Homecoming

*22*

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Love and Hate

Justin

Fuck me!

I thought that dealing with Kinney senior was a challenge!

By the time we finally get Gus to sleep for the night, Brian and I are both exhausted.  I mean, I guess the poor kid was a bit over-excited just to be staying with us, and I know he’s had a lot to deal with … with the way things have apparently been with Linds and Mel and all that shit.  But by the time we were trying to get him ready for bed, he was acting out big time, challenging every single thing either of us said to him.  I was seriously ready to unload on him, but miracle of miracles, Brian just stayed calm and quiet and somehow we got him undressed and eventually settled down on the futon. 

Of course, that means that we pretty much have to stick to the bedroom, because the last thing either of us wants is to wake him up again.  I don’t feel really comfortable with the idea of fucking with Gus just down the steps, and we don’t want to shut the panels around the bedroom in case he wakes up and is scared.  I mean, he is in a strange place.  He’s hardly ever slept here - not since he was a baby, I don’t think.  So Brian brings his laptop up and I get out my sketch book. 

There are a whole host of images from the last few days that I want to try to get down so I can work on them later - Brian crouched in the DVD store helping Gus choose which Wiggles DVD he wanted, both of them so intense and serious about it; Brian tickling Gus this afternoon, Gus laughing, and Brian looking so … for some reason he looked relieved, like some incredible weight had been lifted from him, as well as happy; the look on Dan’s face as he watched them; even the look on Lindsay’s face when she realized that Brian wasn’t just going to cave to her tears the way he usually does; and most of all, the look on Brian’s face … no, not the look, the feeling … the feeling that flooded through me, flooded the whole world it felt like, when Ms. Hershell told us that Brian is still Gus’ legal parent, his father.  Because that was one of the most amazing moments in my whole life; I mean, the whole world seemed to change in that moment - as if somehow Brian (and by extension, that somehow included me as well) was given some whole new identity.  And if it was like that for me …

Anyway, I want to try to capture that feeling now, before it all gets washed over with all the usual shit of just living. 

I get really into it, and before I know it, Brian is closing up his laptop and seems to be getting ready for bed.  I glance at the clock and it’s nearly midnight.  I guess that’s early for us - especially on a Saturday night - but tonight is special.  And tomorrow we have another day of learning how to parent Gus to face, so reluctantly I put down my pencil and close the sketch book. 

 

*****
 

Brian

Debbie and her precious fucking “Sunshine”!  If she only knew it the sweet little blond she fucking thinks she knows is really a moody bitch with a passive aggressive streak a mile wide.

Right now there’s no fucking trace of “sunshine” - he’s more like a sullen summer day - the kind where the sky is gray and heavy and they’re predicting thunderstorms.

He’s always bitchy when he gets woken up before he’s ready, and he can’t take it out on Gus who was the one who started bouncing on the bed at some God-awful fucking hour this morning, so he’s taking it out on me.  After pointedly ignoring my attempts at getting a morning kiss, and maybe a bit of a grope, he proceeded to make like he was a total martyr over the incredibly difficult task of putting on the coffeemaker, and when it was ready and I poured him a cup and put it on the counter in front of him, he took it with an almighty huff and sulked off to the couch to drink it.

Fucking twat!

I’d love to suggest that we could leave Gus to watch cartoons while we take a shower, but that would just hand him the ammunition to shoot me down in flames.  Instead, I pour some cereal into a bowl and get Gus to sit down at the table and eat it while I drink my own coffee, and wonder how the fucking hell I’m going to keep them both happy for a whole fucking day.

Gus is one thing, but the other problem child is the tricky one.

What he really needs is to get some serious painting time.  Not only does he have a show coming up in a few months that he fucking needs to prepare for, but he’s been putting his life on hold to fucking “be there” for me, and the frustration is beginning to get to him.  I saw the look on his face last night … if it had been up to him, he would have kept sketching all night … at least until he succumbed to temptation and set up a fucking easel and started to really get down to work.

But if I just tell him to go off and do what he needs to do, he’ll fucking dig his toes in, stubborn little shithead that he is.  I have to do it right.

Oh, fuck it.  I’ve never been any good at pussy-footing around things.

“You should get your ass down to your studio and do some f … work,” I tell him, remembering just in time the little ears that are listening to everything that’s going on.

