This is Chapter 61 of the "Queer Realities" series.
The narrators are Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Lost. Pittsburgh. April 2003.
Disclaimer: This is for fun, not profit.
"Before Lord God made the sea or the land,
He held all the stars in the palm of his hand,
And they ran through his fingers like grains of sand,
And one little star fell alone.
Then the Lord God hunted through the wide night air,
For the little dark star in the wind down there,
And he stated and promised he'd take special care
So it wouldn't get lost no more...."
Gone, gone, gone, gone, gone!
He's fucking gone.
I lean my forehead against the door and squeeze my eyes shut. I try to breathe. Try to think.
I should have seen it coming. I should have known.
But I didn't want to know. I didn't want to see it coming.
You're a fucking idiot, Kinney!
You know better than this!
You don't believe in love. You believe in fucking.
Why didn't you keep believing that?
Why does it hurt so fucking much?
"Brian!" I cry outside the door. "Please! Listen to me! Don't shut me out!"
You shut me out.
I can't take it.
"Brian. I didn't mean it! Let me explain."
I can explain.
I can't explain.
I lean my pounding head against the cold steel door. The locked door.
What am I going to do?
When I walked into the loft and saw that guy standing there, I should have turned around and gone right back to Springhurst.
I should have pretended I was never here. Just gone back and stayed until I could get my head around it. Until I could figure out some sort of logical explanation for what I'd seen. Until I could make myself understand.
But I'll never understand.
I should have known what was going on.
What the fuck?
And that asshole was so fucking smug! So fucking sure of himself! So at home in my loft. In my bed. With my....
They've both been playing me for a fucking fool!
That's what happens when you let yourself... care about someone. More than care... But I can't think about that.
That's what happens to you when you let yourself become a fucking dyke!
It's all bullshit!
It's all a lie.
He never loved me.
He only wanted me.
First because he couldn't have me.
Then because he wanted to use me.
Use my loft. My car. My money. My life.
I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.
Now I know why Michael has been acting so strangely for the past few months. When he wouldn't talk about why he and Justin weren't collaborating on their comic anymore. And why he walked out of the hospital when Justin appeared. Michael tried to warn me without saying it outright. Tried to let me know by what he wouldn't say about Justin. I should have understood what he meant. That's the way Mikey works -- by avoidance. But he didn't tell me to my face. He let me go on thinking everything was fine. Everything was great. No one told me what was going on. No one had the fucking guts.
Hell, even Gorowitz tried to warn me. He knew something was up. He could smell something was wrong with Justin. He kept pushing me. Digging at me. Trying to get me to open my fucking eyes and see what was obvious.
But I couldn't see it.
No, I just didn't want to see it.
Didn't want to believe it.
Fuck! Forget it!
I never loved him. I only loved to fuck him.
That was it. That was all it was. Fucking. Not love. Just fucking.
But never again.
I can't do this alone.
I don't want to do this alone!
Don't lock the door.
Don't lock me out.
The roses. I can explain!
Please! Just... let me explain.
My hand aches where he grabbed me. Where he squeezed it.
He took my bracelet. He forced it off my wrist.
He ripped off his necklace.
There's blood on my shirt.
But it feels like my blood, too. Pumping straight from my heart all over the floor.
I slump down on the floor, my back against the door.
After I threw that smug, smirking bastard out of here, I waited for Justin.
I paced back and forth.
Trying not to think. Trying not to....
I took a shower to wash the stink off me.
I wanted to lie down on my bed, but I couldn't.
They've been fucking in there. Justin and that fucking asshole. His 'real' boyfriend. That fucking Dylan.
Fucking and laughing at me. Laughing, while they fucked me over in my own bed. My own loft.
Ron told me this would happen. He warned me. That one day I'd find out what it was like to be betrayed, like I'd betrayed him. What it felt like to realize that the person you loved more than anyone else in your miserable fucking life loves someone else. Then I'd know how he felt.
I'm sorry, Ron. So fucking sorry! You were right. I know now. I understand what I did.
But it's too late now. It's my turn to be the fool.
I sat on the sofa for a long time, staring at that bottle of cheap wine. Wanting to drink it. But afraid to touch it.
Poison. That's what it is.
Oblivion. That's what it is.
My old life. That's what it is.
I could go back so easily. One bottle at a time. That's all it would take. Drinking. Drugging. Fucking.
It wasn't so bad.
Other than wanting to kill myself periodically, it wasn't so bad.
I never wanted to live to be thirty, but I did.
I don't really want to live to be forty, so what difference would it make?
I stared at that bottle until he finally came in.
Came in calling that guy's name.
But he got me instead.
"Brian! Don't do this! Brian! Please!"
Listen to me. For one minute!
I can't listen to him.
