Insomnia

Disclaimer: Anything mentioned in this story is complete fiction. The sexuality of anyone in the story is not necessarily true, but just written to entertain. If you are underage or if it is illegal to read pornographic material where you live, please leave now. Also, if you are uncomfortable with gay relationships, you should not read any further. For everyone else, enjoy the show...

"Remember, it's not quite finished yet," Michael said his hands still covering my eyes.

I sighed, as impatient as I had ever been with the man. It had been three days since I painted or sketched anything. There were no ideas on the horizon and I was really beginning to worry. On top of that Michael had dragged me away from my loft and blank canvases to visit his new offices at Skorch. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans urging him to get on with it.

Michael finally relinquished his hold on me and gestured excitedly to the highly polished marble rotunda of an oversized office building somewhere on the island of Manhattan. The lobby was garishly overdone like so many I had seen before.

"Isn't it great? I had the marble flown in straight from Italy. And the light fixtures are all 16th century something or other. Ridiculously expensive though. Come over here; look at the detail on the archway to the elevators."

I followed him trying to tune out his half assed attempt at explaining Edwardian architecture. I knew I loved Michael dearly but it seemed odd that the man could be standing no more then two feet away from me and have no idea that I was in a horrible mood.

"Josiah?"

"What?"

"Were you listening at all?"

"Michael," I said running my hand over my forehead, "the last thing I need right now is a lecture. You wanted me to see the new office. I came and saw the new office."

"I was just hoping it inspired you that's all."

I looked at him sideways. After all those years together Michael could still occasionally surprise me. The ridiculously rich, hard as nails business man actually looked forlorn.

"It did," I said hugging him. "It has. I'm already getting ideas."

I knew I was lying to him, but I was sure I could deliver on my promise. At least I hoped I could.

He kissed my cheek.

"Let's go up to my office," he whispered in my ear.

"I can't right now. Ideas brewing," I said a finger tapping my right temple. "Need to get them down on paper."

"I understand. I have a few meetings lined up anyway. I'll see you tonight then."

I kissed his lips softly and walked back to the entrance of the lobby.

~~*

I sat on the floor in front of a blank canvas leaning against the brick wall of my loft. I stared at it. I had been four hours.

I glanced at the green digital clock on the microwave about ten feet away. It was a little after midnight and Michael had not come home yet. Well my loft wasn't exactly home to him but I should have been.

I sighed, deciding I should fall further into feeling sorry for myself and laid flat on my back on the polished cement floor. I placed my hands behind my head and closed my eyes. I could almost hear the days clicking away until my next exhibit. I didn't think I had ever been so uneasy about painting before.

I had a multitude of paintings in storage and haphazardly strewn around my loft. I went through a mental checklist of each one. If push came to shove I could throw something together. It could be the end of my career, but I could throw something together.

I almost laughed at the thought; hauling out old paintings from my cold storage unit to piece together a makeshift exhibit. Michael would be appalled.

Michael.

In my heart I knew it was not his fault my creative juices had ceased to flow. But still just the thought of him in that moment made me angry. If everything had stayed the same, him at arms length, me throwing myself into my work; life would have been great. Loveless sure, but career wise great.

I slammed my eyes shut again, determined to relax and let every feeling of inadequacy I was harboring drain out of my body. I took a deep breath and tried to focus on the last time I felt calm, at ease, safe.

I expected my mind to replay last night's love making session with Michael, or our cuddling session afterward. Instead, I was greeted with the smiling blue-green eyes of Joshua. His high cheek bones and pouty naturally pink lips were followed by his chiseled jaw line.

My fingers tingled with the thought of touching him. And my body tingled with the thought of his touch.

My eyes opened and a smile slid across my face.

I jumped up, grabbing my favorite paint brush and the paint I mixed a few days earlier. I tossed aside the small canvas leaning against the wall and blindly went to work on the six by eight foot blank canvas hanging in front of me.

I pushed aside all thoughts of Michael, all thoughts of moving in with him and relinquishing my loft and studio space. Thoughts of the art exhibit flew away in moments. I forgot about everything that seemed to weigh so heavily on me and I did what I knew best. Painted.

In what seemed like minutes, I stepped back from my painting. With a canvas of that size I normally sketched out exactly what I wanted to paint in pencil first so I didn't lose my way.

