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Battle Scars

by Vamphile

Justin sat in the small cramped bathroom knowing he’d made a mistake. He’d made lots of mistakes but this one was the biggest. He’d thrown away everything, his friends, his family, Brian, things he’d worked so hard for and he’d tossed them all for pretty words.

He thought back, as he had every day for the past three months on the events leading up to his turning his back on all of his efforts and realized that he’d somehow lost his Kinney to Human translation skills. Maybe it was because he got hit in the head with a bat, maybe it was because he got tired of having to use them all the time, maybe it’s because he was a fucking pathetic retard. He wasn’t sure how he’d lost the skill he only knew he’d lost it, temporarily.

What made him realize he’d lost it was the day it returned. It wasn’t a particularly interesting day. There was no earth shattering life-altering event that preceded the return. He’d simply been sitting in class, taking notes on the history of the female form in religious art and suddenly as if possessed he began to write, and what he wrote was what Brian had meant, all those times he’d told him to leave. All those times he’d insisted he wouldn’t say the words. Every single action that Brian had taken in those months. Those months before he’d thrown himself off the cliff suddenly made sense. And now Justin felt as if he were falling again, and this time he heard Brian yelling the words as he fell, but it was too late, there was nothing to grab on to, nothing to break his fall. He had found the truth but too late.

Justin held the razor in his hand; he knew he didn’t want to die. Actually, he knew he was afraid to die, but he also knew there was no way to handle the pain; no way to fix what was broken. He pulled the blade across his arm, and saw the small bubbles of blood rise from the skin. It didn’t hurt, he’d expected it to hurt but it felt good. And he did it again.

The pain was real now, not some phantom ache it was tangible and he felt relieved. He drew the blade one more time and looked at the lines, enjoying the feeling of control for the first time in months.

Ethan would be home soon. He took a deep breath and cleaned himself up, the bleeding had stopped quickly and yet when he scratched at the spot through his shirt, or rubbed it, feeling the burn of the fresh cut he knew that it was a spot no one else could touch.

They had dinner, (ramen noodles and cheap wine), and Ethan went to his corner to practice. Justin went to one of the classrooms to work on a project. The fiddler was asleep by the time he crawled into bed 2:58 am, some habits die hard, and he was still always home by three, even if it was the wrong home.

~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Brian considered Lindsay and Mel’s request and then considered the “vette he’d wanted since he and Mikey were kids. He made his proposal to them and shook his head, not sure even that car was worth dealing with the GLC.

When he approached Justin with a proposition he knew the blonde would be suspicious, but the kid was tough, and a tough negotiator and he took the job. Brian was relieved; he’d been looking drawn and tired lately. He hated Ethan, but he didn’t want Justin to starve, or work too hard, he knew the money would come in handy, hell, he would have paid him twice what he’d asked, but for now this would do.

Justin went home from the diner tired, and angry. He was glad Brian had offered him the job, glad they had spoken, but there was so much more he wanted to say. He wanted to tell him about his epiphany. He wanted to lean against him and whisper that he knew everything, why he’d pushed him, and why he’d allowed himself to jump, instead he got a promise of money and left it at that.

He was working on the project when Ethan leaned over his shoulder, it was too much, and Ethan was too close. This project was about him, and Brian, and Ethan didn’t factor in but he shared his good fortune, played the good boyfriend, and resigned himself to a life of mediocre sex with not Brian. That’s how he factored men now, there was Brian and there was Not-Brian else. Ethan landed squarely in the Not-Brian category, but from experience he closed his eyes, fucked the man and pretended it was whom he wanted to be with.

He didn’t care who Brian fucked, as long as Brian came home and fucked him too. Maybe it was wrong, and pathetic to feel that way, but it was the truth. The truth he’d lost when he’d let others tell him what he wanted, and let other convince him that Brian wasn’t giving him that. He was stupid, he was a pathetic loser and he knew that now.

He got up after they’d finished and went to the bathroom, He tried a new spot on his forearm, pulling the razor hard against the flesh, feeling the burn immediately and suddenly feeling able to breathe. He did it again, and again.

