The Art of Trying (Part 5)
Okay, this chapter is super-depressing, and WARNING: homophobic language is used. That's all I can say except for... don't loose hope. Please. Lots more chapters to come.
Previous parts
* * * *
Keeping out of the Brady’s way was easier said than done for Ste. It had always been that way, after all; he could run and run all he liked, but at the end of the day he’d always fall back into Brendan’s arms, whether as friends or lovers, in love or hate, it always happened. It was inevitable it would happen again soon, even with his strict instructions not to.
He’d eventually spotted Brendan a pain-staking three days after his conversation with Cheryl. Brendan and his Dad were outside the burger bar eating together; neither talking, both just staring off into the distance in a typical display of Brady nonchalance and detachment.
Ste, you need to keep your distance for a while. Give him some space until things calm down a bit.
Ste had stewed over those words for three days. What did they mean? What did Mr Brady know? What did he think? Why was Mr Brady’s presence preventing Brendan coming into work? Why was it preventing him returning Ste’s calls? How long was Mr Brady going to bloody well stay for?!?
Ste knew he ought to stay away. Cheryl had been pretty serious about it, Brendan had made his resistance MORE than clear and Mr Brady… well, he had been obviously seething when he’d seen Ste that night.
And yet, he HAD to talk to Brendan. Brendan was his mate, was he not? And Ste knew ALL about his fathers violent history, and yes, he was worried about him. Brendan’s Dad made him miserable, always had done. If this was the other way round, he knew Brendan wouldn’t hesitate in storming over and smashing the fuckers lights in who made Ste unhappy. Why should Ste not do the same for him?
Because Ste didn’t have the guts to stand up to that son-of-a-bitch. So instead he crept over; sheepish, nervous, shy. He hovered nearby Brendan and Mr Brady, reviewing the situation before him: Brendan still had that bruise around his eye, though it was much fainter now. There were no other marks. No other signs of the anger and violence that Ste was afraid of. And… Brendan was looking at him fiercely. His eyes were piercing into Ste’s, his message perfectly clear: go away.
Ste swallowed, and started to turn.
But why SHOULD he?!? This whole thing was fucking ridiculous; they were just MATES for Gods sake! Ste hadn’t slept with Brendan for… months. Christ, months; since August. Maybe he WOULD have if it wasn’t for Brendan’s mad inexplicable homophobia that morphed him into a monster at the drop of a hat. The homophobia inflicted on him by THAT MAN. Homophobia that he’d had yelled at him as a kid, haunting him as a teen, submerging his whole demeanour as an adult. The values that made Brendan hate his own skin and hate himself and hate who he loves.
Hate Ste.
All because of THAT MAN. Mr Brady.
Who at this very moment was staring at Ste with those cold piercing eyes.
“Somethin’ ye want, is there?” He spoke lowly. Again, his eyes travelled over Ste’s body; sizing him up, working him out… his mouth twitching with giveaway signs of disgust.
Ste shuffled uncomfortably under the intensity of the gaze. “I just er…”
“What is it Steven?” Brendan asked sharply. He wasn’t looking at Ste; just staring down at his plate, fists clenched tightly around his fork.
Ste swallowed, thinking fast. “Cheryl’s askin’ for you.” He croaked. “At the club.”
Brendan glanced upwards, meeting Ste’s eyes as he hunted for truth in Ste’s words. But Ste kept his eyes locked on the ground. Not helping. Giving nothing away.
“Tell her we’ll be there soon.” Brendan spoke in a soft growl, just loud enough for Ste and Mr Brady to hear. It was claustrophobic almost… wrapping Ste in all the intensity, fear, unspoken feelings that hovered around Brendan and his father.
“R…right.” Ste swallowed.
Well that was something. Just a shred of acknowledgement after their breakthrough of a friendship over the last few months; that’s all he wanted. To show it still meant something. That Brendan still remembered.
What he hadn’t anticipated was how difficult it would be to look that man in the eye when he and Brendan swanned into the club twenty minutes later. Brendan went straight to the office, obviously looking for Cheryl, while Mr Brady snaked his way slowly towards the bar.
“How can I help you, mate?” Rhys asked him innocently.
Good. Ste didn’t want to talk to him, look at him. He didn’t want to have to think about that man and the vile things Brendan had told Ste about him. Instead, Ste busied himself drying wine glasses while Rhys had gone about fetching Mr Brady his drink and making strained small-talk which Mr Brady mostly ignored. Because despite all Rhy’s efforts to make an impression, there was only ONE person Mr Brady was interested in at that moment. And he cut Rhys off mid-sentence to call across the bar; “It’s Steven… isn’t it?”
