NINE MONTHS LATER He didn't’ need to hear the voices to know Lance was home. He didn’t need to open his eyes to realize the calamity going on. He didn’t need the ache in his gut to know he was in love ... with someone who regarded him as little more than money to pay the rent -- although it hadn’t always been that way. The whispers were the worst, Justin thought. The walls were paper thin, and through them he could hear the sounds ... Lance’s sounds. “Shh, don’t wake Justin up,” he would say night after night as he dragged new strangers into their condo. “He’s not one for partying and shit.” Justin would cry sometimes, bury his face into the pillow and sob in long shaking breaths. Sometimes he would listen to the fuck session next door and jerk off in anger as his heart broke. Sometimes he would cover his head with the blankets and pray. There had to be an easier way to live. Glancing at the clock, he noted the hour. He would need it in the morning to hurl sly accusations at a hung over Lance. Then he waited to hear Lance’s bedroom door snap shut. A slow count of ten and it was Alicia Keys on the stereo. Another count of ten and it was bedsprings squeaking. Then the moans because Lance was nothing if not animated in bed -- a fact Justin had only heard of. He’d never been lucky enough to actually experience it. Not that he actually *wanted* to anymore. Not after the string of men Lance had fucked. Tonight was especially loud, and Justin sat up, tucking his knees under his chin as he listened to Lance cry out to God in fits of lust. He heard the banging of the headboard against the wall they shared and he frowned. Each thrust was like some sword jabbing into him, or a knife maybe, sent to slice at him inch by inch. Fair it wasn’t, but he learned that Lance was not Lance anymore ... thus the apparent inconsideration. Justin buried his body under the covers and sighed. He wanted to bang on the walls and let Lance know he was pissed, but he’d done that before ... with horrifying results. With Lance strolling in naked and sweaty, his hair crushed to his head and positively sinful green eyes that seemed to glower in the shadows of the room. It had killed Justin, and he vowed never to bang on the wall again.  Maybe if it was simply the sex he could fathom it better. But it was tangled emotions that stood still in his heart ... and were non-existent in Lance’s anymore. Headphones worked sometimes, so he peeked out from under his comforter and reached for them, snapping the spongy earpiece over his ears and settling back where he could lilt off into his dreams. The thudding continued at a rhythmic pace, but Brian McKnight’s voice comforted him. And in his dreams he knew he could fly away, become a singer, and leave this pain behind. In his dreams he could drag time backwards to that night and not sit forlornly at the coffee table staring at a take out Chinese dinner that had gone cold, and candles that had burned to nothing. In his dreams he could stare at the clock and tune into Lance’s needs. He could blow the candles out and grab his car keys and search for him. He could float over the city and have these eagle eyes that saw all ... or perhaps superhuman powers that could have spared the old Lance. And could have prevented this new Lance from appearing at all. Justin didn’t head the knock at his door, nor did he see the sliver of light illuminate his room as Lance cracked the door open. A hand on his shoulder forced his eyes open, and caused heart to leap. “Lance?” “Hey, I need a condom,” Lance sat on the edge of the bed, naked and slick, his skin sleek in the hall light, and Justin thought his heart was breaking from being so close to Lance like this and not being able to touch. Being denied because of rules he didn’t understand. Having Lance ripped away from him so suddenly because of assholes who were looking for an innocent soul to reap havoc on. Senseless in every way. It didn’t seem fair and he plucked the headphones from his head. “A what?” he asked, wanting to delay Lance’s visit for as long as possible. He ached to wrap his fingers around Lance’s bicep and hold him there. Sit on his lap and whisper into his ear how beautiful he was, and how special he was ... and mostly that he didn’t *need* to bring these strangers into their home for a fuck. Because he would gladly make love to him for the rest of their lives. “Condom,” Lance grinned, ruffling Justin’s short brown curls. “My last one broke.” It broke Justin down so far to have him right there, exuding an animalistic power without consequence. It tore him up to see him using his body as some kind of weapon, holding people at bay. It fucked with his mind to see Lance drink and drag these random people back night after night. “Sorry,” Justin said quietly. “I don’t.” He chewed on his lower lip and stifled the sigh that wanted to topple from his lips. “But you know,” he said as Lance shifted to stand, “I was thinking that maybe tomorrow we could get up early. Go get a Christmas tree. Stop at that bakery you like and ...” “Sorry buddy,” Lance grinned as he leaned over, brushing a chaste kiss against Justin’s cheek. “I don’t think I’m getting up at all tomorrow.” He used his thumb to motion to the next room. “Guys got a dick to die for. I think I’ll be up very late!”  Lance laughed and climbed to his feet. “Maybe next weekend okay?” Justin slunk down in his bed and shrugged. “Whatever,” he said, pushing huge brick walls around him. “Maybe I’ll just go tomorrow anyway, since you obviously don’t give a fuck.”  