Date: Thu, 07 Nov 2002 20:51:49 -0500
From: Writer Boy <writerboy69@hotmail.com>
Subject: rebound - part 8

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1) If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or
you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You
shouldn't be here.

2) I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no
way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or
anything else.  This is a work of pure fiction.

Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I enjoy
constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy
flames, and will not tolerate them.

That said, we now continue.

***

I blinked, stiffening a little, as Justin's mouth pressed softly against
mine, and he felt it.  His eyes popped open and he stepped back, letting go
of me, his hand flying up to his mouth. His bright blue eyes looked
panicked, remorseful, and he immediately turned away, a bright red flush
creeping up his neck as I tried to figure out what to do.

"Justin," I began, unsure of what I was going to follow it with.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, his voice shaking. He started to hurry toward
the bathroom, probably trying to get away from me. In the loft your only
options are there or the bedroom, and the bathroom was closer.

"Justin, wait," I said, putting a hand on his arm. I didn't grab him very
tightly, but as soon as I touched him he just froze and kind of wilted, his
shoulders slumping as he stared at the floor. "Justin?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated. He sounded like a little kid, his voice soft, and
he wouldn't raise his head to meet my eyes. "I'm so stupid. I just, I
thought."

I saw a tear trickle down one cheek, and gave in to the first impulse that
dropped into my head. Reaching out, I scooped Justin up in a tight hug,
pressing him against me, my hands on his firm back.

"It's ok, Justin," I said quietly. "It's ok. I'm not mad at you, ok? And
you're not stupid.  Can we talk about this, though?"

"You're not mad?" he asked, holding onto me pretty tightly. "Are you sure?"

"Have I lied to you yet?" I asked, letting go of him. He stepped back,
wiping quickly at his eyes, but at least he was looking up into mine
again. "I'm not mad."

"OK," he said, smiling a little. He was still red, still a little flushed,
and looked squeamishly embarrassed.

"I still want to talk about it, though," I said, and saw his smile wilt a
little, the corners dropping. "Do you want to talk over dinner, or now, or
wait until later?"

"The food'll get cold," he said softly. He swallowed a couple of times, and
then his blue eyes tilted up from the floor again, meeting mine. "You're
really not mad?"

"No, Justin," I answered again. "I'm really not mad. Now come on, let's go
see how you did with dinner."

As Justin had said, he wasn't much of a cook, but the stuff he'd prepared
was so simple that you couldn't possibly screw it up, really. The hot dogs
weren't over boiled, although I had no rolls, the mac and cheese wasn't
clumpy, and the beans came out fine. As we spooned everything onto our
plates I could see Justin watching me out of the corner of my eye, and I
smiled at him each time our eyes met. I could tell he was a little nervous
and unsettled, and I didn't want to embarrass him, but whatever he was
feeling when he kissed me was really only on his side, and I wanted to let
him know that. I laughed at myself. Whatever he was feeling? It was obvious
that he was feeling affectionate, at least.  I needed to cut that off
quick. We sat down, and began to eat, and I waited to see if he would bring
it up. When he didn't, looking down at his plate for most of the meal and
eating with deliberate care to be quiet as if to be sure not to attract my
attention, I decided that I would have to.

"Justin?" I asked, and his head snapped up, his blue eyes wide. "Can we
talk?"

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I know I said it already, but I didn't mean
to, I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I just, well, I was thinking
all day, and I thought, well."

"What, Justin?" I asked. "Tell me, please."

"I guess, you know," he said again, looking down, clearly uncomfortable.
"You've been so nice to me, and you're so cute, and you listen to me. You
really listen when I talk, and you care about what I say. You're so sweet,
and perfect, and special, and I, well, I like you. I like you a lot. You're
the kind of guy I've always been looking for, the kind of guy everybody
dreams about finding. I guess, I, well, I thought you were the guy for
me. I still do."

"Justin, you barely know me," I said, shaking my head.

"I've thought about it all day today!" he said quickly. He looked up at me
now, earnest yet tense. "I feel like, I feel this connection with you! You
can't pretend you don't feel it, too."

