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Chapter 7 - Hurt and Comfort.
Brian pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store closest to the loft and shut off the Jeep’s engine.
“Shit. It’s even more crowded than I expected,” Brian complained, eyeing the almost constant stream of people parading in and out through the wide front entrance of the big warehouse-sized store. “Don’t all these breeders have anything better to do with their Sunday afternoons than shop for even more food? From the looks of most of them, they’d be better off hitting the gym than the grocery store.” Brian looked like he was afraid he might be contaminated and catch their breeder germs just by going into the place. “Oh well. Fuck it! This has to be done, or everyone will keep on giving me shit about not feeding you and telling me how I can’t be trusted with their damned houseplants.”
Brian got out of the car, went around to the other side and held the door open for J327. “Just for the record, though,” he continued as they were walking together, “I can so take care of a house plant. I’ll have you know I had a Christmas Cactus back when I was in college that survived three fucking years. If my damn room mate senior year hadn’t accidentally kicked it off the balcony when he got stoned and tripped over the keg of beer we had cooling out there, that fucker would probably still be alive.” Brian looked sideways to see if his story had managed to get any reaction, but wasn’t surprised that the boy’s expression was still blank. “And don’t tell me that cactuses don’t count. They totally count. Nobody really likes a fucking Ficus anyway.”
Brian gave up on his one sided conversation as they neared the entrance. At the shopping cart corral, he pulled out one of the biggest models they had and maneuvered it over till it was waiting in front of J327. “YOU have to push the cart, J. It's bad enough that I have to be here at all. I'm not driving the fucking food trolley. Now, let's go.”
If anything, the inside of the store was more crowded than it had looked from the outside. They hadn't got more than ten meters inside before they were stopped by a traffic jam involving three carts whose drivers were trying to squeeze around the lady in the giant electric go cart/shopping cart combo that was entirely blocking the entrance to the produce section while she took her time picking through the display of carnation bouquets. As the press of people around them got thicker, Brian saw the boy driving his own cart stiffen. He could empathize - he didn't much care for the crowds either. However, when a buxom brunette with two rowdy kids in tow came barrelling through the throng and bumped into J327 with only a cursory ‘sorry’, Brian knew they were in trouble.
The boy froze in place. His hands clenched around the handle of the cart till his knuckles turned white. His breathing quickened till he was panting. His eyes were darting around wildly and his whole body began to tremble. Brian hadn't ever seen a full-blown panic attack before, but it wasn't difficult to figure out that was what this was.
What to do about it was more problematic. Brian's first instinct - to reach out and grab hold of the boy - was disastrous. The second he felt the additional touch, J327 unfroze, backed away five steps until he came to a stop pressed up against a free-standing display filled with Chilean tangelos, and then crumpled to the floor in a quivering heap. After this, several concerned motherly types began to crowd around the boy, asking him what was wrong, and chattering amongst themselves, giving each other advice and comparing notes about what had just happened. All the additional bodies hovering over him just exacerbated J327’s condition, until Brian was afraid the kid was about to hyperventilate and pass out.
Almost ready to panic himself, Brian shoved aside a kindly-looking blue-haired older lady, boldly strode into the melee and started shouting over all the noise. “Everybody back the fuck away and give the kid some air!”
Either the volume or the cursing must have worked. The phalanx of worried bystanders took several collective steps back, making a small clearing around the fruit stand. Brian knelt in front of J327 but was careful not to touch him.
“Hey, J,” Brian started off, his tone as calm and soothing as he could make it under the circumstances. “It's okay. You're gonna be okay. I'm here and I won't let anything happen to you. It's okay. It's okay . . .”
It took a few minutes, but slowly the boy’s panting and trembling subsided. He blinked up at Brian, his eyes eventually focusing on the concerned face. Then he looked around at all the other faces loitering around the store and enjoying the free entertainment he was providing, almost causing him to panic all over again.
