Justin tried hard not to let too much optimism arc over him as he allowed Lance’s hand to settle in his. He tried to remain objective, and take baby steps toward some invisible ray of light. And when as they approached the condo, it really didn’t shock him so much that Lance dropped his hand. For appearances, he guessed. Joe was standing in the door, with his jacket on, and his huge arms folded neatly across his chest. Justin glanced at Lance and sighed. Another confrontation, and he saw the apprehension in Lance’s eyes. Or maybe it was confusion -- hesitation. “I’m right here,” he whispered, rubbing Lance’s back gently. “Do what you have to.” Lance replied with a pointed breath, and the transformation was almost scary to watch. A wide smile flashed across his face, and his eyes began to twinkle, but Justin knew it was one-dimensional -- nothing more than a shield. “Let’s eat,” Lance said evenly, as he pushed past Joe into the kitchen. And Justin trailed, challenging Joe’s expression. Determined not run away. If Lance needed more time to think, he was going to give it to him. “You’re a shit,” Joe hissed as Justin slipped by. “And you’re a fucking slug. You’re sucking off someone who can’t defend himself.” The words felt good falling from his lips, and Justin punctuated it with a hard nudge to Joe’s ribcage. Justin saw Lance observe the exchange, and he didn’t miss the soft flash of debate flicker through his eyes. He was sorry instantly. So he left Joe at the front door and went to the kitchen, with a smile on his lips. And he took Lance’s hands in his. “Fuck dinner,” Justin said quietly. “I need you alone now.” Lance shook his head in a panic and Justin backed off. “Okay, okay. I’m going out. I’ll give you time okay? I‘m gonna go on over to JC‘s. You take care of whatever you have to. Call me when you need me” It wasn’t that Lance wasn’t thankful for Justin’s understanding, but that glimmer of expectation was sinking him. Through the blue, Lance could see this flower of hope blossoming, and it made him nervous. Questions bombarded him. What if he couldn’t get Joe to leave, or let himself soften enough to give Justin the in he so desperately wanted. What if he let Justin hold him only to find out that Justin couldn’t deal with his past. The ‘what if’s’ swirled so mercilessly about his head it caused his temples to throb. What Lance ached to do was curl into a ball and rock himself into a muffled slumber -- a rest from all the decisions he faced. “Unless you want me to stay,” Justin said quickly. “I can stay.” He tossed his gaze back to Joe who was shedding his coat. “If you need me to.” “I can deal,” Lance said, but his voice was wavy and his heart was erratic, causing his head to spin. “You go to JC’s. I *can* do this.” He wanted to convey strength to Justin because he *wanted* to do this on his own. He wanted to do something he knew was right -- and follow through. “Okay then,” Justin said, chewing his lip. “I’m a phone call away.” He cocked his head and stared hard into Lance’s eyes. “A phone call okay?” Justin hoped Lance was getting his message. He hoped Lance was understanding that he would be willing to mold himself into whatever was needed to survive in this mess. “Got it,” Lance replied, and he longed to hug Justin, because he did get what he was doing. But he had to be a man, and take care of one thing at a time. Alone. So Justin left, but he was wary, and on the ride over to JC’s, he tried not to think of what was going down. He knew Lance had to deal with this on his own, and Joe would most likely take the boot better if they were alone. Or so he hoped. Once at JC’s, he blurted the story out with far too much excitement, but he was standing at the end of a long road, and he was tired. It had been a long journey, and if Lance didn’t take this opportunity, Justin knew it would be over. For good. “Don’t get your hopes up,” JC said, pressing a beer into his hands. “Jesus, the last thing you need is to have Lance walk all over you again.” Perhaps it was the rolling of JC’s eyes, or the way he seemed to have already convicted Lance, but Justin went on the defensive. His heart and mind throbbed with resentment, and he shook. “He doesn’t fucking mean to walk all over me, JC! The guy was raped. That’s a pretty fucking hard pill to swallow. It’s not like he said “Ooh, rape me. Take me and mess with my psyche for the next nine months”.” Justin paced and took long sips of his beer, trying to piece it all together. He was glad when JC backed down with an apology, and he was glad to have JC offer to order a pizza. Mostly he was glad to know that Lance was telling Joe he couldn’t stay there anymore. “Justin is crazy,” Joe laughed, pouring another glass of soda. “He can’t order you not to have me here. We’re dating, Lance. It’s all good.” Lance stared at his plate and sighed. Joe wasn’t getting it. “No, he didn’t order me. We talked and it’s time for us to get back to a place where we can be friends. Having you here all the time kinda fucks with that.” He wasn’t quite sure why he was skirting the issue. It wasn’t as if he was crazy about Joe. Honestly, he really didn’t even like him that much. It was a warm body, and a personality that never got too intense that drew