"Justin, I," I began, shaking my head. I was confused, that was for sure,
and I didn't want to say the wrong thing and hurt him, or make things
worse. I needed to let him down carefully, because he was such a
sweetheart, and such a genuinely nice guy.  "I do feel connected to you,
but it's friendship, Justin."

"It's nothing else?" he asked plaintively. "How can you be sure? You
haven't had any time to think about it."

"Neither have you," I said, frowning. "You just broke up with your
boyfriend, who was your best friend for years, like four days ago, and
you're ready to date again? You already think you're in love again? Are you
familiar with the term 'rebound', Justin?"

"Maybe I'm capable of moving on," he said sharply. As soon as he said it
this look crossed his face, like he wanted to clap his hands over his
mouth, and his eyes went wide with shock. "Oh, Chris."

"Excuse me," I said icily, setting my silverware down. I stood stiffly,
fighting a stabbing pain in my chest. I turned and walked away from the
table as Justin stood, calling after me.

"Chris! Wait," he said, and I heard the scrape of his chair sliding off the
rug. That meant he was getting up too quickly, not being as careful with my
furniture as he should be. It was just as well, since he wasn't very
careful with me, either. "Chris, I didn't mean that the way it came out."

"You're just full of mistakes tonight," I said, not slowing down. I walked
into my bedroom and closed the many paned door behind me, turning the
lock. Glancing back, I saw Justin on the other side, his face twisted in
confusion and sorrow, his eyes wet, and I pulled the curtain, ignoring the
sound of him tapping at the glass softly.

"Chris, please," he said again. His voice was cracking. "Please, I didn't
mean it. I didn't.  It just came out. Please. Please don't be mad at me,
Chris, please."

I'd forgotten what it felt like to be hurt this way, to have someone
callously say something that cut straight through me to the core of my
sorrow. I was surrounded by people that knew, people who were aware of my
boundaries and my limits, and I'd forgotten what it was like to have people
around who didn't know what they shouldn't ever say. Then again, I'd
forgotten a lot of things. Maybe I'd forgotten what it was like to be
young, to follow my heart blindly, to fall into and out of love as the days
went by like it was nothing. Maybe I'd forgotten what it was like to make
stupid mistakes, to say things in anger and have to take them back later,
always assuming that there would be a later to come back to. Most of all,
though, I'd forgotten what it meant to let people inside, to care about
people. I'd forgotten that if you let yourself care about someone, you also
let that person have the power to hurt you, not only through the things
they said and did, but also by the things that could happen to them. I'd
forgotten that if you cared about people they could hurt you by leaving
you, or being taken away.

I lay on my side on my bed, feeling that sharp pain stab into me, feeling
my scars rip back open, feeling that old familiar throb. I tried to ignore
it, tried to make it go away, as I lay there and tried to clear my mind and
not think of anything at all. I also tried to ignore the fact that I felt a
little worse with each sniffle and each choked sob I heard outside the
bedroom. Causing pain to people you cared about was, after all, a two way
street, and sometimes that pain went in both directions. I closed my eyes,
wishing this feeling would just go away.

When I opened them again, I realized that I must have fallen asleep for a
bit, because it was completely dark in the loft. We hadn't turned any
lights on before dinner, since there was still plenty of daylight coming
in, but I couldn't figure out why Justin wouldn't have turned any on since
then. What was he doing? I sat up, stretching, and listened, but couldn't
hear anything outside my curtained windows. No television, no computer
sounds, not even a radio. Had Justin left? Had he felt so bad that he
packed up and left the loft? Where would he go? I slid quietly out of bed,
walking toward the door. I didn't even have his cell phone number. I
wouldn't be able to call to check on him or anything.  I'd have to wait to
see if he called me. I jerked the door open, and jumped back in surprise as
Justin rolled toward me, blinking awake and making a startled bleating sort
of sound.

"Justin?" I asked, flicking on one of the lamps. He must have been sitting
with his back against the door. "Are you ok?"

"Chris, I'm sorry," Justin said quickly, jumping to his feet. He stood in
front of me, his lip trembling, as if he wanted to start crying all over
again. "I didn't mean to say that, I didn't, you have to believe me."

"I do, Justin, I do," I said, hugging him. I pulled him over to the bed.
"Come sit down, please, and calm down, ok?"