He knew it was childish, a pout that stabbed at Lance, but he was hurt. His eyes trailed over Lance’s body standing near the door, the dim light casting a yellow glow over what Justin considered perfection, and his palms tingled. “Don’t be like that,” Lance said, lowering his head. “Don’t be all pissed off at me okay?” It was weird, Justin thought, how Lance chose to beg at such odd times. And he wondered if Lance ever thought about consequence before he actually brought people home ... or if he simply followed life with his dick all the time anymore. “Whatever,” Justin mumbled, curling down on his side. He turned his back on Lance and closed his eyes. What he really wanted was for Lance to march into his room, kick the guy out and come talk for hours. Like it had been at one time. Rekindle their friendship and the relationship that had almost been. Now it was all so tainted, Justin wondered what the hell he was waiting for. Lance. “Goodnight,” Lance said, snapping the door shut. Tears burned Justin, and he buried his head in his pillow as he heard the faded whispers from next door. At least he knew they wouldn’t be fucking. He hoped. Justin decided he hated birds chirping. They woke him every morning with their cheery sonatas, and he was getting sick of it. Mornings brought nothing but more anguish for him, more torture over what he couldn’t have. “Shut up for the love of God!” He clamped his hands over his ears and sighed. The birds simply didn’t care. No one did. Lance used to care before he became jaded -- before he was attacked and degraded. Lance used to be whole at one time, an angel with wings of gold and a heart to match. Then he was taken, and this strange promiscuous Lance was left. Justin hated this Lance. He hated when Lance had healed enough to come home. He hated when Lance started to work out for hours, and when Lance started growing scruff and short sideburns that made him look sexy. Gone were the chipmunk cheeks and short blonde spikes. Now his hair was longer, more untamed. Now he wore an array of sunglasses to cover his bloodshot eyes. Now he wore leather pants without anything on underneath them, and he favored sleeveless shirts. Gone was the flannel and sweats -- gone was all shred of innocent Lance. This sexual creature existed now, and Justin hated him. Carefully, Justin crawled out of bed and padded down the hall to the bathroom. He collided with the latest flavor Lance craved, a man who was as tall as him, with striking blue eyes and jet black hair. And Justin couldn’t help but note, as he smiled tightly, that Lance had not been embellishing about the man’s gift. “Sorry,” the stranger said with a wink. “Did I wake you?” Justin shook his head. “No. I was awake.” His skin crawled just imagining this cretins hands on Lance, those lips dragging along Lance’s flesh. It was a slow burn that folded over his body and he forced himself to look away. “So, Lance,” the guy said. “He’s pretty amazing.” It was hell when they liked to talk, and Justin tried to force his palms flat because they were curling protectively. “Yeah, he’s a great guy,” he said through gritted teeth, and what he wanted more than anything was to choke this person, kick him the fuck out of his home with the force of a thousand football players. The man scratched himself lewdly and smiled. “So, is he a good fuck?” The heat that slapped across Justin was instant, and Justin fell back against the wall with a slight thud. He was crazed and couldn’t decide if it was because this scum hadn’t actually had the pleasure, or because he had the balls to ask such a thing. Justin’s eyes blinked in outrage as he stared at the guy. “Excuse me?” he mumbled. “We didn’t have condoms,” the guy said, pressing his palm against the wall behind Justin’s head. “No rubber. No fuck. Lance’s rules.” He shrugged slightly and trailed a finger over Justin’s chest. “What’s your story? You’re cute too. Must be the water here.” “Get out,” Justin hissed, slapping the man’s hand away. “You sick fucking piece of shit. This your thing? Huh?” He hadn’t meant for so much indignation to flash so abruptly, but he was quivering with all the pent up frustration. The cries that simmered inside struggling to emerge. The rage he wanted to unleash on Lance, but couldn’t because, after all, he had been the one attacked. And a hint of jealousy that refused to let him be. “What?” the guy laughed, taking a step back. “Dude, calm down! I was just asking. I mean, Lance came on pretty strong last night. I thought maybe ..” “Well don’t!” Justin barked, spinning away. “Just get your shit and get outta my house!”  He banged into the bathroom, jerking the door shut with a forceful grunt. It was a river of black that curled around his feet, like mud, sinking him down. So unfair, he thought, that he had to be denied because of all this. As Justin stared into the mirror, he saw a glimmer of the person he used to be. They’d both changed in the nine months since the rape. While Lance had undergone severe physical and emotional alteration he realized he’d transformed as well. Just not so loudly. But his heart had been shattered too, and when he dared try to explain it at the studio, to JC, he only got a sympathetic pat on his back, or a blank look. Because no one got this. No one understood why *he* was hurting. Everyone’s chant was: “You weren’t raped. You weren’t violated and attacked. Grow up. Be there for Lance” No one seemed to see him dying as well. No one seemed to care. [ continue ] [ menu ]