Date: Mon, 27 Jan 2003 16:31:40 -0500
From: Writer Boy <writerboy69@hotmail.com>
Subject: rebound - part 21

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 enjoy
constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy
flames, and will not tolerate them.

That said, we now continue.

***

Before Justin could say anything I stalked across the apartment and jerked
the stairwell door open. I heard him hurrying over behind me, but I needed
to catch Chris for just a second before he left. He hadn't reached the
first floor yet, and my voice carried down the stairs toward him.

"Hey Chris!" I barked, not really caring about whether they could hear me
in the storeroom or not. The connecting door was probably closed, so it was
doubtful.

"What?" he asked back, not very politely. There wasn't an open spot in the
middle of the stairwell, like some have, so he and I couldn't see each
other.

"What time are you coming to get us for the plane?" I asked. "Tomorrow
afternoon" wasn't a really specific answer, and it was even more annoying
when I knew he didn't want me on the plane to begin with. "I wanna make
sure I have everything packed!"

Behind me Justin snickered, but I ignored him.

"I'll be here at one!" he answered, sounding just as pissy as I did. After
what he'd said on his way out I had an overwhelming urge to run down the
steps and slap him.  I'd been fighting an urge to slap a lot of people for
the past few days.

"Park in the back!" I yelled, somehow managing to make that sound
insulting, too.

"I will!" Chris yelled petulantly.

I stepped back into the loft, slamming the door behind me, knowing that
he'd be able to hear that downstairs, too. It wasn't the best way to deal
with my anger, but it's not like he hadn't already lashed out at Justin and
I. Two wrongs might not make a right, but the second one left me feeling a
hell of a lot better, just the same. I turned around and collided with
Justin, who was right up behind me. He stepped back, grinning.

"Oh my God, I thought you were going to run down the stairs and beat him
up," Justin said, clapping his hands. Over his shoulder I saw the food all
over the table, needing to be put away, and remembered that I was a little
pissed at Justin, too. I didn't want to talk to him about it now, though,
because I might snap at him, too, and I didn't want that. I didn't ever
want to deal with Justin in anger, since I knew from our previous arguments
that he and I just pushed each other's buttons like mad when we got going.
"Chris?"

"What?" I asked, trying and failing to mask my tone as I stalked over to
the table.

"Look, what he said, it's not true," Justin said, following along behind me
like a little puppy. Why did he do this every time I was angry? It only
made me even more annoyed.  "JC isn't going to give us trouble, and I'm not
trying to hurt him on purpose. I'm not."

"Justin, not now, ok?" I said, carrying the bowls over to the
garbage. There was no point in saving any of the leftovers if we were
flying out tomorrow. They'd be poisonous by the time we got back. I frowned
over the waste of food that we shouldn't even have bought to begin with.

"But you have to understand," Justin said again, his voice taking on that
pleading, needy tone that I was starting to become very familiar with.

"Justin, I don't have to understand," I said bluntly, listening to the
dishes clatter as I more or less tossed them into the sink. Any second now
I would break one, and be pissed about that, too. I turned to him, seeing
that wounded puppy look on his face, and felt another surge of resentment
as I wondered if that expression was even real. "Just leave it alone, ok?"

Justin rested a hand on my arm, near my shoulder, and I moved away quickly
as I continued to clear the table. The least he could do was help, rather
than just standing there rolling his eyes and looking sad to try to get my
attention.

"I know you're upset about what Chris said," Justin began, not giving up.
"It's ok to be mad at him. It won't bother me."

"It's not just him that I'm mad at," I said sharply, watching Justin
blanch.  I hadn't meant to bark that, and I took a deep breath, stopping
what I was doing for a second. "Justin, I don't want to talk about this
right now. I don't want to argue about this while I'm still pissed off."

I thought that would be the end of it, but should have known better. Every
time we had an argument Justin had to keep worrying at it and worrying at
it until he drug it out to its bitter conclusion. He couldn't just ever
leave anything alone, even for a minute, even when I asked him to nicely,
in a calm voice, because I didn't want to end what had been a really
emotional day for me already by getting into another screaming match.  He
stood, frowning at me with his bottom lip jutting out childishly, as I
stopped what I was doing and walked over to the telephone. I had too many
things to do tonight, and just wanted to have some quiet time. Before I
could, though I had a few more things to check off on my to do list.