My eyes ticked over the art that had poured out of me so willingly while I was in my trance state. Familiar, big blue-green eyes stared back at me.

I sunk back down to the floor in my previous position. But this time everything about my appearance was different. It wasn't just the paint splattered on my face and chest but it was what some would call my aura.

I sat there cross legged on the polished cement floor starring up at the painting. I had looked at it from every angle, the eyes following me wherever I went, but this was my favorite; starring up at it right on.

I sipped my tea while looking deep into the singer's eyes. I felt as though he wanted to tell me something. Nothing so cliché as, `thanks for the fuck,' something more meaningful. I squinted at the finished painting my mind racing.

As soon as I had come out of my so-called trance and really focused in on what I was painting, not too long passed memories of Joshua came flooding back into my brain. Like, the way he squinted at me or tilted his head slightly to the right when he was trying to compute my inane babble.

Somehow this painting encompassed all of that. But there was still something, something hiding behind those pools of blue and green that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

Of course, it was my work and most would argue I was the one that put meaning behind his eyes if there was even anything there. I knew that was not true. He was trying to speak to me. And I felt all I had to do was listen.

A hand touched my shoulder and I jumped, my tea cup clattering to the floor.

"I'm sorry," Michael said looking down at me. "I thought you heard me come in."

That was the third time the man had apologized in a little less than four days.

"Don't worry about it," I said prying my eyes from the painting long enough to look up at Michael. I focused back on the eyes.

"Did you do that today?"

"Yes."

"It's very good. Who is he?" Michael asked looking at me instead of the painting.

"I...I don't know," I lied.

I rarely lied to anyone. I rarely had a reason to. But this was definitely a reason if there had ever been one to tell an untruth.

I stood, my legs almost buckling underneath me. I reached out and grasped his arm for a moment to steady myself.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"Almost three."

I grabbed a rag and wiped up the spilled tea from the floor. I hadn't even noticed it was ice cold.

"Have you eaten?" Michael asked. "I thought I might take you out tonight to celebrate but time got away from me at the office. There's still so much to do."

"You've been at Skorch this whole time?" I asked rinsing the tea cup and the rag in the sink.

"Yes," he said simply. "Maybe we can have a late lunch tomorrow between meetings."

"Actually I am still very tired," I lied again. They were coming much easier. "Maybe it's the time difference or something."

"It's a three hour time difference and you were gone for two days," he said walking toward me. "You stopped taking the sleeping pills?"

"They made my mind feel, I don't know, foggy all day," I said letting him wrap his arms around me. "I cannot paint like that."

"I understand."

I closed my eyes, letting my body relax against his.

"But lunch tomorrow is a long time away," he said running his hands in soft circles across my back. "I bet I could help you sleep like a baby."

I smiled into his soft neck, his cologne tingling my nose. I felt like my heart was being pulled in a number of directions. Michael was there in flesh and blood. Joshua was only an illusion at that point.

"You never gave me a kiss, `hello,'" he continued.

"Hello," I said still smiling.

I placed my lips gently over his. Our tongues immediately melded together. I lost myself in our kiss suddenly wanting to feel him as close to me as possible. I slid my hands over his black suit jacket pushing it off his broad shoulders. My fingers went to his royal blue tie, loosening it and adding it to the pile of clothes starting to accumulate on the kitchen floor. This time my fingers nimbly undid every button on his collard shirt and pulled his under shirt over his head in record time.

I tugged at his belt, whipping it off so fast the metal buckle made a cracking sound against the island counter.

Michael was breathing heavily against my mouth.

I could feel the urgency in his touch and between his legs as I slipped my hand inside of his pants. I stroked him with one hand as the other pushed his pants and boxer briefs just below the curve of his muscular backside.

Before I could tease him any more, Michael turned me around and bent me over the counter. He yanked down my jeans and shoved himself into me in one fluid motion.

I writhed against him. Bucking as he violated me and loving every minute of it. My eyes opened as he pounded inside of me harder. I leaned my flushed face against the cool counter top. I could hear him groaning and panting behind me. He grasped a handful of my long hair and pulled it back raising my head off the counter as he drilled deeper inside me.

Unblinking aquamarine eyes starred at me. They looked through me straight to my soul, to my very being.

