Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:
-
If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here.
-
I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or anything else. This is a work of pure fiction.
Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I've been happy to hear from everyone who wrote to ask questions or say how much they liked this so far, and I wanted to say Thank You to everyone who's written.
And now, back to our story in progress.
When Josh finished in the bathroom, he began to clean up the bedroom, trashing filled tissues and condom wrappers, and stripping the sheets from the bed, adding them to the laundry pile. I watched for a while, sipping my coffee, noticing that Josh went through all of the motions of cleaning with the same thoughtful half scowl on his face.
"Josh?" I asked quietly, as he bustled past me to set the laundry basket down by the door.
I had a lot of questions about what we'd done the previous night. Was it wrong? Did it count as cheating on each other? And what about Justin? Was he gay? Was he just curious? Maybe he was bi? I'd known straight boys who played around every once in a while, so last night really didn't prove anything either way for him, but what about us? Whatever questions I had, Josh's must have been a hundred times worse. I'd counted Justin as a friend for a handful of days. Josh and Justin had been friends for years, best friends, and last night they had shared me in Josh's own bed.
And speaking of Justin, should one of us maybe follow him, or should we give him his own space? When I had slept with Josh for the first time, we didn't speak afterward for almost a year, a year during which Josh had to sort out a lot of his own feelings and figure out his own identity. Was Justin doing the same thing, even now? And where would this leave Britney? Justin was out somewhere, at the gym he'd told us, but what was he doing there? Was he thinking about what all of this might mean, or was he avoiding thinking about it?
And had I come between the two of them? Everything that happened last night had been initiated by me, more or less, and I wasn't even sure of why. I'd just followed what felt good, and hadn't stopped for a second to think of the consequences.
"Josh, are you ok?" I asked. "Do we need to talk?"
Josh stopped and stared at me. His face still had that half scowl, but there were other emotions twisted in there, as well. Love? Jealousy? Anger? I couldn't be sure if what I thought I was seeing on Josh's face was really there or if I was just imposing my own thoughts on him.
"Not now, Jack," Josh answered, looking away from me. "Not now."
I sighed, watching him turn away.
"Fine," I said, getting up. "I'm going to go take a shower, then."
Josh didn't say anything, walking over to the kitchen to find himself something to eat. I sighed again and went to the bathroom. When I was done with my shower, I went into the bedroom and got dressed, but didn't see Josh anywhere. Peeking into the other bedroom, I saw that he was busy at the keyboard again, his earphones clamped into place over his ears, and I went into the living room to read, watch the clock, and wait for Josh to finish or for Justin to come back.
Eventually, I got tired of both. As much as I was sorry Justin had stuff to work through, now, what was going on with Josh and I was more important to me. Our relationship was my priority, and we weren't doing anything to help it by sitting in separate rooms alone. I wasn't really able to concentrate on my book, anyway, with everything else I was thinking about, and I was also trying to guess at what Josh was thinking, too. I was tired of guessing. I wanted to talk to him, to hear from him directly what was running through his mind, because it was obvious that something was. I didn't want him in the back bedroom, pounding away at his keyboard, scribbling lyrics on scraps of paper. I wanted him out here with me, talking to me, or even yelling at me if he needed to.
I didn't want his silence.
I couldn't deal with the way he had pushed me aside this morning, the cold shoulder, the casual separation as if I were some acquaintance that he could talk to or not talk to as he saw fit. I had lowered a lot of my walls to be around Josh, to be with him, and I wasn't about to let him just throw walls back up between us. I trusted him, and I needed to know where we stood.
Tossing my book aside I walked into the back bedroom, and stood in the doorway for a minute or two, watching Josh. When he played, he lost himself in his music, poured himself into it totally, and I could tell just by watching, without hearing anything, that it wasn't happening that way today. He crumpled the paper he was writing, tossing it aside, and pounded the keyboard with his closed fist. Jerking his head to the side to retrieve his fallen pencil, he saw me in the doorway, and his eyes narrowed. Rather than take off his headphones, he grabbed the pencil and turned back to the keyboard, dismissing me.
That was it. That was the last straw.
I crossed the room, sitting down on the bed behind him, and tapped him on the shoulder. Turning, he scowled, and pulled the headphones off.
"What?" he asked coolly, his face not quite neutral.
"We need to talk, Josh," I said, struggling to keep my voice level.
"What did you want to talk about, Jack?" he asked, swiveling the chair around so that he was facing me. "Last night? Or maybe about whatever's going on between you and Justin?"
"Excuse me?" I asked, leaning forward.
"You heard me," he replied. "I've seen the way you two look at each other. I've seen the way you step apart and look away when I walk into the room, so I'll ask again. What's going on between you two?"