"Hey, Michelle," I said when she picked up. Across the room, I saw Justin
fold his arms and lean back, perching on the edge of the table. It was
almost the same place where I had leaned earlier, and I wondered fleetingly
if he was sitting there on purpose. No, that was a Chris K. thought, not a
Chris V. one. "Other Chris is going to come get us tomorrow at about one,
so I'd like to go over some stuff with you in the morning if we can, just
to make sure you're set."

"If you insist," Michelle said, sighing. I wondered if she was smiling,
too.  "Hey, I have to go. I'll see you in the morning, ok?"

"Yeah, good night," I said, watching Justin. The least he could do was
start on the dishes, rather than just standing there.

"Tell Justin I said good night, too," Michelle said, and then hung up.

"Michelle says good night," I said, hanging up the phone. He was still just
watching me, arms folded, not moving from his place at the table, and his
expression had taken on a decidedly surly tone. I decided to ignore it, and
went to the sink to start the dishes, since I'd finished dumping all of the
food out of them.

"That's it?" Justin asked behind me. He had a hurt, confused tone. "You're
pissed, you don't want to talk about it, Michelle says good night, and
that's all you're going to say to me? That's it?"

"Yes," I answered. "Right now, that's all I really feel like saying about
any of this. I told you I don't want to get into any of this, and we have a
lot to do tonight to get ready for tomorrow."

"And when are we going to talk about this?" Justin asked, walking over. He
was standing a few feet from me now, watching me do the dishes and set them
in the strainer.

"I don't know," I sighed, continuing to do the dishes. I was almost done,
as the three of us had barely used any. "I know that's not a great answer,
or anything, but really, it's been a long day. You and I, and going to see
Matt, and April, and Chris, and everything else, it's just a lot, ok? It's
a lot to deal with, and I don't want to get into it."

"Oh, you don't want to get into it," Justin said, still just standing there
pouting with his arms crossed. "What about what I want? What about what's
important to me?"

There was such a sharp whine in his tone, such a demanding little nagging,
that I felt myself snapping, even though I didn't want to and had tried to
avoid it.

"What you want?" I snapped, glaring at him. He looked surprised at the
sudden bite in my tone, but he stood his ground.

"Yeah," he answered, eyes flashing. "What's wrong with you? Why are you
being like this?"

"What the hell was your problem tonight?" I asked, putting the last dish
down. I twisted the dishtowel in my hands, trying to dry them, but really
just giving them something to do. "Why the hell do you even care what's
wrong with me? You weren't interested in listening to a damn thing I said
earlier."

I stalked away from the kitchen, stomping my feet, balling my hands into
fists, doing all of the same things I would say were immature if Justin did
them. I dropped to my knees in the bedroom, flipping up the bottom of the
comforter to reach under and pull my suitcases out. They were pack one
inside the other, and I flung them up onto the bed to open them and start
packing. Justin leaned on the doorframe.

"What are you doing?" Justin asked, his voice high and strained.

"Packing," I answered sarcastically. "People do that before they go
somewhere."

"Why are you mad at me?" Justin asked, a little of the whine going out of
his tone.  "Please tell me what I did."

"You did everything I asked you not to," I answered, finally looking him in
the eye. "You did everything Chris told me you would do."

"No," Justin said, shaking his head quickly. "No, it wasn't, I didn't."

"Yeah, you did," I said sharply. I stopped playing with the suitcases for a
second and didn't bother keeping the bite out of my tone. I was pissed, and
if he wanted to hear it, well here it was. "You used me to get back at one
of your friends that you were mad at.  You told me you would never do that,
and then you did it the first chance you got."

"I didn't," Justin said, shaking his head. "You told me you wanted to be
here with me."

"I also told you I wanted Chris to be comfortable," I said, my voice rising
as his began to whine again. "I told you I wanted us to sit down like
adults and talk over whatever it was that he wanted to talk about, and
instead you were like a little kid. You agreed, and then turned right
around and went back on it."

"Don't talk to me like that!" Justin snapped, a little anger finally
sliding into his tone again. "Every time we have an argument, you bring the
age thing back up! You treat me like a little kid, and I hate it!"

"You act like a little kid!" I yelled back. "And I hate it! What was that
shit with the bodyguard?"

Justin backed out of the bedroom slowly, his arms shaking as they hung at
his sides, and I walked toward him at the same speed.

"I didn't want him up here," Justin said. "He could have used him to, to
drag me out of here, to throw me in a car or something!"

Was he serious? Did he think Chris would actually have someone drag him out
of the building in front of the entire store? The publicity would be
horrifying, especially since I would call every newspaper and television
station I could find in the phonebook.