"Stop," I whispered, barely audible even to myself. "Stop! Please stop!"

"What?" Michael said coming back down from whatever planet he had traveled to in ecstasy. "What's wrong?"

"Stop," was all I could squeak out of my throat.

I pushed Michael off of me and pulled up my jeans.

"Josiah," he said with a furrowed brow.

I could barely even look at him.

"I'm sorry," I heard myself say as I took the stairs two at a time.

I slammed the bathroom door shut just in time for hot tears to spill onto my cheeks. I swiped at them wildly as if they were acid that would burn my skin if they lingered.

I did not cry. I could not cry. After I saw my mother raped, beaten, and murdered I had expelled all the tears I would ever have.

I sat on the closed toilet sobbing uncontrollably in my hands.

"Josiah," a voice came from the other side of the door.

I could not answer Michael even if I wanted to. And plus, what was I going to say? A painting of eyes made me cry?

"Please let me in. Tell me what I did. Was I too rough? If so, I'm sorry."

That was number four. I tried to muffle my sobs but I think I probably only made it sound worse.

"What can I do? Please talk to me."

I tried to calm down. I tried to breathe. But each breath stuck in my lungs sharply as I cried harder. How could a painting have such an affect on a person? And of all things a painting of eyes. But they weren't just any eyes. They were his eyes. I wanted to see those eyes again. No, I needed to see those eyes again.

As I gasped for breath and wiped at my face I stood in front of the pedestal sink and looked into the small mirror on the front of the medicine cabinet.

The blue, green, and black paint I used was smeared across my face as if I were some Indian warrior. I reached for my wash cloth, fumbling with it for a moment as a torrent of gasps for breath overcame me. The last time that happened I had broken my arm when I was five years old after defying gravity and climbing the tallest tree in our front yard. When my mother died there had been no time for gasps.

I went to swipe up the wash cloth when I noticed a small crumbled up piece of paper lying next to it. I picked it up and smoothed it out in my hand. I assumed it was among the pieces of paper I took out of my jeans a few days prior but wasn't sure until I read it.

In neat black ball point pen it read: Joshua 407-555-9872.

I stared at it for a moment reading the simple writing over and over again, as if it were Shakespeare.

I felt dizzy and my heart was beating so fast I thought it might fly out of my chest. I closed my eyes for a moment transporting myself back to the art exhibit in California. Joshua gave me a phone number to call in case something went wrong at the will call window of his concert. But maybe it wasn't just a phone number for the venue. Maybe it was his phone number.

I had no idea what to do with this newfound information. Longing to see him again was one thing, but actually having the chance was completely different. There were so many different possibilities of what could be on the other end of that phone number.

Suddenly, I felt it was my responsibility to find out.

~~*

When I finally exited my bunker that also doubled as a bathroom, Michael was sitting on the floor in his black boxer briefs right by the door. He scrambled to stand up when he saw me exit.

"Are you OK?" he asked brow still furrowed even after 20 minutes.

"Yes."

He grabbed me and hugged me before I could stop him.

"I am so sorry if I hurt you."

That was number five. I figured this was a new thing for him, apologizing and all, and it might save time if I stopped keeping track.

"You didn't," I said simply.

"Then what was wrong?"

I looked at him, determined to tell him the truth. I wanted the words to spill out of my mouth, I urged them to but nothing would come. I stared into his dark foreboding eyes.

"I can't explain it."

"I know I'm no artist but you can tell me anything," he said still holding onto my waist tightly. "I want to know."

"I guess it was just overwhelming," I said rubbing my neck with one hand. "I must have still been in creative mode and it was just too much emotionally."

If I hadn't realized how much of an asshole I was being for not coming clean with him I would have laughed at the statement I had just made. Art and sex always go hand in hand. Always.

Michael nodded.

I could almost see the little man pushing buttons on the calculator in his head only to see that nothing was adding up.

Either he was tired or he just chalked the whole experience up to being in love with a quirky artist because he kissed me on the forehead.

"Let's try and get some sleep," he said simply.

He let me go and we lay on the bed side by side in the dark. Only our shoulders touched but I could sense he was not sleeping.

I turned onto my side, glimpsing the outline of my jeans crumpled on the floor near the bed. The small piece of paper with my destiny was tucked away in those jeans. It made me shudder to think about it.