"OK," he said, sitting down beside me on the mattress. He wiped at his eyes
again, and I kept an arm around his shoulders, holding him tightly against
me, so that he would know he wasn't alone.

"Justin, what you said before, it hurt me, a lot," I said. I brushed my
hand over his forehead, soothing him. "Some of it was just because of what
it was, but it also shocked me to hear it from you. I know you didn't mean
it, though, ok? I just, I needed to think about it, that's all. I was
upset, and I needed to calm down, ok?"

"I'm so sorry," Justin said again. He looked up at me, and put a hand on my
cheek, holding my face. His hand was soft, his touch gentle. "I was so
scared that you wouldn't want to be my friend anymore, that you wouldn't
like me anymore."

I sighed, pulling his hand down and holding it in my lap, squeezing it
tightly between both of mine.

"Justin, I still like you," I said, and he turned, smiling gratefully at
me.  Oh, those eyes of his. You could just fall into them. "But only as a
friend. I'm sorry, but the way you think you feel, sorry, the way you feel
about me, it's, I don't feel that way about you, Justin. I like you, but
that's all."

"Are you sure?" he asked, swallowing. I could see that he was hurt, and
probably disappointed, but at the same time he was probably happy that I
still wanted to be his friend.

"Yeah," I answered, shrugging. I gave him a little smile, not sure what
else to do, and he smiled back.

"OK," he said, hugging me again. He squeezed me tightly, but then let go.
"As long as we're still friends."

"Still friends," I said, standing. "Justin, did you sit against my door
this whole time?"

"Yeah," he answered, standing as well. "I wanted to talk to you as soon as
you came out of your room. I didn't want this to, you know, hang between
us."

"Oh," I said, surprised. "Well, look, why don't I clean up the table, then,
and you see if there's anything on TV?"

"OK," he said, waiting for me to walk out of the bedroom first. How polite.
As I walked over to the table, flicking on the wall switch for the hanging
lights above it, I heard him looking around for the remote. "Hey Chris, if
you ever, you know, change your mind, I've never dated a redhead."

"Don't push it, Justin," I said, shaking my head. My amusement was evident
in my tone, but I also meant what I was saying. Besides, he had hardly
dated anyone.

"OK," he said, chuckling.

We spent the rest of the night in a kind of companionable silence. I let
Justin pick the channels, but he didn't really follow a lot of the dramas
that were on. He explained that because of their schedule he didn't get to
watch a lot of television, so he wasn't always able to follow what was
going on with the characters or what went on between them, and me trying to
explain as the shows went on was almost more trouble than it was worth. We
had much better luck with sitcom reruns, which he seemed to love, as those
didn't really need continuity between episodes. I sat in one of my large
armchairs, reading a book and following the shows at the same time, and
Justin stretched out on the couch, watching intently, laughing at the funny
parts. He had a good laugh, but he seemed self conscious about it
sometimes, and a couple of times I actually caught him raising a hand to
his mouth without being aware of it, as if trying to hide. Eventually our
yawns got the better of us, and I told him I was turning in.

"Me too," he said, shutting off the television.

"You need help opening the couch?" I asked, sliding the coffee table out of
the way.

"No, I got it," he answered. "Good night."

"Good night, Justin," I said, trudging off to the bathroom to brush my
teeth. When I came out he was waiting patiently on the back of the couch in
his sleep outfit, a different set of pajama bottoms and a beater identical
to the first, and he smiled at me. I gave him a little wave and went to
bed, closing my door, ignoring the sounds of him tossing and turning on the
couch bed, trying to get comfortable.

In the morning I woke up before my alarm, again, and went right to the
bathroom for the shower. Coming out, I saw Justin sitting on the edge of
the sofa bed, rubbing at his eyes, and wondered what he was doing awake.

"Justin?" I asked, making sure my robe was closed. No free shows before
breakfast.

"You forgot to shut your alarm clock off," he muttered, rubbing at his face
as if he wanted to rearrange it.

"I'm sorry," I said, smacking my forehead comically. He laughed at the
gesture, and I smiled. "Go back to sleep, Justin."

