Moth for The Star

608 - Mask of Anarchy (Chapter 8)





*October 2006*


Be your strong and simple words

Keen to wound as sharpened swords,

And wide as targes let them be,

With their shade to cover ye.





JUSTIN:



The stuffy air in the interior of the plane throbbed in my ears. The seat in front of me captured my attention and I stared straight ahead at it, anything to avoid thinking about why I was returning, to stave off the the choking worry and anger that threatened to consume me. Stale grey felt inlaid with a dark blue pattern... Mr. Olsen had been perplexed by my sudden departure and I had not had the strength to tell him why I had had to leave so abruptly. Hey dude, my boyfriend's dying, gotta go! I frowned and shook the thought from my head. Greasy brown hair poking out from behind the seat. Some businessman returning to his family in the Pitts. Lethargic thrum of air conditioning. Plastic smiles of the flight attendants. Detailed meaningless texture of the seat covers, minute threads rough and motionless... But the thoughts came creeping in, and I pressed my forehead to the window, pressed my fingers to the bridge of my nose, and sighed.



Could I still consider him my partner, even though I had not seen him in over 12 months? Of course I knew THAT had been deliberate; the selfless son-of-a-bitch had pushed me away, just like he had pushed Mikey away on his 30th birthday all those years ago, so I could get on with my life, do what I needed to do, without any hampering or emotional ties.



Goddamnit. I pushed my fist against the cool window until my knuckles were white. I felt so angry. How could he have assumed I cared that little? That I would just forget him once I started my great new life in New York, would stop loving him and find someone else, would find success and bask in it, carefree, never looking back to my old friends. If he only knew that I had left my heart back in Pittsburgh, torn out and bleeding, drawing my mind back, time and time again, with an aching, almost physical need for him.



Despite his acting like a selfish shit, and the fact that he would do anything to disguise it, Brian has always put himself second. The battling duality in him, comprised of defensiveness and caring is part of what I loved about him. I may not have seen it at first, but he hardly ever considered his own feelings when it comes to his friends. I remember when I came back from Hollywood, bursting with experiences yet disappointed by the aborted film project, I had fallen into his arms when we were finally alone, desperate to touch him, to taste him, like coming home after all the exciting empty fucks in Hollywood. Without meaning to, I had compared him to those steamy hunks and wild parties, and had been pleasantly surprised to find that he bettered them all for me. His body was not thick and meaty, but lean and lithe; his hair was not cropped and slick, but soft and mussed; his features were not large and perfect, but angular and beautiful, his hazel eyes were huge as he gazed at me, the light playing a million shadows in them as he moved inside me fast, hard, as desperate for me as I was for him and unable to hide it.



But afterwards we had lain, my head resting on his gently rising and falling chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart as it returned to a normal pace, and we had talked. And I had realized when he had peered shyly at me and questioned why-ever would I WANT to come back to Pittsburgh, that he actually hardly valued himself at all. He thought that I wouldn't want him, wouldn't choose him over all the buffed-up studs in Hollywood And my heart had done a somersault in my chest as I had realized how truly self-depricating he was, ow much he doubted himself. This was a side of the oh-so cocky and confident Brian Kinney which I had never seen and it made me love him all the more. How could he think that I would choose meaningless perfection and empty freedom above what I had shared with him? How could he not know that love runs deeper than that and that in Hollywood, as I groaned out orgasm after orgasm, I had thought of him, had missed him, with all his imperfections. Knew him better than he would have liked and loved him beyond all surface consideration. But I had known that he would hate for me to say any of this so I had just smiled at him and given him a mischievous and non-commital answer: "I can't imagine."



***



Pittsburgh



Debbie had invited all her 'extended familly' to dinner and promptly spent the afternoon cooking. Michael had muttered some excuse over the phone about he and Ben not being able to come, but Hunter had brought himself over on the new scooter his adoptive parents had bought him, and helped her with the preparations. He had turned out to be a great kid, Debbie thought as she watched him bustling about the kitchen, mop of mousey hair falling in his eyes. Not that she could really get away with thinking of him as a kid for much longer; he was nearly 20 now and already finishing his first year at Duquesne University, studying film. Debbie smiled to herself, still thanking some lucky star that Hunter had got a second chance at life. That he had been able to stop hustling for money to buy food and settled down with the first proper family he had ever known. She still felt a flush of pride when she remembered how kind her son and son-in-law had been, taking in a dirty kid with a hostile attitude and persistently drilling the care into him until he had softened.