It wasn't like I had really needed the painting and the phone number to jog my memories of him. I had not forgotten about Joshua and what we shared for one minute. But I did do my best to push those thoughts to the far reaches of my mind. Michael was here. Joshua was not and may never be. A huge part of me wanted to be logical and take the wonderful man lying next to me in my arms and stay like that forever.

But there was this other part.

This nagging part of my heart that would never let me be fully happy until I knew what I could have with Joshua. And honestly, that scared the shit out of me.

~~*

Just as dim white light began to creep over the bed, I felt Michael stir and then get up. I feigned sleep as he went to the bathroom and then gave me a gentle kiss goodbye on the forehead before exiting the loft.

As soon as the heavy metal door slammed shut I sat up in bed. A glance at the alarm clock told me it was way too early to call anyone, even the man I could some day fall head over heels in love with.

I knew I had to keep myself busy so I decided to go on a run, something that was pretty rare recently. I pulled on some clothes and headed out deciding to make my way to the Hudson River by way of West 14th Street. Soon I was passing the Groundzero Museum and the Heller Gallery. It was nice to see that being away for a few days hadn't changed much. If I had gone out of my way and taken 15th Street I would have passed Milk, where large posters were already hanging in the windows to advertise my exhibit.

I almost stopped in mid-step at the thought. I shook my head, sprinting faster. I had to focus on one thing at a time, and at the moment that was calling the phone number Joshua left me.

As I rounded 10th Avenue I started preparing myself for the worst. The number could easily be an answering service or more likely his dressing room phone at the concert venue. Although I was quite sure 407 was not a Los Angeles area code. It was probably an Orlando area code, where he said he owned a home, which could only mean it was a cell phone number. Or possibly a beeper number, if people even carried beepers anymore. But it had to be a current way to get a hold of him. That is, unless he left the country on business. Or maybe he was so heartbroken about my leaving without so much as a, `so long,' that he flew off to Dubai on a whim. It wasn't the most gay friendly travel destination but it was the farthest away I could think of at a moments notice.

That thought did bring me to a stop. I placed my hands on my hips breathing hard as I looked over the Hudson River at sunrise. Is there anyway he could have been that heartbroken where he would do something drastic? I figured I was overreacting. Joshua had not seemed like the type, but I did not really know him all that well.

The other extreme crossed my mind. Maybe he had not given me a second thought. He could have woken up in the morning and been overjoyed that I was gone and he did not have to physically kick me out in the morning.

I sat on a nearby bench breathing in the cold morning air. I was not the type of person to invent something out of nothing. I was an observer by nature. And my observation of Joshua that night was that he wanted more than a one night stand. He may have been a great singer, but there was no way he was just as good of an actor.

~~*

After showering, sipping tea, eating a piece of toast, and trying to avoid the gaze of the painting I felt I was finally ready.

I sat on the edge of the bed I had shared with Michael for the past three nights, holding the cordless phone in one hand and the wrinkled piece of paper in the other.

I hit the talk button and checked for a dial tone. There was one. I turned the phone off and smoothed out the paper against the nightstand. The phone number was as clear as day but I must have thought it could be clearer.

I touched the talk button again with my thumb and watched as the green light flicked on. I dialed 407 slowly then hung up. I wondered if I needed to dial a one for a long distance call. I thought about that for a few too many moments and decided that I would try it with a one first, since that couldn't hurt.

I dialed 1-407 and paused with my thumb over the 5. I pressed it three times quickly and then hung up again, this time telling myself I had done one too many.

I put the phone down and ran my fingers through my wet hair to pull it back into a ponytail. Once it was perfect, I picked up the phone once again.

"OK Josiah, here goes nothing," I said under my breath.

Before my thumb could press the talk button for a fourth time the phone rang. I dropped it to the floor in shock, wondering if *69 could have gotten that advanced that you could call back someone before they fully dialed your number.

I took a deep breath almost laughing at myself.

"Hello?"

"Why hello gorgeous! Thought I might wake you up this early but then I remembered who I was calling."

I laughed, "Hi Ricky. How are you?"

"Just fine beautiful. I've been meaning to call you but I wanted you to get all settled back in New York first."

"Well I am settled."

