Entry #02 - "Blank Canvas" (3 of 3)
Title: Blank Canvas, part 3
Written By: ayesakara
Timeline: Post Season 5
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Genre: Angst, romance
Blank Canvas, part 3
Of course, when bad luck comes, it comes in threes.
You return to Pittsburgh right in time for Ted’s wedding, only to find that the conference Brian is attending in Los Angeles has been extended for another two days. And if that wasn’t enough, Leo Brown has set up for Brian to meet three CEOs from top companies that he has connections with and those guys will only be available on three different days during the next week. So Brian won’t be back until at least the Twenty-second.
So he’s going to miss both Ted’s reception and the flight to Bahamas. It seems that suddenly your vacation plans have been put on hold.
Mel and Lindsay are in town to attend the commitment with their brood as well. Not to mention, Debbie’s sympathy towards you being in full force, and all the expense of that-fucking-Brian. Your tedium at having to attend yet another gay wedding unfortunately gets mistaken for resentment at Brian’s absence.
"Poor Sunshine never gets what he wants," you hear her talking animatedly to a group of friends. "That asshole has always let him down. How many times is the poor child going to give him a chance?"
"Deb, Brian is stuck in LA with clients," you try to intervene. "He wanted to be here."
"Don’t you try defending him now!" She points her sharp talons at you, a scowl on her face. "He should’ve been here. We’re his family; how you treat family is always supposed to be more important than business."
"Please." You hear Mel snort in derision somewhere in the background. "As if Brian has ever attended any gay wedding. He wasn’t here for ours even though we asked him to be. Hell, he didn’t even attend his own wedding."
The words are cutting and spiteful and you can’t believe your so-called family doesn’t realize how much they are hurting you. Is this how they talk to Brian when he’s here? Yes, Brian didn’t attend his wedding because his wedding was cancelled. Do they think it was because Brian didn’t want to marry you? Are they really this fucked up? Or do they really think you have never had any say in your life with Brian?
"Actually, Brian did..." Lindsay starts to say something, only to be cut off by Michael’s loud voice.
"Look, Justin is right. Brian got stuck in LA in meetings," he says. "If it were in his hands, he would’ve been here. It’s not right for us to be jumping on his back when he’s not even present here."
The words are supportive, but when you catch his eye, he throws a knowing sneer in your direction. And you’re suddenly reminded of the argument you had with him on the Memorial Day weekend. You haven’t spoken to Michael since then, and you realize you haven’t missed anything by avoiding him. He hasn’t changed one bit.
Ben, ever the voice of reason, tells everyone to calm down. "It’s no use getting worked up over Brian like this. I am sure he has a perfectly valid reason why he couldn’t be here."
The ragging session over, everyone moves to the buffet table as if they hadn’t just been talking shit about one of their own only a minute ago. Your appetite is shot, though. You want to throw a fit, scream at everyone, tears the walls down in this place, just so you can show them how upset they have made you. At the very least, you want to throw down the champagne flute in your hand so that it shatters on the floor, and then stalk out of the place in indignation.
But you do none of those things. You sip your drink quietly, willing your heart to stop beating so fast, as the conversations around you mingle together to form one constant thrum of static.
The words "Brian" and "property" take you out of your stupor as you hear Emmett talk to Blake.
"Yeah, Teddy told me Brian’s selling some huge piece of property he bought a couple years ago," Emmett says. "I asked him for details but you know Teddy, he said it was all hush hush, that he wasn’t supposed to discuss it with anyone."
You frown as the words sink into your conscious. Brian is selling property? But what huge piece of property did he buy a couple of years ago? Other than...
Your frown deepens as you feel your heart start thudding inside your chest. It couldn’t possibly be the House, could it? You haven’t even seen it since you left for New York. You don’t know if he even has it anymore.
But what else could it be?
*********
Since you are officially supposed to be on vacation, you decide to stay in Pittsburgh for now rather than returning to New York.
The gang’s scathing remarks and knowing looks fill your head as you lie on Brian’s bed in the loft and wait for him to return. You know it’s all bullshit. Brian had a perfectly legitimate reason for not making it. Yet, for some goddamned reason, you can’t help but think of points of reference in your past when you’d faced similar disappointments.
Take Vermont for instance. How can you forget the place that was supposed to be your first vacation getaway with Brian? The vacation that got fucked up because Brian had to go away on business. Because he put business before you. Just like this time.
But fuck that. You know it’s not like this time. This time, you’re not stupid enough to go away on the vacation by yourself.
And you know all of them are clueless. Mel is an idiot. She doesn’t know Brian like you do. She has the gall to joke about the wedding as if it meant nothing. And Michael, telling you that Brian wasn’t ready to commit with you. That the rings didn’t mean anything. That it was a temporary bout of insanity. They are all wrong, dead fucking wrong. They’re all lost as far as Brian is concerned.
The rings meant... Brian had gotten the message. He was telling you he was willing to commit with you on your terms. That was what the rings and the vows meant. It was your decision as much as his not to go through with the ceremony. Because you realized in time that you didn’t need to get married to know that Brian loved you.
In a way, Michael does have a point. The wedding and the rings and the whole commitment thing did overwhelm Brian too much. That was the reason why you told him he was changing too much. That was the reason why you called off the wedding. Because you didn’t want to lose the person you loved just to have a ceremony that didn’t mean anything. So in that sense, yes, Michael is right: Brian wasn’t ready.
So if Brian is selling off the House he bought for you, it’s okay. And if he finally did return those rings, that is okay too. After all, why else have you never seen those rings since the day you left Pittsburgh, if it isn’t for the fact that Brian did not keep them? So what if it hurts more than you can bear right now? It was all your decision. You are the one who did it.
You were given a blank canvas in your hands. And this is what you painted on it.
*********
The Monday after Ted’s reception, you go to visit Daphne. She takes one look at your face and envelops you in a big hug.
"What happened?" she asks, concern evident in her tone.
"Nothing," you mumble, feeling utterly small in her arms.
She pulls away to look at you. "Don’t try to bullshit me, okay," she scolds. "Now tell me. What happened with Brian?"
You realize there’s no point in trying to hide anything from her. She knows you too fucking well. So you tell her everything. From Michael’s words, to the whole saga of Stan, to Brian’s visit to LA, to him missing Ted’s wedding, to your overhearing Emmett’s remarks about Brian selling property.
When you are finally done, you sit back on the seat and look up at her expectantly. What you are not ready for is a sharp smack on your arm from her.
"You are such an idiot, you know," she scowls at you.
You frown. "Now what?"
"You think Brian would sell off the house that he bought for you?" She asks. "You think he’ll do something like this without even asking you first?"
You feel pissed that she doesn’t even doubt him for a second. "It’s not like I’ve even SEEN the House since I moved to New York." You grumble bitterly. "It might as well be a figment of my imagination. Just like the wedding that never happened and the fucking rings that were never seen again."
She hits you again. "See, this is exactly what I am talking about. You had told me you were the one who didn’t want the rings. And now you’re blaming him?"
"I am not blaming him, okay." You huff in frustration. "I know I am the one who fucked up, the one who ruined everything. You don’t have to remind me."
Her expression softens at your tone. "That’s not what I said," she says gently.
"I don’t know what else you’re saying, Daph."
"Look, why don’t you call him up?" She says. "Ask him yourself?"
"You’re kidding, right?" You shake your head. "He’s stuck in the middle of meetings with some huge clients. I am not calling him when he’s doing business presentations to ask him this shit."
"But you could leave him a message to talk to you urgently," she advises practically. "He’d call you back."
"I have my cell phone turned off."
"What?" She frowns. "Why?"
"Stan."
She rolls her eyes. "He’s stalking you?"
"Kind of." Well, not really, you think. But yeah, it could be seen that way. "He’s left me like seven messages even though I told him not to. I don’t want to talk to him."
She pauses for a moment, thinking. "So the phone option is off."
"Yep."
"Then you’ll just have to look through some of his stuff."