I won't listen.
And that bottle of wine sits there on the table.
I stare at it.
And it stares back at me.
My throat is raw.
My head aches.
And Brian won't open the door.
I give up.
I slowly get to my feet. I feel shaky, like my legs won't hold my weight. I stand for a moment, braced against the locked door. Willing it to open. Willing Brian to open it. To let me in. To let me explain. But it doesn't open. There's nothing but silence.
He won't hear me. He won't answer me.
It's no use. It's over.
I drag the suitcase to the elevator and pull it in behind me. I can't even lift it. All my strength is gone.
I ride the elevator to the ground floor.
When I leave this building, that's it.
When the door shuts behind me, that's the end.
I can't get back in.
My entire life is inside this building.
Everything I love. Everything that makes me want to be alive. My whole fucking being.
It's no longer mine.
What the fuck did I do? What happened to me?
How did I fuck up my life like this? I don't know, but I did it. It happened. And it's my fault. I fucked it all up. I had everything I ever wanted and ever needed. I had Brian, after all the shit we went through. We had each other.
But I couldn't deal with it. I fucked it all up. Me. No one else. I love Brian so much, but now I don't deserve him. I fucked things up because of Dylan. Fucking Dylan. That fucking son of a bitch. I didn't need him, didn't want him, but Dylan... he... I didn't want him! I fucking swear I didn't! I only wanted Brian. But I fucked up. I know I can't undo it.
I should have died on that cement floor. Michael was right. That's what should have happened to me. Then it would have been over long ago. Then I wouldn't have to deal with this. Wouldn't have to see my fucking life end like this. End like it would have ended if Brian hadn't been there to stop Chris Hobbs. Because without Brian, there would be nothing.
I'd be nothing.
And that's what I feel.
I tug at the suitcase and push open the front door.
It swings shut behind me and the lock clicks. I'm on the sidewalk.
It's dark. Darker than I ever remember it being.
I don't know where to go. I don't know what to do.
Brian! Tell me!
I hear the elevator groan and rattle down to the ground floor.
He's gone. Finally.
And I'm alone.
It's better to be alone. It's better to rely on myself. I'm the only one I can trust.
I don't fucking need anyone! I've never needed anyone.
Not my goddamn father or my pathetic mother.
Not fucking Father Tim.
I don't need anyone.
I hear the fucking phone ring.
Go the fuck away!
The answering machine picks up. It's Jennifer Taylor. She leaves Justin a message. She wants to know if he's coming for dinner on Sunday. "Bye, honey!" she says, cheerily.
Like everything is normal. Like life is the same as it was yesterday.
My neck throbs. I touch it and am surprised to feel that it's wet.
The blood from that fucking chain. That necklace.
I blot the spot with my fingers and stare at the blood there.
I look at the bottle again.
It would only take a short time to drink it all. That would give me a start. Then I can order some real booze from the nearest liquor store. All I need to do is make one phone call and they'll deliver it right to my door. Jim Beam. Johnny Walker. All my old pals. Service with a smile.
Or I could go out.
Woody's. Babylon. The baths.The alley.
I can find someone to fuck anywhere.
I'm Brian fucking Kinney, goddamn it!
Nothing has changed.
I pick up the bottle. Cheap fucking wine. Something a kid would buy.
The smell of candles makes me sick. I walk around the loft, blowing them out, one by one.
One by one.
I carry the bottle of wine up the steps. Into the bedroom. I stand and stare at the bed for a moment. My bed. The blue lights. The condom and lube sitting on the bedstand, waiting. Ready for Justin and his lover. Not for me. Not for us.
Sickened, I turn away.
I walk into the bathroom. I gaze at myself in the mirror over the sink.
Who the fuck are you? Who?
Who the fuck is Brian Kinney? That's what I need to find out even if it takes the rest of my fucking miserable life.
I grip the bottle and bring it up to my face. I sniff the cheap wine. Sour and seductive. The smell of escape. A way to forget. A way to face the future -- alone.
I tilt the bottle and pour it into the toilet, flushing the wine away.
All gone. Finished. Over.
But I can do this. I can live without him. I can fucking survive.
Even if I'm alone.
Even if I'm lost forever.
"Now, a man don't mind if the stars get dim
And the clouds blow over and darken him,
So long as the Lord God's watching over him,
Keeping track how it all goes on.
But I've been walking through the night and the day,
'Til my eyes get weary and my head turns gray,
And sometimes it seems maybe God's gone away,
Forgetting his promise and the word he'd say.
And we're lost out here in the stars,
Little stars, big stars, blowing through the night,
And we're lost out here in the stars."
(Anderson, Paton, Weill)
Continue on to "Losing My Mind".
©Gaedhal, December 2005.
Posted December 22, 2005.