Alright, everyone, this is the second to last installment here, part 18. Write me while you still can. ;) The email address is sam.dauson@gmail.com.
Disclaimers: This story is a complete work of fiction. Any similarities to real life or any person(s), living or dead, are entirely coincidental. This story is not meant to imply anything about the sexuality of Brian Littrell, or any other of the Backstreet Boys. It's fan fiction, and is not based in any sort of reality. This story appears to be written in the first person by Brian Littrell, but in fact, this story was not written by Brian himself, or even by anyone who knows him personally.
If you are under the age of 18, or your local laws prohibit you from reading sexually graphic or erotic materials, please leave now. The same applies to anyone offended or made uncomfortable by stories involving consensual homosexual male relationships. Basically, if you continue reading, you are doing so on your own free will, and I cannot and will not be held responsible for any consequences.
Author's Note: Sorry for the extra wait, things got a bit busy on my end. But don't worry, I haven't given up my quest to finally finish the story. Things get a bit more interesting in this installment, and it's the first installment that I've had to write nearly from scratch in four years, so forgive me if I'm a bit rusty. It brings back some memories, that's for sure. I hope you enjoy what's coming.
And as always, a huge thank you to everyone who has been so supportive of me and my writings, past, present and future.
That being said, on with the story...
Blind Faith Part 18
Touring around the country was what I did for a living most of the year, and I'm one of those few people who actually enjoys what I do. I was a little disappointed that the tour had just been delayed, but I was at the American Airlines ticket counter no more than 15 minutes after the news had been broken to us, securing a flight to Colorado. Despite Kevin's advice, I didn't want to take Nick with me. I'd be going alone, and I didn't give a damn about stories that Kevin warned might appear in the tabloids, suggesting I had some mistress in Colorado.
"You be good now," Nick said with a mischievous smile as I parted ways with my band mates. "See you in a few days."
As I boarded the plane, the thought occurred to me that I hadn't even called Evan to let him know I was coming, let alone to make sure it was alright. 'Of course it'll be alright, he'll be happy to see me,' I thought to myself. 'Why wouldn't he be?' Once I took my seat I got out my cell phone, turning it over a couple of times in my hands. I didn't want to call until we were ready to take off, everyone in their seat, and me at my greatest need of a distraction.
A few minutes later, the crew started their safety song and dance. As soon as it ended, I dialed Evan's number. I heard the phone connect. "Hey ba--" I said, stopping short as I heard my greeting overlapped by the voice of an older-sounding woman greeting me with, "Evan's phone, how can I help you?" She chuckled.
I smiled uncomfortably. "Uh hi, is Evan there?" I asked. The woman on the other end of the phone agreed to go get him.
A second later, Evan was on the phone, and he gave me a short awkward laugh. "Sorry about that, that was my mom." he said. "She thinks the cell phone is the coolest thing in the world, not many people around here have them."
"They're a little expensive for you normal people," I said with a grin.
"Hah, in this house, normal is a compliment."
"In that case, I ever tell you you're the most perfectly normal guy I've ever met?"
"If only it were true."
"You don't think it is?" I asked.
There was an awkward pause. "Well, you know... the whole..." his speech fell into a mumble. "Gay thing. That's not exactly normal."
His sentence surprised me, struck me. Evan had always seemed more open and accepting of himself and everything that we did than I thought that I was. It had been so hard for me to come to terms with my sexuality. I had been raised to believe it was a sin, wrong and evil. The church said it was a choice that you could make, and though it never felt like one to me, I saw it as one of God's tests, to see if I could make the "right" choice in spite of the temptations the wrong choice offered, as when you decide not to steal, even though the lure of free food appeals to you.
As each day passed, I got a little more tired of trying to go against my will and force myself into the "right" choice. And one day I gave up. Years had passed, years of trying to force myself into a relationship with a woman. And the lure of the "wrong" choice didn't diminish, but rather grew even stronger. And so before myself, before God, I admitted that I had failed His test. That I still loved Him, and wanted to have Him with me, but that I could not be the person He wanted me to be. I asked Him to accept him for who I was, and it's my firm belief that to this day that He does. That He loves me, despite my faults. I've made the choice to steal food, though I know it is the wrong thing to do, because like the homeless man stealing a loaf of bread, I need to do it in order to survive. God doesn't hate me for that and neither should I.
"Evan, babe," I started. "Everyone's gotta come to terms with this on their own time. I know for me it was a long time in coming, but you can't go through life ashamed of who you are. Being gay is something you have to find a way to accept."
