Speak when you are angry – and you will make the best speech you’ll ever regret. – Laurence J Peter

Chapter 7

“I’m not the one who cheats, Sunshine. YOU are.”

I shouldn’t have said it. If I didn’t want to fight, if I wanted to fix things, I shouldn’t have said it. I should have told him I was sorry I wasn’t home a lot, that I missed him, that I thought about him constantly, and that I was only with Michael because…

Because Michael had sat with me, fifteen years ago. He’d held my hand, and cleaned the blood off my face, and made me eat and sleep, and took care of me. He was there the entire time Justin was in that coma, sitting with me.

But Justin didn’t know that. He didn’t know I’d been there at all. That was the way I wanted it. So I didn’t say that.

Instead, I called him on it.

How the fuck dare he accuse me of cheating on him?!

I’d never lied to him.

Well. Maybe I had. I told him I didn’t care, that I didn’t love, plenty of times. Those were lies.

But I’d never lied to him about something like this. I’d never cheated. I always did what I said. I’d never given him a single fucking reason to not trust me.

So it stung. It felt like he’d stabbed me in the gut when he said it.

“Did you take his pain away Brian? Did you make him forget?”

It stung. It burned. I felt myself start to tremble with anger.

“What did you say to me?” Justin asked. His expression was hard, his voice was cold.

Fuck.

“I said, I’m not the one that cheats,” I spat at him.

He jerked away from me, walking across the room, a hand in his hair. I just stood there, staring at him, waiting for his reply.

“If you’re referring to Ethan,” he started to say.

I tensed all over at the name.

“That was over a decade ago,” he said, his voice rising. “I was a KID.”

“And you cheated,” I replied. “I never have.”

“No, you just fuck around. You fuck anything that moves!” he shouted.

What the FUCK did he just say?! Those were words I’d heard from people before. But never, ever, ever from him.

Fucking asshole.

“What about you?! You’re the one getting head on his birthday when I’m waiting here!” I shouted.

“Then why did you wait?!” he shouted back.

“FUCK IF I KNOW,” I yelled.

“What do you want from me?!” he yelled.

“To stop being a jealous little brat!” I shouted back. His jaw dropped, but I didn’t let him continue. “To stop accusing me of bullshit like cheating on you! I’ve never done that! Besides, as you so kindly reminded me, we’re allowed to fuck who we want! So what if I did want to fuck Michael?! I could, and you can’t say SHIT.”

“THEN DO IT!” he yelled. I could see him trembling from across the room. “DO IT!”

“What the FUCK is your problem?!” I crossed the room in strides and got in his face, still yelling. “Michael is my BEST FRIEND.”

He snorted, giving me a challenging look. “Don’t I KNOW it! EVERYONE does. Michael’s your BEST friend. Michael’s the one you GREW UP with. Michael’s the one you LOVE.”

“WHAT?!” I gaped at him.

“Just admit it! He’s more important to you than I could ever be!”

I wanted to punch him. I’d only ever wanted to punch him once before. But I didn’t. I wouldn’t do that. I would never do that. Although, right now, I wasn’t sure he knew that. I suddenly wondered if he knew me at all.

“That’s BULLSHIT,” I yelled.

“IS IT?! You spend every waking moment with him! You hold his hand, you hug him, you… you KISS him!”

“Ben could be DYING!”

“So?! That doesn’t mean you have to stick your tongue down Michael’s THROAT!”

“FUCK. YOU.” I fisted my hands and my arms trembled. “You KNOW that isn’t true!”

“Do I?! How the fuck am I supposed to know?! Like you said, we’re NOT monogamous! You can fuck WHO you want, WHEN you want, Michael included, right?!”

”NO! I wouldn’t DO that, to HIM, or to BEN, or to YOU!”

“And why the fuck should I believe you?!”

I couldn’t help it. I was so fucking angry. I was so fucking hurt. The one person who was supposed to know me, and understand me, and really GET who I was, had just spat out every shitty thing I’d thought about myself.

That I was a fuck up. That I couldn’t be relied on. That all I cared about was cock.

“BECAUSE I DON’T CHEAT. I DON’T LIE. I DON’T FUCK AROUND BEHIND YOUR BACK. BECAUSE I’M NOT THE ONE WHO’S A SLUT!”

He gaped at me.

We both went silent.

My heart raced.

Fuck.

We stood there for a full ten minutes, staring at each other warily, bodies tensed, hearts racing. Finally, he relaxed.

I actually thought he might just laugh, like he always did when we had a big fight, and say something like “Brian, this is stupid, what the fuck are we fighting about?” and I’d laugh and say “Fuck if I know” and then we’d go to bed and I’d touch him, and kiss him, and it would be okay.

Then he turned, and walked out of the room. I stood there, watching as he walked up the stairs. I stood there, listening as he walked around upstairs. I stood there, watching, as he walked down the stairs with a suitcase fifteen minutes later.

I didn’t move from the spot as he walked to the front door, put on his shoes, grabbed his keys and walked out the door.

What was he doing?

I couldn’t comprehend it.

Why did he need a suitcase?

Then I realized.

Oh. Fuck.

He was leaving.

I jerked forward and ran to the door, flinging it open.

But the car was already halfway down the driveway.

He was gone.

Everything was heavy. It was like gravity had been turned up, and I suddenly found it difficult to move.

He was gone.

I shut the door and stared at it, feeling the reality of it sinking into me.

He was gone.

I turned around slowly, and stared into the empty house, wondering what I was supposed to do now.

He was gone.

“Dad?”

I turned my head and looked up the stairs to where the voice was coming from.

Oh, fuck. Gus.

He stood there, looking much younger than his fifteen years, arms folded across his chest, a scared expression on his face.

I opened my mouth to say something, to explain, to reassure him.

He’ll be back, I wanted to say.

He just needs to cool off, I wanted to say.

Don’t worry, he queens out like this all the time, I wanted to say.

But I couldn’t. Because I knew the truth. This was it. I’d finally said too much. I’d finally pushed too hard. I knew this day would come. I’d wanted to not believe it. I’d tried to convince myself it wouldn’t. But deep down, I knew.

“He left, didn’t he?” Gus asked softly.

I could only nod. My head was heavy. I wanted to sit down. I wanted to lay in bed, and hold Justin, and put my hands in his hair.

But he was gone.

Gus gave me the angriest, most hurt look I’d ever seen on his face, and ran upstairs.

I didn’t move until the sound of his door slamming jarred me out of it.

Somehow I made it to my office and retrieved a few bottles of Beam. I put on a record…. Pink Floyd was still in the player. I sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, instead of my chair. My chair was too plush, too soft, too comfortable, for times like this.

And I drank.