"Midnight Clear" 26
Different directions.
By Gaedhal
Pittsburgh, December 2005
Brian lit another joint and opened a new bottle of bourbon. If he couldn't sleep or fuck, then he might as well drink and get stoned. Why the fuck not?
When it began to get light out, he realized that he needed to get his shit together so he'd be able to get himself to the airport. He needed to pack and clean up. He also needed to call for a cab.
But there was one more thing he needed to check.
He pulled on his jeans and a sweater and slipped into a pair of old sneakers that weren't his own, but were battered enough so that he could just manage to make them stay on his larger-sized feet. Then he took the elevator downstairs and went into the garage.
Maybe -- just maybe -- Justin was still there. Maybe he was sleeping in the front seat of the Jeep, too tired or angry or depressed to have gone anywhere. Maybe he was waiting. Waiting for Brian to come to his fucking senses and come after him.
Brian remembered telling Michael long ago, when he'd still been with Dave, the control-freak chiropractor, that he should never go after anyone. Never. Because no one was worth compromising yourself for. No one was worth fighting for. No one would really stay anyway, so what the fuck did it matter?
Unless it did matter.
Unless it mattered more than anything else in the whole fucking world.
But the parking space next to the Vette was empty.
Empty.
Like fucking words.
Like fucking promises.
Like goddamn, fucking emotions.
Empty.
Like Brian.
He turned around and went back upstairs and got ready to leave for San Francisco.
***
After Justin drove the Jeep out into the dark, snow-covered streets, he realized that he didn't know where he was going.
He couldn't go back home. His father had made it clear that he wasn't welcome there. Would, in fact, never again be welcome there.
But his father was gone himself, Justin realized. He'd moved out. His parents were getting a divorce!
He was half way there when he turned around and headed in the other direction.
He'd be damned if he was going to show up at his mother's door in the middle of the night, having left the man who he'd given up everything to be with. The man he'd vowed to love forever. His first, his last, his only.
What a stupid jerk he'd been! How fucking naive! To believe all that romantic bullshit!
His mother would shake her head, sadly and knowingly. She would be too classy to say "I told you so!" -- but she'd be thinking it. They'd all be thinking it! Deb. Emmett. Lindsay and Mel. Even Daphne. He'd been too misty-eyed to see clearly. Too dazzled by Brian Kinney to see him for what he really was.
Justin pictured Brian in the loft. Alone. Probably drinking. Definitely getting high.
What was he thinking? Was he thinking about Justin? Was he thinking about anything?
Well, that wasn't his concern anymore.
Well, it wasn't!
He found himself heading back towards the loft.
No! He couldn't go back! Not after what they'd said to each other!
He couldn't.
He drove around for a while, circling the blocks near the loft. Then he drove over to Liberty Avenue. He went up and down the street. He could go into the diner and sit until morning. But someone -- Kiki or Juanita, whichever was on the late shift -- would tell Deb and then he'd have to explain things.
"I told you so, Sunshine!" He could hear her voice ringing in his ears. "Goddamn Brian! He never changes!"
Except...
Except he has changed, thought Justin. I know he has.
Then why doesn't he trust me? What's the matter with him?
Why is he so fucking scared?
Justin parked the Jeep just off Liberty Avenue on Barker Place. Babylon and the bars had shut down hours ago and it would be more hours until the other businesses began to open up. Only the Liberty Diner was alight. He could see it from where he was parked.
What am I going to do? he wondered. I've really fucked up my life! But there's no going back. I can only go forward.
But what is forward?
And do I want to go forward without Brian?
But do I have a choice?
He leaned his head on the steering wheel and found that the tears he'd been holding back could no longer be denied. He cried until he thought he didn't have another drop of water in him. And then he found some more. Just a little more.
He dried his eyes on his scarf. It was cold in the Jeep and the windows were fogged up so he could no longer see out of them. He wiped his gloved hand across the windshield. Everything was quiet.
He sat back and leaned his cheek against the headrest. He was so tired. Exhausted physically and emotionally. If he only closed his eyes for a few moments, it would he okay. Then his head would be clearer. He could decide what to do.
He was jolted awake by a sharp rapping sound.
It was broad daylight.
A face was scowling at him through the side window.
"What are you doing here?"
Justin looked around in confusion. Then he remembered. The loft. Brian. The Jeep. "I... I was just leaving."
"Step out of this car!" It was one of Mayor Stockwell's Stormtroopers. His long black coat and helmet-like hat made him look like a bird of prey, ready to swoop down on an unsuspecting and innocent creature.
Justin rolled down the window. That's when he recognized the cop who had stopped him twice before. The sergeant. The man Carl had warned him against. Rikert.
"I was just leaving! I'm late!" Justin turned the key in the ignition and the Jeep sputtered to a cold start.
