Date: Wed, 16 Jan 2002 17:35:54 -0500
From: Writer Boy <writerboy69@hotmail.com>
Subject: jc's hitchhiker - part 51

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1) 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.

2) 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
enjoyed hearing from all of you.

That said, on with the show, and back to the story in progress.

***

I've never been very good with hospitals. The smell always gets to me, no
matter how good the hospital is, or how clean. The many layered smell of
sickness covered over with antiseptics and cleaning supplies, always with a
faint undertone of flowers, because there are always flowers in the
hospital wherever you turn around, crawls right into my nostrils and
insinuates itself somewhere inside of me. It wasn't just that smell that
hit me when I pushed open Peyton's door, it was another smell, a lower,
more bitter, almost fetid smell.  It was a smell both physical and
psychological. It was the smell of death.

The last time I had seen Peyton, the thought that stuck with me was how
withered, how wasted away he was. He had once been a huge pillar of manly
development, this overblown, overexaggerated bulging pile of muscles, and
his illness had sucked the life right out of him, sucked him dry, left him
a grinning pile of bones like a human scarecrow. He was the most withered,
most emaciated person I had ever seen up close, and I wouldn't have
believed it was possible for him to look worse, but somehow, he did.  When
I walked in and saw him, propped up in the bed, he looked like a pile of
sticks with leather stretched over them.

The room was silent when I walked in. Peyton was propped up against the
bed, resting on the raised back. He wasn't watching television, or
reading. He was just sitting in the bed, as if waiting for me. His skull
head, the skin stretched tightly over the jutting bones, swiveled toward
me, and the skin around his mouth didn't so much slide back as it seemed to
crack open, flashing a sharklike expanse of teeth.

"Jack," he rasped, grinning.

"Peyton," I said quietly, looking around. I spotted a chair, but didn't
know if I wanted to sit yet.

Peyton followed my eyes, and read my mind. I really was that
transparent. He laughed, his cackle the dry rattle of castanets.

"Have a seat, Jackie," he rasped, his voice a croak.

"Thanks," I said, wishing I had something in my hands to play with. One of
my fingers drifted up to absently fiddle with my necklace, the twin of
Josh's, and I saw Peyton watching me and dropped my hand back to my lap.

"I thought it might be your boy again, but it's just you," Peyton said,
looking me over.  "Have a good trip home? I heard someone did some
redecorating for you."

"My trip home was fine," I said, crossing my arms. I wondered why I was
here. Certainly it wasn't to trade verbal volleys. "How'd you hear about
it?"

"How do I hear about everything?" he asked, grinning. About the only part
of him that actually looked alive was his eyes, wet and glistening. "I read
it in the paper. Then I read that you quit your job, to relocate. You and
the boy shacking up, Jackie?"

"Don't call me that, Peyton," I snapped, irritated. "Not that it's any of
your business, but yes, we're moving in together. Josh asked me if I would,
and I accepted."

"How sweet," Peyton said. "The two of you, sharing breakfast, taking
showers with your his and his towels. You thought we'd end up like that,
too, didn't you?  Hoped we would, didn't you, in your little daydreams?"

I settled back in my chair. This wasn't going to be at all pleasant.

"Maybe I did, once," I admitted. "Luckily I spent enough time with you to
realize that some dreams are really stupid, and that there's a reason why
they don't come true. Why am I here, Peyton?"

"That's a good question Jack," Peyton said, not answering. He leaned
forward. "Why are you here?"

"Josh said you wanted to talk to me," I said, confused.

"Did he? I never said that to him," Peyton said, leaning back. I expected
him to creak when he moved.

"Have you and Josh talked a lot?" I asked, curious.

"Worried that I'll tell him all about you?" Peyton asked.

"Josh already knows all about me," I answered, waiting for Peyton to trot
out the same tired parade again.

"He knows that you're going to ruin him?" Peyton asked, grinning. It was
creepy, morbid, and awful. "He knows that you're going to take everything
away from him?"

"I'm not taking anything away from Josh," I sighed. "I'm not going to ruin
him."

"I saw the news, Jackie," Peyton said, deliberately taunting me with that
nickname that only he had ever used. "Saw you two sucking face on the red
carpet there, and you can see that big, ditzy look in his eyes when he's in
here. It's sad, really. He doesn't know what you're going to do to him."

"I'm not taking anything away from Josh," I repeated, frowning. "You're
just repeating the same line of shit you always are."