“J! Look at ME! Just ignore all of them. I need you to only look at me,” Brian instructed, glad for once that the kid was conditioned to respond so completely to direct orders. “That's good. See, you're okay. You're gonna be fine. We just need to get you out of here, so you’re gonna have to stand up and walk with me. Can you do that for me now? Come on. Let's go, J”
With a little more cajoling, Brian gradually got the boy onto his feet and then he protectively shepherded him through the watching crowd, back out the door, and all the way to the Jeep. Brian put him into the passenger seat, locked the door and got in himself on the driver’s side. Then they both just sat there, breathing in the silence for the next ten minutes.
“Never thought I'd find somebody who hated grocery shopping more than me,” Brian said with a chuckle once he finally felt calm enough to speak. “So, I guess we’ll just skip the shopping for now. We can order our groceries online and have them delivered tomorrow instead.”
Brian looked over at his companion, scrutinizing the younger man contemplatively for a couple more moments. How such a sweet-looking boy could wreak such havoc on his life in such a short time period was inconceivable. Brian hadn't felt this confused, unsure of himself, and uncertain about his future since he’d turned eighteen and had left his parents house for the last time. What the fuck had he gotten himself into with this kid? It was more than just the PC thing. This boy was damaged in so many ways and Brian was not at all competent to deal with even the most superficial of his issues. For the first time since he'd stood up in the auction house and made his bid, Brian seriously thought about throwing in the towel and giving up. He really didn't think he could do this. He didn't even know where to begin.
As Brian continued to stare at the pale and deceptively guileless face, he saw the boy’s features crumple in a grimace of sadness. J’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut, but one tear still managed to escape, rolling down the expanse of a high cheekbone and dripping onto the collar of a shirt borrowed from a stranger. Brian watched him swallowing hard, the prominent Adam's apple bobbing, as if he was struggling to swallow the sobbing that surely wanted to come out. But the stubborn boy refused to let the sounds of his sadness have voice. He just swallowed it all - the pain, the sadness, the fear, the loneliness, the futility - because he had no other choice.
And that was exactly why Brian had made the choice to help the kid in the first place. Because he was lucky enough that he DID have a choice. And he had already chosen.
“So, it looks like we’ll be doing take out for dinner tonight,” he announced, reaching across the boy so he could secure the seat belt. “You okay with Thai?” When there was no answer, Brian smiled and started the engine. “That's what I thought you'd say. Thai it is, then.”
********
Brian was actually relieved to sit at home for the evening. After the night and day that he’d had, it was needed. Plus, he could use the quiet and peace in which to think through what he was going to do over the next few weeks.
Despite the fact that most of his acquaintances would label him as impulsive and reckless, Brian was really a very highly organized planner at heart. He just included a lot of free time in most of his plans. And when he was having free time, it was really, really free. However, the rest of his life had been outlined and ordered and tightly structured since he was in his teens. That’s when he’d planned precisely how he was going to pull himself out of the morass of his parents’ burdensome blue collar life and make it so he never had to look back. And, up till now, Brian had never significantly deviated from that plan.
However, going deeply into debt to purchase a PC had definitely NOT been a part of that plan. Because of his momentary insanity the night before, he was going to have to push back or even scrap huge swathes of his prior life plan. Therefore, it seemed like a new plan was in order and he needed time and quiet repose in which to work through the details of that plan.
The quiet part wasn’t difficult. His new PC was probably the quietest man on the face of the planet. Not only did he not speak, but he rarely even made noise by moving. So that wasn’t a problem. However Brian found himself repeatedly distracted from his thoughts just by the mere presence of the kid. And in the relatively small spaces of the loft, there wasn’t really anywhere to get away from that presence.
Which was why the thinking thing wasn’t going so well.
Brian was grateful when the buzzer rang indicating that the Thai food he’d ordered had arrived. That would give him something to concentrate on other than the inarticulate blond presence that had been studiously ignoring him for the past two hours. He jumped up, answered the intercom, buzzed the delivery guy up and then waited at the open door to receive his bounty. Once the food was in hand, he efficiently plated it and then brought the repast over to the coffee table where his pacific PC was waiting.