He didn't answer right away. "Can we change the subject please?"
If he was uncomfortable discussing it, I wasn't going to force him. "Sure babe." I grinned. "How's this for a change of subject: I'm on a plane bound for Denver right now."
"What?!" he sounded shocked. He laughed. "You just left like seven hours ago!"
"Feels like longer."
"Bri," he sighed. "I'm not going to let what we have get in the way of your tour. You can't come here, you've got a show to do tonight, remember?"
"Cancelled." I smiled.
He paused for a second, not sure whether to believe me. "Really?"
It wasn't the reaction of excitement that I was hoping for. "I'm sorry, babe, I should have called before I actually got on the plane, I guess I just got a little carried away." I bit my lower lip. "This is cool, right? Me coming to Colorado?"
"Of course, of course." he assured me. "Just gotta make sure the logistics are going to work out, that's all. It'll be fine."
It was my turn to pause as I pondered whether or not I should believe him. He seemed nervous, unenthusiastic. I hoped that he really was, as he said, just preoccupied with the logistics. I exhaled as though I had been holding my breath for the last half-minute. "Thanks babe. I know it's gonna be trouble for you, trying to keep your mom from getting suspicious about all this time you've spent away from home lately."
"You're worth it," he said, a smile in his voice.
I didn't quite believe him when he told me to watch for a blue Jeep Grand Cherokee, as I waited to be picked up at the airport. Sure enough, though, gleaming as though freshly washed, one pulled up to the American Airlines pick-up zone where I was standing. Travelling with only a single suitcase, I stashed it in the back seat and hopped into the passenger seat.
I greeted Evan with a small kiss. "Nice wheels," I grinned. "I don't remember you having a car?"
He grinned in return. "Birthday gift, from the parents. It's a few years old, but still pretty damn sweet if you ask me."
"Quite the gift, huh?" It occurred to me that I had failed to wish him a happy birthday when I had called from the plane earlier. It didn't really matter; though today was the proper date, to me, his birthday would always be that night I gave him his necklace. "Happy birthday, by the way."
"Yeah no kidding, I was as surprised as anyone. Belated sweet-16, I guess. That seems to be the traditional car birthday, not your 17th, but I'm not complaining. And thanks." he grinned.
"I remember when I got my first car, I was probably about your age. It was so liberating, so exciting, that kind of freedom." I paused, drifting off into a moment of reverie. "Feels like so long ago," I mused. And suddenly the conversation had the distinct feeling of a mentor talking to a mentee, an old man talking to a young one. Thinking back to my first car felt like a eon-long trip back in time. The nearly eight years between Evan and I had just slapped me in the face.
Most of the time I tried not to think about it. For the most part, I succeeded, probably not even paying our age difference any attention since Kevin had lectured me about it a few nights ago. But it was one of those things that gnawed at your subconscious as you went about your daily business, quickly compromising your attention, commanding great worry and doubt, the moment you gave it a chance.
He was still fucking 17 years old. And just barely at that. Kevin had called me a child molester. I didn't want to deal with it. I pushed it back to the fringes of my consciousness where it belonged.
Evan laughed. "Taking a trip down memory lane?" he asked.
"Something like that." I gave him a wan smile.
"Hey, it's almost six o'clock," he motioned at the car's radio clock. "You hungry?"
"Oh hell yes, two flights in one day makes Brian a weary boy." I grinned. "Besides, I do owe you a birthday dinner."
He laughed. "I'd think you were just trying to be cute if I didn't know how much you actually do hate flying."
"Maybe it's both?" I asked, giving him what I could only describe as my impression of puppy dog eyes.
"So you are trying to be cute?" he looked at me, raising an eyebrow.
"Is it working?"
He paused, obviously trying to suppress a smile. "Yes," he replied, a grin finally breaking though.
The restaurant was sit-down, and Evan and I were both a bit underdressed, but I don't think anyone really cared. At least, not about what we were wearing-- for the first time out in public, I was recognized as Brian Littrell of the Backstreet Boys. It made getting a table a hell of a lot easier, but I could see the obvious glances and hushed whispering as we walked through the dining room to be seated.
I felt my face get hot as we moved though the sea of tables and the people gathered around them. 'Oh God, what are they saying about me, about us?' I thought, a bit panicked. I was suddenly keenly aware of the fact that I was being trailed by an adorable 17 year old boy to eat dinner in a fancy restaurant. 'How could this look normal?' When I had first suggested that we dine in a nice restaurant, I had assured Evan that everything would be fine, that people wouldn't care, as long as the restaurant didn't cater to the 14 and under crowd. 'How could I have been so stupid?' I tried to keep a small smile on my face, careful not to make eye contact with anyone.