"Good. First I wanted to tell you that people have not stopped raving about your work. They love you out here and can't wait for more."

"That is very good to hear."

"Second we finally received the final numbers for the show and it was spectacular. Like the best we've done all year honey. You have the big wigs upstairs totally creaming in their pants for you."

"That's a great visual Ricky, thanks."

"I aim to please. By the way the wire to your account was completed last night some time so you are good to go to get yourself a little Fendi or maybe some Prada?"

"As you know I am always in the market for such labels," I said laughing.

"Whatever you don't want, honey send it my way. Anyway, all said and done it was a huge success and we definitely hope you grace us with your presence again very soon."

"I will think about it."

"How's July for you?" he asked laughing loudly. "Only kidding. I know your genius needs to fester a bit longer then that. Alright sweetie I'll be in touch though and hopefully we can set something up."

"Thank you Ricky."

"No problem. Oh wait by the way that hot little dish you came to the show with. The hottie from Nsync?"

"Joshua?" I said barely able to get the name out of my mouth.

"Yes him. Well you must have left quite the impression on him honey because he's called like three times and even dropped by to see me, in the guise of checking on his painting of course. Never took you for the love em and leave em type. But either way I told him I'd let you know he was looking for you."

My heart was pounding so hard in my chest I could hear it in my ears.

"Josiah?" Ricky said after a moment.

"Yes," I managed, "thank you for the message. I have to go now."

"OK darling be good!"

I hung up the phone and looked at the number I still held in my hand. He hadn't forgotten about me. He even went looking for me at the gallery.

I pressed the talk button and boldly dialed the entire number. My heart began to thump again as I waited for the phone to start ringing. Instead, it immediately went to voicemail. I wasn't even offered a small trinket of his voice. A computerized woman merely recited the number I just dialed back to me and told me to leave a message.

I hung up before I did anything stupid. If that was actually a way to still get a hold of Joshua, the last thing I wanted to do was leave an impromptu message.

I should have asked Ricky if he left a phone number just to double check it. Ricky might have been loud and even laughable at times but the man took his business seriously. If Joshua had left a phone number Ricky would have given it to me.

I placed the phone back on the charger and lay back on the bed. I was definitely going to try and call back, but until then I needed to keep busy. I didn't want to hang around the loft. I knew those eyes would draw me in and I would be mesmerized until Ahnna or Michael found me on the floor in the fetal position emaciated and drooling. Alright so it would not have been nearly that bad, but it still would not turn out to be a very productive day.

I picked up the phone again and dialed a number quickly.

"Hi it's me. I was wondering if I could take you up on that lunch offer after all."

"Of course," Michael said. "My calendar is always open for you baby. I have a meeting at eleven in the Skorch offices so let's say one?"

"OK but let's go somewhere quiet. I need to speak with you about something."

"Anything serious?"

"I would rather not go into it over the phone."

"Well if you really need to talk you can come down now."

"I don't think this is something we can do between meetings."

"We don't have to talk about your big looming surprise Josiah. You can just hang out. Maybe do some sketching for the lobby artwork?"

"Maybe."

"The offers on the table. Either way I'll see you around one?"

"Yes. Bye."

I sat there for a moment mulling over how I would tell Michael, the supposed love of my life that I was leaving him for another man. But was I leaving him for another man? A lot can change in a short amount of time. Sure Joshua had come looking for me but what if I was merely a fancy that had already passed. What if he was so angry he wrote me off for good? No amount of groveling or apologies could ever change some people's minds.

As more "what ifs" popped into my brain, I decided that trying to sketch at Skorch might not be such a bad idea.

~~*

When I walked into the building it looked much different then I remembered it. The bustling people and the quiet bubbling of the lobby fountain made the building come alive. It wasn't as gaudy as I had first observed either. With modern furniture in red, black, and white leather with metal accents the whole space had a very up-tempo vibe that was much more inviting than I thought it would be.

Although the majority of the walls were bare, there were sections with framed gold, platinum, and diamond records. I walked over to one looking at it closely. I didn't recognize the artwork of the CD cover mounted inside the frame but the name of the group seemed mildly familiar.

My assumptions of a porn production company were further off then I thought. Michael wasn't even producing movies, he was producing music.

