Author’s Note: This is my version of what Justin was thinking during the ‘silent scene’ in episode 220. Both Randy and Gale were able to portray, through facial expressions and body language, the torment their characters were going through. I started writing this in an attempt to deal with the sadness. If it helps you, I’m glad. Many thanks to Liz for the literary reference. This story is for Cheryl, because she asked nicely.

A Last Embrace

Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace!

Romeo and Juliet. Act 5. Scene 3. 

I’m standing outside the door to the loft. I’ve been here probably a thousand times over the past almost-two years. This time, though, it’s different. I’m not sure what’s going to happen when I go inside.

After Brian told me it was up to me to decide where I wanted to be, I went to see Ethan. I had to tell him that I wanted to stay with him, but he didn’t want me. Brian doesn’t want me either.

So, why am I here?

Because I have no other place to go. This is my home.

No, it’s not. This is Brian’s place. It always has been and it always will be. I’ll never be more than the trick who wouldn’t go away. I thought that, if I stayed here long enough, that Brian would finally get used to me, and he’d start treating me like I belonged.

Like everything else, I was wrong about that too.

Enough hesitation. I can’t stand out here all night. I know he’s in there - I saw the Jeep outside. Maybe he’s fucking someone and he won’t even notice me. I can quietly get a blanket out of the closet and crash on the couch. It won’t be the first time I’ve done that.

Opening the door slowly, I walk in. Except for a couple of lights, it’s dark inside, and very quiet. No music, no talking, no grunting or moaning. I guess Brian’s asleep.

As I walk in and take off my coat, I glance over to the bedroom. Brian is lying in bed, but he’s not looking at me. I stand still and stare at him. After a minute, he looks my way. Is he looking at me? Or is he staring into space?

There are no lights on in the bedroom, not even Brian’s trademark blue neon lights. Was he waiting for me to come home? Was he expecting that I wouldn’t? Was he hoping that I would?

I stand still for a long minute, looking at him, waiting for some sort of acknowledgment, on his part, that I’m here.

He doesn’t even seem to blink an eye.

I revert to my original plan, to sleep on the couch. I climb the steps to the bedroom and stand at the foot of Brian’s bed. Why don’t I just walk over to the closet? Why am I standing here, still staring at him? Why is he staring at me?

Without realizing what I’m doing, I pull off my shirt and then my shoes and socks. After I remove my jeans, I pause. I’m standing here, wearing nothing but my underwear, waiting… For what? An invitation to join him in bed?

Without a word, he pulls the covers back. I hesitate a few seconds more, wondering if he really wants me there with him, or if he’s doing it out of habit.

Without knowing why, I start crawling, on my hands and knees, across the bed. Toward Brian.

I arrange myself under the sheet. I’m far enough away from him so that we’re not touching but close enough so I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. I’m lying on my side, facing away from him.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to Brian without touching him at all. It reminds me of one of the first nights I spent here. I’d slipped out of the house and gone to Babylon with Brian and his friends. He was just getting over the concussion he got when my dad wrecked his other Jeep. As we were leaving to go to the diner, my dad appeared out of the darkness and attacked him. Somehow, I got between them. I think I even hit my dad once, because he wouldn’t get away from Brian. He told me to come home then, or never again. I stayed with Brian. Later on that night, Brian pretended that he was pissed at me. He threw me a blanket and told me to sleep on the couch. After he went to bed, I crawled in beside him. I was lying there, being as still as I could be, when he turned over and looked at me. I knew he was going to make me go back to the couch; instead, he pulled the sheet up, letting me know that I was welcome to stay where I was. It was just like what he did a minute ago, except I don’t know why he did it tonight.

All I can think about is what Ethan said, before he turned his back on me. Since the first time we made love, the only thing he’s ever asked of me was to stay the night with him. When I finally told him, tonight, that I wanted to stay, he told me I couldn’t. I thought he cared about me, but I was wrong.