"Maybe," he said. While I was getting dressed I heard the shower turn on,
and was a little surprised. I had no idea how long he had slept yesterday,
since I was downstairs, but I'd gotten the distinct impression that he was
more or less comatose when I left. He didn't strike me as a morning
person. On my way out I tapped at the bathroom door.

"I'm going downstairs, Justin," I called, unsure of whether he could hear
me over the water. "I have to open up. I'll see you later, ok?"

"OK," he yelled, and I went downstairs.

Michelle and I were in the middle of the morning chores, as we referred to
them, when Justin walked out of the storeroom, all scrubbed and freshly
pressed. He was wearing khakis and a t-shirt, casual but not wrinkled, and
he smiled at us, standing by the counter.

"Hi, Michelle," he said shyly, smiling at her.

"Good morning, Justin," she said, setting my coffee out. He glanced at the
cup and she smiled. "Coffee?"

"Please," he said, nodding gratefully. I was right. He wasn't a morning
person at all.

"What brings you downstairs?" I asked, wheeling the hand truck back into
the storeroom, the newspapers all set out. "Did you want to do something
today?"

"I don't think so," Justin answered, taking a cup from Michelle. She pushed
a small pitcher of milk over, and Justin poured liberally, adding several
sugar packets as well.  "Once I wake up, I'm up, so I thought I'd come
down, hang out down here."

"Hang out?" I asked, chuckling. "Justin, it's a bookstore. There isn't
really a lot going on."

"It can't be that bad," he said, and Michelle snickered. I glanced at her
and saw that she had her thoughtful look, her "I've got a really good idea
that's going to amuse the hell out of me, but only me," look. "I mean, you
seem to enjoy it."

"I enjoy it because it's my store," I said, distracted, trying to figure
out what Michelle was thinking. She was one step ahead of me, though.

"I have an idea," she said, and Justin turned attentively to her. "Don't
just hang out, Justin. Why don't you work here today?"

"Really?" he asked. He looked thoughtful, swirling coffee around in his
mouth. "I never had a regular job before or anything. I guess, though, you
know, it would give me something to do besides sitting around. I mean, I
guess, as long as you don't mind, Chris?"

The two of them were smiling at me, Justin casually and Michelle with this
mirthful cat that ate the canary look.

"Why would he mind, Justin?" Michelle asked, shrugging. "I mean, Chris,
you've been saying for weeks that we need extra help. Why not let Justin
pitch in a little, if he wants to?"

"I guess that makes sense," I said carefully, trying not to feel
manipulated. Justin smiled at Michelle, both of them beaming these big
stupid grins, and I wondered how long it would be before I could get her
alone.

"Why don't you go walk around the store, you know, figure out where
everything is, and I'll go get a you a nametag, ok?" Michelle said. Justin
nodded, carrying his cup into the stacks with him, and I turned to find her
smirking at me as she rummaged around behind the counter. She finally
produced a Beans and Books nametag, and began to write "Justin" on it in
black marker. "What?"

"What the hell are you doing?" I whispered, not wanting Justin to hear.

"Making him a nametag?" she asked, shrugging innocently.

"You know what I mean!" I hissed.

"OK, ok," she said, holding up her hands. "Look, Chris, you said we needed
extra help.  Would you rather he sat around all day taking up counter space
and doing nothing?  Besides, he'll probably get tired of it by lunchtime,
and I think it's kind of cute."

"You think putting Justin to work in a bookstore is kind of cute?" I asked,
shaking my head.

"No, I think the way he looks at you with those big puppy dog eyes is kind
of cute," she answered, giggling. Seeing her giggle in one of her queen of
darkness and night outfits seemed as out of place as blue eyeshadow on the
Statue of Liberty. "Justin!  I have your nametag!"

He came bouncing over, fueled by caffeine, before I could say anything
else, and scooped up his nametag out of her hand. He pinned it carefully on
his shirt, and then frowned.

"Do you think we should use my name?" he asked. "What if someone recognizes
me?"

"Even if they do, no one would believe it," Michelle said, shrugging.

"I hardly can," I said smoothly, throwing her another look. Justin seemed
completely oblivious, and went upstairs to figure out where things were
there. I turned back to Michelle, wanting to disabuse her of the notion
that Justin had a crush on me, even if it was true, but she was already
straightening out her napkins and setting the cups out.