Thinking of Hunter made Deb think of her Sunshine, Justin... she remembered when HE had been 19. Now it had been so goddamn long since she had seen him, seen his blinding smile and bright hair. He would be nearly 25 now, a grown man. All her boys were grown up. Debbie sniffed. She was so proud of Justin and had spent many evenings talking with Jennifer, enthusing over their shared son's success. Debbie smiled sadly as she lined a casserole dish with pastry. He had phoned often at first and had even come to visit a few times, whisking her off to coffee, but gradually the calls had become fewer and further in between, and Deb had known that Justin was letting go, moving on, becoming his own man. Not that she was ever going to let him forget his loving family in Pittsburgh, once he had his career on track she would make sure he hauled his prestigious little butt back there every Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving....



"Deb!" Hunter's voice made her look up, wiping her hands on her apron. "You're meant to be making a pie, not scalping a prisoner!" He was standing with a ladle in his hand and a lop-sided grin on his face which faded as he continued. "Do you think I could bring my girlfriend over tonight to join us? I mean, we've been dating for over 2 months and she had never even met you guys..."


"Sure kiddo!" There's more than enough food to go around! And if we just tell the girls to squash up, we should all fit round the table!" Debbie chuckled. My, how she loved her family.



Later that evening Debbie's door-bell started ringing and she sent Hunter slouching tot he door to admit first Mel and Linds with the children, then Emmett, Ted, Blake and Margaret and Walter, old friends of Carls. Hunter got a call on his phone and rushed outside before coming back in with a shy grin on his face, leading by the hand a pretty girl of around 19 whom he introduced as Sarah. Debbie held out her arms as she beamed at Hunter's girlfriend.



"Welcome Honey!" My home is your home sweetie, don't feel shy!" Everybody gave Sarah smiles and waves as Debbie introduced them and although she seemed a little tentative at first, the young lady soon opened up the the warmth.



"Hunter and I met at uni," she gushed, "although I'm doing a different course to him. We met in the cafeteria! At first I was a little shocked to hear that his parents are..." She paused, blushing.



Emmett cocked his head to one side. "Gay?" he volunteered.



Sarah got even a little bit redder. "Yes." She said, looking at Deb. "You see, my parents are really orthodox christians. I grew up in a very intolerant community and I'd never met a gay person before, or heard anything about them that wasn't condemning and nasty. I'm afraid I came to Pittsburgh with a pretty black view of homosexuals painted in my head." She looked guiltily at Deb before smiling at Hunter when he squeezed her hand.



Carl's friend Walter cleared his throat and glanced at his wife before chipping in. "I know where you are coming from, kiddo. Hell, before Carl met Debbie here, gays were the blunt of more than a few jokes down at the precinct. I've worked with Carl for over 15 years and I'll admit, for most of that time we were not only ignorant, but prejudiced about gays." He looked at Carl who nodded, a small smile playing at his lips, then went on. "But I've been well and truly educated, especially in the past year I have got to know Deb and had the pleasure of coming here often. Now it angers me, some of the things I hear."



Deb gave him an appreciative look then shook her head. "I find it unbelievable how people can be so judgmental and critical of gays. Looking at them as if they were a lower life form, with less intelligence, or as if the were dirty. It's fucking barbaric, thats what it is!"



"It's okay Deb. We've got forces holding the fort out front and the artillery is ready to launch the attack."



Deb looked up at the male voice coming from the far wall and squealed as she saw Brian, standing by the doorway, a smile on his face. He looked pale, godawful pale, and slightly leaner, like he needed feeding up, but he was THERE. Deb pushed away the customary worry and ignored the impulse to knock him flat, tuck him up in bed and do some serious mothering. Instead she swallowed and smiled.



"You came!"



