Justin paced nervously. He’d done it -- called Chris and asked him to come over to watch the afternoon game. And now he was trying to quiet his nerves and not think of Lance. Of where Lance was, or what he was doing on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Because the images he conjured up were less than palatable. A knock on the door sent Justin’s heart racing, and when he tugged it open, Chris stood there with a bag of Doritos and a six pack. “Couldn’t come empty handed,” he grinned, stepping inside. Justin was terrified because he was attracted to Chris, and ill at ease because he’d flung himself so impulsively at him the night before. He accepted the beer and cradled it in his arms, forcing a smile. “Thanks.” “No prob,” Chris said easily. “So. I’m glad you called.” “You are?” Justin walked into the kitchen and felt pangs of guilt over the way he felt. His body was frayed as he stared at the whiteness of the refrigerator, searching in vain for some easy answer to it all. “You okay?” Chris wanted to know, and Justin spun around with a faded smile, tossing him a beer. “Fine. Hangover I suppose.” His voice was flat, practically monotone, and suddenly he wished he hadn’t invited Chris over at all. Suddenly he wished he was alone with his misery, and able to hide with his smashed heart. “Ah,” Chris popped the top of his beer and took a long swig. “I was afraid you’d be pissed about last night. About me leaving and ..” “No, no,” Justin said quickly, ducking his gaze. And he wasn’t pissed, just regretful about most of the night. Including telling Lance how he really felt. Or maybe he was just regretful that he hadn’t taken advantage of the jaded present Lance had offered him in bed. His mind was split directly down the center, and it made him shudder with indecision. “Look, Justin, I like you,” Chris said softly, placing his can on the counter to move closer. “And Christ knows I’m no fucking saint. But you’re JC’s friend, and obviously healing from something.” Justin blinked up with a vague expression as Chris’ hand lay on his waist. He was nose to nose with someone so gentle and understanding, and all he could think about was Lance. Where he was. If he was coming back anytime soon. If he was safe. A bang through the door broke the moment apart, and Justin heard Lance’s raucous laugh -- and a stranger’s reply. His stomach lurched, and his body grew warm. “What the hell?” Instantly, his brows furrowed and he stormed from the kitchen. Chris shrugged and followed him to the front door where Lance stood with yet another man. “Justin, this is Joe,” Lance said as his lips twisted into a smirk. “Joe, this is Justin, and someone I don’t know, but I recognize.” Justin ears blazed as Lance approached Chris, and he watched with humiliated eyes as Lance looked Chris up and down. “Yeah, you were the one sneaking outta here last night.” “Lance,” Justin warned through gritted teeth. Lance cocked an eyebrow before backing down. “Oh, sorry,” he drawled, tossing his gaze back to Joe. “I guess I wasn’t meant to see Justin’s lover crawling away.” He placed his forefinger against his lips and grinned. “Shh! It was a secret.” Justin’s entire body wobbled and his mouth set into a fine line as he dove for Lance, dragging him down the hall by the back of his shirt. “I’ll be right back, Chris,” he said tightly, and it infuriated him that Lance laughed the whole way. Once inside his room, he threw Lance to the bed and stared at him with pained eyes. “Why?” It was Lance’s turn to bat the hurt back with shimmering green eyes, and a frown that tugged at his mouth. “Why what Justin? Why am I such a prick to your fuck toy?” Justin’s fists curled by his side, and he shook with anger. “Why are you like this?” he dared ask. “Why? Why? What did I do to you? What the FUCK did I do to you to make you hurt me all the goddamn time?” He stood frozen in place, with his socks melted to the carpet and a fiery sting dogging his eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ, Lance! I can’t do this. I can’t ...” Lance was stunned and his face went slack as he watched Justin break down. His insides wilted and his body became numb with everything. He wanted to say something profound, wave some wand to make that look etch away from Justin’s face, and make himself feel like a human again. Because he simply didn’t see himself as such. When he captured his reflection in the mirror, he saw a reasonably attractive man with huge, vacant eyes looking back. A boy who had been blemished because of his looks. An innocence he’d given away too easily. Mostly because he hadn’t fought back like he should have. He could have kicked, or screamed louder. He should have just walked in the rain, or told the men ‘no thank you’ to the offer of a ride. “Shoulda, coulda, woulda,” Lance whispered, sliding