"Not taking anything away from him?" Peyton rasped, laughing that dry hyena
cackle again. "I saw the news. Record burnings, people trying to start
boycotts, and it's all just the beginning. You're taking everything from
him, piece by piece."

"I'm not," I answered stubbornly. The smell of the room closed in on me, as
if it was fighting its way inside. "I haven't asked Josh to do any of
this."

"Nope, of course not," Peyton said, shaking his head. "You never do, do
you?  He's probably sure this is all his own idea, and you just stand in
the back and give him your big eyes and your 'I'll support whatever you do,
but really, it's your decision.' I know you, Jack. I know all about you."

"I never made you do anything," I said, standing. I felt his voice clawing
at me. He couldn't be right, he couldn't.

"Like you're not making him do anything?" Peyton asked. "I never touched
another man before you, Jackie. I bet Josh there didn't either, did he?"

I didn't say anything.

"You don't have to answer," Peyton said. "I know how you work. I bet you
were really nice, you know, just friends. Did you get him drunk, Jack, or
did you let him think he was getting you?"

This was what had happened with Peyton and I. We had been really good
friends, and then, one night, when we had been drinking, we just kind of
fell into something else. I had told Josh this story, but there was one
part I left out, one tiny bit of truth that I hadn't ever admitted. I got
Peyton drunk on purpose, because I wanted him. I got him drunk in the hopes
that he would relax, and he would go for me, and he did. But it hadn't been
that way with Josh and I. It hadn't. It had been his idea to go
drinking. But I was the one who kissed him. I made the first move. Peyton
couldn't be right. I hadn't gotten Josh drunk and taken advantage of
him. It hadn't been that way at all. What Josh and I had was something
else, something special. We had a bond, and we'd both felt it.  This was
just more of Peyton's garbage.

Wasn't it?

"And don't forget the rest, either, Jack," Peyton continued. "Don't forget
everything else you've taken away from him, too. His friends, how'd they
take it? They all look peppy on TV, but I bet they didn't all like it, did
they? Or his family? Did he tell them, yet?"

"Josh's family is fine with it," I said quietly, still standing by the bed.
"They don't care as long as we love each other."

"Is that what they told you?" Peyton asked, laughing again. "And you
believed it? You know what, you probably would. Do you really think
anyone's family is happy to hear that some guy turned their kid into a
fudgepacker? Maybe they said it to your face, you know, so they wouldn't
upset him, but do you really think they're happy to see their dreams of
grandkids go up like that?"

"Shut up," I said.

"How about your family, Jackie?" Peyton asked. "Talk to Mommy lately? I bet
she was just thrilled."

"I'm not staying to listen to any of this," I said, stepping back. "It was
stupid to come here."

His hand whipped out from the bed, faster than I would have thought
possible, and his bony, clawlike fingers closed around my forearm, cutting
through the flesh of my wrist.  For someone who was dying, he certainly had
a viselike grip. I tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let go as I stared
down at his withered hand in horror, staring into his grinning skull face.

"Don't leave without saying goodbye," he spat.

"Let go of me!" I said sharply.

"But Jack, I have your answer," Peyton croaked. "I know why you came here,
even if you don't. You came here to see if I would forgive you, you came to
ask me to, even if you won't say it."

I stared down at him, and realized that he was right. I had come to see if,
finally, he would forgive me, if he would finally stop blaming me and just
let me go.

"I'll never forgive you!" Peyton yelled. I heard a commotion in the hall.
"Never! You're poison, Jack, everything you touch dies. Everything you
touch goes sour, like me, and you'll do it to him, too!

"Let go of me!" I said, finally pulling my hand away.

"You took everything from me!" Peyton hissed. "You destroyed me, and you'll
destroy him, too! I'll never forgive you, never!"

I stepped backward into the hallway, not watching where I was going, just
trying to get away. I could hear Peyton screaming "Never!" over and over
behind me, and then the machinery in his room began to beep, and I saw
nurses running down the hall toward me.  I slid along the wall, letting
them go by, stumbling toward the lounge. All I wanted was to get away, to
get out of the hospital, to get Peyton's voice out of my head. I pushed
open the door to the lounge, seeing all three of them turn toward me, and
Josh stood, stepping toward me, reaching out to me. He had no idea what
kind of person he was reaching out for. As his arms folded over me I felt
cold inside.

"Jack?" Josh asked.