I was immensely relieved to find that our table was just around a small corner, out of view of most of the dining room. I took my seat, Evan sitting down opposite me. He smiled at me, didn't seem fazed by the public attention at all. I felt bad anyway. "Sorry about that back there," I said. "I guess I underestimated the number of people that would recognize me."
"Not a problem," he replied, unraveling his silverware and throwing the napkin in his lap. "For me, anyway. Though I know you probably have to deal with that sort of stuff all the time. It must get," he paused to find the right word. "tiring."
I smiled as the waiter handed me a menu and left. "Only when I've got something to hide from them," It was a joke. I smiled. Evan didn't.
I looked down at my menu. "So what's good here?"
He answered without taking his eyes off his own menu. "I'm uh, going to go with some pasta. It's pretty good."
Not really knowing what else to do, I decided on pasta as well. The waiter came back, took our orders and collected our menus, and disappeared again into the kitchen.
As the waiter left, Evan smiled at me, an obvious, fake smile. I could see him fidgeting with the napkin on his lap. I smiled in return and glanced at the desert card placed on the table. Evan was unusually silent. I leaned in across the table, close so no one else would hear. "Is everything alright babe?"
As he pondered the question, it seemed as though a deep melancholy overtook his features. No, at that point, everything was not alright, and I knew it as sure then as I know it now.
But he simply looked at me, gave me a sad smile. "Just thinking," he said.
"Anything I can help with?" I asked.
"It's... " he stopped, visibly trying to make a choice, as though he were trying to decide whether or not he was going to tell me what was bothering him, what he really was thinking about: me. A moment later, he finished his sentence. "Not something to be helped."
I looked him in eye. "Just tell me you'll be alright then?" I asked, genuinely concerned. It was me I should have been worried about.
He broke eye contact, looking down into his lap. He nodded, so I let it drop.
Getting Evan to cheer up was hard work, but I had him laughing and smiling again before we had even finished half our food. I rolled the last bit of my pasta onto my fork and put it in my mouth.
"I win," I grinned, surveying the four or five bites Evan had left.
Facing his plate, playing with the little bit of pasta that remained, he locked his eyes with mine without moving he head, and gave a sly smile. "Could you be any more, you know, four?" He took a bite of his food. "Besides," he said, "I do believe I had more to begin with." He sucked the noodle into his mouth, leaving a bit of marinara sauce on his upper lip.
I stared for just a moment, letting the desire to kiss it off of him overtake me. I glanced around the dining room. Of the three patrons in line of sight, no one seemed to be paying us any attention. I leaned over the table, and beckoned him to do the same. With a grin and another glance around the room to make sure the coast was still clear, bent in and did it, a gentle kiss to his upper lip, taking the sauce with it.
He pulled back kind of suddenly, not shocked, but obviously surprised at the public display. I just smiled at him.
"I, uh..." he looked around nervously, but tried to smile. "Maybe we should call it a night, Bri."
"So soon?" I asked, a little bit of pout on my face. "I'm sorry babe, I shouldn't have done that. But the night doesn't have to end with dinner, you know."
He smiled, and let out a little sigh that perhaps I should have read more into. "Fair enough."
Grinning, I stood and straightened my clothes. Standing straight and lowering my voice a bit, I tried to give myself the appearance of a chauffeur. "Shall I take you home, sir?"
"You? Driving my car?" he grinned. "Not a chance."
I had to laugh at that, and he laughed too, a good strong laugh, the kind you mean, the kind you can't help. I should have been able to see from his actions that evening that something was tearing him up inside, that he was trying to make a decision, or maybe come to terms with the one he'd already made. But he had these moments, these brief instants where he was able to forget himself, forget whatever situation he was in, and just laugh. Just smile. To just be with me in the moment. And it was enough to keep me from seeing what was coming.
"Maybe I could, meet the family or something?" I ventured, still smiling.
He let his laugh fade into a sort of sad smile. I could almost see his mind searching for an excuse to keep me away from his house. "They're probably not home," he came up with. "Umm, we should probably go get you checked into a hotel anyway."
I nodded, still smiling. "Fair enough."
The Motel 6 wasn't luxury, but it did the job just fine. No use getting Kevin mad by putting too much money on the credit card. Nothing fancy, just the basics: a bathroom, television, phone, air conditioning. And of course, a well-made twin sized bed. I set my single bag on the floor and sat on the bed, motioning for Evan to sit down.