Ste swallowed. His chest felt slightly numb, straining with the angry emotion that he’d learned years ago to suppress. Take a deep breath. Count to three.
“Ste.” He muttered shortly, never lifting his eyes from the wine glass.
Mr Brady took no notice. “An’ have ye worked here long, Steven?”
Ste winced in annoyance, grit his teeth sharply. Just ignore it, let it go, control your emotions, do not let them control you. “Year or so.”
“Aye, and I bet my Brendan’s a good boss to ye, eh? Keeps you in line… an’ all that?”
Ste’s stomach clenched slightly. What did he mean by that? How much did he know and what the fuck was he insinuating?! Ste dragged his eyes from the floor to meet the green ones of Brendan’s father. The eyes that glistened with the same Irish allure… the glow that made Ste wander whether the man was genuinely charming or taking the piss out of him. The eyes that seemed to undress Ste and make him vulnerable and strip him of all defences, just as Brendan’s could do, while they pierced into him with their fierce interrogation.
“He’s… alright.” Ste muttered carefully. Then added with a touch of impertinence, “Whas’ it to you?”
Mr Brady narrowed his eyes. “This how ye speak to all the customers, is it? Or do you and me have some kind of problem, eh?”
“No.” Ste answered with sullen sheepishness, “Jus’ busy that’s all.”
And with that he deliberately grabbed one of the empty crates, marching quickly from behind the bar and down to the cellar below. The ache in his stomach lifted slightly, allowing him to breathe again; the fists he didn’t even realise were clenched now relaxed themselves.
Only when Ste came back up again did the knot in his gut return, and tighter. Brendan and Mr Brady were standing together at the bar, deep in some kind of private conversation… and then Brendan’s eyes dragged over the dance-floor to meet Ste’s with an almost vicious-looking accusation.
“Get yer coat, Steven.” He said shortly, brushing past Ste with the familiar dismissive coldness that Ste hated so much. “Yer havin’ the rest of the day off.”
“Wh… WHY?! Am I gettin’ paid?!”
Brendan leant right towards him, hand gripping his shoulder hard as he hissed, “Jus’ - do it.”
Just take a deep breath. Count to three. Do not rise to the bait. Do not let your emotions control you. You control your emotions. You are in charge.
Ste replayed those calming sentiments over and over in his head, breathing deeply through his nose, teeth grit in resistance to those bitter angry tears that threatened to surface. He grabbed his coat roughly, barged past Rhys and Jaqui in his efforts to get the fuck away, do as he’s told, get to the door, get away from that fucking arsehole and the warped claustrophobia of the Brady Establishment.
“Steven.” He heard the hateful voice call after him as he stormed down the steps of the club. He refused to turn around. He refused to accept Brendan’s secret apology. No. Fuck that.
“Steven!” Brendan called again.
“WHAT?!?” Ste spun around, facing Brendan furiously.
Brendan smirked, eyes trailing up and down Ste’s body as he silently mocked Ste’s worked-up state. Bastard, bastard, bastard.
And then he calmly drawled; “Don’t come back tomorrow either, alrigh’?”
It was like a punch in the stomach.
Ste blinked… for a moment he thought he’d misheard… unable to believe the coldness… the unfairness. Brendan - his so-called MATE. His so-called ex-lover. The man who once professed to love him, and Ste had believed him. After these great last months of companionship, being equals… Brendan was back to treating him like shit.
And why?!!
“This is so fucked up.” Ste seethed quietly.
Brendan continued his dismissive and bored façade as he sighed, “What is?”
“This.” Ste breathed. “Him. He comes back an’ everythin’ goes to shit, does it? You act like a fuckin’ big-man and dick-head… even though you don’t want to… jus’ cos you’re weak and jus’ cos you want to impress him.”
“Is that right?”
“YEAH, COS YOU WEREN’T LIKE THIS LAST WEEK WERE YA?! WHEN YOU WERE SLEEPIN’ WITH ME IN YOUR BED!!!”
It was like de-ja-vu. The way Brendan practically threw himself down the stairs towards Ste. The way his hand slapped across Ste’s mouth, his arm round the back of Ste’s neck, his weight pulling Ste backwards and out of public view. Like de-ja-vu how Ste’s heart pounded with fear, with anger, with hurt, with surprise. How Brendan’s breath engulfed Ste’s ear as he hissed, “Keep yer fuckin’ voice down, will ye?!”