off the bed to the floor. “What?” Justin threw his hands up and refused the tears that wanted to fall. “What the fuck? What?” “I think I should move out,” Lance said quietly, twining the edge of Justin’s comforter between his fingers. “I think it’s best. I think we just don’t get along anymore. And I’m hurting you but God, I don’t mean to.” He blinked up with desolate eyes and snorted. “I’m just no good at whatever it is you’re looking for from me.” Justin’s hands flew to his hair and he tugged at the brown curls with a shade of insanity pumping through him. “You’re crazy!” And he hadn’t meant it in literal terms, only that he was at a loss for much else. But the tears that welled in Lance’s eyes were real, and Justin could see Lance’s bottom lip tremble. He could see the ache of that Lance from nine months ago flutter across the new Lance’s face. So he dropped to his knees and crawled over, hoping to secure the moment. Slowly he made his way over to Lance and reached out to touch his arm. “I didn’t mean that,” he whispered, inching closer. “I’m sorry.” “You’re sorry?” Lance quivered. “You’re sorry for what? For telling me  you love me? For being the most fucking amazing friend a person could have? You’re sorry for what? Tell me!” Justin chewed on his lip and brushed his hand against Lance’s cheek. “I’m sorry that this happened to you, Lance. That some assholes took you away. I’m sorry that we can’t go back to where we were, and what we were. I’m sorry you hurt. I’m sorry I’m sensitive. I’m just fucking sorry about all of it.”  Tears slipped down Justin’s cheeks and he longed to curl in Lance’s arms, and close his eyes -- wake up nine months earlier and make it all go away. But Lance froze, and pushed Justin back. “Don’t be sorry for me,” he garbled, scrambling to his feet. “Never be sorry for me, Justin!” He flew out of the room and slammed the door shut, leaving Justin on the floor -- dismayed. Lance wiped at his eyes and locked himself in the bathroom. His breath was ragged and sharp, and a pain below his heart stabbed at him. He slumped onto the closed toilet seat and rocked, wondering what the hell was wrong with him, and why he couldn’t just accept Justin’s love. Wondering why him, and if he’d ever feel whole again. A soft knock at the door made his head snap up. “Just a sec,” he called out, flushing the toilet, and running cool water over his face. Swinging the door open, he saw Joe standing there with big brown eyes and a puzzled expression. “I’m gonna go,” Joe said, nodding toward the door. “It’s not a good time, obviously, and ..” Lance closed his eyes leisurely, composing himself. When he opened them, his shell was back, and his body in motion. “Don’t go,” he cooed, stepping into the hallway. Justin looked at him as he exited his bedroom, and Lance took the opportunity to show he needed no one. Throwing his arms around Joe’s waist, he guided him to his own room. And he saw Justin’s face fall, and the anguish that slithered through that precious face. There was nothing more Justin could do for him -- nothing that anyone could do for him. He was content to wallow for the time being and find some aimless momentary love with Joe. His heart was ice now, and only his body could be warmed with random arms and words that didn’t mean shit. Soon, Joe was pushing him back on his bed and covering his chest with turbulent kisses, and Lance turned his head toward the window and stared at the cracks of blue shimmering through his blinds. And they kind of reminded him of the blue in Justin’s eyes. Kind of. ************** “Wanna go down to Casey’s? Watch the game there?” Chris asked Justin wandered back into the living room with bleary eyes. “Or I could go or ..” Justin sniffled and shook his head, and he grabbed a throw pillow from the couch before slumping down into the cushions. He was mute, unable to speak, but he begged Chris with wretched eyes to stay with him. Because he didn’t want to be alone anymore. Chris smiled and took his glasses off. He tossed them onto the side table and sank down beside Justin, wrapping his arm around his shoulder. “If you want to talk, you can. I’m pretty good at listening.” Justin nodded but kept his eyes on the television. The arm leant him a small measure of comfort for the moment, and he blocked out what he knew to be going on in Lance’s bedroom. And for the first time in all the months since the attack, he thought maybe Lance was right. Maybe he should just move out and be done with it all. It twisted his heart, but sitting by watching Lance destroy himself, and their friendship was torture. And Justin felt a slow death coming on if he stayed in the situation. With Chris showing him the first ounce of tenderness he’d had in nine months, he was beginning to consider giving up on Lance. For good. continue menu