Brian brushed this comment off. "Yeah well, work was for shit. If I hear the words 'recipe for success' one more time I will fucking kill someone. So I figured I'd come and brave YOUR recipes, which would be less annoying, although almost guaranteed to leave me with intense indigestion." He put his tongue in his cheek and looked mischievously at her.



Deb nodded and said no more, but sneaked glances at him. He was wearing a knee-length black coat, collar turned up against the October chill, and a grey scarf bunched loosely round his neck which he unwound as he took off his coat and came to sit down. Debbie knew it had been an effort for him to come. He looked tired, so fucking tired, and although no-one said anything to his face, they were all worried. Only Walter and Margaret and Sarah did not know Brian was sick. Dinner passed in a haze of chatter and clinking of glasses. Wine spilt on the tablecloth. Quick, mop it up. Salt. Put salt on it. Pass the salt. Laughter. Brian was quiet on the whole, occasionally interjecting with a coarse remark. Debbie felt like crying as she watched him leaning back in his chair, watching the conversation. He may soon not come to her dinners anymore. No. Stop. she thought. She MUSTN'T think like that. He was young, and strong, and Goddamnit he was a fighter if ever she was one.



Later, after Mel and Linds had left to put the children to bed, Brian stood up. "Thanks for dinner, Deb. But I'd better get going."



Deb jumped up too. "Brian honey, are you alright? Are you feeling okay? Do you need help?"



Brian looked at her with a straight face. "I'm fine. It just that tomorrow I've got to catch my luxury cruise around the world, facilitated by the wonderful pharmaceutical drug, valium." He said sweetly, adding "That's the hospital, in layman's terms." when he saw the blank expressions looking up at him.



Walter narrowed his eyes and stared at Brian, seemingly unsettled by a thought that struck him. Debbie could see Margaret come upon a realization and cringe away from Brian as she glanced at him. Walter cleared his throat. Again. "Um, excuse me, Brian. But, you're not... sick, are you?" Margaret shifted her chair slightly, a look of aversion behind her eyes.



Brian let out a short laugh and looked Walter straight in the eye. "I haven't got AIDS if that's what you mean, so don't worry. And anyway," he continued, looking at Hunter, "Even if I had, you can't catch it like a cold". Margaret relaxed, a guilty look on her face which quickly turned to distress as Brian continued; "I have cancer."



Debbie felt a lump in her throat. This was the first time she had heard Brian acknowledge it like this in front of so many people. Of course he had told Lindsey and accepted that everybody knew after that, but this made it seem so much more... real. Debbie wanted to rant and rail against the cruelty of it, wanted to take God by his pompous goddamn neck and shake him until he explained why he was doing this. She was pretty sure if she somehow got hold of the keys of heaven right now, she would seriously kick some almighty ass. Fuck, Justin should be here. Why wasn't he here? Michael had told her he was going to phone him in New York... but when Goddamnit?



After Brian had left, there was an uncomfortable silence at the table. Walter finally spoke. "Poor guy." he said and his wife clutched his hand. "He's so young." They had known about Hunter's HIV, but felt foolish to have been so prejudiced about AIDS.

Ted folded his napkin. "Yeah, he's uh.. coping very well."



Emmett said nothing, but nodded, fiddling with the tablecloth.



Hunter was silent but Debbie could see he was sad. He had a good, if unconventional, relationship with Brian and still looked up to him greatly. He held Sarah's hand and squared his jaw. And then the guests were taking their leave and the porch lights were turning off and the quiet night was creeping in. As she lay in bed, with Carl already asleep beside her, Debbie wondered where Brian was at that moment. Was he asleep? Was he in pain?



***



JUSTIN:



Pittsburgh looked exactly the same as I remembered it in the soft yellow streetlight. I walked down Liberty Avenue which was just closing up and emptying of the usual fags and scene queens... some things never change. It was the early hours of the morning: I had caught an evening flight, the only one still available on such short notice, and had gone straight on from the airport instead of staying in a convenient motel. Fuck waiting. I had waited long enough. Had procrastinated long enough. Had hesitated long enough. Too long. The night was cold but dry and I looked up to the black sky as I hurried down the dark streets, lugging my carryall over my shoulder. Feelings of dread, and excitement, and certainty coursed through me, finally coming out of suppression and enveloping me as I walked quickly, breath coming in misty puffs in the frosty night. I had stopped by Michael's on the way to pick up a key to the loft. We hadn't exchanged many words. Having stayed up waiting for me, he had just pulled me in for a hug and I had grimly taken the key and continued to the loft. The loft. As I reached the corner of Tremont and Fuller Court, and looked up at the tall shadowy expanse of building above me, I remembered before.