You stare at her. "What?"
"You’re staying at the loft, right? Just go through some of his drawers," she says as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. "If he’s selling the house, those documents are bound to be somewhere, right?"
You look at her incredulously. "You want me to go through his stuff behind his back?"
"Hey, you’re the partner." She shrugs. "You have every right to go through his stuff."
"I don’t even live at the loft anymore."
"He wouldn’t mind. Trust me." She smiles. "And it’d put your mind at ease."
"I don’t think I can." You shake your head.
"Sure you can." She pats you on the back. "Just a few of his drawers. I know this will work."
Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. "How?"
She grins. "Call it female intuition."
"You’re going to get me in trouble."
"Please, you’re not afraid of him, are you?" she snorts.
You look down at your hands and sigh. "Not of him." And then you lift your head to look into her eyes. "Of what I might find."
She is silent for a moment. And then she shrugs. "At least, you’d know."
*********
The loft is one of those things from the Pitts that changed with the passing years.
The change is not in the way the walls look or the floor feels under your feet. It’s not in the possessions residing within. Brian still has the same state of the art interiors, the same uncluttered, minimalist taste in decor, the same kind of expensive designer furniture from Milan.
The change is somewhere deep within the soul of the structure. It’s something inherent, something hidden that goes beyond the confines of the four walls and the high ceilings. It’s in the attitude of the place, you think as you roam around the loft, it is as if it no longer knows you.
You don’t know if it’s because Brian is not here at the moment, or if it’s because, as you told Daphne, you don’t live here anymore.
You start with the small office area at one side of the living room. You open the desk drawers and pick through the papers inside with tense fingers, feeling like an intruder who’s hell bent on disturbing your lover’s private stuff. Bank slips. Email printouts. Presentation hardcopies. Mostly Kinnetik stuff. Not what you’re looking for.
Not finding anything there, you move to the bedroom. The first place you check there is the bedside drawer, sitting down on the side of the bed to look inside. Of course, it’s filled with nothing but condoms and lube and a bottle of Xanax that you suspect Brian has started using more often during the recent work related stress. Shit. You get up and walk to the closet and as you slide open the doors, you sink to your knees to look inside the boxes sitting on the bottom cabinets. Underwear, clothes, shoes, towels, linen. All the usual suspects that one would expect to find in a guy’s bedroom cabinets. Fuck, there’s nothing here. You don’t know why you listened to Daphne in the first place.
You get up from the floor and shuffling back, sit down on the bed again. You stare gloomily at the closet in front of you, your fingers clutching the duvet tensely, you heart filling with lethargy you can’t seem to control.
You suspect if Brian is going to sell a fucking house, he probably isn’t going to keep those documents at home. You should’ve thought of the possibility that any such papers would most likely be kept with his lawyer or something. You shake your head as you consciously unclench your fingers and splay them on top of the thousand thread count Egyptian silk duvet -- rubbing them across the soft texture, letting its smoothness pervade your senses.
At least this is one thing that will always remain the same no matter where Brian lives. He can never do without his fine quality bed fabrics.
You pull yourself up from the bed, and step forward to slide shut the closet doors again. It is as you turn around to face the bedroom again that you notice something odd about the frame of the large King sized bed. You look down at the platform above which the bed frame is set, and see a slit running across the middle of the front side that you hadn’t noticed before. Of course, Brian changed his old bed about a month after you left Pittsburgh, so it’s no wonder you didn’t notice anything.
You kneel down on the floor in front of the bed, and run one finger across the slit. Nothing. You touch the bottom of the frame and give it a push and the whole section swings inside, revealing a hidden storage area. Letting a breath out, you fall back on your haunches and stare at the revealed opening for a few second. Then you get down on your arms and knees to bring your head closer to the floor and peer inside. Yep, there is definitely something inside there.
Your heart thudding in your ears, you slip your arm inside to grab whatever it is. Your fingers brush against something wooden and you grab the edges with your hand, pulling the object out. It’s a wooden box, about 16 by 10 inches in length and 6 inches deep, with lacquered dark Walnut finish. You touch the lid with careful hands and then, taking a deep breath, you grab the edges and pull it open.
The recognition hits you with such full force, that you almost feel your heart slowing it’s beat. White spots suddenly appear in front of your eyes, your breath choking in your throat, as you look down at the objects inside.
The white silk is still blemished with your dried blood, the red now dulled to a drab, faded olive. The scarf, which you hadn’t seen since you slid it from around Brian’s neck that night so many years ago, lies folded at one side of the box. You heart flutters in your chest as you slowly reach for it and as your fingers fold to grab it, you feel your heart start to pound inside your chest. Taking a stuttering breath, you clench it in your fist and touch it with your other hand, feeling the brittleness of the dried blood as your run your hand against it.
Why is it still here? You had thought Brian had gotten rid of it, had thrown it away, had done away with the painful memories it had incorporated within its being. The prom, the bashing, his guilt at your getting hurt. You had thought he’d abolished all those excruciating reminders. You close your eyes as you bring the scarf closer to your face, letting it slide against your skin, smelling the faint metallic smell of spilled blood still hidden inside it. You try to imagine what Brian must’ve felt all those weeks wearing this thing around his neck, and why he kept it here all these years. But try as you might, nothing comes to you. Your thoughts are jumbled, confused, chaotic and you can’t think of a single reason why he would keep it here.
You open your eyes and put the scarf aside, your gaze falling on the other three items in the box. A small object wrapped in cellophane lying at one side and a transparent file cover at the bottom, which apparently is filled with some kind of documents. Your breath now coming out in puffs, you leave the file alone for now and pick up the cellophane-wrapped object instead, twisting the plastic cover round and round until it’s open and you are able to slip the now familiar cowry-shell bracelet out.
You feel a frown form between your brows, as you turn the bracelet over, your thumb touching the B.K. carved on the back. The last time you had touched this was when you’d put it back on Brian’s wrist five years ago. You were still with Ethan then. And Brian had never worn it again. Your mouth suddenly feels dry as you shake your head, once again trying to wrap your mind around the reason why he had thrown this here and never worn it again when you had brought it back for him.
You put the bracelet aside as well and pick up the familiar black velvet box that contains the rings. The rings that Brian had bought for you, to make you happy, but which you had left sitting in this box on the coffee table as you had walked out of the loft. The rings you had thought he’d returned. But obviously he hadn’t. Why are these lying in these box then? Why haven’t you ever seen them again? Why did Brian feel the need to hide them?
Puzzlement filling your head, you put the rings aside, and take out the file you are now sure contains the documents leading to the sale of the House. You open the cover and start reading the first paper filed. A letter containing quotations from a pool brushing and vacuuming service. Dated November 7. What? You frown and turn to the next page. Renovation charges for fixing doors on three stalls in the stable. Dated October 16. Your frown deepens as you turn to the next page. Painting charges for doing four rooms on the first floor. Dated August 28. Next: Quotation from a designer furniture firm for installing the entertainment center set for the library downstairs. Dated June 5. Then: a quotation from a gardening firm for landscaping the seven-acres back yard. Dated March 17.
You feel disoriented as you leaf through all these papers, each detailing the costs charged for doing some kind of work on the House. Either it’s the rooms being painted, or there’s some renovation going on at some place, or someone’s transforming the backyard into manicured lawns with small rock gardens and waterfalls being installed to the side. These papers date all the way back to May 2005, one month after you’d left for New York. However, the frequency of these works being done has increased only in the last one year.
Brian has been busy getting stuff done at the House for the past three years, without letting you get the wind of it. You don’t think he had been living there. No, of course not. He still lives at the loft. But he also has never taken you to the House since you left. So what the fuck has he been doing? Why all these details? Who is he doing this for? Your teeth gnawing at your bottom lip, you pull out all these papers and bills out of the file cover, before you notice the final document at the bottom of the file.
The title on the front page embossed in bold letters saying Joint property ownership with survivorship rights makes your heart quiver for a second.
Your hands shake a little as you take out the stapled document from the file and open it.