"Nothing, Josh," I answered. "Whatever you think you've seen isn't what you think. Justin and I are just friends, and we wouldn't even be that if not for you."
"Just friends?" Josh asked, leaning back in his chair. "Invite all of your friends into our bed?"
Both of us were starting to get a little pissy, and I could see it, but it was like I was in a car with no brakes, rolling downhill toward a busy intersection. I couldn't seem to stop myself any more than Josh seemed to be able to.
And I wasn't sure if either of us wanted to stop.
"Funny, Josh, I don't seem to recall being the only one with his dick in my mouth last night," I snapped.
"His dick wouldn't have been in the room if you hadn't opened the door," Josh snapped back.
"Oh, so it's all my fault?" I asked.
"Why didn't you tell me he saw us that night in the studio?" Josh asked. "Why didn't you tell me right then?"
"I don't know," I said, looking down at my hands. "I don't really have a good reason. I thought he'd tell you."
"You don't have a good reason," he spat. "And that makes it ok? What, am I not enough for you? Maybe we should invite the whole group up next time."
"Fuck you," I said, standing. "When did I ever say you weren't good enough for me?"
He followed me into the living room.
"You didn't have to!" he blurted. "You didn't have to say anything. Instead you invited my friend into our bed."
"You know, let's talk about your friend, Josh," I said icily, spinning to face him. "Let's talk about your friend, Justin, your very good friend. You want to ask about what's going on with me and Justin? What about what's going on with you and Justin?"
"What?" he asked, paling. He stepped back, and I stepped toward him.
"You want to ask about the way I look at Justin?" I asked, advancing. "What about the way you look at Justin? You think I haven't seen it? You think I haven't seen the way you watch him, the way your eyes light up when he walks in?"
"Justin and I are friends," Josh said, crossing his arms.
"Yeah, you're Justin's friend, but what is Justin to you, Josh?" I asked. "What do you see when you look at Justin? Because I'd say it's a lot more than brotherly."
"Shut the fuck up," Josh said, glaring at me.
"Hit a nerve?" I asked, glaring right back. "Tell me again about the awful thing I did, bringing him into the bedroom, and then explain to me why you were all over him."
"This isn't about Justin," Josh said.
"Really? Because I thought it was," I said.
"You lied to me," he said, stepping toward me. "You didn't tell me he saw us."
"He didn't tell you, either, Josh," I pointed out.
"That's not an excuse, Jack," he snapped. "That doesn't make it ok. You keep saying you love me, and that I should trust you, and you didn't even tell me."
"And you trust me by locking yourself in the bedroom with your keyboard?" I demanded. "You want to bitch about things I didn't tell you? What about what you didn't tell me?"
"Oh, and what would that be?" Josh asked, the anger on his face creeping into his voice.
"How long have you been in love with Justin?" I asked.
The silence yawned between us, a chasm that I'd just kicked away the last bridge over.
"We're not talking about that," Josh said quietly.
"How long are we not going to talk this time, Josh?" I pushed. "Another year?"
"Fuck you," he repeated.
I turned and walked toward the door. I needed some air. I needed to be out of the apartment before one of us said something really awful. I needed to get away because I couldn't seem to stop any of the words flying out of my mouth, and once they were gone there would be no way to take them back.
"Yeah, walk away," Josh said from behind me. "You're good at that."
"Fuck you, Josh," I said, not looking back. I slammed the door closed behind me.
And he didn't come out after me. He didn't apologize, or call out for me to stop. He didn't come tell me that we weren't done, didn't come tell me that we needed to talk through this before it got out of hand.
But I didn't turn and go back to him, either.
I walked down to one of the lounge chairs and sank heavily into it, breathing deeply, almost panting. I held my head in my hands, not crying, just trying to collect myself, and listened to footsteps tapping down the stairs. I heard someone settle onto the lounge next to me, and, while I hoped it was Josh, I knew it wasn't, even before she spoke.
"Hey," Brit said.
I looked at her, uncovering my eyes. I know I must have looked bad, but Brit was looking a little strained as well. Her clothes were sloppy, something I'd never seen in the short time I'd known her, and her wrinkled t-shirt looked like she'd slept in it. She wasn't wearing any makeup, and I wondered if anyone in America besides Justin ever saw her like this.
"Hey," I said. "How are you, Brit?"
"Looks like I could ask you the same thing," she said. "What are you doing out here?"
"Josh and I are kind of having a fight," I answered, not seeing the need to lie. "You know, like you and Justin."
"That's kind of why I came down," she said, folding her hands. "I saw you out here, and I thought I'd come ask. How is he? How's Justin doing?"
Oh, he's great, Brit. That blowjob we gave him last night perked him right up.
"Well, he's not happy, as I'm sure you're aware," I answered. "I think you hurt him a lot yesterday by not talking to him."