At least the boy followed his Standing Order Number One and tucked into the food as soon as it was given to him. Brian was glad to see him take at least that much initiative. He really did have to do some research into how other PC owners handled this thing. Not that he’d be following everything they said - especially if those owners were like Bellweather with his ‘spare the rod, spoil the PC’ mentality. But Brian knew that watching others who’d dealt with this situation might at least give him a starting point for how to arrange his future with J. There had to be some way to give the boy back some autonomy despite the rigorous conditioning he’d been subjected to. Because Brian wasn’t about to spend the rest of his life ordering around another life. The way things were now, it was almost like he was the slave to his PC - having to care for and arrange the kid’s every single waking moment. And he just refused to think that was how this thing was going to pan out.
Brian got up to get himself more Pad Thai and another beer to go along with it. As he was setting the take out box down on the counter, he suddenly realized that he should probably give the kid a second serving too. He wouldn’t ask for it, of course, even if he was still hungry. But, then again, what if he wasn’t hungry or didn’t want it and Brian gave it to him anyway. He’d probably force himself to eat it. This was truly a no win situation. Something surely had to change.
Grabbing two beers but not bothering with the seconds on the food for the boy, Brian made his way back to the couch. He noted that the boy’s plate was now spotlessly clean. He hoped that meant he’d liked the food. But, whatever. It was too tiring trying to figure this out without enough communication from the kid to give him even the first clue what to do. Fuck it all. Brian was done for the night.
He set the second beer on the table in front of the kid, pushing it towards him a few inches to indicate he should take it if he wanted, before relaxing back with his own food and beer. The PC stared at the bottle of beer for well on five minutes before apparently deciding it would be allowed and reaching out a tentative hand. Brian happened to be watching this development closely and was smiling at the unfolding action.
So he was still paying attention when he noticed that the hand J327 had grabbed the beer bottle with began to shake. At first it was just a tiny tremor - more like a muscle spasm - the kind everyone has on occasion when your muscles are tired or overworked. But that tiny wobble got steadily bigger and bigger till the beer was sloshing out the top. J327 quickly grabbed at his right hand with his left, steadying the vibrations enough that he could place the bottle back down on the glass table top. Once the bottle was released, the boy snatched back the still quaking hand and tucked it protectively against his stomach as if embarrassed by the sight of it.
Brian put his beer down and extended his own hand towards the boy, palm up, clearly indicating that he wanted to see the affected hand. J327 stared blankly ahead, pretending that he didn’t see the gesture. Brian rolled his eyes and shook his head, but didn’t back down. He needed to know what he was dealing with. Everything he was going to be dealing with. Including whatever was going on with his PC’s wobbly hand.
“J327, give me your right hand,” Brian ordered, glad that the boy was unable to ignore his direct order.
The hand was held out for him, still jittering a bit but nothing near as bad as it had been just a moment before. However, while it wasn’t trembling so much, there was clearly something still wrong with it. Brian could see that the fingers were contracted in on the palm, the digits looking stiff and muscles rigid. The hand now resembled a claw more than anything. And, from the pinched look on the boy’s face, he deduced that it must be painful.
Brian took the claw in both his own, carefully feeling along the straining and spasming muscles. The boy flinched almost imperceptibly when his fingers touched certain hard knots of muscle. He didn’t pull away though, so Brian kept probing, massaging at the stiffness and gently working the contorted fingers until they unbent, finally becoming flexible again.
“This isn’t good,” Brian stated the obvious. “I think we need to get that medical exam for you sooner rather than later, J. And maybe I need to have Cynthia get me all your medical records too. Well, either that, or you could just talk to me and tell me what’s going on with you . . .” No reply came, of course. “No? Okay, then medical records it is.”