You see the names BRIAN A. KINNEY and JUSTIN C. TAYLOR written amidst the jumble of legal technobabble.
And forget to breathe.
*********
"Hey. You have your phone turned off. Ted says you’re staying at the loft, but you’re not picking up the phone there either. Where the fuck are you? I got off early from those appointments. Fuck, I know, it isn’t exactly early since I missed Theodore’s thing and our flight. But instead of the twenty-second, I am now coming back on the eighteenth. I have gotten the seats reconfirmed for that night, for our flight to the Bahamas. I have also arranged for your tickets to NY at the Liberty Air desk for the night of seventeenth. So you should go home and rest up for the trip. I on the other hand will meet you directly at Kennedy as my flight from LAX lands only a couple hours before we have to leave. I just might get the chance to change my clothes in the Liberty Air club. But if not, we’ll see. Okay, I hope you get this in time. Can’t wait to see you. Sorry for the mess up. I miss you."
*********
You watch Brian walk into the Liberty Air VIP Lounge and feel life being breathed back into you.
He is impeccably dressed in a slate gray Armani suit, stylish dark glasses covering his eyes. Your heart beating loudly in your ears, you walk into his arms without a second though. He kisses your lips, humming happily against your mouth as you wrap your arms tightly around him. He chuckles, trying to shift back to look at your face, but you sink into his embrace, not able to look into his eyes. Your veins zing with a strange punch of desperation, as you mentally make your hands not clutch at his clothes.
"Justin?"
You kiss his throat, breathing him in, willing your heart to stop beating so fast.
"Hey," he slides a hand up your back, his fingers brushing your neck.
You just nod against his chest, inhaling his scent deeply into your lungs, as your hands run down his own back.
"Justin..."
You know you’re probably freaking him out but you can’t stop holding him. You just want to assure yourself that he really is here. That despite all the bullshit around you, he’s here and for some crazy reason, he actually wants to be with you.
"Justin," he repeats.
"Just..." You tilt your head up to drop a kiss on his mouth and then bury your face into his shoulder. "Just let me..." You leave the sentence unfinished, not knowing how to explain what you want, when you don’t know yourself.
But Brian doesn’t ask for any explanation.
He just murmurs, "Okay," against your face and stays rooted to the spot right in the middle of the Liberty Air Lounge, holding you close to his heart.
*********
Being an artist, it is in your nature to try seeing things at a very visceral level.
The color of the sand granules shifting between your fingers. The tingling sensation of a cool wave washing between your feet. The small seashells lining the beach, some broken, some not, but each as fascinating in their tiny imperfect details as they are in their breathtaking beauty.
You draw colors and images and shapes of life as you see it as a profession. But there are some things that are so hard to duplicate on canvas, you’re not sure you can even make the attempt.
As you sip a fruity concoction under the beach umbrella, the seemingly unending expanse of sandy white beaches spread before you, the water lapping at your feet unbelievably blue, you realize that Bahamas is possibly the most beautiful place you’ve ever been to.
You feel your heart skip a beat as you hear Brian approach you from behind, ruffling your hair as he slides down to the blanket, shifting closer to you under the umbrella. You turn your face and watch his eyes closely for a second, before reaching up to kiss him, slipping your tongue inside for a long taste.
Brian murmurs appreciatively as he returns the kiss and you feel it again: that zing of desperation that hit you in the airport once, and since then, has been making appearances at uncanny times.
Your eyes close as you breathe deeply, telling your heart to stop fucking with your head. You need distraction, you remind yourself as you kiss Brian’s chest, rubbing you nose into his skin. This place is distraction. You’re here with Brian on a fucking vacation. Why is your mind filling with this unease then? What are you doing to yourself?
"What’s up?"
Your eyes snap open at Brian’s question and you give him what you hope is a believable smile. "It’s just good to be here with you." You kiss his chin.
"Here." He looks into your eyes. "In the Bahamas."
"Here. Away." You shrug. "Just you and me."
"We’ve been away before, Justin," he says casually.
"Yeah." You nod as you shift to fit your head in the crook of his neck, feeling his arm come around your shoulders. You see the seagulls squeaking as they rise up from clear blue waters and for a second wonder how that sense of freedom, of touching the skies, makes these simple creatures feel.
"We have." You sigh. "But never like this."
*********
The depression hits you full throttle late that night while you are sitting in the luxury hotel suite Brian has booked for the stay.
You had hit the casinos and the bars with him earlier in the evening, hoping the sights and sounds of the exotic, beautiful place would help improve your countenance. Unfortunately, seeing the happy faces around, as Brian walked with his arm around your waist, had only made you feel like a liar. So you had returned well before the stroke of midnight, telling Brian you were too tired to do much sightseeing this night.
It is after you two have returned to the rooms that Brian remembers he was supposed to buy cigarettes from the shop in the lobby and leaves you here alone, saying he’ll be back.
Surrounded by your lush, opulent settings, the tastefully decorated rooms all done in shades of whites and creams, with the beautiful silk curtains covering the door to the quaint balcony softly murmuring in the wind, you feel a sudden onslaught of self-loathing begin in the pit of your stomach. Your heart hammering inside your chest, you feel it spread slowly, creepingly outwards, filling your chest, moving up your arms, zinging through your intestines, as it crawls up your esophagus and lodges itself into your throat until you can’t breathe, until your eyes water and you feel your legs folding under you, as you sink to your knees, your teeth biting into your lips in despair.
Hate. Love. Pain. All these emotions coalesce together to form a stinging, choking sensation that can only be labeled as guilt. Guilty of doubting him. Guilty of not being able to trust even all these years. When he trusted you with everything he ever held dear to his heart. When he still trusts you.
But you don’t deserve that trust. How can you when in the past you have broken every single promise you ever made to him.
So what if you told Stan to back off when you did? You never made any effort to stop him from developing those feelings in the first place while you had the chance. Just because Brian had told you that you were free to fuck anyone as many times as you wanted, you nearly got entangled with a stupid lovelorn twink when you should’ve known better. You had known better. You had seen the signs, had felt the stirrings of disquiet right in your gut, but you had done nothing to put an end to it.
Just like in the past when you broke every single rule you made. You bound him with rules and then failed to follow them yourself. Always fucking failed. And you think you deserve him? You think you deserve these luxuries he lavishes upon you? You haven’t earned them. You haven’t earned any of this!
"Justin?"
You hear his voice at the door and realize he has returned from downstairs, but for the life of you can’t bring yourself to lift your head up.
"Justin, what’s wrong?" Brian’s voice rises as he comes closer.
"Nothing." You mumble, your back against the wall, your body half bent in front of you, as you steady your shaking hands by holding your knees.
He is now right next to you. "Nothing?" His voice is incredulous. "Then what is this?"
"Nothing," you repeat.
"It’s not nothing." Brian snaps as he grabs your arm. "You’ve been fucking stressed out ever since you came on this trip. What the fuck is going on?" He yanks you up to face him, his face filled with indignant anger.
But whatever he sees on your face gives him pause, his expression changing from anger to distress in an instant. "Justin!"
"Brian." You choke out, hating yourself for upsetting him.
"What?" he asks.
Your teeth bites into your lips, your breath caught in your throat as you swallow repeatedly.
"Justin, what ..."
"How can you stand it?" You suddenly find your voice.
He grimaces. "Stand what?"
"Me!" You snarl.
He stares at you. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I am talking about TRUST, Brian." Your teeth grit in anger at yourself, at your failures. "How can you stand trusting me when I’ve fucked you over so many times in the past?"
"That’s bullshit." he shakes his head. "You have never fucked me over."
"Stop lying, Brian because that is bullshit." You bare your teeth. "What did I ever do to gain your trust? NOTHING. Why do you do it then? Why do you put up with me?"
"Justin...." He tries to speak but you are on a roll.
"Why, when I have nothing but doubts and fears and fucking distrust plaguing my whole being. How the hell can you do it?"
"Do what?" He asks helplessly.
