They’ve almost stopped completely in the past few months.  It‘s now a rare occasion when I find myself clawing my way out of the dream in which Chris Hobbes chases me through the abandoned gym, calling out insults and swinging the bat.  The other dream is even more infrequent, but harder to escape.  The one in which Brian’s body lays blood-covered and still on the cement floor of the parking garage.  When I have that dream, my throat closes up.  I can’t breathe.  I want to scream, the sound trying to fight its way from my defiant throat, but only a whisper emerges.  I buck against the restraints that hold me back, some part of me knowing that the only binds are in my mind. 

It’s only when I feel Brian’s arms around me that I’m able to begin the journey out of the lurid landscape my subconscious has created.  It’s only when I hear Brian’s soothing voice in the darkness – whispering words of comfort and protection against the demons – that I’m able to fully emerge, unscathed. Just a dream.  Everything’s all right.  I’m here.  Go back to sleep.    And I can, knowing that I’m safe. Just a dream. 

How did I fuck this up so badly? 

The tears want to come, but I won’t let them.  I run my hand through my hair, pulling at the strands as though the pain can force me to forget.  But nothing can.  Nothing.  No matter what I try, I’m doomed to replay that night over and over again in my mind like a… well, like a bad dream. 

The music had seemed to fade, the familiar thump-thump of the mindless disco tune diminishing, then stopping altogether.  Wherever I looked, “Rage” seemed to be staring down at me.  Michael told me to draw him with a “dark stormy gaze that hinted at his molten desire”.  I’d laughed at that description, but done the best I could.  Now those eyes seemed to follow me around the room.  Brian had done a good job of plastering the artwork on every available surface.  I couldn’t escape it. 

I wanted out.  That was pretty much the only coherent thought in my mind.  Away from those probing eyes.  Away from the mass of sweaty, gyrating men.  Away from the strangers wanting to congratulate me on my success.   Away from the image that was burned into my mind. 

Brian in the back room.  Brian fucking in the back room.  Brian fucking himself in the back room. 

When Ethan appeared, my first thought was that he looked so young.  He’s actually a year older than me, but hell, age really is just a number.  I’m so much older than I appear to be.  Brian… Chris Hobbes… my dad... half the shit that’s happened to me in the past two years has seen to that. 

I don’t remember walking towards him. We were suddenly just side by side.  I don’t think I really saw him.  I know that he spoke to me… something about Beethoven, maybe… but I couldn’t hear him.  The music was gone, but everything sounded so far away.  Like I was stuck in a wind tunnel, or had just gotten off a plane.  He touched me, or maybe I touched him.  I don’t remember.  I couldn’t feel him, except as an anchor against the anger and fear and hurt swirling around in my mind.  Couldn’t feel anything but the pain. 

Then we were outside.  Funny how the mind works.  I have no memory of making my way through the club, standing in line for the coat check, walking down the stairs.  The little mundane things.  We were just outside, and Ethan was urging me to put on my jacket.  The wind was picking up, swirling leaves and papers around my ankles. A “Rage” flyer whirled past, brushing briefly against my leg.  It felt warm.  Strange.    I watched my feet as Ethan pulled me past the lineup of men waiting to get inside the club.  My soles slapped on the asphalt, echoing against the concrete walls.  Thump-thump.  A disco beat.  Couldn’t escape it.  I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. 

Ethan led me to the bus shelter.   Turns out there was one just down the street.  I never knew.  Never had to take a bus from Babylon before.   I still found my feet fascinating.  I felt Ethan take a step toward me.  Then another.  He lifted my chin with his hand, staring into my eyes.  Did he speak?  I don’t remember.  But he smiled.  He pressed his lips against mine.  And I wanted to love him back.  I wanted to feel the same relief and elation at my choice as he did. 

Except that it wasn’t a choice at all.  And the victorious look on Ethan’s face made me feel sick to my stomach. 

Brian in the back room. 

Shit.  Why can’t we pick and choose what we’ll remember? 

I pulled away from Ethan.  The sound of his nails scraping on my jacket seemed amplified in the small hutch.  A counterpoint to the thump-thump of my shoes as I stepped away.  We made our own music, all right.   I pressed my face against the cool fiberglass walls of the bus shelter, spreading my hands on the surface.  A human bug splayed against the glass.  My finger traced the metal bracket repeatedly, unconsciously.  I was trying so hard not to think.  Thinking hurt. 

Ethan was speaking to me.  He’d probably been speaking for awhile, but I was oblivious.  If I listened to him, I’d have to think.  I remember wishing I’d had something stronger than whiskey at Babylon.  I let my mouth hang open, pulling in great gulps of air as though the very breeze was a cocktail.  People walking by on the street probably wondered about us.  The hyperventilating blonde and the distraught brunette.  Actually, they probably didn’t give us a second look.  This is Liberty Avenue we’re talking about. 