"I think he's dead," I said numbly. "I think maybe I killed him."

Lance and Howie glanced at each other, standing behind Josh where I could
see them over his shoulder, and then Howie left the room. Josh looked at me
in surprise as I stepped back, out of his arms. I held my own arms around
myself, cupping my own elbows, and turned toward the window. It was getting
dark outside, and I could see Josh and Lance reflected, glancing at each
other as Josh slowly followed me across the room.

"Jack? Are you ok?" Josh asked, stepping toward me. I saw his arm reaching
out toward me in the glass, and I sidestepped it, watching his eyes widen
in surprise.  "Jack, what did he say to you?"

"Not right now, Josh, ok?" I asked quietly. "Please, just give me a minute,
ok?"

"OK," Josh answered quietly, looking away.

I looked at Josh and Lance in the glass, pretending to stare out at the
city as I watched the two of them glance at each other again before Josh
walked, shoulders down, toward a chair. Lance stood helplessly, glancing
back and forth between the two of us, and, as I couldn't seem not to do
when I looked at Lance, I thought of Justin. I thought about what Josh had
gone through, spending a year of his life confused, spending so much of
this summer in pain as he struggled to come to terms with what I had
awakened in him. I thought about what Lance had gone through, how many
times he'd been hurt in so many ways, since I had come into his life as
well, something else that would never have happened if I had never kissed
Josh. I thought of Justin, and the way he was completely shut off from all
of his friends, ostracized because of something he wouldn't even have done
if he hadn't felt the need to punish Lance for hurting me. I thought of
Joey and Chris, forced to watch all of this, forced to help their band
mates, guys who were as close to them as brothers, work through issues that
they didn't understand, and wouldn't be going through if I weren't here.

Peyton was right. I poisoned everything I touched.

The new album was late, because the guys hadn't spent enough time in the
studio. They'd been too busy coping with personal problems that I'd caused
to use the time they'd paid for. Josh was clashing with his management on
an almost daily basis over the way he had decided to live his life, a
choice he wouldn't have to make if not for me.  Justin and Britney had
almost broken up because Justin had found himself wanting to sleep with us,
something he wouldn't have thought of if he hadn't seen us together. People
were arguing over the band, accusing them of terrible things, damaging
their careers, banning their music from the air, burning their records,
because I had come into Josh's life.  Because I couldn't keep my damn
tongue in my own mouth. Because I met a hot guy and couldn't keep my hands
to myself.

Josh had said it himself the morning after we slept with Justin, something
else that wouldn't have happened if I hadn't initiated it. Josh had looked
at me and said, "None of this would have happened if you hadn't come here."
I could have walked away right then, could have left all of this, could
have left the band and their careers intact, but I had come back, because
that's what I did. I always came back. I'd done it all the times Peyton had
tried to break it off with me. I'd called him and begged him for another
chance, begged him not to throw things away, until things got worse and
worse between us, and now I was doing the same thing to Josh. I couldn't do
it twice. I couldn't be responsible for ruining someone else's life, even
if he thought it was all his choice.

I was poison.

The three of us remained where we were, me at the window, hugging myself
and trying not to feel so cold and empty inside, Lance torn between who he
should go to and what he should say to them, Josh sitting on a chair,
staring at my back with anguish and confusion branded across his face. We
were frozen in place, unable or unwilling to break our strange tableaux,
and Howie found us that way when he quietly pushed the door open. All three
of us turned toward him.

"Is he dead?" I asked, convinced that maybe Peyton would have been able to
hang on a little longer if he hadn't gotten so upset talking to me. If I
had left Josh alone, Peyton would be living out his life in peace. If I had
left Peyton alone, he'd be dying with his family around him, not alone in a
strange city.

"No," Howie answered, looking uncertainly at the three of us. He stepped a
little closer to Lance, and Lance took his hand. "He's unconscious, and the
doctor says they don't think he's going to wake up again. He signed papers
to say that he didn't want any machines, so they said it's just a matter of
time before his whole body shuts down.  They said it can't be more than a
day or two. His whole system is exhausted from fighting. I'm sorry, Jack."

"Don't be," I said. "He's been suffering for a while."

I didn't add that he had suffered for so long because of me.

We went back to the apartments after that. We had originally thought that
we'd go out to dinner, but the atmosphere among the four of us was so tense
and silent that none of us objected when Lance drove home. He and Howie
went to his apartment while Josh and I went to ours, and I began to unpack
my suitcase as Josh watched me from the doorway.