"Go on trusting me," you cry. "Blindly."
"It’s not blind." He throws his hands up, huffing incredulously. "This is unfuckingbelievable."
"What, Brian?" You laugh bitterly as you push off the wall and straighten up. "Do you even know or understand what really is unbelievable?"
"What..."
You push him out of way as you stalk inside the bedroom, walking to the closet that holds your luggage, and throwing open it’s door. You take out the duffle bag you had carried from Pittsburgh, and from inside you take out the items you had found in the wooden box.
"This, Brian." You wave the scarf in his face, watching his eyes widen in recognition. "This is unbelievable. That you are bound by rules and fucking promises and keep on working your end of the deal, and yet, you get nothing in return." You bite every word you say, your voice filled with anger. "Except... this: A fucking blood-soaked scarf. That reminds you of the guilt that filled your being at getting me hurt."
You throw the scarf on the bed and pick up the bracelet. "And this: My gift to you... that you can’t even wear anymore because I tainted it with my fucking infidelity."
The bracelet too goes on the bed as you grab the box of rings and face him, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. "And this: your heart on the sleeve, Brian, that you gave to me, these rings which I fucking threw back in your face as I packed my bags and left for greener pastures. When you, the man who loved me, the man whom I supposed loved back... was giving me a piece of his soul with words and gestures and everything I had ever asked for and more."
You throw the box on the bed and grab the final item, the file containing all the documents concerning the House. "And this, Brian. This House that you can neither live in nor get rid of. This House that you bought for me, that you keep working on and renovating and getting shit done when I haven’t even ASKED about it in the last three years." You throw the papers down on the bed. "This is what unbelievable feels like, Brian. That I treat you like this and you go on loving me," you cry. "It’s UNFATHOMABLE because no one deserves to be treated with such contempt, such blatant, faithless deceit!"
"THAT IS NOT FUCKING TRUE!" he yells.
You watch dumbfounded, as a mélange of emotions fly across his face. Anger. Incredulity. Desperation.
He looks into your eyes. "That is NOT what it means, you idiot!"
He steps forward to walk past you to the bed. "This scarf." He picks it up. "It doesn’t mean guilt, all right? It means freedom. For me. That night, when you slid it off my neck, and threw it to the floor, you freed me from that guilt. You set me free, Justin. You told me that while it was okay to feel like the whole fucking world had gone to hell when you were still lying in the hospital... you were all right now." His voice cracks. "That you’d forgiven me. You did not hold me responsible like the rest of the world did. You trusted me to love you, to touch you..."
"Brian."
He leaves the scarf and picks up the next item. "This bracelet. Tainted by your infidelity, my ass." He snorts. "You were the only one who actually made an effort to find the truth when my cunt sister and her spawn of Satan accused me of molesting him." He looks into your eyes. "You saved me, Justin. I didn’t stop wearing it because it was tainted. I stopped wearing it because... I no longer needed it." He sighs. "You stood up for me, even though we weren’t together, you trusted me. You had faith in me."
He puts the bracelet down and picks up the ring box. "And I had faith in you. That’s why I kept the rings, and the House, all these years. You didn’t throw them back in my face. I thought I was showing you that I trusted you, that I knew you’d come back to me one day, or that I’d come to you when the time was right. That keeping these meant we were still together, despite the distance." He looks at you searchingly. "Are you telling me you have not felt this way?"
You swallow hard. "I have."
"Then what?" he asks.
"There’s so much that I’ve misunderstood." You look at him helplessly.
He puts the rings down and comes forward to put his hands on your shoulders, leaning down to stare into your eyes. "You understand it all, Sunshine. You may have misinterpreted some of it, but you always made the right decision."
"But..."
"You came with me, didn’t you?" He traces your jaw with his index finger as he looks at you closely. "Despite of all that went down with... Stan."
Your mouth falls open at this. "You... how do you..."
"How do I know his name?"
You nod mutely.
"He called me." He snorts as you feel yourself sputter in disbelief. "Don’t know where he got my number from but he was blabbing some shit about soul mates and the human capacity for love."
"That son of a bitch!" You growl. "I can’t believe he had the gall to...."
"Stop." He smacks you on your arm. "I told him to fuck off."
You suddenly look up at him, feeling a nagging worry uncurl in your chest. "Brian," you say to him. "Nothing ever really went down with Stan."
He smiles. "I know, Sunshine."
Still, you touch his arm, intending to make this very, very clear. "He was just a fuck. A repeat fuck. I should’ve stopped fucking him long before I did. That was my mistake." You look into his eyes. "But other than that, nothing ever really happened."
"And still you let all these worries fill your pretty little blond head." He pulls you close to him, wrapping his arms around you. "You’ve been blaming yourself for all the wrong things, things that are in the past." He looks into your eyes. "When all that matters is what we have now."
A sudden sense of relief fills you. All that guilt that had been harboring inside your head finally melts at the slide of his soothing hands on your back. You slide your fingers through Brian’s hair and kiss him moistly, your tongue tracing the shape of his perfect lips.
"I love you, Brian." you sniffle against his lips.
"You stupid little twat." He huffs as he kisses you back. "You’re going to give yourself an aneurysm someday." He bites your lips. "And me too."
You laugh and feel happy tears sting your eyes at the same time.
"You’re such a drama queen, Sunshine."
"So are you."
"Not nearly as much as you are."
"Imagine that."
*********
You once read somewhere that there was a thin line between ecstasy and despair.
You feel like you’ve crossed that line a few times during the last many days. However, the sense of relief that you feel at clearing things up with Brian is so profound that you feel lighter than you have ever felt in your life.
The next evening, as you are soaking in the hot Jacuzzi with him, the two of you soaping each other lazily, you tell Brian about what happened at Ted’s reception, repeating each and everything that was said about him in his absence. You also tell him about the incident with Michael at the comic book shop, back during the Memorial Day weekend.
He listens to you quietly, his face tense, and when you are done, he says he doesn’t give a damn about derision from people who think they know him, but really do not. People who call themselves his family and then talk like that behind his back mean nothing to him anymore. He’s used to it and it doesn’t make any difference.
But then he pulls you close and kisses you tenderly. "However," he begins. "I do not like it when people try to fill your mind with doubts about me." You try to tell him you never believed any of that shit but he stops you. "I know you didn’t believe that. But there is more."
You look at him questioningly.
He slips his hands up your back and runs his fingers in circles on your skin, his touch soothing and intoxicating. "The reason you never saw the rings and the House after you left is not because I was trying to hide anything, Justin." He looks at you. "It was because... you went to New York to make a career. You were starting from scratch, making the rounds, learning new things. I didn’t want to distract you while you were doing that, Sunshine, or to remind you of things which could’ve waited for a few more years until the time was right."
You watch him with amazement filling your heart, your eyes wide with wonder, as he leans in to kiss you again. Then he pulls back and looks into your eyes. "The House and the rings have always been yours, Justin. The only thing that matters is the timing." He smiles. "Whenever you’re ready, you can have them."
You feel your throat tighten with emotion as all your questions are answered in one stroke. You wrap your arms around his body, feeling his erection poking you in the stomach, and kiss him thoroughly. He slides his hands down your back until he’s holding your ass with both hands and you lean down to first nip and then kiss at this throat, his answering sigh making you moan. You grab the supplies from the ledge, hand him the tube of lube and then slide your hands up his arms to hold his shoulders.
"I want you to fuck me now," you whisper in his ear as he settles you back against the side comfortably.
"That can be arranged," he says with a smile before covering your body with his own.
*********
You always thought life was like a blank canvas.
You could fill it with what you liked, making it as painful or as beautiful as you wanted.
As you sit on the beach with the sketchpad and draw the sight of Brian checking his email on his laptop, you realize that he indeed makes a beautiful subject to draw no matter what the setting.
You understand now that while it may not be possible to duplicate every tiny detail about beautiful nature through your art, the process should never be abandoned before trial.
It’s your canvas. You can capture on it everything that you see.