I glanced over the remaining records unable to recognize any faces or names.

As I continued my walk through the lobby I wondered why Michael hadn't been more specific. I guessed I should have asked for clarification but I was very tied up in myself at the time. Actually, it had been like that since I got back from Los Angeles.

I decided to focus on my sketching rather then my inadequacies. Recently, it had been pretty rare that I left the loft to do my sketching. I had seen so many wonderful and horrible things in my life that most ideas were already in my mind ready for the taking. But, I had never painted anything for a particular space before.

I hunkered down in a nearby black leather chair, with a great view of the lobby and the archway to the elevators. I knew I would be more then welcome to visit Michael and his office wherever the two might be, but I could not face the man yet. It was inevitable I would be breaking his heart at some point that afternoon so pretending we were the perfect couple would only make the blow more devastating.

I tried to push the thought of our pending lunch out of my mind. I figured speaking off the cuff in that particular situation might be a better approach then a rehearsal session.

I pushed my hair back off of my shoulders and crossed my legs, resting my sketch book on my lap. I flipped to a blank page and leaned back taking in the grandeur of the lobby once more. I noticed how the domed ceiling was accented with lavish looking gold paint. It seemed to rival the sumptuousness of King Henry VIII's reign in the 16th century. I smiled at the thought as I looked down at the blank pages on my lap. The parallels were endless to the streets of New York. As King Henry bejeweled his women and his castle alike, outside the palace gates men, women, and children were starving; clawing for some sense of normalcy in an anti-catholic, oppressive, pro-war monarchy.

Suddenly I had an idea and began sketching wildly. I must admit, looking back on it now, it wasn't necessarily the best choice for the man who commissioned my work. But it would be an outlandish beacon wrapped in the exaggeration that was Michael's office building.

I tuned out the hustle and bustle around me, not even feeling the sideways glances from pristinely suited business men. I worked for mere minutes roughly sketching what would in the future become one of my most sought after works of art.

I held the sketchbook at face height to view the blueprint of my masterpiece, millions of thoughts racing through my mind about how to make it a reality. My eyes slowly lifted from the page focusing in on two men not fifteen feet away from me.

Michael stood there in all of his towering glory, jet black hair slicked back from his chiseled face and fit body wrapped in a charcoal gray suit, neatly pressed pink collard shirt and silk paisley tie to match. Before my eyes could register to my brain just how striking he looked, I followed his outreached hand to the man standing in front of him.

I made an audible sound as I took in the man's appearance, immediately recognizing the turquoise eyes that sparkled in the short distance.

Joshua was in New York. But not just on any of the 141,300 square kilometers of the state. He was standing right in front of me. If I hadn't been in such a state of shock, I would have thought it odd that I remembered the exact area of the state of New York at a time like that. Talk about your life flashing before your eyes.

Although I was so close to them I could hear their niceties in surround sound, I instinctively slouched down in my chair, almost hearing my dear mother turn in her grave back in Kasane.

Joshua's melodic laugh tickled each of my five senses, as no sound could.

When they turned toward me, my heart stopped in mid beat. Black dots speckled my vision and their voices seemed to extend farther and farther out into the abyss that was my soul.

"Josiah."

I looked up into Michael's eyes, as both men stood over me. I must not have fainted as I knew I surely would, because neither looked alarmed. Well, I wasn't sure what expression Joshua had on his face. I had not yet met his gaze and hoped to not do so in that particular setting.

"See, what did I tell you," Michael exclaimed with light laughter, "my artist boyfriend always hard at work."

Joshua said nothing. What could he say?

"Josiah, this is Joshua Chasez. Joshua this is Josiah."

As Michael began to the introduction I tried to stand, my knees almost buckling under me. I fumbled with my sketchbook and pencil, looking as put out as I felt.

"Hi," was the first word out of Joshua's mouth directed at me in over five days.

I had no idea what to say. I settled on, "Hello."

I finally met his gaze as Michael, being the perfect gentleman that he still is, gave us small tidbits about the other's life to get us better acquainted.

His eyes were still as beautiful as I remembered them. My painting had been a gorgeous reproduction, but there was nothing like looking longingly into the real thing.

To be continued...

** Sorry about the cliffhanger but sometimes you just have to leave them wanting more. bluewritergrl@yahoo.com**