"That's just stupid," I said, shaking my head. His mouth dropped open in
outrage. "Even if you were scared about that, you could have told me! We
could have talked about it.  Instead you made me look rude, and you used me
to piss Chris off."

"Like you're not being rude now!" Justin screamed, hitting a sharp note
that was like fingernails on a blackboard.

"At least I didn't lie!" I yelled, spittle flying from my mouth. My heart
was hammering.  "You could have told him yourself, but you made me do it!
Then you ordered food that you knew he wouldn't like! You deliberately went
against every single thing we talked about, and everything you promised you
would never do!"

"I didn't do anything to you!" Justin said, stepping toward me. "I did it
to Chris, and he deserved it after all that shit he said."

"All that shit he said was true," I said, shaking my head. I couldn't
believe he couldn't see it. "You told me you wouldn't ever manipulate me
like that, that you wouldn't ever be that kind of spoiled little brat, not
with me. Even if you were just doing it to Chris, you used me to do it. I'm
not your toy, Justin, and I'm not your prize. I'm not something for you to
throw in front of your friends to needle them with. You promised that you
wouldn't do that to me, but your actions speak louder than your words."

"If that's what you think, why are we even talking about this?" Justin
demanded.

"I'm not the one who wanted to!" I screeched, stomping back into the
bedroom. I jerked open the closet door and began pulling things out at
random, not really paying attention to whether or not I actually wanted to
pack these things or if they would match.

"Fine!" Justin said, throwing one of his suitcases up on the bed next to
mine. He shoved mine to the side a little, and I shoved it back. Justin
glared at me. "Move over!"

"I was here first!" I replied maturely. "I already told you I don't want to
talk to you right now. Go pack in the living room."

"All my clothes are in here," Justin growled, his eyes piercing me. His
next sentence was low, almost mumbled, but I still caught it as he began to
pull his clothes out of the space in the closet I had given him. "I thought
I was supposed to be the immature one."

"I heard that," I said, trying to keep myself from snapping at him
again. If the argument was going to end, we both needed to calm down. "I
never said you were immature."

"Ha!" Justin barked, jamming double handfuls of clothing into his suitcase.
Neither of us were folding anything or being careful. "And you say I don't
listen. Do you even listen to yourself?"

Justin was still angry, too, but I could tell he was trying to hold it in,
the same way that I was. Any second now the two of us were either going to
start throwing punches, or we were going to shove the suitcases out of the
way and just start going at each other like animals. The tension in the
bedroom was so thick and so charged that I could feel all of my nerves
zinging, and every time I brushed near Justin something inside me vibrated
like a guitar string. His voice was rigid, but also sad.

"I never called you immature," I said stubbornly.

"You said I was acting like a child," Justin countered. His frowny little
face did nothing to dispel my impression.

"You were," I said, pulling everything back out of my suitcase. Nothing
would fit in there if I didn't fold it. "Not only that, but you did exactly
what you said you wouldn't."

"Whatever," Justin said, pulling his own clothes back out, following my
lead. He was still frowning, and his eyes glistened as if he was going to
start crying. Justin seemed to cry a lot when he dealt with me. I wondered
for a second what Chris would say about that.

"Whatever?" I asked, frustrated, sad, and angry at the same time. "That's
it? You drag me into this argument, and now it's just 'whatever'?"

Justin stopped what he was doing, shaking his head sadly. He looked at me,
his arms and shoulders tense but also drooping somehow. His eyes were wide,
and sad, and I saw pain there again, as I so often did. The difference now,
though, was that it was me causing it, and I seemed unable to stop it. It
was like there had been this blister blowing up between us, and now that
one of us had popped it nasty things just kept oozing out.

"First you don't want to talk about it, and now you don't want to let it
go," Justin said, biting off his words. "Maybe it's not just the way I act
that's the problem."

"Oh really?" I asked, tensing up again. "What did I do?"

"The same thing you always do!" Justin said, and I could hear frustration
in his voice.  "The hot and cold! The way you say one thing, and do another
one! I didn't do anything to Chris that you don't do to me."

"What?" I demanded, my voice rising again, all of my attempts at
controlling it slipping again. "I don't do anything to fuck with you like
you did to Chris!"

"You do it all the time!" Justin screeched, finally losing control as well.
His eyes were wet now. "Every time I tell you I love you and you don't
answer me you fuck with me!"

"Justin," I said, surprised. I didn't really have anything to follow it
with. I knew not being able to tell Justin I loved him was making me
uncomfortable, but he had said it was ok with him, and that he knew how I
felt.