"Jack? Do you want something to eat?" Josh asked. "I thought I might make
some sandwiches, or a pizza, or something."

"No, thank you," I answered, not looking up to see the expression of hurt
that I knew would be on his face.

"Jack, I know you don't want to talk right now, so I'll give you your
space," Josh sighed.  "Just remember that I love you."

How could I forget that Josh loved me? That was the problem. Josh loved me,
and that love was going to destroy everything he and his friends had worked
for. When I finished unpacking I heard Josh eating by himself out at the
table, which wouldn't have been broken if I hadn't let Josh fuck me on
it. It seemed a small thing to obsess over in light of all the other damage
my presence had caused, but it was just a symptom of a larger
problem. After Josh ate, he did his dishes, and asked if I wanted to watch
television. I declined, wanting to read, and he went to the other bedroom
to work on his keyboard.  After a while, I got tired, and brushed my teeth
and climbed into bed.  Before I fell asleep I felt Josh settle into the bed
beside me.

"Jack, are you still up?" he whispered in the dark.

"Yes," I answered quietly.

He slid over close to me, and I felt his hands on my shoulders.

"I missed you so much," he whispered, rubbing the tops of my shoulders.

"I know," I said. Of course he had missed me. He kissed the back of my
neck, one of his usual signs that he was in the mood. "Please, Josh, not
tonight, ok?"

I felt him stiffen a little against me, but then he sighed against my neck.

"Sure, Jack," he sighed, spooning against me. "I'm sorry. I should have
realized. Let's just go to sleep. I love you."

"I know," I said again.

I couldn't say I loved him. My love was destroying him. Long after Josh was
asleep, I was still awake, staring into the dark, feeling his arms around
me and wondering why I felt so cold.

In the morning Josh was up before me, in working on the keyboard again,
already showered and dressed. He had the headphones around his neck,
instead of over his ears, so that he could hear the music but could also
listen for me. I didn't say anything, but I'm sure he knew I was up. I was
walking toward the kitchen for coffee when I heard a knock on the
door. Opening it, I saw Chris.

"Hey, you're not dressed?" he asked, cocking his head to one side.

"I don't feel like running today," I answered. "I'm sorry. I should have
called you."

"But Hank and I already did our stretches," Chris said. He wouldn't have to
run with Hank if not for me.

"Then run with Hank," I said, turning away. I saw Josh standing in the
doorway of the other bedroom, watching us. "I need a shower."

"Jack?" Chris asked, as I walked away. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," I answered, closing the bathroom door.

When I finished showering, Chris was gone, and Josh was sitting on the
couch, waiting for me.

"Jack, I don't know how to help you if you won't talk to me," he said
carefully.

"Maybe you can't help me," I said sullenly, looking away.

"Jack, whatever Peyton said to you, I know we can get past it," Josh said,
standing. "I love you, Jack. I want to help you. I just need you to tell me
how."

"I don't want to talk about it right now, Josh," I said, turning
away. Maybe if I turned away enough, he would stop following, and get his
life back on track. My heart was breaking to think of that, to think about
living the rest of my life without Josh, but it was better that my life end
up in shambles instead of his.

"Jack, please come with us today," Josh asked suddenly. "I don't know why
you're pushing me away, but I called the hospital this morning, and they
think Peyton is going to pass today. I don't want you to be here alone when
that call comes in, Jack."

"Whatever you want, Josh," I said quietly.

Josh and I rode over alone. Howie hugged Lance goodbye, and then caught a
cab back to his hotel. To my surprise, the four other guys got in Chris's
car together, and followed ours to the studio. Glancing in the rearview
mirror a few times, I saw the four of them deep in conversation. I didn't
know what they were talking about, but I was glad to see that they had
included Justin. It was a big step toward undoing the damage I had caused,
and it told me that they'd be able to finish patching it up once I was
gone.  The four of them were a unit again, they'd be able to scoop Josh
back up as well. I just needed to figure out how to leave.

I spent the morning reading alone in the bubble. I could see the guys
singing in the recording rooms, but couldn't hear how it was going. I could
tell by their expressions that things weren't going well, and I could see
Stan glaring at them from the other side, peering at the through the
window. Every once in a while he glanced past them at me, but I dropped my
eyes, unwilling to clash with him again today. When they broke for lunch,
they joined me in the bubble for sub sandwiches, ordered in. Josh and I
shared a couch, but barely spoke, and each time I glanced up I caught one
of the other guys staring at us.  Josh kept looking at me, too, but he was
trying very hard to stick to his promise not to push me until I was ready
to talk.

