The Irony of Love 122
Proud 86
Brief Summary: This fic centers on Brian and how he felt about the prom,
the dance, and Justin's bashing. (Season one
I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m actually going to walk into that room of
fucking 18 year olds and – what? What will I do when I get in there? Stand
around and ‘hang’ with Justin and his mates? Fuck. I should turn back now.
But I can’t – or maybe I won’t. What is it about him? He’s blonde, young
and cute yeah, but a lot of guys are blonde, young and cute. I shake my
head. I’m here now. There’s no turning back. That’s what I said to him after
his parent’s divorce I remember, and then wonder why I remember. I’ve
been spotted. Daphne looks disapproving and prods Justin sternly in the
chest, gesturing helplessly in my direction. She knows she’s a goner now
I’m here. Justin turns around and stares uncomprehendingly for a moment,
and then his eyes fall on me, suited, suave – and here. The white silk scarf
around my neck contrasts with the black of my tux. I must look gorgeous. I
always look gorgeous. I stride over to him, ignoring the curious glances of
the other kids. The only one I want is standing right there. “I thought you
said you wouldn’t be caught dead in a room full of eighteen year olds,” he
says, trying to sound nonchalant. But I know him better than that. “I thought
I’d recapture my lost youth,” I reply, running my finger underneath the lapel
of his blazer, then realizing that I could easily become lost in those eyes, try
to recapture a bit of my original Kinney charm and say, “You look hot
Daphne. I’d fuck you.” She laughs, embarrassed. “Err, you too Brian.” I
don’t think she’s comfortable around me. I’m not surprised – considering I
practically wrenched her best friend out of the closet, and closed the door
firmly behind him. “Mind if I borrow your date,” I say, speaking to her but
looking directly at him. She says nothing but makes a grimace of honorable
defeat and acceptance, walking away. I grab Justin’s hand and lead him to
the head of the dance floor, parting the crowd of momentarily confused
teenagers. A cheesy love song comes on. Perfect. Out of the corner of my
eye I see the polished blonde standing next to that Hobbs guy Justin is
always on about nod towards us. Briefly I see a dark shadow of displeasure
pass over his face and then turn back to Justin, focusing all my attention on
him. We start to dance and he smiles when I place the white scarf around
his neck, lighting up my world. Later I was to tell him that that moment, and
then later outside in the car park, was when I realized why Debbie called
him sunshine.
The way we moved together must have been spectacular. I could see,
through the twirls and the steps, the amazed faces of all the heteros in the
crowd, gawping at us. It’s exactly what I wanted. Who loves making a
spectacle out of sexuality more than me? Maybe Justin, I think, by the way
his hand moves under my blazer after undoing the buttons one handed.
What is he up to? He slides my blazer off with a coy look, moving around
behind me and throws it to Daphne, who positively glows from the attention
– the pride. We resume our dance after he throws the scarf back round my
neck, planning to use it as a leash I’m sure. I twirl him round and round,
walking the length of the suddenly apparent dance floor, portioned off by
the ring of spectators. Then I pull him closer to me and we fall into a dip,
one of his legs almost around my waist. I pull him back up and then lift him
off his feet spinning around in happiness, and then before we have
completed a 360 turn, I lean in and crush my mouth to his in a fierce
embrace. We kiss for the remainder of the song, maybe three or four
seconds, and then as the music trails off I break the kiss, put the scarf back
around his neck and grab his hand, pulling him out the way we came in. If
anyone at his school were under any illusion about his sexuality, they
certainly aren’t any more.
Before I know it we’ve made it down to the parking lot, and I feel like I’m
skipping on air. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Not even Mikey. “Did
you see their faces?” He laughs incredulously. “Yeah, we gave them a
night they’ll never forget,” I reply, trying to sound cool but secretly loving it.
“Me neither.” He says, his voice thick with what I can only assume is love.
“It was the best night of my life”. I push him up against the jeep and say
quietly, “Even if it was ridiculously romantic.” I gaze into his eyes for a
second. I know what I feel but equally I know that I’ll never be able to say it.
To mask my dilemma I lean in and kiss him softly, then pull back and say,
“Later.” He lets go of my hand. “Later.” He starts to walk away, turning back
briefly once to give me a radiant smile.