~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

He only wore long sleeves now, it had been easy to make excuses for a scratch here or there, he lived with a cat, but there were too many now, and so he wore long sleeves and he rubbed at them through the material, feeling the pain and knowing that he could keep control a little bit longer at least.

He met Brian at his loft to show him the mock up, and he stayed away. Brian saw through him, even when he pretended he didn’t, and he couldn’t let Brian see this, so he hung back. Eventually he insisted they stand closer, and he held his breath, laughing at the right times, wanting again to tell Brian everything he now knew, but he couldn’t, and Brian wouldn’t care, or worse, would, and be angry. He’d pushed him away on purpose because he wanted him to be happy, he had to be happy or everything they’d done was wrong, so he let him think he was happy.

He went home and moved on to his right arm. His control was not as good with his left hand, but he still managed to get the job done, three inch long slices below the crook of his elbow, red and bloody and beautiful. He spent an half hour admiring his own handiwork until he heard Ethan return. He put his shirt back on. He pretended to be cold now, all the time, left his shirt on even when they fucked. Ethan didn’t care. As long as the virtuoso got off, he really didn’t give much thought to which manner was used. He was just as content to blow Justin with his shirt on as with it off. Justin was relived.

He went to the stupid boring pretentious party with Ethan’s friends, and escaped to see how the GLC carnival was going. He smiled, Brian had left his mark on the event, and he knew it was driving the prigs who ran the place insane, but there was no doubt it was profitable.

They chatted for a minute and Brian followed a trick out to his car. Justin went back to Ethan’s; he could never call it home.

Ethan was cheating on him. He knew it. He should care, he knew that too, but he didn’t. He’d been doing it before the fucking Haifitz recital, but it was easy enough to ignore, after all, he was cheating on Ethan too, with the razors. In his own private time, he found release in a way he’d never found with the stupid fiddler. He found power over himself in a way he’d felt he’d lost with Brian. Sometimes after he cut himself he masturbated, working his arm, making it bleed more until he came, and the blood and come would mix together and he felt like he might be able to make it through another fucking day of this lie.

Then the fucking Harrisburg trick showed up, with flowers, and Justin couldn’t pretend to not know. So he yelled, and he screamed, and he ripped up the roses and he let the thorns bite into his flesh, and that helped. He threw Ethan’s ring at him, and left, wiping his fingers against the cuts on his hands. He showed up a Daphne’s and she let him in, making a big fuss about his hands, cleaning them, he shrugged it off, he’d done worse to himself that afternoon, he’d do worse to himself tonight before he slept and he knew it.

He didn’t sleep. He smoked, and thought, and when it all seemed too much he disappeared into the bathroom and let out the pain. And then he was calmer.

Daphne watched her friend with concern, she thought he might be on drugs, he was smoking and drinking, not eating, and he disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a newfound calm. She asked him about it and he said stress upset his stomach. She had to believe him. Justin was too smart and too allergic to be doing drugs.

They discussed getting Brian back and Justin thought he might try her idea. She hoped it worked. Justin wasn’t okay.

Justin thought about getting Brian back but knew it couldn’t happen. Brian liked him naked, and he couldn’t be naked anymore, his arms were too raw, he could never be that naked in front of anyone again. Then he saw the listing for Brian's firm as an intern option and he applied. He didn’t plan on getting Brian back, he knew he’d thrown away that opportunity long ago, but he wanted to see him. Seeing him helped.

~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Brian was pissed when he saw Justin there, but the kid was calm. He was TOO calm, and he backed him into a corner. “I didn’t know our previous relationship was such a problem for you.” Fuck him. “I want to get the best education I can… that you’re paying for.” Fuck him again! So the fucker was back to being a stalker, Brian thought he had outgrown that shit.

Justin worked there for months with limited interaction with Brian. Too late he realized that it wasn’t healthy. Seeing Brian made him feel out of control, the only thing that mad him feel in control was his ability to control his pain. His arms were out of fresh places to cut, he re opened old marks, noticing that they took longer to cut, bled less, and wondered if he could turn his whole body into scar tissue like that.