"I love you, Jack," he said again as they were leaving the room to go back
in. "I just want you to know that. Whatever's eating you right now, you
still have me."

After lunch the technician decided that I should be included, too, and
switched on the sound from the room where the guys were working. I realized
immediately what the problem had been this morning. Josh was completely
off. Even though I didn't know the new songs so well, I could tell he was
missing notes, hitting them flat, blowing the harmonies. They kept going
back to retry it, and you could tell he was trying, but he was all over the
place. His focus wasn't there, and it was my fault, because his focus was
on me, and not on his music. After several tries, the guys singing the same
chorus over and over, I heard Stan's voice break in.

"That's it! Everyone except JC take five. JC, why don't you try that again,
and actually try hitting it the way it's written this time, ok?"

"Sure. I'm sorry," Josh said, sounding defeated.

Josh's music was the most important thing in his life, and now I was taking
that away from him, too. I decided that maybe he'd be able to concentrate
more if he couldn't see me, so I went to the kitchen to look for a
drink. Maybe Josh would be able to get in one good, solid take with me
gone. I was in the refrigerator, rummaging around for a Mountain Dew, when
I heard Stan behind me.

"I want you to leave," he said, his voice angry.

"Excuse me?" I asked, standing.

"I want you out of here, right now," Stand said, glaring at me. "Go back to
JC's apartment and do whatever it is you do all day while you wait for your
mealticket to come home."

"Josh isn't my mealticket," I said defensively.

"Not at this rate he won't be, no," Stan said. "Do you hear him fucking up
in there? Why do you think I turned the sound on? I don't know what kind of
hissy fit the two of you are having, but I'm not paying for it. Do you have
any idea how much it costs every time he fucks up in there? Do you?"

"No, I don't," I answered, shrugging.

"I should just ask you to pay for it," Stan sneered. "But it's not like you
can. I don't think your unemployment check'll cover it. Then again, it's
not like you need a job anymore, now that you have JC."

"Don't talk to him like that," Justin said from the doorway. His voice was
level, but his hands were balled into fists.

"Stay out of this, Justin," Stan said. "It doesn't concern you."

"If it concerns Jack, it concerns me," Justin said. "Now get the fuck out
of here and leave him alone."

"I'm not letting him go back in there to blow everything we've been working
on," Stan said. "I don't know what's going on between the two of them, but
JC's all over the place.  Do you know how hard he's been to work with since
Jack here got hold of him?"

"Do you know how hard it's gonna be for you to find another fucking job?"
Justin snapped, stepping toward him. "Jack didn't get hold of Josh. They
love each other. And yeah, they're having a rough spot right now, but do
you care? No. You just come in and start yelling at him."

"Its not my job to care!" Stan snapped back. "It's my job to see that you
get this album done on time, not to hold people's hands when they get in
little fights with their little boyfriends."

I thought Justin might hit him. I wasn't even sure what to say, because I
was so surprised to see Justin standing up for me.

"It's your job as a human being to show some fucking compassion!" Justin
yelled. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Justin," Stan began, realizing how precarious his position would be if the
whole band turned on him.

"Shut the fuck up," Justin said dismissively, shaking his head in disgust.
"Go to your office, and stay there. Don't fucking talk to us, and don't
show your face again. We'll call you when we need you."

Stan glared at him, his jaw working soundlessly.

"Go!" Justin snapped, turning toward me as Stan stalked out of the room.
"Jack, are you ok?"

I looked at Justin, standing there in his baggy track pants and his tight
t-shirt. His face was a little flushed, his eyes bright. His arms bulged,
the muscles shifting as he unclenched his fists and walked toward
me. Suddenly I knew how to push Josh away. I knew how to make him stop
loving me, how to make him let me go.

"No, I'm not ok, Justin," I said quietly, reaching out to him as if I
wanted a hug.

Justin looked surprised, but he held out his arms as I stepped into them.
Before he could react, I had a hand on the back of his head, and I pulled
him down to me quickly, my mouth scraping roughly against his.

Justin stiffened against me in surprise as my tongue pushed its way into
his mouth, and then I felt his hands slide up my shoulders.

***

Finally, a real cliffhanger that makes up for all the chapters without one.