But this wasn’t Brendan anymore. Not really. Brendan wanted to change for Ste… Ste knew that, even if he didn’t trust Brendan to actually be able to. He had been willing, not so long ago, to come out, to be open. He’d said so… the day he told Ste he loved him. This wasn’t him anymore… this fear of people knowing… he was beyond that. There was only ONE reason they’d be going through this again, and Ste knew damn well what it was.
“He gave ya that bruise didn’t he?!” He gasped, pulling Brendan’s arms away from his neck, panting with the efforts. “Your Dad.”
“Ye don’t know nothin’ boy.” Brendan hissed. But that wasn’t Brendan’s voice. That was the voice of desperation… of fear and weakness and hopelessness. This was the voice of Brendan’s shadow; his demon. His dark side; his side that was victim to his Dad’s age-long threats.
“Does he know about you?!” Ste found the strength to question. “Does he know about us?”
Brendan pushed him away roughly, but Ste found his feet with ease - too much practice.
“There is no us.” Brendan breathed. “You made that perfectly clear.”
Ste swallowed, hard. His mouth almost tasted like blood it was so dry. “So what’s the problem then?! What’s goin’ on Brendan?!”
“Jus’ go home.” Brendan began to move once again towards the steps…
“Don’t let him hurt ya!” Ste croaked furiously. “Don’t let him turn you back into this, Bren, you’re better than this! You’re better than ‘im! I’m sayin’ this as a mate, right?!”
“MATE?!?” Brendan yelled. And then he was back in Ste’s face, practically nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye, breath-against-breath, fury-to-fury.
“You’re not my mate, Steven.” He seethed. “Alrigh’? You’re a lad who was just a good fuck… an’ that’s clearly not gonna happen again, is it, so stop kiddin’ yerself I’m your friend and go fuck off and fuck some fag, why don’t ye?! Just leave me the fuck out of it.”
And then he was gone.
And Ste didn’t even have the energy in him to cry about it anymore. Those words were nothing but the vicious echoes of Brendan’s fathers, and it was simply pathetic that they still absorbed Brendan that way they did.
Let him be that man. Let him become the same friendless, lonely, heartless shell that his father was. Once a Brady, always a Brady after all.
Previous parts
* * * *
Keeping out of the Brady’s way was easier said than done for Ste. It had always been that way, after all; he could run and run all he liked, but at the end of the day he’d always fall back into Brendan’s arms, whether as friends or lovers, in love or hate, it always happened. It was inevitable it would happen again soon, even with his strict instructions not to.
He’d eventually spotted Brendan a pain-staking three days after his conversation with Cheryl. Brendan and his Dad were outside the burger bar eating together; neither talking, both just staring off into the distance in a typical display of Brady nonchalance and detachment.
Ste, you need to keep your distance for a while. Give him some space until things calm down a bit.
Ste had stewed over those words for three days. What did they mean? What did Mr Brady know? What did he think? Why was Mr Brady’s presence preventing Brendan coming into work? Why was it preventing him returning Ste’s calls? How long was Mr Brady going to bloody well stay for?!?
Ste knew he ought to stay away. Cheryl had been pretty serious about it, Brendan had made his resistance MORE than clear and Mr Brady… well, he had been obviously seething when he’d seen Ste that night.
And yet, he HAD to talk to Brendan. Brendan was his mate, was he not? And Ste knew ALL about his fathers violent history, and yes, he was worried about him. Brendan’s Dad made him miserable, always had done. If this was the other way round, he knew Brendan wouldn’t hesitate in storming over and smashing the fuckers lights in who made Ste unhappy. Why should Ste not do the same for him?
Because Ste didn’t have the guts to stand up to that son-of-a-bitch. So instead he crept over; sheepish, nervous, shy. He hovered nearby Brendan and Mr Brady, reviewing the situation before him: Brendan still had that bruise around his eye, though it was much fainter now. There were no other marks. No other signs of the anger and violence that Ste was afraid of. And… Brendan was looking at him fiercely. His eyes were piercing into Ste’s, his message perfectly clear: go away.
Ste swallowed, and started to turn.