It’s only a matter of keeping your eyes open.
*********
The End
Written By: ayesakara
Timeline: Post Season 5
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Genre: Angst, romance
Blank Canvas, part 3
Of course, when bad luck comes, it comes in threes.
You return to Pittsburgh right in time for Ted’s wedding, only to find that the conference Brian is attending in Los Angeles has been extended for another two days. And if that wasn’t enough, Leo Brown has set up for Brian to meet three CEOs from top companies that he has connections with and those guys will only be available on three different days during the next week. So Brian won’t be back until at least the Twenty-second.
So he’s going to miss both Ted’s reception and the flight to Bahamas. It seems that suddenly your vacation plans have been put on hold.
Mel and Lindsay are in town to attend the commitment with their brood as well. Not to mention, Debbie’s sympathy towards you being in full force, and all the expense of that-fucking-Brian. Your tedium at having to attend yet another gay wedding unfortunately gets mistaken for resentment at Brian’s absence.
"Poor Sunshine never gets what he wants," you hear her talking animatedly to a group of friends. "That asshole has always let him down. How many times is the poor child going to give him a chance?"
"Deb, Brian is stuck in LA with clients," you try to intervene. "He wanted to be here."
"Don’t you try defending him now!" She points her sharp talons at you, a scowl on her face. "He should’ve been here. We’re his family; how you treat family is always supposed to be more important than business."
"Please." You hear Mel snort in derision somewhere in the background. "As if Brian has ever attended any gay wedding. He wasn’t here for ours even though we asked him to be. Hell, he didn’t even attend his own wedding."
The words are cutting and spiteful and you can’t believe your so-called family doesn’t realize how much they are hurting you. Is this how they talk to Brian when he’s here? Yes, Brian didn’t attend his wedding because his wedding was cancelled. Do they think it was because Brian didn’t want to marry you? Are they really this fucked up? Or do they really think you have never had any say in your life with Brian?
"Actually, Brian did..." Lindsay starts to say something, only to be cut off by Michael’s loud voice.
"Look, Justin is right. Brian got stuck in LA in meetings," he says. "If it were in his hands, he would’ve been here. It’s not right for us to be jumping on his back when he’s not even present here."
The words are supportive, but when you catch his eye, he throws a knowing sneer in your direction. And you’re suddenly reminded of the argument you had with him on the Memorial Day weekend. You haven’t spoken to Michael since then, and you realize you haven’t missed anything by avoiding him. He hasn’t changed one bit.
Ben, ever the voice of reason, tells everyone to calm down. "It’s no use getting worked up over Brian like this. I am sure he has a perfectly valid reason why he couldn’t be here."
The ragging session over, everyone moves to the buffet table as if they hadn’t just been talking shit about one of their own only a minute ago. Your appetite is shot, though. You want to throw a fit, scream at everyone, tears the walls down in this place, just so you can show them how upset they have made you. At the very least, you want to throw down the champagne flute in your hand so that it shatters on the floor, and then stalk out of the place in indignation.
But you do none of those things. You sip your drink quietly, willing your heart to stop beating so fast, as the conversations around you mingle together to form one constant thrum of static.
The words "Brian" and "property" take you out of your stupor as you hear Emmett talk to Blake.
"Yeah, Teddy told me Brian’s selling some huge piece of property he bought a couple years ago," Emmett says. "I asked him for details but you know Teddy, he said it was all hush hush, that he wasn’t supposed to discuss it with anyone."
You frown as the words sink into your conscious. Brian is selling property? But what huge piece of property did he buy a couple of years ago? Other than...
Your frown deepens as you feel your heart start thudding inside your chest. It couldn’t possibly be the House, could it? You haven’t even seen it since you left for New York. You don’t know if he even has it anymore.
But what else could it be?
*********
Since you are officially supposed to be on vacation, you decide to stay in Pittsburgh for now rather than returning to New York.
The gang’s scathing remarks and knowing looks fill your head as you lie on Brian’s bed in the loft and wait for him to return. You know it’s all bullshit. Brian had a perfectly legitimate reason for not making it. Yet, for some goddamned reason, you can’t help but think of points of reference in your past when you’d faced similar disappointments.
Take Vermont for instance. How can you forget the place that was supposed to be your first vacation getaway with Brian? The vacation that got fucked up because Brian had to go away on business. Because he put business before you. Just like this time.
But fuck that. You know it’s not like this time. This time, you’re not stupid enough to go away on the vacation by yourself.
And you know all of them are clueless. Mel is an idiot. She doesn’t know Brian like you do. She has the gall to joke about the wedding as if it meant nothing. And Michael, telling you that Brian wasn’t ready to commit with you. That the rings didn’t mean anything. That it was a temporary bout of insanity. They are all wrong, dead fucking wrong. They’re all lost as far as Brian is concerned.
The rings meant... Brian had gotten the message. He was telling you he was willing to commit with you on your terms. That was what the rings and the vows meant. It was your decision as much as his not to go through with the ceremony. Because you realized in time that you didn’t need to get married to know that Brian loved you.
In a way, Michael does have a point. The wedding and the rings and the whole commitment thing did overwhelm Brian too much. That was the reason why you told him he was changing too much. That was the reason why you called off the wedding. Because you didn’t want to lose the person you loved just to have a ceremony that didn’t mean anything. So in that sense, yes, Michael is right: Brian wasn’t ready.
So if Brian is selling off the House he bought for you, it’s okay. And if he finally did return those rings, that is okay too. After all, why else have you never seen those rings since the day you left Pittsburgh, if it isn’t for the fact that Brian did not keep them? So what if it hurts more than you can bear right now? It was all your decision. You are the one who did it.
You were given a blank canvas in your hands. And this is what you painted on it.
*********
The Monday after Ted’s reception, you go to visit Daphne. She takes one look at your face and envelops you in a big hug.
"What happened?" she asks, concern evident in her tone.
"Nothing," you mumble, feeling utterly small in her arms.
She pulls away to look at you. "Don’t try to bullshit me, okay," she scolds. "Now tell me. What happened with Brian?"
You realize there’s no point in trying to hide anything from her. She knows you too fucking well. So you tell her everything. From Michael’s words, to the whole saga of Stan, to Brian’s visit to LA, to him missing Ted’s wedding, to your overhearing Emmett’s remarks about Brian selling property.
When you are finally done, you sit back on the seat and look up at her expectantly. What you are not ready for is a sharp smack on your arm from her.
"You are such an idiot, you know," she scowls at you.
You frown. "Now what?"
"You think Brian would sell off the house that he bought for you?" She asks. "You think he’ll do something like this without even asking you first?"
You feel pissed that she doesn’t even doubt him for a second. "It’s not like I’ve even SEEN the House since I moved to New York." You grumble bitterly. "It might as well be a figment of my imagination. Just like the wedding that never happened and the fucking rings that were never seen again."
She hits you again. "See, this is exactly what I am talking about. You had told me you were the one who didn’t want the rings. And now you’re blaming him?"
"I am not blaming him, okay." You huff in frustration. "I know I am the one who fucked up, the one who ruined everything. You don’t have to remind me."
Her expression softens at your tone. "That’s not what I said," she says gently.
"I don’t know what else you’re saying, Daph."
"Look, why don’t you call him up?" She says. "Ask him yourself?"
"You’re kidding, right?" You shake your head. "He’s stuck in the middle of meetings with some huge clients. I am not calling him when he’s doing business presentations to ask him this shit."
"But you could leave him a message to talk to you urgently," she advises practically. "He’d call you back."
"I have my cell phone turned off."
"What?" She frowns. "Why?"
"Stan."
She rolls her eyes. "He’s stalking you?"
"Kind of." Well, not really, you think. But yeah, it could be seen that way. "He’s left me like seven messages even though I told him not to. I don’t want to talk to him."
She pauses for a moment, thinking. "So the phone option is off."
"Yep."
"Then you’ll just have to look through some of his stuff."
You stare at her. "What?"