They had him doing some old fashioned cut and paste work. He was using the Xacto knife, cutting precisely, he was good at it, and when he finished he put the work away and played with the orange handled blade, mesmerized by it.

He raised his sleeve a little, not even thinking about the fact that he was in a cubicle in the art department, at an internship he couldn’t give up, or he’d lose his credits and be behind a semester. All he thought about was that with a precision instrument like that, he could cut between the line, new areas that he thought had been off limits opened up to him. He pulled his sleeve back just a little further to a spot above his watch on his wrist.

~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Brian came down to the art department to ream out an idiot who had fucked up one too many times when he saw the shock of blonde hair barely visible above the cubicle walls. He walked quietly, observing Justin. He was staring off into space, idly holding a pen or something, and then Brian watched with fascination at what he did next. He pushed his sleeve back. He’d seen Justin write notes on his hands before, but on his arm? His breath caught he realized what the kid was doing, and then he saw the blood from the line he’d just drawn on himself. The idiot who needed to be fired was forgotten. The past months were forgotten. There was nothing now but Justin and blood, two things he’d seen together far too much once before. He grabbed his arm. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Justin looked up, tears in his eyes. Brian's hand was wrapped around his arm, squeezing at the cuts, creating the most intense feeling but this time he wasn’t in control of it. This was about his control, not Brian's, but Brian was dragging him, not caring who saw them. He didn’t say another word until they were in the men’s room, door locked.

“What the fuck was that Justin? A cry for attention?”

Justin said nothing.

“Justin.”

Justin didn’t reply and Brian tried to grab his arm again but he backed away. He couldn’t let Brian see, couldn’t let him know he knew.

Brian watched Justin's face, there was pain there, and fear, but what the fuck was he doing, playing with razors on his own skin? He was angry. When Justin was backed into a corner, with nowhere to go he finally managed to push up the sleeve of his sweater. He just wanted to see if he had done any real damage. His breath caught.

Justin felt him push up the sleeve of his sweater and winced, he tried to twist his arm out of Brian's grasp but Brian wasn’t letting go.

Brian had expected a scratch a little blood, then he could yell at the kid for being a drama princess and wash his hands of him. He hadn’t expected this. What was this? His arm was covered with even red marks in various stages of healing. He looked up and Justin was crying. Instinct took over. He pulled the boy close, his arms wrapped around him. Who had done this to him? Ethan? His arms wrapped tighter, surely he wouldn’t do this to himself.

They stood like that for a while until Brian finally released him. “Come with me.” Was all he said as he led Justin down the stairs to the parking garage put him in his jeep and started the drive back. Justin knew he was taking him to the loft. He’d take off as soon as Brian stopped the car.

Brian was on the phone with Cynthia explaining something had come up and he’d be gone for the rest of the day. He was still talking to her when he stopped at a red light. He saw Justin reach for the door and he leaned over him, holding it closed while Justin tried to push it out of his reach. He hung up on Cynthia. “You’re staying in the fucking car.”

Justin said nothing else. Brian parked in front of his building, ready to run if Justin bolted but it seemed as if all the fight had gone out of him. He led him up to the loft and Justin stood in the doorway fidgeting. Brian wordlessly offered him a beer and Justin took it, just to give himself something to do with his hands.

He sat at the bar stool not wanting to move to far into the apartment.

“Take off your shirt.”

“Fuck you.”

”Justin, what the fuck.”

“Brian, it’s nothing, you’re over reacting.”

“Really, so those are allergy tests.”

“Something like that.” Justin replied.

“Take of your fucking shirt, I want to know what I’m dealing with here.”

“You’re not dealing with anything, it’s not your problem.”

“The hell it isn’t. Justin who did this to you?”

Justin looked down at his hands; he was playing with the bottle cap, pushing the hard edges into the back of his hand making a starburst design. He pushed harder, and Brian watched for a moment before he took the cap away. “No more sharp objects.”