His head jerks up, but then he just gives a sort of irritated shrug, without even looking at me.

“Justin …”

“Brian, I’m not leaving you alone with Gus all day, so just f … forget it,” he snaps.

I walk over and shimmy my way between his knees, ignoring his huffs and puffs, and attempts to squirm away.

I don’t say anything, just stand there till finally he looks up at me.

“What?” he bitches.  “I’m f … fine.  We should get out of here … go to the zoo or something.”

For a moment I don’t respond, then finally I let myself say quietly, “I’m going to need you tomorrow … with the lawyers.”

 

*****
 

Justin

It’s fucking pathetic that I can’t even maintain a bad mood, just because he fucking admits once in a hundred years that he needs me for something.

He’s standing in front of me waving his crotch in my face and I seriously want to bitch him out for thinking that that’s enough to distract me, but when I look up at him he’s standing quiet and serious, sucking his lips that way he does when he’s trying to work out what to say.  That makes me want to bitch at him even more, but then he says … that …

I can feel the bad mood slipping away even as he sits down next to me.

I sigh.  I know that my frustrations don’t really have anything to do with him … well, except that he comes with fucking baggage, like a kid and this stupid fucking legal situation and shit. But I’ve always known all that, and I mean, it’s not like that’s even the worst of it; the fact that he’s close to being a fucking emotional cripple sometimes is much fucking worse.  But he’s battling with that.  I mean, he’s really trying.  Like I battle with my hand.  And he’s not fucking perfect, but he’s trying.

It’s just … I feel like all his stuff is so important that it has to come first.  I mean, what could be more important than making sure that Gus is okay?  And the only way we can do that is make sure that we … or at least Brian … has some kind of legal say in what happens to him.  I get that. 

But I have things that I need to take care of as well.  And last night, when I was sketching, it suddenly dawned on me that I’ve had my new studio for nearly a week, and I’ve hardly spent any time there.  And I need to.  I mean, really need to.  Something inside me feels almost like it’s breaking when I don’t have the chance to paint when my emotions are charged like this.  It’s fucking ironic.  When I was in New York, there weren’t any distractions and I could have painted for days on end and no one would even have fucking known that I didn’t have any kind of life, let alone cared.  But I had absolutely zero fucking inspiration.  I had to force myself to stand in front of an easel and try to paint something, anything; and the only hope I had of doing anything that wasn’t a complete waste of time was if I let myself think about Brian, about my life here, about what I’d walked away from.  When I let all that pain loose I could paint like a bitch.  But … it was so fucking hard to let it loose, to let myself feel it that I fought against doing that until there was absolutely no other choice.

Now I’m home.  And that pain is finally fading.  Now it’s not pain I feel when I think about Brian it’s … it’s joy and pride and lust and … and … fucking ecstasy … and my whole being aches with the need to get that feeling out there, to splash it about in paint or in charcoal or even in fucking clay and marble if that’s what it takes.  But just because I am home, just because I no longer lie awake every night aching for just the sight of Brian beside me, for the smell of him, for the warmth of his body heat radiating across the bed at me … just because now that’s all here, I don’t have to long for it any more, I just have to reach out my hand …

Now I have no fucking time to express what I’m feeling.

Fucking shitty fucking shit!

 

*****
 

Brian

I fight against the urge to reach out and touch him - just because I can.  I haven’t yet got to the stage where I’m able to take the ability to do that for granted; but I’m not some fucking lesbionic wimp who has to dwell on what these last months have been like, how bad they were. 

Instead, I shrug, and just say, “Don’t be a twat!  You’ve got work to do and Gus and I can keep ourselves amused without your assistance for a few hours.”

He gives me a look then … like he’s not so sure about that, but doesn’t want to start a fight about it.  Instead he runs his hands up the outside of my thighs to my hips, and grasps them to help himself stand up.  That brings us very close together and this time I don’t feel any need to restrain myself.  I pull him even closer and, finding his mouth open and ready and welcoming, I stroke my tongue over his and kiss him till we’re both breathless.  Only the sudden recollection of who is watching cartoons only a few feet away keeps me from pulling him down to the ground to fuck him senseless.

Finally we pull apart and he says, “Well, we’d better have a proper breakfast then, if we’re both going to be busy.”

And then he heads for the kitchen to start making some fucking carbs and fat laden shit for us all to eat.