But why SHOULD he?!? This whole thing was fucking ridiculous; they were just MATES for Gods sake! Ste hadn’t slept with Brendan for… months. Christ, months; since August. Maybe he WOULD have if it wasn’t for Brendan’s mad inexplicable homophobia that morphed him into a monster at the drop of a hat. The homophobia inflicted on him by THAT MAN. Homophobia that he’d had yelled at him as a kid, haunting him as a teen, submerging his whole demeanour as an adult. The values that made Brendan hate his own skin and hate himself and hate who he loves.
Hate Ste.
All because of THAT MAN. Mr Brady.
Who at this very moment was staring at Ste with those cold piercing eyes.
“Somethin’ ye want, is there?” He spoke lowly. Again, his eyes travelled over Ste’s body; sizing him up, working him out… his mouth twitching with giveaway signs of disgust.
Ste shuffled uncomfortably under the intensity of the gaze. “I just er…”
“What is it Steven?” Brendan asked sharply. He wasn’t looking at Ste; just staring down at his plate, fists clenched tightly around his fork.
Ste swallowed, thinking fast. “Cheryl’s askin’ for you.” He croaked. “At the club.”
Brendan glanced upwards, meeting Ste’s eyes as he hunted for truth in Ste’s words. But Ste kept his eyes locked on the ground. Not helping. Giving nothing away.
“Tell her we’ll be there soon.” Brendan spoke in a soft growl, just loud enough for Ste and Mr Brady to hear. It was claustrophobic almost… wrapping Ste in all the intensity, fear, unspoken feelings that hovered around Brendan and his father.
“R…right.” Ste swallowed.
Well that was something. Just a shred of acknowledgement after their breakthrough of a friendship over the last few months; that’s all he wanted. To show it still meant something. That Brendan still remembered.
What he hadn’t anticipated was how difficult it would be to look that man in the eye when he and Brendan swanned into the club twenty minutes later. Brendan went straight to the office, obviously looking for Cheryl, while Mr Brady snaked his way slowly towards the bar.
“How can I help you, mate?” Rhys asked him innocently.
Good. Ste didn’t want to talk to him, look at him. He didn’t want to have to think about that man and the vile things Brendan had told Ste about him. Instead, Ste busied himself drying wine glasses while Rhys had gone about fetching Mr Brady his drink and making strained small-talk which Mr Brady mostly ignored. Because despite all Rhy’s efforts to make an impression, there was only ONE person Mr Brady was interested in at that moment. And he cut Rhys off mid-sentence to call across the bar; “It’s Steven… isn’t it?”
Ste swallowed. His chest felt slightly numb, straining with the angry emotion that he’d learned years ago to suppress. Take a deep breath. Count to three.
“Ste.” He muttered shortly, never lifting his eyes from the wine glass.
Mr Brady took no notice. “An’ have ye worked here long, Steven?”
Ste winced in annoyance, grit his teeth sharply. Just ignore it, let it go, control your emotions, do not let them control you. “Year or so.”
“Aye, and I bet my Brendan’s a good boss to ye, eh? Keeps you in line… an’ all that?”
Ste’s stomach clenched slightly. What did he mean by that? How much did he know and what the fuck was he insinuating?! Ste dragged his eyes from the floor to meet the green ones of Brendan’s father. The eyes that glistened with the same Irish allure… the glow that made Ste wander whether the man was genuinely charming or taking the piss out of him. The eyes that seemed to undress Ste and make him vulnerable and strip him of all defences, just as Brendan’s could do, while they pierced into him with their fierce interrogation.
“He’s… alright.” Ste muttered carefully. Then added with a touch of impertinence, “Whas’ it to you?”
Mr Brady narrowed his eyes. “This how ye speak to all the customers, is it? Or do you and me have some kind of problem, eh?”
“No.” Ste answered with sullen sheepishness, “Jus’ busy that’s all.”
And with that he deliberately grabbed one of the empty crates, marching quickly from behind the bar and down to the cellar below. The ache in his stomach lifted slightly, allowing him to breathe again; the fists he didn’t even realise were clenched now relaxed themselves.
Only when Ste came back up again did the knot in his gut return, and tighter. Brendan and Mr Brady were standing together at the bar, deep in some kind of private conversation… and then Brendan’s eyes dragged over the dance-floor to meet Ste’s with an almost vicious-looking accusation.
“Get yer coat, Steven.” He said shortly, brushing past Ste with the familiar dismissive coldness that Ste hated so much. “Yer havin’ the rest of the day off.”
“Wh… WHY?! Am I gettin’ paid?!”
Brendan leant right towards him, hand gripping his shoulder hard as he hissed, “Jus’ - do it.”