"I know, but I was just too upset," she sighed, looking at her hands. "I'm sure Justin told you this, but we've been having some problems, Jack."
"And you thought you'd talk to your new best girlfriend about them?" Lance asked from behind us.
I turned, and saw him standing over our chairs, his closely set eyes staring down at me and a sneer painted across his wide face.
"I'm not in the mood, Lance," I said. My short fuse was almost gone, and he was the last person I needed pushing me.
"Really?" he asked. "I thought you boys were always in the mood."
"Knock it off, Lance," Brit said, leaning unhappily against the back of her chair. "You're being a jerk."
"No, Lance, don't knock it off," I said, standing. "What exactly is your problem with me?"
"You are my problem, rump ranger," Lance snapped, smiling to himself at his own weak insult.
"Rump ranger?" I repeated incredulously. "Did you find that at the late '80's garage sale where you got those clothes? Nice Be-dazzling on that denim jacket, Lance."
"Fuck you, butt pirate," he said, smiling at this one, too, but a little less widely.
"Oh, butt pirate," I said, giggling. "Are you trying to hurt me with these? Because you really, really suck at it."
"I bet I don't suck half as well as you," he said, not giving up.
"Why is that such a problem for you, Lance?" I asked. "Why do you even care?"
"What you're doing is wrong," he said.
"I'm not doing it to you," I countered. "Why the fuck do you care?"
"Because you're doing it to my friend," Lance said. "He came to talk to me, and I listened. You've got him snowed. You're leading him around by his dick, right down the path with you, and you've got him convinced that it's ok."
"That's because it is ok, you moron," Britney said from her chair.
Justin walked into the courtyard from the parking lot archway, and Lance turned to look at him before glancing back down at Britney.
"Oh, I should grow up?" Lance said nastily. "What about you, puppy love?"
"What goes on between me and Brit is none of your business," Justin said, stepping up next to me. "Just like what goes on between Josh and Jack is none of your business, either."
"It is my business," Lance blurted. Above us, Josh stepped quietly out of our apartment and leaned over the railing, watching. "This fag corrupted one of my friends, and I'm not letting him get the rest."
"I didn't corrupt anybody," I said, my voice dripping with disdain. "And what makes you think I'd want any of his friends?"
"Oh please," Lance said, staring from me to Justin and back again. "I know about you people. I know how you guys try to recruit guys, and make them sick perverts like you. You're probably working on Justin already, too."
"What?" Justin asked, stepping toward him.
"That's what they do, Justin," Lance said. "He's probably working on you already, touching you, hugging you, telling you it's completely ok."
Justin's nostrils flared as his eyes narrowed, but Lance seemed not to even notice.
"Hell, next thing you know Jackie-boy here'll be down on his knees in front of you," Lance continued, as Justin stepped toward him again, "trying to get your dick into."
Lance's next words, whatever nasty thing they would have been, were lost when Justin's fist slammed into his nose. I don't know if Justin was offended, or if what Lance said was just a little too close to home for him right now, but either way Lance went spinning back, blood spraying, as I pushed Justin away from him. Britney jumped out of her chair, screaming.
"Justin! Stop it!" she yelled, running toward Lance.
Chris pulled open his apartment door, saw what was going on, and ducked back inside. Josh began walking quickly toward the stairs.
"Justin, leave him alone," I said, holding his arm.
Blood splattered the tiles as Lance held his gushing nose. Chris stepped out of his apartment with a towel.
"Take it back, Lance," Justin said, struggling against me. If he really went for Lance again I wasn't going to be able to stop him.
"You always do the fighting for your fag friends?" Lance asked. Chris handed him the towel.
"Put this on your nose, or put it in your mouth," he said, looking around carefully at all of us. "What the hell is going on?"
"Nothing," Justin said, looking away.
"Lance?" Chris asked.
"Nothing," Lance answered, pressing the towel to his nose. Britney stood next to him, leading him toward a chair.
"Jack?" Chris asked, turning to me.
"Nothing," I answered, walking toward the stairs. I stepped past Josh.
"Jesus," Josh whispered, his eyes fixed on the blood on the patio tile.
"It'll be ok, Josh," I said absently, starting up the steps.
"No it won't," Josh half-yelled behind me. I turned, and he was glaring up at me. "Don't tell me it'll be ok. Justin won't talk to me! He won't talk to Britney! Lance hates me! And you think it'll be ok?"
"JC," Chris said quietly behind him.
"Yeah, I do," I answered, turning to start up the stairs again.
"None of this would have happened if you hadn't come here," Josh said coldly behind me.
"Josh, you're just upset," Justin said, stepping toward him.
I turned, staring down at Josh. His face was twisted, and tears glistened in his eyes.