Why is it that when he’s in a bad mood my fucking sex life suffers, and when he’s in a good mood he punishes me by force feeding me shit?

 

*****
 

Justin

I suppose I should feel guilty and be all like worried about what Brian and Gus are up to and how Brian’s coping and all that shit, but instead …

I just forget about everything once I close the door of this lame apartment that I’m using as a studio behind me.

No wonder the couple who had it split up, it’s so totally horrible - I mean … the bedroom is all fucking pink!  And the bathroom has got these cutesy little cherubs on the tiles and … it makes me want to puke. 

But the living area has great windows and a skylight which makes it perfect for what I need and I just close my eyes when I go to the bathroom and hope I don’t miss the bowl.

By the time I start to come back to some sort of consciousness of the world around me, it’s dark outside and I realize my stomach has been growling for the past hour or more.

I race through cleaning my brushes, and head off home.

That’s the blessing of having my own space - except for the brushes, I don’t have to clean up after me.  Everything can just stay as it is till I get back to it.

I did some good work today, I think.

I thought that I’d work on some of the sketches I did last night, start putting on paper some of the images of Brian and Gus and our life together, but instead I  started another painting, something completely different from what I’d intended.  I’m not sure what to make of it.  I don’t know what Brian will make of it. 

I’m going to call it “Love and Hate”.

In the foreground, two figures are embracing.  At the moment I’ve roughed out the background in an angry red; but later I’ll work on it - I’m seeing it as dark slashed with fire, sort of smoky, but lit with these disturbing red and blue lights - the way I remember Liberty Avenue after the bombing.  Brian hates it when I paint that sort of stuff.  But sometimes I need to; I need to get it outside me.  Then it’s not as scary, not as poisonous.

And the last couple of days …

I had a dream last night; a nightmare really, I guess.  I couldn’t really remember any details when I woke up - just that it was full of this dark stifling anger and hatred.  I woke up feeling as if I were choking on it.  And there was something about the feel of it that made me think of Hobbs; and the bombing; and, for some reason, Melanie.  It made me realize how angry she must be.  I mean, she’s always angry at Brian, and right now…

Right now, for some reason, she makes me think of the bigots who set off the bomb. 

That’s how Mel’s anger feels to me … the same sort of threat.  It’s not rational, the way she feels about Brian.  It really isn’t.  Even if he was as big an asshole as she thinks he is, he’s never actually done anything to justify the hate she feels for him … except just exist.  So the only difference between her and Hobbs, and the people who blew up Babylon is that she hasn’t really acted on her hatred yet.  Well, except to take Gus to Canada in the first place.

But that’s what scares me … that she might. 

And it could be just as destructive … even if it’s not expressed in physical violence.  And I wouldn’t put that past her, either.

So I’m scared.  And the fear brings back all kinds of memories, and the only way I know how to deal with them is to paint them out of my mind because once they’re out there on the canvas, they’re easier for me to deal with.

But it’s not like that for Brian, the only way he knows how to deal is to just refuse to even acknowledge that there’s anything that could frighten him.  That’s what he needs to do to deal, to survive so much hate without going crazy; so I guess I’ll wait a while before I show him this one.

 

*****
 

Brian

I’m fucked if I’m taking Sonnyboy to the zoo, with all the other screaming idiots and their offspring.  Instead, after we finally pack Justin off to deal with his shit, and I deal with Sonnyboy’s tears and tantrums because his fucking “Dus” is leaving him with the monster, we go to the park.  Surprisingly, we have a good time.  At least Sonnyboy seems to.  He spends a while running around screaming “Daddy, catch me!” and laughing his head off whenever I do and then a while on the swings where I nearly die of terminal boredom pushing him.  But I spend some time teaching him how to swing himself higher, and once he gets the idea, he’s all “Don’t, Daddy, I can do it”, even if he can still barely make the swing move at all.  Stubborn little shit.  Wonder who he gets that from.

After that we’re exhausted, so we go get something to eat and then head home.  He conks out watching his damned Wiggles DVD, so I put him into the bed and settle down at the computer to get on with some work.

When he wakes up, he spends a few minutes fussing because “Dus” still isn’t back, and a few more demanding food and drink, but once he’s had some juice and an apple, he agrees to settle down with me and do some “work”.