Just take a deep breath. Count to three. Do not rise to the bait. Do not let your emotions control you. You control your emotions. You are in charge.
Ste replayed those calming sentiments over and over in his head, breathing deeply through his nose, teeth grit in resistance to those bitter angry tears that threatened to surface. He grabbed his coat roughly, barged past Rhys and Jaqui in his efforts to get the fuck away, do as he’s told, get to the door, get away from that fucking arsehole and the warped claustrophobia of the Brady Establishment.
“Steven.” He heard the hateful voice call after him as he stormed down the steps of the club. He refused to turn around. He refused to accept Brendan’s secret apology. No. Fuck that.
“Steven!” Brendan called again.
“WHAT?!?” Ste spun around, facing Brendan furiously.
Brendan smirked, eyes trailing up and down Ste’s body as he silently mocked Ste’s worked-up state. Bastard, bastard, bastard.
And then he calmly drawled; “Don’t come back tomorrow either, alrigh’?”
It was like a punch in the stomach.
Ste blinked… for a moment he thought he’d misheard… unable to believe the coldness… the unfairness. Brendan - his so-called MATE. His so-called ex-lover. The man who once professed to love him, and Ste had believed him. After these great last months of companionship, being equals… Brendan was back to treating him like shit.
And why?!!
“This is so fucked up.” Ste seethed quietly.
Brendan continued his dismissive and bored façade as he sighed, “What is?”
“This.” Ste breathed. “Him. He comes back an’ everythin’ goes to shit, does it? You act like a fuckin’ big-man and dick-head… even though you don’t want to… jus’ cos you’re weak and jus’ cos you want to impress him.”
“Is that right?”
“YEAH, COS YOU WEREN’T LIKE THIS LAST WEEK WERE YA?! WHEN YOU WERE SLEEPIN’ WITH ME IN YOUR BED!!!”
It was like de-ja-vu. The way Brendan practically threw himself down the stairs towards Ste. The way his hand slapped across Ste’s mouth, his arm round the back of Ste’s neck, his weight pulling Ste backwards and out of public view. Like de-ja-vu how Ste’s heart pounded with fear, with anger, with hurt, with surprise. How Brendan’s breath engulfed Ste’s ear as he hissed, “Keep yer fuckin’ voice down, will ye?!”
But this wasn’t Brendan anymore. Not really. Brendan wanted to change for Ste… Ste knew that, even if he didn’t trust Brendan to actually be able to. He had been willing, not so long ago, to come out, to be open. He’d said so… the day he told Ste he loved him. This wasn’t him anymore… this fear of people knowing… he was beyond that. There was only ONE reason they’d be going through this again, and Ste knew damn well what it was.
“He gave ya that bruise didn’t he?!” He gasped, pulling Brendan’s arms away from his neck, panting with the efforts. “Your Dad.”
“Ye don’t know nothin’ boy.” Brendan hissed. But that wasn’t Brendan’s voice. That was the voice of desperation… of fear and weakness and hopelessness. This was the voice of Brendan’s shadow; his demon. His dark side; his side that was victim to his Dad’s age-long threats.
“Does he know about you?!” Ste found the strength to question. “Does he know about us?”
Brendan pushed him away roughly, but Ste found his feet with ease - too much practice.
“There is no us.” Brendan breathed. “You made that perfectly clear.”
Ste swallowed, hard. His mouth almost tasted like blood it was so dry. “So what’s the problem then?! What’s goin’ on Brendan?!”
“Jus’ go home.” Brendan began to move once again towards the steps…
“Don’t let him hurt ya!” Ste croaked furiously. “Don’t let him turn you back into this, Bren, you’re better than this! You’re better than ‘im! I’m sayin’ this as a mate, right?!”
“MATE?!?” Brendan yelled. And then he was back in Ste’s face, practically nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye, breath-against-breath, fury-to-fury.
“You’re not my mate, Steven.” He seethed. “Alrigh’? You’re a lad who was just a good fuck… an’ that’s clearly not gonna happen again, is it, so stop kiddin’ yerself I’m your friend and go fuck off and fuck some fag, why don’t ye?! Just leave me the fuck out of it.”
And then he was gone.
And Ste didn’t even have the energy in him to cry about it anymore. Those words were nothing but the vicious echoes of Brendan’s fathers, and it was simply pathetic that they still absorbed Brendan that way they did.
Let him be that man. Let him become the same friendless, lonely, heartless shell that his father was. Once a Brady, always a Brady after all.