Ethan pulled on my jacket, tugging me towards him.  Made me face him.  Made me look at him.  His mouth was moving, but I couldn’t hear him.  He held my chin in his hand, a worried look on his face.  I forced myself to concentrate, trying to pick one thing about him to fixate on.  His hair, long and tousled by the brisk night air.  His eyes, gazing so fretfully at mine.  But his image wobbled, faded, remade itself as I watched.  Hair shorter, smoother… face sharper, more defined… shoulders wider… hazel eyes filled with lust and happiness and pain and hurt and longing and desire and… 

I remember wishing that I’d just taken Ethan’s hand and left Babylon.  But I didn’t.  I looked back, and I wish to hell I hadn’t.   Because I saw the sorrow – the betrayal – in Brian’s eyes.  And I know that nobody else saw it, because nobody else knows him like I do.  Nobody else loves him like I do.  Not Michael.  Not Lindsay.  I own a piece of Brian that they’ll never have.  And his mask went up so fast, so fast, so fast.  Unstoppable Brian, Unapologetic Brian.  Public Brian.  But for the briefest moment – just the tiniest drop in time – MY Brian was there. 

And I wanted to hurt him as much as he hurt me.  God, what does that say about me? 

A sharp gust of wind rattled the plexiglass frame of the bus shelter.  Sound came back with a deafening rush.  I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying desperately to clear it.  I took a deep breath, then another.  I ignored the rumble of male voices, the car horns, the sharp scent of exhaust.  I didn’t think.  I didn’t move.  And when I opened my eyes again, Brian was gone. 

Ethan took a tentative step toward me.  I didn’t pull away.  He traced his fingertips along my jaw, and spoke words of love, and the fog cleared, and I heard them all.  I believed them all.  I found myself repeating his name in my head, my lips tracing the syllables inaudibly.  Ethan, whose hands were clutched in the folds of my jacket.  Ethan, who wanted me to get on the bus.  Ethan, who wanted nothing more than to see a sunrise with me.  Ethan, who loved me. 

But I couldn’t really see him.  Maybe I never could. 

His hands were insistent, drawing me forward.  The bus driver was impatient, mumbling obscenities and tugging on his shirt.  It suddenly seemed so bright, the light from the open door of the bus spilling out onto the cracked pavement.  I raised an arm over my face to shield myself from the glare.  Everything around us stood out in stark contrast against that blinding glow.    Light should be a beacon to push the darkness aside.  It should be soothing, gentle.  It should wrap you in its arms.  But I felt like nothing more than a moth, trembling under the harsh scrutiny of the spotlight.  Fluttering.  About to be trapped. 

Ethan loved me.  And all I could see was Brian, and all I could say was No. 

I backed away, leaving the shelter of the hutch and of Ethan’s arms.  I backed away, shaking my head.  I backed away, and left all dreams of sunrises behind. 

I don’t know how long I ran.  My feet pounded against the pavement, seeming to eat up the miles.  The cold air felt good on my face.  At some point the clouds opened up, and when I finally stopped, I turned my head up to the deluge and let the freezing rain drench my skin.  I drank from the sky and hoped the moisture would ease the ache in my soul.  I wondered why the rain tasted like the ocean.  And I gradually became aware that my tears had mingled with the raindrops. 

The irony of showing up on Deb’s porch in the middle of a downpour after having left Brian was not lost on me. 

I feel numb.  Going over it and over it does no good.  The ending isn’t going to change, no matter how much I wish it.  Moving between the tables like a zombie out of some B-rated horror movie isn’t making things any better.  I glance around the diner, deliberately putting the past aside for the moment, thankful that the dinner crowd is finally thinning.  I’ll have time to wipe down the counters and start on the dishes before the pre-clubbing crowd moves in to take their places. 

Grabbing a cloth, I start on the counter.  The material is rough against my skin, and the yellow stuff that Deb buys still makes my eyes water.  Having allergies is for shit.  But the familiar motion is soothing, somehow.  Conversations are hushed as the remaining diners huddle together at the tables, heads close, bodies touching.  I know they’re not talking about me, but I still feel centered out.  Like everybody knows what I did.  Shit, half the people here tonight were at Babylon last week.  And I really can’t blame them for talking.  I certainly gave them a show, and the rumour mill takes about three seconds to get started.  I’m surprised Emmett hadn’t shown up yet to pump me for information. 

The rag moves in lazy, circular motions.  Soothing, yes.  I know I should get down to it, put some elbow grease into it, but the muscles in my back twitch at the very thought.  Too many double shifts this week.  The cloth dips smoothly along the counter, gentle, weightless.  I let my eyes drift closed.    Some memories are good, after all.  And the thought of Brian’s hands moving over my shoulders and back in much the same motion as the cloth in my hands is definitely a prime example.  The feel of Brian’s hair brushing against my spine as he moves to replace hands with lips.  The undeniable, irresistible scent of Brian – cigarette smoke, and herbal shampoo, and some expensive French aftershave that costs more than I want to think about.  The scent… 

I drop the cloth as the familiar aroma wafts around me.  This is no sensory memory.  This is… I squeeze my eyes shut more firmly, wishing it away.  I’m not ready.  But the scent lingers on the air, mocking me. 