He moved over to the bed, but before he could take a seat next to me, I reached out and wrapped my arms around his midsection, and pulled him down onto my lap. Keeping my arms around his waist, feeling the rise and fall of his body as he drew one breath after another, I buried my face in his shoulder from behind. He moved his head gently from side to side-- was he nuzzling me or shaking his head? I couldn't quite tell.
After a moment, he spoke. "Bri," his voice was heavy, almost sad.
I smiled meekly into the fabric of his shirt, wishing I could banish whatever sadness he harbored, whatever troubled him. "I love you babe," I said softly.
He let out a long breath. I moved from his shoulder to his neck, kissing gently at the border between his shirt and skin.
"Bri," he said again, this time even more pained than the last. "Don't." He didn't make a move to stop me, didn't shrug his shoulders. Just a simple, slow and quiet, 'Bri, don't.' I stopped what I was doing.
"Something wrong?" I asked.
He was silent for a second. "I'm sorry," he said. Another pause, as if he were contemplating what to say next. Or how to say it.
I figured it was something small. I figured it was something that could be fixed or would go away, just something nagging at his state of mind. I didn't want to make mountains out of mole hills, didn't want to make him try to explain it away. So before he could say anything more, I said, "Don't worry about it, babe. We can just... watch TV or something?"
He held perfectly still for just a moment before nodding ever so slightly.
"Here, come on," I wriggled out from underneath him, letting myself fall out over the bed, letting him lie down with his head coming to rest on my stomach. It never failed to make me smile, playing the role of the human pillow. I grabbed the remote from the bedside table with one hand, and let the other fall softly onto Evan's head.
And we stayed like that. He didn't move, didn't speak, and I didn't dare break that silence. I just kept lightly running my fingers through his hair. He was so preoccupied, so distant. And so melancholy. I watched what I could see of his face intently, wondering what he was thinking about, what could possibly have put him in such a mood. But I couldn't see anything, not then.
Looking back, it should have hit me like a ton of bricks, should have been written all over Evan's face. The way he'd played our relationship right from the start, the way he'd carried himself in public when we were out together, the way he interacted with the rest of the guys. The way he'd kept me from his family and friends, been so careful to distance his life at home from his time with me. The way he'd pulled away in the last day or so. And the way he'd talked about gay not being normal-- how could I have been so blind?
But then again, maybe I'm making all this up, using the luxury of hindsight to beat myself up over something I suppose I couldn't have known.
And so I lay there, running my hand through his hair, when he brought me out of my train of thought, gently saying my name. "Brian," he sat up and turned around to face me. The sadness in his face shocked me. "Bri, we... I need to talk to you."
I had obviously known something was wrong, knew some sort of discussion about it was almost inevitable. So I simply nodded, still clueless as to what he really wanted to talk about.
"I... well, you see... there's..." he stumbled over his words, so rare for Evan. "I don't..." he stopped and looked down into his lap, as if he'd given up. Given up trying to put what he had to say in whatever way he wanted to say it.
"What am I doing here," he half asked, half mumbled. He looked back up at me, a tear making its way down his right cheek. "Brian, I... I shouldn't be here, I can't be here."
I gently took hold of his face with both hands, wiping away his tear with one thumb. I looked him in the eye, gently but seriously asked, "Babe... Evan... you've been somewhere else since I got back today. What's really going on with you?"
"I don't know, Brian." he said, the tears coming more frequently now. "I... I'm young, and maybe just a little more confused than I thought, okay?"
I thought I knew what was coming at that point. He was going to break up with me. I panicked. "Just what are you trying to say, Evan?" My mind raced, desperately trying to come up with the reasoning he might be using to do this. "A relationship wouldn't work with a pop star? I'm too old for you? Your parents wouldn't approve of us? You're still feeling guilty about coming between the band?" I paused, trying to catch my breath. "Evan..."
"Brian," he said, interrupting me. "I don't think I'm gay."
There we go, the 18th installment. I probably should have made these last two installments into one big double-installment, because neither is quite 20kb, but this was a good place to end things. Maybe instill a little anticipation for the next installment, even if you don't have to wait long for it. I promise I'll get it out soon.
The next installment is indeed the last, so I hope you've enjoyed reading the story so far, as I've certainly enjoyed writing it. Please let me know what you've thought by sending an email to sam.dauson@gmail.com. It would mean a lot to me. :)
Sam