Brian kept massaging the hand, glad to note that the muscles were slowly loosening up and the claw relaxing a bit, and while he was massaging away, he kept thinking about how to make the boy talk to him. Eventually, his thoughts began to percolate out into words. “You know, I’ve never been the kind of guy who wanted to talk much. I always thought I was more of the ‘actions speak louder’ type. My best friend, Michael, is more the talking kind of guy. He loves to talk. He’ll talk about anything and everything. He’s particularly fond of talking about his feelings - especially when I get him stoned - and he usually drives me batty when he starts on that shit. I can only take so much of his Chatty Cathy routine before I’m running out the door. Which is why I’m so surprised by how much I really would like to get YOU to talk to me. Ironic, huh?”
The hand now seemed to be fine, the taut muscles had all relaxed and the fingers were once again mobile, so Brian relented with his massaging, but he still kept hold of the hand. “That thing Debbie said earlier is still bugging me, you know? The part about you being like a husband and all. It pissed me off at the time but, now that I think about it, I’m afraid she’s fucking right. You’re contracted out for twenty-five fucking years, J. That’s a long ass time. Like Cyn said, it’s longer than most marriages these days. So, is that what we have now? Something like a marriage. I mean, unless I get tired of you and ship you off to somebody else, you and I are going to be together for more than twenty years . . . I mean . . . Fuck!”
Brian squeezed the hand he was holding, “It really is like a fucking marriage. Or a prison term . . .” Brian smiled down at the hand he was holding, letting the fingers of his one hand trace along the bones of the smaller hand at the same time. “Which is fucking insane, right? I can NOT imagine spending the next twenty fucking years of my life with any one person. But, even more ridiculous, I can’t imagine spending the next twenty years with somebody who refuses to talk to me.”
Brian used his one hand to squeeze the younger man’s fingers around his own. “I know you don’t know me from Adam. You have no reason to trust me and every reason to be afraid. From what I’ve gathered so far, I can tell your life has been a heaping huge pile of shit for as long as you can remember. I can’t change that,” Brian sighed, scooting his own body closer to the boy. “I’m not like that though. Fuck knows, I’m not an angel - ask most anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you I can be a total asshole. But, I won’t hurt you. At least not intentionally. And I’ll try my damnedest not to do it unintentionally either . . . Shit, I won’t even touch you if you don’t want me to . . .”
Brian fell silent for several minutes. In the quiet of the evening, the only sound was the humming of the various appliances, and the only movement was Brian’s hand playing with the boy’s hand. It was a comfortable silence though. An intimate silence. The kind that Brian hadn’t really experienced very often up till now in his life. He should have been scared silly by that kind of silence. That kind of innate familiarity. But, for some baffling reason, he wasn’t.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to convince you that I’m not like those people who hurt you. I know it won’t be easy. You probably don’t even know HOW to trust people after all you’ve been through. But . . . well, I hope that you’ll at least learn to trust me enough to talk to me eventually.” Brian released the hand he’d been caressing, carefully laying it down on the boy’s thigh and then picking up his beer again, apparently done with the intimacy for the moment. “Cause, I suspect that twenty plus years of dead silence would go by really, really slowly.”
J327 flexed the hand that had been given back to him. It opened and closed without a glitch. He relaxed enough to sigh deeply. Then he reached out with the hand and used it to pick up the beer that was still waiting for him. And, for the next twenty minutes or so, the two men sat on the couch, sipping at their beers in silence and thinking their separate thoughts . . . together.
********
When Brian had had enough of the silent contemplation thing, he got up, cleaned up the dinner detritus and then popped a DVD into the media center console. Marlon Brando had always been Brian’s go to guy on those rare nights that he stayed in and didn’t want company. The boy didn’t object to his choice of movie, so it was all good. They sat and watched the pretty boys moving across the screen doing all sorts of manly things while Brian recited most of the dialog along with the actors. It was a pleasant way to waste an evening.
Before the movie was done, Brian caught the boy yawning a couple of times, his stoic demeanor dropping the closer the kid came to dropping off. For some reason, that little show of involuntary vulnerability was heartening. When the film was over, Brian locked up and then pointed to the bathroom and cooly instructed the boy to get himself ready for bed.