"I said step out of the car! Now!" The expression on Rikert's face gave Justin the creeps, as if a cat had walked over his grave. "Sleeping in your car is against the law, especially in this neighborhood. Are you hustling? Is that why you're here?"
"No, Sergeant. I... I work at a restaurant. I'll be late for the breakfast shift!" Justin lied. "I promise it won't happen again!"
Rikert leaned in at the window. "How do I know it won't happen again?" His voice was softer now, but no less creepy. "What will you give me if I let you off?"
"Um, I don't have anything." Which was the truth. He only had a few dollars in his wallet. certainly not enough to pay off a cop.
"Sure you do," Rikert purred. "You have plenty. And so do I." The cop cupped his crotch and began to breath heavily. "I'll let you go if you suck me off."
Justin shuddered. "I can't! I... I've never done anything like that!"
Rikert laughed nastily. "Don't give me that! You're Kinney's boytoy. I know all about you. You suck and you fuck! You do everything -- with him! Well, now you're going to expand your horizons. Or else you're going downtown to the Queens Tank. Down there you'll find lots of guys who like to play with a pretty boy like you. Know what I mean? So which will it be? Me -- or the Queens Tank?"
"Please, sir, just let me go. Please!" Justin found that he was begging. That he was truly afraid. Carl hadn't been kidding about this guy!
"Turn off your engine and step out of the vehicle!" Rikert ordered. "Now!"
Justin fumbled, reaching for the key. His hand slipped and he hit the horn. The loud blast startled him, but it also startled Rikert, who jumped back from the Jeep, swearing loudly.
Justin didn't waste a moment. He slammed the Jeep into gear and peeled away from the curb. He careened down Liberty Avenue. He didn't look back.
***
Justin had been driving for about ten minutes before be realized that Rikert wasn't going to follow him. It was fully morning now and the rush hour was just beginning.
Maybe Rikert had only been fucking around with him. Only trying to scare the shit out of him. Maybe that's how the guy got his kicks.
Well, it worked! His heart was still pounding and his hands were shaking.
But he also knew where he had to go.
He circled back and headed down Fuller.
The Vette was in its spot. Justin pulled the Jeep beside it, where it belonged.
He took his messenger bag and rode the elevator back upstairs.
"Brian!" he called as he pushed open the door. "Brian! We need to talk before you go!"
But his words echoed in the empty space.
The bed had been made. The candles from last night put away. An empty bottle of Jim Beam was in the kitchen trash.
The closet door was open, one hanger on the floor where it had fallen.
Brian had already left for San Francisco.
***
By Gaedhal
Pittsburgh, December 2005
Brian lit another joint and opened a new bottle of bourbon. If he couldn't sleep or fuck, then he might as well drink and get stoned. Why the fuck not?
When it began to get light out, he realized that he needed to get his shit together so he'd be able to get himself to the airport. He needed to pack and clean up. He also needed to call for a cab.
But there was one more thing he needed to check.
He pulled on his jeans and a sweater and slipped into a pair of old sneakers that weren't his own, but were battered enough so that he could just manage to make them stay on his larger-sized feet. Then he took the elevator downstairs and went into the garage.
Maybe -- just maybe -- Justin was still there. Maybe he was sleeping in the front seat of the Jeep, too tired or angry or depressed to have gone anywhere. Maybe he was waiting. Waiting for Brian to come to his fucking senses and come after him.
Brian remembered telling Michael long ago, when he'd still been with Dave, the control-freak chiropractor, that he should never go after anyone. Never. Because no one was worth compromising yourself for. No one was worth fighting for. No one would really stay anyway, so what the fuck did it matter?
Unless it did matter.
Unless it mattered more than anything else in the whole fucking world.
But the parking space next to the Vette was empty.
Empty.
Like fucking words.
Like fucking promises.
Like goddamn, fucking emotions.
Empty.
Like Brian.
He turned around and went back upstairs and got ready to leave for San Francisco.
***
After Justin drove the Jeep out into the dark, snow-covered streets, he realized that he didn't know where he was going.
He couldn't go back home. His father had made it clear that he wasn't welcome there. Would, in fact, never again be welcome there.
But his father was gone himself, Justin realized. He'd moved out. His parents were getting a divorce!
He was half way there when he turned around and headed in the other direction.
He'd be damned if he was going to show up at his mother's door in the middle of the night, having left the man who he'd given up everything to be with. The man he'd vowed to love forever. His first, his last, his only.
What a stupid jerk he'd been! How fucking naive! To believe all that romantic bullshit!
His mother would shake her head, sadly and knowingly. She would be too classy to say "I told you so!" -- but she'd be thinking it. They'd all be thinking it! Deb. Emmett. Lindsay and Mel. Even Daphne. He'd been too misty-eyed to see clearly. Too dazzled by Brian Kinney to see him for what he really was.
Justin pictured Brian in the loft. Alone. Probably drinking. Definitely getting high.
What was he thinking? Was he thinking about Justin? Was he thinking about anything?