Those times I had looked up as a naive and over-dramatic kid; and as a bewildered and frustrated survivor of a bashing, unable to understand why he pushed me away; and as a stupid idiot trying to discover himself, who had given up the one thing he valued in favor of a selfish violinist; and as a young man, caring for his lover through the highs and lows; and as a disbelieving soul, giddy with happiness at the realization of my dream, so in love with the person I was going to marry it misted the view of the solemn bricks above.



The chill wind bit into my back as I clenched my jaw, steeled myself and pushed open the door to the foyer. My boots made slight tapping sounds as I climbed the stairs to the top floor, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I did not know what I was going to do once I got to the loft, did not know how Brian would react, did not know how I would handle the situation. I only new that I was here, and desperate to see him. Wanting to fling myself in his arms and apologize, over and over, for being such a wimpy faggot and listening to others, for letting them persuade me to forget him, to stay away. Wanting to shake him, scream at him for not calling me and telling me, for assuming he had no place in my life anymore. Wanting to kiss him and fuck him and bring back all the old memories in gushing streams of emotion, of feeling, of sensation. My stomach flipped and I felt a tingle at the ends of my fingers from adrenaline as I reached the top floor and saw the huge grey door ahead of me. How could a place feel so alien and yet so familiar at the same time? Someone had painted the walls of the hallway, they were no longer a dirty cream color, but the old lift was still there, wooden slats quaint and daring, and I felt a surge of familiarity. I was home.



I put the key in the lock as quietly as possible and eased the door open slowly, as Brian must have done when he had been sneaking out when I was asleep to practice for the liberty ride. It made hardly a creak and I slipped in to the dark loft. The space was shadowy, all the lights were off, but there was a faint glow from the approaching dawn in the windows and it lit my way as I slid off my shoes and put my bag down on the couch. Some things were different. Some things were the same. He had changed some of his furniture; the dining table was new, and the kitchen was slightly different. He still had that huge painting I had done, with blocks of primary colors reaching from frame to frame, up against the wall, visible as one came in. It was massive, and I had painted it specially to cover that back wall. looking at it now, I found it unsubtle and innocent.



Putting one foot in front of the other, I walked up the short steps to the bedroom, raising my eyes and stopping in my tracks when I saw him asleep. His head was turned on the pillow, away from me, and his hand was thrown up beside his tousled hair, slender fingers gently curled. His chest was half covered by the navy blanket and I stood, frozen, watching it slightly rise and fall with his breaths. My God. Those horny fantasies and vivid memories were nothing compared to the jolt that went through me upon actually seeing him again... being in proximity to him. It was like a physical electric shock, like when I had first seen him and known he was the one, only now it originated in my chest, my heart, rather than in my crotch as it had back then. I took a step closer, my breath baited as I just looked at him. He had lost weight. Whereas before he had been slim but strong, now his muscles were depleted and one could see the bones on his shoulders more clearly. The angle of his jaw as it tilted away from me made me ache to kiss it, to touch him. Made my soul leap with excitement that I was finally here, that he couldn't fucking keep me out any longer. Made me want to break down and sob, cradle him, treasure him, beg him not to die and leave me. But I did nothing. It could wait until the morning. I saw the strands of his hair at the nape of his neck, he had kept it fairly long and it looked unkempt and tousled, a soft dark brown in the pre-dawn glow. I saw the smooth skin of his cheek, ghostly pale but pliant and flawless, with only the shadow of morning stubble. My heart tearing out of my chest, every pore aching for him, I slowly leant down and gently kissed his soft lips. A feather light touch, the silky feel of his skin against mine. I felt the warmth of his lips, the soft hint of his breath against my mouth. And then it was over, and I pulled away, wiping the wetness from my eyes and walking back to the living room area and sinking into a chair.