"You’re staying at the loft, right? Just go through some of his drawers," she says as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. "If he’s selling the house, those documents are bound to be somewhere, right?"
You look at her incredulously. "You want me to go through his stuff behind his back?"
"Hey, you’re the partner." She shrugs. "You have every right to go through his stuff."
"I don’t even live at the loft anymore."
"He wouldn’t mind. Trust me." She smiles. "And it’d put your mind at ease."
"I don’t think I can." You shake your head.
"Sure you can." She pats you on the back. "Just a few of his drawers. I know this will work."
Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. "How?"
She grins. "Call it female intuition."
"You’re going to get me in trouble."
"Please, you’re not afraid of him, are you?" she snorts.
You look down at your hands and sigh. "Not of him." And then you lift your head to look into her eyes. "Of what I might find."
She is silent for a moment. And then she shrugs. "At least, you’d know."
*********
The loft is one of those things from the Pitts that changed with the passing years.
The change is not in the way the walls look or the floor feels under your feet. It’s not in the possessions residing within. Brian still has the same state of the art interiors, the same uncluttered, minimalist taste in decor, the same kind of expensive designer furniture from Milan.
The change is somewhere deep within the soul of the structure. It’s something inherent, something hidden that goes beyond the confines of the four walls and the high ceilings. It’s in the attitude of the place, you think as you roam around the loft, it is as if it no longer knows you.
You don’t know if it’s because Brian is not here at the moment, or if it’s because, as you told Daphne, you don’t live here anymore.
You start with the small office area at one side of the living room. You open the desk drawers and pick through the papers inside with tense fingers, feeling like an intruder who’s hell bent on disturbing your lover’s private stuff. Bank slips. Email printouts. Presentation hardcopies. Mostly Kinnetik stuff. Not what you’re looking for.
Not finding anything there, you move to the bedroom. The first place you check there is the bedside drawer, sitting down on the side of the bed to look inside. Of course, it’s filled with nothing but condoms and lube and a bottle of Xanax that you suspect Brian has started using more often during the recent work related stress. Shit. You get up and walk to the closet and as you slide open the doors, you sink to your knees to look inside the boxes sitting on the bottom cabinets. Underwear, clothes, shoes, towels, linen. All the usual suspects that one would expect to find in a guy’s bedroom cabinets. Fuck, there’s nothing here. You don’t know why you listened to Daphne in the first place.
You get up from the floor and shuffling back, sit down on the bed again. You stare gloomily at the closet in front of you, your fingers clutching the duvet tensely, you heart filling with lethargy you can’t seem to control.
You suspect if Brian is going to sell a fucking house, he probably isn’t going to keep those documents at home. You should’ve thought of the possibility that any such papers would most likely be kept with his lawyer or something. You shake your head as you consciously unclench your fingers and splay them on top of the thousand thread count Egyptian silk duvet -- rubbing them across the soft texture, letting its smoothness pervade your senses.
At least this is one thing that will always remain the same no matter where Brian lives. He can never do without his fine quality bed fabrics.
You pull yourself up from the bed, and step forward to slide shut the closet doors again. It is as you turn around to face the bedroom again that you notice something odd about the frame of the large King sized bed. You look down at the platform above which the bed frame is set, and see a slit running across the middle of the front side that you hadn’t noticed before. Of course, Brian changed his old bed about a month after you left Pittsburgh, so it’s no wonder you didn’t notice anything.
You kneel down on the floor in front of the bed, and run one finger across the slit. Nothing. You touch the bottom of the frame and give it a push and the whole section swings inside, revealing a hidden storage area. Letting a breath out, you fall back on your haunches and stare at the revealed opening for a few second. Then you get down on your arms and knees to bring your head closer to the floor and peer inside. Yep, there is definitely something inside there.
Your heart thudding in your ears, you slip your arm inside to grab whatever it is. Your fingers brush against something wooden and you grab the edges with your hand, pulling the object out. It’s a wooden box, about 16 by 10 inches in length and 6 inches deep, with lacquered dark Walnut finish. You touch the lid with careful hands and then, taking a deep breath, you grab the edges and pull it open.
The recognition hits you with such full force, that you almost feel your heart slowing it’s beat. White spots suddenly appear in front of your eyes, your breath choking in your throat, as you look down at the objects inside.
The white silk is still blemished with your dried blood, the red now dulled to a drab, faded olive. The scarf, which you hadn’t seen since you slid it from around Brian’s neck that night so many years ago, lies folded at one side of the box. You heart flutters in your chest as you slowly reach for it and as your fingers fold to grab it, you feel your heart start to pound inside your chest. Taking a stuttering breath, you clench it in your fist and touch it with your other hand, feeling the brittleness of the dried blood as your run your hand against it.
Why is it still here? You had thought Brian had gotten rid of it, had thrown it away, had done away with the painful memories it had incorporated within its being. The prom, the bashing, his guilt at your getting hurt. You had thought he’d abolished all those excruciating reminders. You close your eyes as you bring the scarf closer to your face, letting it slide against your skin, smelling the faint metallic smell of spilled blood still hidden inside it. You try to imagine what Brian must’ve felt all those weeks wearing this thing around his neck, and why he kept it here all these years. But try as you might, nothing comes to you. Your thoughts are jumbled, confused, chaotic and you can’t think of a single reason why he would keep it here.
You open your eyes and put the scarf aside, your gaze falling on the other three items in the box. A small object wrapped in cellophane lying at one side and a transparent file cover at the bottom, which apparently is filled with some kind of documents. Your breath now coming out in puffs, you leave the file alone for now and pick up the cellophane-wrapped object instead, twisting the plastic cover round and round until it’s open and you are able to slip the now familiar cowry-shell bracelet out.
You feel a frown form between your brows, as you turn the bracelet over, your thumb touching the B.K. carved on the back. The last time you had touched this was when you’d put it back on Brian’s wrist five years ago. You were still with Ethan then. And Brian had never worn it again. Your mouth suddenly feels dry as you shake your head, once again trying to wrap your mind around the reason why he had thrown this here and never worn it again when you had brought it back for him.
You put the bracelet aside as well and pick up the familiar black velvet box that contains the rings. The rings that Brian had bought for you, to make you happy, but which you had left sitting in this box on the coffee table as you had walked out of the loft. The rings you had thought he’d returned. But obviously he hadn’t. Why are these lying in these box then? Why haven’t you ever seen them again? Why did Brian feel the need to hide them?
Puzzlement filling your head, you put the rings aside, and take out the file you are now sure contains the documents leading to the sale of the House. You open the cover and start reading the first paper filed. A letter containing quotations from a pool brushing and vacuuming service. Dated November 7. What? You frown and turn to the next page. Renovation charges for fixing doors on three stalls in the stable. Dated October 16. Your frown deepens as you turn to the next page. Painting charges for doing four rooms on the first floor. Dated August 28. Next: Quotation from a designer furniture firm for installing the entertainment center set for the library downstairs. Dated June 5. Then: a quotation from a gardening firm for landscaping the seven-acres back yard. Dated March 17.
You feel disoriented as you leaf through all these papers, each detailing the costs charged for doing some kind of work on the House. Either it’s the rooms being painted, or there’s some renovation going on at some place, or someone’s transforming the backyard into manicured lawns with small rock gardens and waterfalls being installed to the side. These papers date all the way back to May 2005, one month after you’d left for New York. However, the frequency of these works being done has increased only in the last one year.
Brian has been busy getting stuff done at the House for the past three years, without letting you get the wind of it. You don’t think he had been living there. No, of course not. He still lives at the loft. But he also has never taken you to the House since you left. So what the fuck has he been doing? Why all these details? Who is he doing this for? Your teeth gnawing at your bottom lip, you pull out all these papers and bills out of the file cover, before you notice the final document at the bottom of the file.
The title on the front page embossed in bold letters saying Joint property ownership with survivorship rights makes your heart quiver for a second.
Your hands shake a little as you take out the stapled document from the file and open it.