Well, that wasn't his concern anymore.
Well, it wasn't!
He found himself heading back towards the loft.
No! He couldn't go back! Not after what they'd said to each other!
He couldn't.
He drove around for a while, circling the blocks near the loft. Then he drove over to Liberty Avenue. He went up and down the street. He could go into the diner and sit until morning. But someone -- Kiki or Juanita, whichever was on the late shift -- would tell Deb and then he'd have to explain things.
"I told you so, Sunshine!" He could hear her voice ringing in his ears. "Goddamn Brian! He never changes!"
Except...
Except he has changed, thought Justin. I know he has.
Then why doesn't he trust me? What's the matter with him?
Why is he so fucking scared?
Justin parked the Jeep just off Liberty Avenue on Barker Place. Babylon and the bars had shut down hours ago and it would be more hours until the other businesses began to open up. Only the Liberty Diner was alight. He could see it from where he was parked.
What am I going to do? he wondered. I've really fucked up my life! But there's no going back. I can only go forward.
But what is forward?
And do I want to go forward without Brian?
But do I have a choice?
He leaned his head on the steering wheel and found that the tears he'd been holding back could no longer be denied. He cried until he thought he didn't have another drop of water in him. And then he found some more. Just a little more.
He dried his eyes on his scarf. It was cold in the Jeep and the windows were fogged up so he could no longer see out of them. He wiped his gloved hand across the windshield. Everything was quiet.
He sat back and leaned his cheek against the headrest. He was so tired. Exhausted physically and emotionally. If he only closed his eyes for a few moments, it would he okay. Then his head would be clearer. He could decide what to do.
He was jolted awake by a sharp rapping sound.
It was broad daylight.
A face was scowling at him through the side window.
"What are you doing here?"
Justin looked around in confusion. Then he remembered. The loft. Brian. The Jeep. "I... I was just leaving."
"Step out of this car!" It was one of Mayor Stockwell's Stormtroopers. His long black coat and helmet-like hat made him look like a bird of prey, ready to swoop down on an unsuspecting and innocent creature.
Justin rolled down the window. That's when he recognized the cop who had stopped him twice before. The sergeant. The man Carl had warned him against. Rikert.
"I was just leaving! I'm late!" Justin turned the key in the ignition and the Jeep sputtered to a cold start.
"I said step out of the car! Now!" The expression on Rikert's face gave Justin the creeps, as if a cat had walked over his grave. "Sleeping in your car is against the law, especially in this neighborhood. Are you hustling? Is that why you're here?"
"No, Sergeant. I... I work at a restaurant. I'll be late for the breakfast shift!" Justin lied. "I promise it won't happen again!"
Rikert leaned in at the window. "How do I know it won't happen again?" His voice was softer now, but no less creepy. "What will you give me if I let you off?"
"Um, I don't have anything." Which was the truth. He only had a few dollars in his wallet. certainly not enough to pay off a cop.
"Sure you do," Rikert purred. "You have plenty. And so do I." The cop cupped his crotch and began to breath heavily. "I'll let you go if you suck me off."
Justin shuddered. "I can't! I... I've never done anything like that!"
Rikert laughed nastily. "Don't give me that! You're Kinney's boytoy. I know all about you. You suck and you fuck! You do everything -- with him! Well, now you're going to expand your horizons. Or else you're going downtown to the Queens Tank. Down there you'll find lots of guys who like to play with a pretty boy like you. Know what I mean? So which will it be? Me -- or the Queens Tank?"
"Please, sir, just let me go. Please!" Justin found that he was begging. That he was truly afraid. Carl hadn't been kidding about this guy!
"Turn off your engine and step out of the vehicle!" Rikert ordered. "Now!"
Justin fumbled, reaching for the key. His hand slipped and he hit the horn. The loud blast startled him, but it also startled Rikert, who jumped back from the Jeep, swearing loudly.
Justin didn't waste a moment. He slammed the Jeep into gear and peeled away from the curb. He careened down Liberty Avenue. He didn't look back.
***
Justin had been driving for about ten minutes before be realized that Rikert wasn't going to follow him. It was fully morning now and the rush hour was just beginning.
Maybe Rikert had only been fucking around with him. Only trying to scare the shit out of him. Maybe that's how the guy got his kicks.
Well, it worked! His heart was still pounding and his hands were shaking.
But he also knew where he had to go.
He circled back and headed down Fuller.
The Vette was in its spot. Justin pulled the Jeep beside it, where it belonged.
He took his messenger bag and rode the elevator back upstairs.
"Brian!" he called as he pushed open the door. "Brian! We need to talk before you go!"
But his words echoed in the empty space.
The bed had been made. The candles from last night put away. An empty bottle of Jim Beam was in the kitchen trash.
The closet door was open, one hanger on the floor where it had fallen.
Brian had already left for San Francisco.
***