Brian’s arm moves around me, pushing the sheet down. I want to grab his hand and entwine our fingers, like he does when he’s fucking me.

I can’t bring myself to touch him, though. When I close my eyes, I can see the look on his face this afternoon, when I was trying to apologize for cheating on him with Ethan. In his usual way, he made jokes about the whole situation. Then he started talking dirty to me while he put his hand down my pants and grabbed my dick. It took every bit of energy I had to push him away. I’m tired of being his boytoy, who’s always available when he wants to play, but who’s not important enough to him to share things with. He ran off to Chicago instead of going to Vermont with me. He got that creepy hustler instead of a real birthday present. He pissed on the artwork I’d done for the comic book.

When am I going to realize that he doesn’t love me? That he’s never going to love me? How fucking stupid I was to think that he ever would. In the beginning, it was amazing being with him. The way he smiled at me and kissed me and touched me. I got hard just from thinking about him and, when he told me that he wanted to fuck me all night, I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to be the one he wanted to be with. Everyone told me that Brian didn’t *do* boyfriends or relationships. Brian is all about one-night stands, they said. You’re never going to change Brian, they warned me, so why don’t you find another twink to be with? I smiled whenever anyone shared, with me, their secrets of how to deal with Brian. He was doing all those things - the ones they told me he didn’t do - with me.

If everything was going so well, what happened? A year ago, I could look at his face and know what he was thinking… Why don’t I know him any more? Is there some memory I lost, when I got bashed, that I need to have to be able to understand him? I’ve caught him looking at me, when he didn’t think I saw him, and he has this look of fear or dread or… maybe even hate.

Does Brian hate me?

Have I done something horrible to him that I don’t remember? Did I say something really bad? He’d never tell me if I had. He just wouldn’t talk about it.

Sometimes I sit and think about the way it was - the way we were - before ‘that night’. I knew Brian loved me and he knew that I knew. He’d never say it, but he didn’t have to. Even after I got out of the hospital, things were okay between us. He was so worried about me when my memory started coming back; he held me at Lindsay’s house on the day of Gus’ birthday party and he kept everyone else away. He made me go back out and start dealing with people again. I remember the day I saw Chris Hobbs at the hospice. I just wanted to roll up into a little ball and die, but Brian wouldn’t let me. He made me go to the parade, just like he made me start drawing again when I thought I couldn’t. Then there was the night, right after we found out that Ben had AIDS. I had this stupid idea that I wanted to fuck without a condom. Brian wouldn’t do it, though. He said I should be careful because he wanted me around for a long time…

Shit! I will not cry. No matter how much it hurts.

Somewhere along the way, I fucked up and Brian doesn’t love me any more. He said as much, this afternoon. When I asked him if he’d care if I wasn’t here anymore, he told me it was my decision where I wanted to be. If he still loved me, he would have told me. He would have asked me to stay, but he didn’t. Because he doesn’t.

Somewhere between the sex and the bashing and the baths and the drugs and the stupid fucking games, I lost him. He wants me to leave; I wish he’d just come out and tell me.

But he never will, so there’s only one thing for me to do. *I* have to be the one who leaves. I don’t know what I’ll do or where I’ll go, but I can’t stay here. It’ll be the hardest thing I’ve done in my whole life, but I have to go.

Maybe Brian will realize, after I’m gone, that he should have treated me better when I was here.

Who am I kidding? He still has Michael and his work, and all the tricks. He’ll barely know I’m gone and he definitely *won’t* miss me. That’s okay - I’ll miss him enough for both of us.

One day, I’ll look back on all this and laugh at how naïve I was. But I’ll never forget how it felt to lay my head against Brian’s chest and hear his heart beating. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he comes. I’ll never forget how soft his lips are or the taste of his cock or the smell of that expensive European soap he uses. I’ll never forget this night and our last embrace.

And I. Will. Not. Cry.