You see the names BRIAN A. KINNEY and JUSTIN C. TAYLOR written amidst the jumble of legal technobabble.
And forget to breathe.
*********
"Hey. You have your phone turned off. Ted says you’re staying at the loft, but you’re not picking up the phone there either. Where the fuck are you? I got off early from those appointments. Fuck, I know, it isn’t exactly early since I missed Theodore’s thing and our flight. But instead of the twenty-second, I am now coming back on the eighteenth. I have gotten the seats reconfirmed for that night, for our flight to the Bahamas. I have also arranged for your tickets to NY at the Liberty Air desk for the night of seventeenth. So you should go home and rest up for the trip. I on the other hand will meet you directly at Kennedy as my flight from LAX lands only a couple hours before we have to leave. I just might get the chance to change my clothes in the Liberty Air club. But if not, we’ll see. Okay, I hope you get this in time. Can’t wait to see you. Sorry for the mess up. I miss you."
*********
You watch Brian walk into the Liberty Air VIP Lounge and feel life being breathed back into you.
He is impeccably dressed in a slate gray Armani suit, stylish dark glasses covering his eyes. Your heart beating loudly in your ears, you walk into his arms without a second though. He kisses your lips, humming happily against your mouth as you wrap your arms tightly around him. He chuckles, trying to shift back to look at your face, but you sink into his embrace, not able to look into his eyes. Your veins zing with a strange punch of desperation, as you mentally make your hands not clutch at his clothes.
"Justin?"
You kiss his throat, breathing him in, willing your heart to stop beating so fast.
"Hey," he slides a hand up your back, his fingers brushing your neck.
You just nod against his chest, inhaling his scent deeply into your lungs, as your hands run down his own back.
"Justin..."
You know you’re probably freaking him out but you can’t stop holding him. You just want to assure yourself that he really is here. That despite all the bullshit around you, he’s here and for some crazy reason, he actually wants to be with you.
"Justin," he repeats.
"Just..." You tilt your head up to drop a kiss on his mouth and then bury your face into his shoulder. "Just let me..." You leave the sentence unfinished, not knowing how to explain what you want, when you don’t know yourself.
But Brian doesn’t ask for any explanation.
He just murmurs, "Okay," against your face and stays rooted to the spot right in the middle of the Liberty Air Lounge, holding you close to his heart.
*********
Being an artist, it is in your nature to try seeing things at a very visceral level.
The color of the sand granules shifting between your fingers. The tingling sensation of a cool wave washing between your feet. The small seashells lining the beach, some broken, some not, but each as fascinating in their tiny imperfect details as they are in their breathtaking beauty.
You draw colors and images and shapes of life as you see it as a profession. But there are some things that are so hard to duplicate on canvas, you’re not sure you can even make the attempt.
As you sip a fruity concoction under the beach umbrella, the seemingly unending expanse of sandy white beaches spread before you, the water lapping at your feet unbelievably blue, you realize that Bahamas is possibly the most beautiful place you’ve ever been to.
You feel your heart skip a beat as you hear Brian approach you from behind, ruffling your hair as he slides down to the blanket, shifting closer to you under the umbrella. You turn your face and watch his eyes closely for a second, before reaching up to kiss him, slipping your tongue inside for a long taste.
Brian murmurs appreciatively as he returns the kiss and you feel it again: that zing of desperation that hit you in the airport once, and since then, has been making appearances at uncanny times.
Your eyes close as you breathe deeply, telling your heart to stop fucking with your head. You need distraction, you remind yourself as you kiss Brian’s chest, rubbing you nose into his skin. This place is distraction. You’re here with Brian on a fucking vacation. Why is your mind filling with this unease then? What are you doing to yourself?
"What’s up?"
Your eyes snap open at Brian’s question and you give him what you hope is a believable smile. "It’s just good to be here with you." You kiss his chin.
"Here." He looks into your eyes. "In the Bahamas."
"Here. Away." You shrug. "Just you and me."
"We’ve been away before, Justin," he says casually.
"Yeah." You nod as you shift to fit your head in the crook of his neck, feeling his arm come around your shoulders. You see the seagulls squeaking as they rise up from clear blue waters and for a second wonder how that sense of freedom, of touching the skies, makes these simple creatures feel.
"We have." You sigh. "But never like this."
*********
The depression hits you full throttle late that night while you are sitting in the luxury hotel suite Brian has booked for the stay.
You had hit the casinos and the bars with him earlier in the evening, hoping the sights and sounds of the exotic, beautiful place would help improve your countenance. Unfortunately, seeing the happy faces around, as Brian walked with his arm around your waist, had only made you feel like a liar. So you had returned well before the stroke of midnight, telling Brian you were too tired to do much sightseeing this night.
It is after you two have returned to the rooms that Brian remembers he was supposed to buy cigarettes from the shop in the lobby and leaves you here alone, saying he’ll be back.
Surrounded by your lush, opulent settings, the tastefully decorated rooms all done in shades of whites and creams, with the beautiful silk curtains covering the door to the quaint balcony softly murmuring in the wind, you feel a sudden onslaught of self-loathing begin in the pit of your stomach. Your heart hammering inside your chest, you feel it spread slowly, creepingly outwards, filling your chest, moving up your arms, zinging through your intestines, as it crawls up your esophagus and lodges itself into your throat until you can’t breathe, until your eyes water and you feel your legs folding under you, as you sink to your knees, your teeth biting into your lips in despair.
Hate. Love. Pain. All these emotions coalesce together to form a stinging, choking sensation that can only be labeled as guilt. Guilty of doubting him. Guilty of not being able to trust even all these years. When he trusted you with everything he ever held dear to his heart. When he still trusts you.
But you don’t deserve that trust. How can you when in the past you have broken every single promise you ever made to him.
So what if you told Stan to back off when you did? You never made any effort to stop him from developing those feelings in the first place while you had the chance. Just because Brian had told you that you were free to fuck anyone as many times as you wanted, you nearly got entangled with a stupid lovelorn twink when you should’ve known better. You had known better. You had seen the signs, had felt the stirrings of disquiet right in your gut, but you had done nothing to put an end to it.
Just like in the past when you broke every single rule you made. You bound him with rules and then failed to follow them yourself. Always fucking failed. And you think you deserve him? You think you deserve these luxuries he lavishes upon you? You haven’t earned them. You haven’t earned any of this!
"Justin?"
You hear his voice at the door and realize he has returned from downstairs, but for the life of you can’t bring yourself to lift your head up.
"Justin, what’s wrong?" Brian’s voice rises as he comes closer.
"Nothing." You mumble, your back against the wall, your body half bent in front of you, as you steady your shaking hands by holding your knees.
He is now right next to you. "Nothing?" His voice is incredulous. "Then what is this?"
"Nothing," you repeat.
"It’s not nothing." Brian snaps as he grabs your arm. "You’ve been fucking stressed out ever since you came on this trip. What the fuck is going on?" He yanks you up to face him, his face filled with indignant anger.
But whatever he sees on your face gives him pause, his expression changing from anger to distress in an instant. "Justin!"
"Brian." You choke out, hating yourself for upsetting him.
"What?" he asks.
Your teeth bites into your lips, your breath caught in your throat as you swallow repeatedly.
"Justin, what ..."
"How can you stand it?" You suddenly find your voice.
He grimaces. "Stand what?"
"Me!" You snarl.
He stares at you. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I am talking about TRUST, Brian." Your teeth grit in anger at yourself, at your failures. "How can you stand trusting me when I’ve fucked you over so many times in the past?"
"That’s bullshit." he shakes his head. "You have never fucked me over."
"Stop lying, Brian because that is bullshit." You bare your teeth. "What did I ever do to gain your trust? NOTHING. Why do you do it then? Why do you put up with me?"
"Justin...." He tries to speak but you are on a roll.
"Why, when I have nothing but doubts and fears and fucking distrust plaguing my whole being. How the hell can you do it?"
"Do what?" He asks helplessly.
"Go on trusting me," you cry. "Blindly."