Brian couldn’t remember much about bedtime the night before since he’d basically just passed out drunk. He did know that the boy had joined him in his bed for the night. And, since there WAS only one bed, he assumed that’s what they’d be doing again tonight. But he realized that there might be problems with that assumption. The way the boy’s body instantly seized up at Brian’s mere mention of the word ‘bed’ was a pretty good indicator of what the kid thought was about to happen.
Fucking Bellweather and all his ilk, making the kid scared to death of even the thought of sex. Brian wished the cretin was there in front of him right that minute so he could punch the guy in the face just once. This beautiful boy shouldn’t be dreading the very concept of sex. Hell, if the world was as it should be, a boy like this would have been out on Liberty Avenue, experimenting with his sexuality, enjoying his freedom and looking to hook up with some hot stud, eager to give away his cherry and experience the joy of getting fucked for the first time. It was wrong on so many levels that a kid as gorgeous as this should be so scared of just being touched that he couldn’t even contemplate having sex without drowning in fear. Without assuming that it would be accompanied by pain. Brian hated that J327 felt that way and he vowed to somehow, someday, prove the boy wrong.
But not tonight. As of tonight, Brian still hadn’t earned enough of the boy’s trust that he could do anything about that particular fear. The best Brian could hope for was that he could prove to the boy that he wouldn’t hurt him. That he wouldn’t take what wasn’t willingly offered. And that J327 was safe with him, no matter what and no matter where.
“Listen to me, J. Are you listening?” Brian said, approaching the boy slowly and not making any alarming motions along the way. “We’re just going to go to bed and then go to sleep. I’m not going to do anything to you. I promise. As far as I’m concerned, your Certificate of Virginity will still be valid come tomorrow morning.” The boy was still standing, frozen in place, the tenseness of his pose unaffected by Brian’s words. “Shit, J. This is one of those times you’re just going to have to trust me . . . or not. But I’m not going to stand around here all night and debate the matter. And I’m not going to have you standing here leering at me all night either. We’re both going to bed because I’m tired and you’re exhausted and we need to sleep. So, this is the plan.” Brian took hold of the boy’s shoulders, ignoring the flinch at his touch, turned the boy around and marched him towards the bathroom. “First, we brush our teeth.” He handed the kid the fresh toothbrush that he’d provided him with that morning. “Then we piss,” Brian grabbed his own toothbrush, added some toothpaste and took it with him while he stood over the toilet and emptied his bladder. “And then we’re going to shower so we don’t stink up the bed. After all that, we will get in the bed, turn off the lights, go to sleep and hope that by tomorrow morning all our problems will have resolved themselves. Got it?”
Despite his hesitance, J327 did follow orders and they both made it to bed in short order. Brian plopped down on the near side of the bed, holding up the duvet on the far side in invitation for his PC. J327 minced slowly around the end of the bed, his steps getting slower and slower the closer he got, until he was standing just next to the mattress.
“Get in,” Brian directed.
J327 reluctantly sat on the edge of the mattress as far from Brian as was possible without falling off. Brian, who was tired of the day’s games, ran out of patience, grabbing the boy around the waist and physically pulling him down, before tugging the covers over them both. J laid there, his body as stiff as a board, petrified with fear. Brian snorted a mirthless laugh, leaned over and kissed the boy on the cheek and then rolled over so he was facing the bathroom door. And, even though they were both tense and it took quite a while, they each managed to fall asleep in the end.
Only to be jarred awake a few hours later by Brian’s blaring and vibrating cell phone.
“What!” Brian yelled into the receiver, uncaring who happened to be calling him at two in the morning.
“It’s happened? No fucking way! Why didn’t you call me earlier? . . . Shit! I can’t believe it . . . Okay . . . Okay, I’m on my way.” Brian hung up and hurtled out of the bed, grabbing whatever clothing he could find. “Get up, J! Come on! We’ve got to get to the hospital. I’ve just become a fucking father!”