I open my eyes to find myself face to face with Brian Kinney, and I can’t deny the flip of my heart. 

Brian looks amazing.  Even with his lips pulled back in a sarcastic smile.  Even with that mocking look in his eyes.  He spreads his hands on the counter, pressing forward, and I’m never more aware of his body.  The force of it.  The power of it.  The strength, just barely contained. 

“Well?” 

The single word drips with contempt.  My mouth drops opens, but I discover I’m speechless.  It’s probably the first time.  There are so many things I want to say, but my heart is pounding so fast I can’t seem to make sense of anything.  My eyes dart around the diner, even though I know that Bruno has already left for the day and Debbie’s out back on her break. 

I lick my suddenly parched lips, desperate to form a coherent sentence.  ‘Pardon me?’ or “What did you say?’… Shit, at this point I’ll settle for anything. 

“Huh?”  My voice is raspy and dry, and I wince as soon as the word is out of my mouth.  Is ‘huh’ even a word?  I’m a fucking idiot. 

Brian’s fingers flex on the countertop as he briefly looks heavenward.  He’s probably counting to three. 

“I said, ‘turkey on whole wheat, no mayo’,” he repeats slowly, accentuating every syllable as though he’s talking to Gus. 

“Uh…” Shit, shit, shit!  Why the fuck is this happening to me? 

“Succinct as usual, Sunshine,” Brian mocks. 

It’s not like I didn’t know this day would come.  I even sat up in my room, long after Debbie and Vic had gone to bed, thinking about all the different scenarios where I might run into Brian again.  Planning just what I would say.  Christ, I even called Daphne at four in the morning and forced her to listen to my little monologues.  I have a ‘diner plan’.  Of course, now that I need it, my mind is blank. 

It’s because of Brian’s eyes.  I never factored Brian’s eyes into the equation. 

They’re hooded now, everything closed away except for derision.  It hurts to look into those eyes, but I deserve the hurt.  It was me who broke all the rules. It was me who expected Brian to know what I wanted from him, even if it meant he had to read my mind to do it.  It was me who ran to Ethan instead of just telling Brian the truth.  It was me.  So I won’t look away. 

And besides, I remember those eyes differently.  I remember them dark with desire.  Desire for me. 

I told Daphne once that I forgot about the pain of my first time when I saw Brian lost in rapture.  He was in a beautiful place, I told her.  And that place was me. 

It was a lie. 

In those early days, Brian was never lost.  He couldn’t afford to give himself completely to his passion.  He needed to stay in control, for so many reasons.  He couldn’t give of himself, because he never had.  I didn’t know that at the time, but that doesn’t make it any less true.  And it was also because of me.  He couldn’t truly let go because I was young, and inexperienced, and still afraid for a very long time, even though I fought like hell not to show it.  It was only later that I truly realized how much time Brian took with me, how much patience, how he held back on so much of his own pleasure to make sure that I was comfortable and safe and secure.  It took me a long time to understand that. 

But there came a time when Brian did let himself go.  When he trusted me as much as I had trusted him from the first.  That’s when he gave up his hard-won control, if only for a few moments.  The memory is so clear.  Brian inside me.  In that moment, I always believed there was no better feeling.  Later, I’d argue with myself over it.  Because holding Brian close, feeling those firm arms envelop me as we drifted off to sleep… that feeling was wonderful, too.  But in the moment… Brian inside me, thrusting, making me thrash on the sheets, the sofa, the floor, his hands touching me, his mouth touching me, sending me so close to the edge I think I’ll never make it back…

But I always knew exactly when it happened for him.  The moment when the switch got flipped to ‘off’ and he would ride the wave of his own passion, forgetting to be careful, forgetting the mask.  MY Brian. 

I blink, trying to reconcile the memory with the bitter man staring at me over the counter.  And that’s when the realization hits me.  I actually stagger back with the force of it. His eyes.  Always so hard to read, but during those moments of release, I believed he was lost in me.  I believed it. 

He wasn’t lost in me. 

He was just lost. 

God, Brian! 

I stand there, knowing it’s only been a few seconds since he placed his order, but feeling like an eternity has passed.  I can’t move.  I can’t think.  I can’t… 

“I’ll take over here, Sunshine.”  Deb’s voice breaks through the silence and I find myself being pushed towards the back room.  I stumble, catching myself on the sink before my legs steady themselves.  I move as quickly as I can, but not quickly enough to miss Deb’s next words.  “You’ve got some nerve coming in here, Brian!” 

I fall down onto the chair in the back, shaking my head though no one is there to se it.  Hoping that Debbie isn’t raking Brian over the coals.  Knowing that she is.  Knowing that Brian is taking it, covering everything he feels with a veneer of indifference. 

I know better.  He’s lost. 

And without me, how is he going to find his way back?