"It’s not blind." He throws his hands up, huffing incredulously. "This is unfuckingbelievable."
"What, Brian?" You laugh bitterly as you push off the wall and straighten up. "Do you even know or understand what really is unbelievable?"
"What..."
You push him out of way as you stalk inside the bedroom, walking to the closet that holds your luggage, and throwing open it’s door. You take out the duffle bag you had carried from Pittsburgh, and from inside you take out the items you had found in the wooden box.
"This, Brian." You wave the scarf in his face, watching his eyes widen in recognition. "This is unbelievable. That you are bound by rules and fucking promises and keep on working your end of the deal, and yet, you get nothing in return." You bite every word you say, your voice filled with anger. "Except... this: A fucking blood-soaked scarf. That reminds you of the guilt that filled your being at getting me hurt."
You throw the scarf on the bed and pick up the bracelet. "And this: My gift to you... that you can’t even wear anymore because I tainted it with my fucking infidelity."
The bracelet too goes on the bed as you grab the box of rings and face him, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. "And this: your heart on the sleeve, Brian, that you gave to me, these rings which I fucking threw back in your face as I packed my bags and left for greener pastures. When you, the man who loved me, the man whom I supposed loved back... was giving me a piece of his soul with words and gestures and everything I had ever asked for and more."
You throw the box on the bed and grab the final item, the file containing all the documents concerning the House. "And this, Brian. This House that you can neither live in nor get rid of. This House that you bought for me, that you keep working on and renovating and getting shit done when I haven’t even ASKED about it in the last three years." You throw the papers down on the bed. "This is what unbelievable feels like, Brian. That I treat you like this and you go on loving me," you cry. "It’s UNFATHOMABLE because no one deserves to be treated with such contempt, such blatant, faithless deceit!"
"THAT IS NOT FUCKING TRUE!" he yells.
You watch dumbfounded, as a mélange of emotions fly across his face. Anger. Incredulity. Desperation.
He looks into your eyes. "That is NOT what it means, you idiot!"
He steps forward to walk past you to the bed. "This scarf." He picks it up. "It doesn’t mean guilt, all right? It means freedom. For me. That night, when you slid it off my neck, and threw it to the floor, you freed me from that guilt. You set me free, Justin. You told me that while it was okay to feel like the whole fucking world had gone to hell when you were still lying in the hospital... you were all right now." His voice cracks. "That you’d forgiven me. You did not hold me responsible like the rest of the world did. You trusted me to love you, to touch you..."
"Brian."
He leaves the scarf and picks up the next item. "This bracelet. Tainted by your infidelity, my ass." He snorts. "You were the only one who actually made an effort to find the truth when my cunt sister and her spawn of Satan accused me of molesting him." He looks into your eyes. "You saved me, Justin. I didn’t stop wearing it because it was tainted. I stopped wearing it because... I no longer needed it." He sighs. "You stood up for me, even though we weren’t together, you trusted me. You had faith in me."
He puts the bracelet down and picks up the ring box. "And I had faith in you. That’s why I kept the rings, and the House, all these years. You didn’t throw them back in my face. I thought I was showing you that I trusted you, that I knew you’d come back to me one day, or that I’d come to you when the time was right. That keeping these meant we were still together, despite the distance." He looks at you searchingly. "Are you telling me you have not felt this way?"
You swallow hard. "I have."
"Then what?" he asks.
"There’s so much that I’ve misunderstood." You look at him helplessly.
He puts the rings down and comes forward to put his hands on your shoulders, leaning down to stare into your eyes. "You understand it all, Sunshine. You may have misinterpreted some of it, but you always made the right decision."
"But..."
"You came with me, didn’t you?" He traces your jaw with his index finger as he looks at you closely. "Despite of all that went down with... Stan."
Your mouth falls open at this. "You... how do you..."
"How do I know his name?"
You nod mutely.
"He called me." He snorts as you feel yourself sputter in disbelief. "Don’t know where he got my number from but he was blabbing some shit about soul mates and the human capacity for love."
"That son of a bitch!" You growl. "I can’t believe he had the gall to...."
"Stop." He smacks you on your arm. "I told him to fuck off."
You suddenly look up at him, feeling a nagging worry uncurl in your chest. "Brian," you say to him. "Nothing ever really went down with Stan."
He smiles. "I know, Sunshine."
Still, you touch his arm, intending to make this very, very clear. "He was just a fuck. A repeat fuck. I should’ve stopped fucking him long before I did. That was my mistake." You look into his eyes. "But other than that, nothing ever really happened."
"And still you let all these worries fill your pretty little blond head." He pulls you close to him, wrapping his arms around you. "You’ve been blaming yourself for all the wrong things, things that are in the past." He looks into your eyes. "When all that matters is what we have now."
A sudden sense of relief fills you. All that guilt that had been harboring inside your head finally melts at the slide of his soothing hands on your back. You slide your fingers through Brian’s hair and kiss him moistly, your tongue tracing the shape of his perfect lips.
"I love you, Brian." you sniffle against his lips.
"You stupid little twat." He huffs as he kisses you back. "You’re going to give yourself an aneurysm someday." He bites your lips. "And me too."
You laugh and feel happy tears sting your eyes at the same time.
"You’re such a drama queen, Sunshine."
"So are you."
"Not nearly as much as you are."
"Imagine that."
*********
You once read somewhere that there was a thin line between ecstasy and despair.
You feel like you’ve crossed that line a few times during the last many days. However, the sense of relief that you feel at clearing things up with Brian is so profound that you feel lighter than you have ever felt in your life.
The next evening, as you are soaking in the hot Jacuzzi with him, the two of you soaping each other lazily, you tell Brian about what happened at Ted’s reception, repeating each and everything that was said about him in his absence. You also tell him about the incident with Michael at the comic book shop, back during the Memorial Day weekend.
He listens to you quietly, his face tense, and when you are done, he says he doesn’t give a damn about derision from people who think they know him, but really do not. People who call themselves his family and then talk like that behind his back mean nothing to him anymore. He’s used to it and it doesn’t make any difference.
But then he pulls you close and kisses you tenderly. "However," he begins. "I do not like it when people try to fill your mind with doubts about me." You try to tell him you never believed any of that shit but he stops you. "I know you didn’t believe that. But there is more."
You look at him questioningly.
He slips his hands up your back and runs his fingers in circles on your skin, his touch soothing and intoxicating. "The reason you never saw the rings and the House after you left is not because I was trying to hide anything, Justin." He looks at you. "It was because... you went to New York to make a career. You were starting from scratch, making the rounds, learning new things. I didn’t want to distract you while you were doing that, Sunshine, or to remind you of things which could’ve waited for a few more years until the time was right."
You watch him with amazement filling your heart, your eyes wide with wonder, as he leans in to kiss you again. Then he pulls back and looks into your eyes. "The House and the rings have always been yours, Justin. The only thing that matters is the timing." He smiles. "Whenever you’re ready, you can have them."
You feel your throat tighten with emotion as all your questions are answered in one stroke. You wrap your arms around his body, feeling his erection poking you in the stomach, and kiss him thoroughly. He slides his hands down your back until he’s holding your ass with both hands and you lean down to first nip and then kiss at this throat, his answering sigh making you moan. You grab the supplies from the ledge, hand him the tube of lube and then slide your hands up his arms to hold his shoulders.
"I want you to fuck me now," you whisper in his ear as he settles you back against the side comfortably.
"That can be arranged," he says with a smile before covering your body with his own.
*********
You always thought life was like a blank canvas.
You could fill it with what you liked, making it as painful or as beautiful as you wanted.
As you sit on the beach with the sketchpad and draw the sight of Brian checking his email on his laptop, you realize that he indeed makes a beautiful subject to draw no matter what the setting.
You understand now that while it may not be possible to duplicate every tiny detail about beautiful nature through your art, the process should never be abandoned before trial.
It’s your canvas. You can capture on it everything that you see.
It’s only a matter of keeping your eyes open.
*********
The End