiss.
"Take this to the bathroom?" Brian asked.
I hesitated. "I—yeah. But not rough. I don't want it to hurt."
"That," Brian said, steering me toward the hallway, "can be arranged."
ooo
"It's those analogies," Daphne moaned as soon as I'd shut the door to the house behind me. As everyone in the house was asleep (it was past eleven), we'd decided to hold our conversation until we got outside. "They're killing me dead! I hate the verbal section. I want to kill it. And mince it into little tiny pieces. And then bake it into doggie biscuits."
"Really?" I said, arching an eyebrow.
Daphne giggled. "Okay, maybe I've been thinking about it a little too much."
"Just maybe," I said, grinning.
"Anyway, how was the art show?" Daphne asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Did you sell anything? Did Brian come? Tell me!"
"My mom came."
"Oh my God, seriously?"
I nodded. "Yeah. But she didn't stay for too long, so whatever. She's, like, trying to support me or something."
"That's good, right?"
"But then Brian came," I said, my voice picking up in excitement. "I mean, he spent most of the night following Michael around, but he looked at my art, we had a fight, and then we had sex in the bathrooms. And he offered me a ride home, but I had Dad's car tonight."
"You fought?" Daphne asked, scrunching up her nose. "I thought you said he wasn't your boyfriend."
"He's not. We're just fucking. Boyfriends are for breed... Um. Lame people."
"So what did you fight about?" Daphne pressed, ignoring my 'breeders' slip.
I sighed. "It was really weird. He thought that I was actually really into pain, after that night at the hospital, and that I've been waiting for him to do it again ever since. That that's why I've been following him around for the last few weeks."
Daphne made a face. "Whoa. Even you're not that much of a freak!"
I punched her as she giggled again. "Shut up. Can you believe he thought that I wanted him to be my, like, dungeon master?"
"I told you that night at the hospital was a bad idea," she said smugly.
"Yeah, no kidding," I grumbled.
"So you didn't sell anything?" Daphne asked.
I brightened. "Actually, I did! I sold the drawing of Brian, and the one of Cal. They sold for a hundred dollars. A piece."
Daphne's mouth dropped open. "Oh my God! Oh my God, Justin, we need to celebrate!"
"Shh!" I hissed, glancing up at the darkened windows of the house.
Daphne's mouth clamped shut. She jumped up and down, clapping her hands quietly. "That's so exciting!" she whispered.
"I know," I said, a huge smile on my face.
"We'll think of something to do," Daphne assured me. "Anyway, now you've definitely got the money to pay for my fake ID."
I shook my head. "Nah. All the money went to charity."
"Oh." Daphne shrugged. "Well, you'll get the money from somewhere. I know you will."
"So how was Luke?" I asked.
"An absolute angel," Daphne answered, grinning. "Although he does this thing, I don't know if it's new, but he'll stand up? And then he'll just let himself fall. He thinks it's the funniest thing in the world."
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. That isn't new. He took a few steps yesterday, holding on to the coffee table, but he's way more interested in falling on his butt."
"Your kid is weird," Daphne declared.
"Well, he had to get something from his mother."
Daphne laughed. "Oh, right. Now finish walking me to my car—I've still got thirty analogies to do before I go to bed."
I walked her to her car and said good night, and then headed back in the house. It was dark and smelled like the chemicalized 'Spring Breeze' air freshener bullshit Mom used whenever she went on one of her intense cleaning kicks. I sneezed twice and then went upstairs to go to bed, even though I wasn't that tired.
I'd rather be asleep than spend one more minute awake in this fucking house.