Justin found these educational computer games for him, so he “works” on Justin’s laptop, while I finish off the outline of a proposal I need to send to a client next week.  I get interrupted every few minutes because he wants to show me what he’s learned to do, but that’s okay.  It’s good to get the feel of where he’s at in terms of his literacy and numeracy skills, and half an hour of watching him tackle some of these programs tells me far more than any damned school report ever could.

When my cell rings, I’m tempted not to answer, but it could be the lawyer about tomorrow, so I really need to.

In fact, it’s Linds.

By the time I hang up, part of me is concentrating on dealing with her shit, but the other part is wondering how my fucking partner is going to react.

I’m guessing he’s going to be pissed at me - or at least disappointed.  But Linds sounded so down, so fucking lost and I caved and asked if she wanted to come over for a while - have an early dinner maybe, so she can eat with Gus.

It’s not entirely altruistic.  I might legally still have rights to Gus, but getting any sort of agreement on access visits and shit could still turn out to be a bloodbath, and it will go a lot more smoothly for me if Lindsay’s in my corner.  Or at least, not in Mel’s.

Because she’s the big unknown.  Just what sort of shit is she likely to pull?  How far is she likely to go to keep me away from my son?

That’s what scares me.

 

*****
 

Justin

By the time I get back to the loft, it’s getting pretty late and I find myself hoping that I haven’t missed Gus.  It must be nearly his bedtime. 

But when I get home, Gus is still up.  He’s sitting on the damned couch telling his mother all about his day at the park with Daddy, while Daddy looks on trying not to let on how much he loves it that Gus clearly loved spending time with him. 

It’s all so nice and family friendly that it almost makes me want to puke.

Especially because of all the thoughts that have been going through my head all afternoon.

Thoughts about love and how vulnerable it is; how vulnerable it makes you.  Because I know that if either I’d died in that fucking bombing - or if Brian had - that the one who was left would never have been able to get their lives back together - whatever we might have managed to cobble together for ourselves afterwards would have been some damaged patchwork shell - like trying to stick an exquisite piece of glasswork back together after someone had smashed it to pieces.   There are times when I can totally understand why Brian fought so hard against loving me.

But also thoughts about hate - and how what makes it really able to survive in the world are the people like Lindsay who just close their eyes to it when it’s right in front of their faces.  She’s lived with Mel’s hatred of Brian for years.  Hell!  She even made it worse, by insisting that Brian be the one to father her child. 

So to see her sitting here, all cozy, playing Mommy and Daddy with him while all the while that she-bitch of a partner of hers is somewhere plotting to try to destroy him makes me seriously sick to my stomach. 

I so don’t want to have to deal with her right now.

But before I can say anything, Brian looks up at me and smiles, and there’s something in his smile … some sweetness … some glimpse of a happiness that I know he’d never ever expected to find that seals my mouth shut, and I take a deep breath and try to shrug off the ghosts that have been haunting my afternoon.  Just like he’s finding ways to shrug off the ghosts that haunt his fatherhood.

 

*****
 

Brian

I can see he’s wound really tight when he comes in, but he makes an effort to shake it off and I guess that’s made easier when Gus catches sight of him and practically leaps into his arms shrieking “Dus!” at the top of his voice.  You’d swear the kid hadn’t seen him for months.

“Dus” lifts him up and carries him back to the couch, sinking down with Gus on top of him, and I can practically see the clouds lifting from around him as my son fills him in on what we’ve been doing all day without him.

I hear the downstairs buzzer and get up to find my wallet so I can pay for all the food I had to order to try to feed both Sunshine and Sonnyboy - with hopefully a few crumbs left over for Lindsay and I.

But it isn’t the delivery man, it’s Michael.

I stare at him, while part of me is thinking that the fucking storm clouds will be back in full force as soon as Justin sees him, but before I can say anything, he blurts out, “I know you’re probably going to tell me to fuck off, but I need to tell you something.”

I know that look on his face.  I know this is something I don’t want to hear.  But before I can stop him, he goes on, “It’s Mel.  She called me this afternoon.  She says that if I don’t help her keep you away from Gus that she’s going to take JR and just disappear and no one will ever find them.”

His lip wobbles and he says in a voice that sounds broken now. 

“I’m so fucking scared, Brian.  I don’t know what to do.”
 

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