Justin looked up. “I’d never really hurt myself.”

Brian pushed his sleeve up, turning his arm so that the hundreds of cuts were clearly visible. “What’s that?”

”It’s different. I’m… I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“No, you’re trying to…” Brian wasn’t sure what the fuck he was trying to do, he just knew he couldn’t stand to see him so scarred, so battle weary. So damaged.

“What the fuck is you trying to do?”

”You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“It’s pain management.”

Brian laughed, it was an ugly sound. “I don’t understand pain management?”

”Well, yours doesn’t make you ugly.”

”Do you want to be ugly?”

Justin was twisting his fingers around each other, fascinated by his own hands, or anything that didn’t involve him looking up.”

“I already am.”

”Justin, you’re still hot.”

Justin smiled at that, “I meant inside, I forgot.”

“You forgot?”

“I forgot what you meant.”

Brian looked at him blankly.

“I used to know. I used to be able to hear what you said, and see what you did, and then know what you meant. It was like one of those stupid magic posters at the mall, if you stare long enough you see the sailboat.”

Brian continued to stare.

“But sometimes, you lose the sailboat, and then you can’t quite find it again, and I lost your sailboat.”

“Are you on drugs?”

Justin sighed. “I used to know that you followed the rules because you wanted me there, that you did little things all the time that meant that you loved me. And shut up you loved me. But I lost the sailboat. And then someone came in, and said, look, a real sailboat, no searching for the hidden meaning, only it was the opposite. It was a real sailboat but there was hidden meaning that you don’t look for. So…”

“So you decided to see how much damage a person could do to themselves without dying?”

”It was never about dying. I was hurt, I hurt myself, I threw away the most important thing, and I couldn’t bear the pain. So I make pain I can bear.”

“What if I can’t bear this pain?” Brian asked quietly.

“It’s not yours to bear.”

“Your pain is always mine to bear, that’s one of those hidden sailboat things.”

Justin smiled a small smile.

“You can’t do that anymore, I won’t let you.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“I can and I will.”

”Brian you can’t just…”

“Take you back? No I can’t, because for me, you’ve never left. You’ve been on vacation, and apparently, your sailboat crashed, but you are home now.”

“Am I?”

Brian took the beer out of Justin’s hand, and pulled his sweater off of him. Running gentle hands down his arms, examining the damage. “Anywhere else?”

Justin shook his head.

“You promise?”

Justin nodded.

“This stops now.”

Justin let out a tear. “I’m not sure it can. I think it helps.”

“Helps what?”

“The pain.”

“What pain.”

”The pain I caused you, and myself, when I forgot how to see the sailboat.”

“Well, you’re back in the picture now, no more pain.”

“But.”

“Just promise me, you won’t ever do this again.”

Justin wanted to promise but it wasn’t one he was sure he could keep “I’ll try.”

“You’ll do better than that.” He pulled Justin to him. “I can’t lose you.”

“So you’ll let me back into your life?”

”There are no locks on the doors. You could always come back.”

“I’m staying at Daph’s.”

“Yeah, and she’s done a great job of making sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

“Brian, it’s not her fault.”

”No, it’s mine, I changed the picture mid way through, that’s why you couldn’t find the sailboat, I hid it.”

Justin smiled a little, “I think we’ve beat that metaphor to death.”

“So no more metaphors. And no more cutting yourself.”

Justin nodded.

“And if you ever feel the need for pain… Brian put a tongue in his cheek, I have a wonderful collection of leather accessories for just such occasions.”

Justin smiled and hesitantly leaned in to kiss Brian, who pulled the blonde into the kiss he’d been missing since he’d left the rage party.

Epilogue:

There were setbacks. Brian locked up the knives because Justin got tempted, and he did a thorough check of his body daily, which really, was just an excuse to touch him a whole lot. But eventually Justin remembered how to read Brian, and Brian tried a little harder to point out the sailboats, and the two of them continued the most beautiful dysfunctional love story ever known on Liberty Avenue.

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