I get in the jeep and watch him out of the wing mirror. I can see him pulling
happily at the white scarf as he skips away. A shadow crosses the floor.
Wait a minute…something’s wrong. I frown, and then realise what it is.
Suddenly Justin is being rapidly pursued, a baseball bat hanging from the
hand of the hunter. I scramble out of the car. “Justin!” I yell, trying to warn
him and starting to run. But he’s too far away. He turns around with another
smile, which disappears from my view as the bat is swung heavily at his
head, hitting him with a sharp crack. He crumples to the floor and I sprit
over to his attacker, picking up the abandoned bat on the way and when I
reach him, hit him hard over the back and then under the knees, eliciting
curses of pain from him. He doubles over and I wave my hand in dismissal,
running over to the limp blonde form on the floor.
Blood is scattered over the white scarf and is seeping onto his shirt and
onto the cold, concrete floor. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no”, I say over and
over again. This can’t be happening. I release a strangled cry. “God!” but I
don’t think He can help me now. I cradle Justin’s head in my lap.
Ambulance, I think. 911. Call 911. I reach hastily into my pocket for my
small cell phone and punch in the number, and hear the standard response
on the end of the line. I can’t remember what I said to them. I’m surprised I
wasn’t incoherent, staring numbly at my hands, covered in his blood. What
do I do now? They told me not to move him. Mikey. I need Mikey. Will he
even still be in this state? Shit shit shit, why did the doctor have to go now?
I punch in his number and listen to it ring a few times, and then hear his
voice. He sounds out of breath, like he’s been running. I mumble into the
phone, still staring at my blood caked hands and the sprawling, limp,
almost lifeless body of the man who made me realise I had a heart – and
that it belonged to him. Vaguely I hear the crunch of tyres and my vision is
punctuated with red and blue flashes. The paramedics. But I can’t move. I
still have his head in my lap with my fingers on the wound, trying to make
the blood go away, whispering “Justin,” occasionally, tears snaking silently
down my ashen face. The paramedics swarm over me, telling me I have to
move if I want them to help him. I watch numbly as they put him on a
stretcher, strapping tanks and contraptions to him, and trying to stop the
wound on his head from bleeding more. The pillow beneath him is already
coloured scarlet from his blood. They lift him into the ambulance and I
move to go with him. I feel a hand on my chest. “Are you family?” a female
voice says. I glance around momentarily and swallow a lump in my throat.
“I’m…I’m his…his boyfriend.” I manage. Comprehension dawns on her face
and she looks more sympathetic. “Go right ahead then.” She says kindly.
“Thanks” I mumble. The journey passes in a blur. I clutch his hand as the
male paramedic in the back fusses around him, checking the monitors and
tubes, and casting disapproving glances in my direction. Fucking
homophobic asshole. The ambulance grinds to a halt and as the doors
swing open I’m momentarily blinded by the glare of the hospital lights. The
last time I was here was to celebrate a birth, not a – I can’t think it. I can’t
think anything except that it must be my fault. If I hadn’t have shown up at
his prom, Hobbs would never have resented the flagrant display of our
sexual persuasion. But Justin has nothing to be ashamed of. I’m proud of
who I am, and who I’ve helped him become. But look where it’s got him.
Being carted into the emergency room on a stretcher, covered in the blood
of his sexuality. What have I done? What if he dies? I shake my head and
jump out of the ambulance, clutching the white scarf listlessly.
And then I’m sat on my own on the bench. They’ve taken him away, and I
wasn’t allowed to go with him, boyfriend or not. I can feel tears running
down my face and over the curve of my lips, pink and sore. I hear footsteps
approaching but do not turn my head. It doesn’t matter who it is. Nothing
matters any more. Someone sits down beside me. Mikey. He doesn’t say
anything. I don’t look at him but can picture his face, drawn in
consternation, helpless and hating it. I feel his fingers in my hair, and I have
to admit his presence is soothing. And so we wait, the tears unobtrusive yet
blindingly striking, and I can’t help thinking that this is all my fault, and the
man that I have just come to love is just about to die, because of me.