***



I was woken a few hours later by the daylight steaming through the light curtains over the huge window in the sitting room area, and the sound of a door slamming and the shower being turned on. I swung my legs down from where I had been curled on the couch, wincing at the stiffness in my neck. Shooting pains pulsed through my arm from where I had slept in an awkward position and I pulled both my arms behind my back to try and stretch it out as I walked slowly over to the kitchen area and put on the kettle and filled the espresso machine with coffee. I had not meant to fall asleep, but the exhaustion had overwhelmed me. Shit. Now I had only minutes before the inevitable confrontation. Why was I nervous? I knew I was where I was meant to be. I felt at home for the first time in nearly two years. But what if he wouldn't want me? I thought back to the hurried conversation I had had with Michael the day before.



"Do I REALLY have a place in his life, Michael?"



"You know you do."



"I know I'm coming back because I love him and I want to be with him and support him. But who's to say he feels the same way about me? I mean, maybe he's moved on..."



"JUSTIN. He still loves you. I know, I'm his best friend. He still loves you and he misses you so much it tears him up inside. He's a stubborn son-of-a-bitch and he'll never admit it but you stole his heart. He's never loved or trusted someone as much as you, and you don't get over that kinda thing easily."



The water boiled and I absent-mindedly poured it into the machine. Was it true? Could I just... I looked up when I heard the creak of floorboards. Brian came to the entrance of his bedroom from the bathroom, shrugging on a long-sleeved top, his trousers still unbuttoned, his hair wet and messy from the shower. When he saw me standing in the kitchen, he froze. We stood there like that for what seemed an eternity and the look on his face was similar to when he had seen me for the first time after the bashing, in the crashing din of Woody's. He did look ill. He was so pale his skin was almost the same color as the white painted wall behind me, his frame was more angular, and the bones of his face stood out, no flesh to pad them. But his eyes. Oh God, his eyes were huge and intense and so bright. Tumultuous greens and browns burned as he stared at me, his mouth slightly parted, his wet hair falling into his eyes. Then he blinked and licked his lips.



"What... are you doing here?"



I stared him down, my own gaze unfaltering. "When were you going to tell me, you obdurate prick?"



Brian's eyes lowered as he raised his hand to the back of his neck. After a long pause he sighed. "I don't know."



I put the now-full coffee jug down on the kitchen surface and moved around the counter, my eyes never leaving his face.


"Goddamnit, Brian."



He looked up and I saw with a jolt that he was having to fight himself to stay composed. He raised his chin and drew his lips into his mouth as he met my eyes. There was nothing he could say, nothing I could say. So I strode towards him and he almost stumbled down the few steps from the raised bedroom, and then he was in my arms and I was hugging him so tightly and the tears were coming and all I could do was clutch his back, his neck, in my attempt to hold him tighter, closer, ever closer. I could feel his hands grasp my shirt and he bent his suspiciously wet face to my shoulder. I was muttering, cursing him, holding him so tightly and the relief and love grief and fear rolled over me in polychromatic waves.


"You idiot. You bastard. Fuck you. God, you stubborn schmuck."


I felt the huff of his breath against my neck as he laughed and I pressed my face into his warm chest, grasping his damp hair in my fists.



Brian drew back and looked down at me, and I raised my head, my hand still behind his neck. His eyes darted back and forth as he scrutinized me, trying to read my expression. Very gently, I shook my head as I smiled and pulled him down. His lips meant mine tentatively at first, then something seemed to break inside him and he clutched me, crushing me against him as I responded, feeling the dryness of his soft lips, the wetness of his mouth, the sweet smell of his skin pervading me, making me giddy. Our teeth clashed together in out urgency and I felt I had never loved him more, never needed him more then I did at that moment. All other thoughts forgotten, I lost myself in this, the unbelievable familiarity of his touch, the feel of him in my arms, the heat of his lips and the ferocity of his spirit, as the chilly early morning light matured and cast lengthening shadows into the cool room.



***



End of Chapter



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