"What?" he answered, another tear sliding down his cheek. His face was
getting red and blotchy, and it was all my fault. "What? Are you going to
tell me that you care about me?  That I mean a lot to you?"

"I do care about you, Justin," I said, almost whispering it. The words
still sounded hollow in my mouth.

"I love you!" Justin said, turning away. "And you scare the hell out of me!
I don't know where I stand with you. I can't figure you out at all, and I
don't know how to deal with that. I wanted to make Chris get pissed at me
because I was afraid he would say something to you, something that would
make you leave me. That's why I did it!"

"Justin," I began again, hoping some magic words would just spill out of my
mouth.  "Justin, I, we talked about this."

"Yeah, we did, but the way you talk and the way you act," he said, shaking
his head. "I told you, it scares me, and I don't know what to do. I love
you, and I tell you, and you act like you love me, but you won't say it. It
makes me feel like I'm not good enough. It makes me feel like I never will
be, like you're always comparing me, and I'm never going to measure up."

Justin turned back to face me, and his bright blue eyes were glistening
with the tears trickling slowly down his face.

"I'm not used to being second best," he said softly. "I thought I could do
it, but it's so damn hard."

"I never said you were second best," I said, meaning for it to be
comforting. Instead he took it as arguing, and his nostrils flared as he
stood ramrod straight, his whole face reddening.

"You didn't have to!" Justin sobbed, his voice strong even through his
tears. "Your actions speak louder than your words, too! It's always going
to be about me and him, isn't it? Answer me!"

"Justin, stop it," I said, stepping back. He grabbed my arm, hard, his
fingers digging into my shoulder. I wrenched away from him,
wincing. "You're hurting me!"

"I love you!" he screamed. "Why can't you say it?"

"Justin."

"Why?" he yelled, stepping toward me again. No way was he getting a second
grab in.  "Why can't you say it?"

The words fell out of my mouth before I even had time to think about them.

"Because it hurts too much," I said, feeling my own eyes sting. "Because I
can't do it.  Because it hurts too much to love someone, and give yourself
to them, and then have them leave you."

I wasn't screaming, but I was crying, too. I stepped away from Justin, who
looked just as surprised as I must have a minute ago.

"Chris scared me, too," I said, staring at him through watery eyes. "He
scared me into thinking you might leave me, and then tonight you did
everything he said you would, and that scared me, too. And I can't do it,
Justin. I can't do it, and I can't say it, because I can't go through that
again. I can't give myself to someone and go through that again when
they're gone."

The bedroom was silent when I said that. I felt like there wasn't anything
left inside of me, no anger, no hurt, nothing, nothing at all. Justin's
hand settled onto my shoulder, and I jerked away from him.

"Don't touch me," I said quietly but firmly.

"Chris, I," he began, but I didn't want to hear it. I'd said in the
beginning that I didn't want to talk while I was upset, because we might
end up saying things we didn't mean and would regret. The problem was that
I meant what I'd said.

"I don't want to talk any more," I said simply, not looking up from the
floor as I walked to the bed and began folding my clothes again. "I want to
finish packing, and then go to sleep. You can sleep in here if you want, or
out on the couch, or over at the hotel with Chris. I don't care. I just
don't want to talk any more tonight, and I'm not going to."

"OK," Justin said. His voice seemed hushed, muffled somehow, but he finally
wasn't pushing.

Justin didn't speak for the rest of the night, which surprised the hell out
of me. I really thought that after a few minutes, or maybe a half hour, he
would give in and say something, but instead the two of us just moved
quietly around the bedroom, folding clothes, opening and closing suitcases,
not looking at each other. It didn't take Justin as long to pack, since he
hadn't completely unpacked a lot of his clothes. He'd brought enough for
about a month, apparently, but had unpacked them as he went.  After he
finished putting things away, leaving an outfit for tomorrow neatly folded
on top of his last bag, he went to the living room and turned the
television on, keeping the volume low.

I kept packing, and tried to think about what I should do. I was obviously
still going to Florida with him, since he hadn't told me to stop packing,
but we couldn't leave things like this. The problem was that I didn't know
what to say to take the hurt away for Justin or for myself. I was still
scared that he was going to leave me, that I was still part of some
elaborate ploy for him to get back at JC. Justin was scared that I was
never going to be able to let go of Matt enough to embrace him, and I was
unable to assuage that, because I was too afraid to love anyone. All week
I'd thought the problem was the bond between Matt and I, but it was really
that I was afraid to form another one, with anyone. Words couldn't take
that away.