"Josh," I began, stepping down one stair toward him. "Josh, don't."
"I wish I'd never met you," he spat.
I didn't wait to hear what else he had to say. I turned and began to run up the stairs, even as I heard him screaming, "Don't touch me!" in the courtyard. Running into the apartment, I didn't even stop to shut the door, and I heard a car peel out of the parking lot as I pulled my suitcase out of the closet. I wasn't crying. I would not cry. I would not be hurt.
But I would not stay, either.
I was throwing things into my suitcase, not really looking. I glanced at the new clothes Josh had showered on me the other day, and left them in the closet. Pressing on the suitcase, I tried to get it closed, and pulled it back open in frustration. As I frantically pawed through it, rearranging things, my hand skittered across the cell phone Josh had given me, and I pulled it out, screeching in frustration, and hurled it against the wall. Chris jumped back as the phone exploded into plastic shards.
"Jack?" he asked.
"Chris, I need a ride to the airport," I said, stuffing things into my carry on bag as well.
"Jack, don't do this," he began. I glared up at him.
"I need a ride to the airport, Chris," I repeated.
"Jack, Josh loves you," Chris began.
"Really? Where is he?" I asked, still struggling with my luggage. Chris looked away.
I would not cry.
"He wouldn't forgive me if I drove you to the airport so you could leave him," Chris said.
"Wasn't that just him leaving?" I asked. Chris looked away, and that was all the answer I needed. "If you won't drive me, call me a cab."
"Jack," Chris began, holding up his hands.
"Call me a cab, or get out," I said. "If you don't call it, I'll do it myself, and you'll have kept me from leaving for an entire minute. If it's really that important to you, fine, but really, Chris, all I need you to do is to pick up the God-damned phone and call me a fucking cab!"
"Fine," Chris said, turning away and walking toward the telephone. "Fine. Do what you want."
Chris called me a cab, and stood silently in the doorway while I finished packing. I finally got my suitcase closed as I heard the cab beep its horn out front, and I pushed past Chris, bags in hand.
"Jack," he began again.
"Lock up when you leave," I said. "Goodbye, Chris."
I walked away as he leaned down over the balcony, silently imploring me not to. The courtyard was empty, no one else in my way or trying to stop me. I stalked out to the cab, throwing my bags in the opened trunk, and we sped away to the airport.
At the airport, I was told it would be a few hours before I could make the next available flight, so I settled in near the counter, in case something opened on an earlier one. I pulled my bags up next to me, and thought about taking out my book, but I didn't want to read. I didn't want to do anything, really, and most especially I didn't want to think. I sat in my chair, dully watching the other people walk by, the happy couples, the families, the people with someone to love, and I hated them.
Suddenly I hated them all. And suddenly I did want to cry after all. I wanted to cry for me, for Josh, for Justin. Hell, I even wanted to cry for Lance with his broken nose, and for Chris, watching, but powerless to stop any of this from happening.
Abandoning my bags, I practically ran to the nearest bathroom, and locked myself in a stall. I sat on the toilet seat, wadded up a ball of toilet paper, and just let it all out. I cried, and cried, like I'd never cried before in my life, feeling every tear burn its way out of my eyes and knowing that, in the end, this was all my fault. I stopped crying, vomited a flood of the morning's coffee into the toilet, and then cried some more. When it finally seemed to have stopped, and I had myself under control, I went to the sinks and washed my face.
I looked like hell, and I turned away from my reflection, wondering why I even cared.
Who would want to look at me when I didn't want to look at myself?
Walking out of the bathroom, I was relieved to see that my bags were still there, just as I'd left them. Sitting down, I bent to straighten my carry on bag, and felt something bump against my chest. I'd forgotten I was still wearing the necklace Josh had given me, the one with my sign on the front and his on the back, the twin to the one he was wearing. I reached up and unhooked it, pulling it out of my shirt and staring at it.
It was such a small thing, this necklace. A round silver disk on a strand of black leather cord, it couldn't have cost more than a few dollars. Such a small thing, and yet, holding it, I felt destroyed. I cradled it as Atlas, staring at it, feeling the weight of everything that had happened concentrate itself in this tiny necklace, this gift Josh had given me so that I could always touch it and think of him.
I didn't want to think of Josh anymore, or ever again.
Standing, I crumpled the necklace in my fist, feeling the edges of the medallion digging into my palm, and I stalked toward the nearest garbage can. Approaching it, I held my fist out in front of me, trying to force myself to throw it all away.
"I don't think you should do that," a familiar voice said from behind me.
I sighed, my hand dropping, but still clutching the necklace. I should have known. Turning, I saw him standing dejectedly near my bags.
"Justin," I said quietly.
"Jack," he answered.
Don't worry, the next part is coming soon.