Lance in. But it was Justin nestled in his heart. So he was at a loss on the whole “breaking up” thing. “Well, he’s got Chris. Did you tell him he can’t have Chris here?” It stabbed Lance a little too deep to hear Chris’ name, and he pushed away from the table abruptly. His face flushed red and he slammed out onto the tiny balcony off the kitchen. The cold air rushed him, and he leaned over the railing, staring over the neighborhood. He wondered what would have happened if he’d gone with Justin to get that tree two weeks ago. There would have been no Joe and no Chris. It hurt him more than he liked to feel, and he laughed. It was much easier to shut it all out. Still, he owed Justin a try. So he marched back into the kitchen and stood over Joe. “It’s not working out,” he said. “What?” “Us. It’s not working out. It’s not your fault. Something happened to me once, and I’m kinda messed up about it.” Lance chewed on his thumb and stared at Joe, and hoped it wouldn’t be a hostile situation. “Please, Lance. Gimme a break. That line is older than the constitution.” Joe shook his head and continued to eat. Lance was baffled, and his body tensed. Confrontation scared him, chilled him to the bone. But it wasn’t for him. This was for Justin. “You need to leave. I’m sorry, but I’m serious.” The bitter sting of bile caught in the back of his throat, and he swallowed it down. Lance kept his eyes pegged on Joe’s profile, the slope of his nose and the beard that tickled his nose at night. And it wasn’t as if Joe was a *bad* guy, he thought, just not what he wanted. A tiny revelation of what he did want curled into his mind. A sweet image of cuddling next to Justin on the couch during a football game. Or having coffee in the morning and laughing over the comics. Things they had started to do all those months ago. A foul stench suddenly invaded the air, and the hair on the back of Lance’s neck stood on end. It was so quick, he barely had time to blink. Joe was up, his chair crashing mercilessly to the kitchen floor. Lance wobbled as a large hand tangled in his hair, dragging him to the living room. “You’re not breaking up with me,” Joe said. Lance reached up and clasped his hand around Joe’s wrist to alleviate the pain of his hair being ripped at. He kicked his feet out and tried to climb to his feet. Imaginary warning lights whirled in his head and he managed scramble out from Joe’s grip. “Get out!” Lance warned, climbing over the couch. “Get the fuck out.” His eyes were wide, and his limbs were numb. Joe’s expression was wicked, and frightening, and a dreadful feeling washed over him. “Joe, please. Just go. It’s over.” The words continued to tumble from his mouth, and Lance wondered if he was supposed to be screaming, or fighting. He wasn’t sure if he should appease Joe with sex and be done with it, or head for the door. His mind had ceased to work and he wanted to die -- avoid whatever pain was sure to come. His back hit the wall and Lance barely drew breath as he waited. Joe approached like a snake, slithering across the room with narrowed eyes and a despicable smile. “So what happened to you, Lance? What happened that you feel the need to break up with me? Was I just a toy to play with?” “No,” Lance whispered, pulling his head up. “I got hurt and ..” “Aww, you got hurt. Someone fucked with you, so you fuck with others. Is that how it goes? Is that the game you play?” Lance frowned and stood tall. “NO! It’s not what I do!” He pushed away from the wall and stood toe to toe with Joe, prepared to fight. “I made a mistake with you!” The kiss was rough, and blinding, and hurtful. Joe grabbed Lance’s arms and pinned them behind his back, and backed him up toward the couch. “No mistakes,” Joe grumbled, shoving Lance down. “You want me. I want you. You‘re my Christmas present.” For a moment, Lance was stunned, too stunned to move or contemplate what was going on. For a moment he lay still while Joe stripped. For a lingering minute, he allowed Joe to rip at his pants, tugging them down brutally. And then he was surrounded with violence -- and anguish. Drowning in a flood of panic and pain from nine months before. So he fought back, rolling from the couch and grabbing an empty beer bottle. He cracked it against the coffee table and brought it to Joe’s neck, pressing the jagged edge into the larger man’s flesh. “I’ll fucking slice you and not blink.” His hands trembled and Joe was still. “What the hell?” Lance looked up and saw Chris standing there with a drunkenly stunned look on his face. “Chris!” Lance gasped, dropping the glass to the carpet. “Oh God!” He stumbled toward him blindly, in confusion. “Justin.” Instantly overloaded, Lance fell to his knees and shook. It was a blur of images that he could barely put together as Chris got rid of Joe, and helped him to bed. A distorted cloud of Chris placing him in bed. And a scent of beer that irritated his nose. Gentle strokes to his hair, and he was shivering. Uncontrollable shivering. Someone’s lips touched his, and soft words were being murmured. From the mist of trauma, Lance looked up, expecting to see gentle blue comforting and protecting. But it was bloodshot brown, and he screamed silently, mystified and motionless. continue menu |