Time could. Time, and trust, and caring. Communication, too. This whole
thing had blown up like this because Justin and I still couldn't talk to
each other.  We both held onto our insecurities until they nagged at us so
much that we had to scream them out at each other, that the only way to
release them was to hurt each other with them, and that wasn't healthy for
either of us. It seemed stupid of me, though, to think about how important
communication was when I couldn't do it. We were sitting in silence because
I refused to talk to him. For all I knew, he was waiting to apologize, and
take the blame for everything that had happened tonight whether it was his
or not, but I was unwilling to even let him try. I was just as much at
fault as he was.

I also had extremely strong reservations every time I bent my arm wrong and
felt a throb of pain go through my biceps. Justin had grabbed me hard, and
his fingers had dug into my skin. Sure, he had been upset when he did it,
angry, and crying, and everything else, but those were exactly the kind of
conditions under which you should never touch someone you love. He was just
trying to get my attention, trying to get me to hear what he was saying,
but he'd hurt me, physically, and I couldn't tolerate that.  He wasn't a
control freak, and I didn't think he was going to start slapping me around
or something, but he also reacted poorly to not getting his own way. He
didn't have a lot of control over his own temper, as I'd seen over the past
several days, and I couldn't tolerate that. Chris had said Justin was a
bully, but did he mean that Justin got physical with the guys sometimes,
too?

I remembered that I still had Chris's number with me, but I couldn't call
him with Justin in the loft. I wasn't even sure I wanted to call him,
anyway, but I had so many questions.  Had he thought something like this
would happen when he gave me his number?  I hadn't known Justin for very
long, and Chris had. Maybe I really didn't know Justin as well as I
thought, or maybe my mind was just letting a one time, isolated incident
spiral into something it wasn't. After all, during the same argument I had
more or less backed Justin across the living room. I had physically
intimidated him, too, so it was probably a little early to decide that he
was going to turn abusive on me. I still didn't feel right about it, but I
wanted to talk to Justin before I talked to Chris, not knowing where
Chris's real loyalties might be.

After I finished packing, I went to the kitchen and put the dishes away.
Justin was flipping channels on the television, but didn't really seem to
be watching anything. His long, lean legs were stretched out, his shoeless
feet up on the coffee table. I couldn't read his expression in the
flickering, indistinct light of the television, and he didn't look away
while I was glancing at him. When I turned away, I felt like he was
watching me, but that could have just been my imagination. After I finished
in the bathroom I walked back through the loft to the bedroom, but he just
kept staring at the screen, which was the only light in the room.

I stripped down to my boxers and climbed into bed, leaving the bedroom door
open, wishing I'd said something, but not sure what. The television wasn't
making any noise, and the light was barely visible through the curtains, so
I drifted off to sleep alone, thinking about how empty the bed felt
already. I woke, my eyes snapping open in the darkness, when I heard a
small noise on the other side of the room. I rolled over, squinting, and
could make out Justin pulling his clothes off in front of the windows.

"I don't want to fight," he whispered.

"Neither do I," I answered. "Come to bed."

He paused at the other side of the bed, his briefs the most visible part of
him, the bright white cotton catching some of the light from the street and
the moon. I could see his silhouette now, my eyes adjusting to the darkness
as they followed the lanky curves of his form, the swell of his arms and
the curves of his shoulders.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, waiting.

"Yeah," I answered. "Please come to bed."

"OK," he said, bending down to lift the sheet. He slid in carefully,
staying on his side, and then pulled the sheet and comforter back up. We
lay facing each other, and I realized that he didn't know what to say
either. "Can I hold you? I don't want to do anything, I just want to hold
onto you. You can say no, but can I?"

"Yes," I whispered back.

He reached out, gently touching my shoulder, moving slowly and carefully as
he gently caressed it, waiting for me to say something. I relaxed into him,
feeling the little scrape of his stitches brushing against me, and he slid
across the bed tentatively and folded his arms around me. I rested one hand
on his side and left the other between us, settling the palm on his
chest. Our foreheads were almost touching, and I could feel his breath on
my face as he leaned forward to kiss me on the forehead. I could smell him,
and feel the warmth from his body heat slowly filling the bed.

"I love you," he whispered. "You don't have to say anything. I just want
you to know I love you."

I caught a sparkle in the almost nonexistent light, and realized that he
was crying again, his eyes leaking slowly. I had done this to him, had left
the two of us like this, and in the morning we needed to make things right
before we got on the plane.

I reached up with my free hand, the one that wasn't rubbing his side, and
brushed his tears away with my fingertips before we both fell asleep.

***

To be continued.