"Shouldn't you be unlocking the doors by now?" she asked, still smirking.
"We'll have people banging on them for coffee any second."

I grudgingly got up to open the doors, and decided that maybe I would just
wait and see.  Michelle was probably right, after all. Justin probably
would get tired of this, because, as I'd said, it's not like the place was
a hotbed of excitement. As the day wore on, though, it became obvious that
Justin was enjoying himself. We couldn't let him on the register, since he
wasn't trained in using it, so he busied himself all day with helping
customers find things, and he was actually pretty good at it. I hadn't
realized before that Justin was naturally a people person, but he seemed to
charm everyone he came in contact with, and the customers loved it. Most of
our crowd during the day was older people and tourists, and the old people
loved to see a nice, clean young man who was so polite.  By lunchtime even
Michelle had to admit that he was actually good, and that her little joke
on me was perhaps misplayed.

She wasn't the only one who had underestimated him. In the back of my mind,
I had also thought that by the time noon rolled around he would be back
upstairs, watching television or playing games on my computer, but he
seemed eager to please me. Each time he helped someone and I told him he'd
done well, he beamed. Michelle was right.  Justin had a crush on me,
despite what I'd said to him last night, and he was working damned hard in
the store in an effort to make me happy. He'd also surprised Meg, who
seemed stunned to see him even if they all knew he was staying
upstairs. She eyed him pretty skeptically, but Michelle's approval carried
a good deal of weight, and Meg didn't say a word. By lunchtime, she had
given up throwing herself at him, as he seemed completely unaware of her
flirting, taking it just for friendly interest.  The four of us were around
the counter, Michelle and Meg serving soup and sandwiches while I watched
the register, when Justin's phone rang. He jumped, pulling it out, and set
it down on the counter, wringing his hands.

"Shit!" he hissed, stepping back as it chirped away. The three of us stared
at him, our eyes ticking back and forth between him and the phone.

"Justin, answer your phone," Meg said.

"I forgot to shut the ringer off when I left my mom a message this
morning," Justin said, stepping away from it again, as if the phone could
hurt him. "I can't answer it. I don't want to talk to any of them."

"We can't just let it ring," I said, picking it up to read the display.
"It's Chris. Do you want to talk to him?"

"No," Justin said, shaking his head. "No, please, I can't talk to any of
them."

"What's wrong?" Michelle asked.

"It's complicated," Justin said, turning away. The phone kept ringing as
Chris hung up on the voicemail and then called back.

"Justin's hiding from his band right now," I said, still holding the phone.
The customers were starting to glance over at us. Justin gave me an urgent
look. "He's on a little vacation from them, and he doesn't want them to
find him."

"We can't just let it ring," Michelle said. "It's annoying the customers.
Give it to me."

Before I could say anything Michelle pulled the phone out of my hands and
flipped it open. Justin stared at her, open mouthed, and Meg and I waited
to see what she would do.

"Hello," Michelle said smoothly, grinning at us. "You have reached the
Church of Universal Peace and Hope. How may I help thee? Justin who? Oh,
you mean Brother Justin. No, this is not his phone, it's our phone. Brother
Justin has joined us in the belief that possessions weigh down the spirit,
and has divested himself of his telephone. I believe he is in the atrium at
this moment, meditating on the foolishness of money. I will be sure to let
him know you called."

Michelle hung up and switched the phone off, handing it back to Justin as
Meg and I giggled. Justin stared at her in surprise and then threw his arms
around her.

"Thank you!" he squealed. "Thank you so much!"

"No hugging!" Michelle said brusquely. I noticed she wasn't doing much to
pry his arms off of her, though, and snickered as we went back to work.

Michelle left right after the dinner hour, switching out for Julie, who
accepted Justin's presence with the same blinking smile she accepted
everything with. Julie was the one of us least often thrown and least
surprised. I figured that she and Meg had the store well in hand, so Justin
and I bid them good night, and climbed the stairs to make our own late
dinner. He was still smiling and laughing, having had a great day doing
nothing, and I was glad that he was happy.

"Thanks for letting me work at the store," he said, grinning. He still had
his little nametag on, and I reached up and unpinned it. "Thanks."

I realized that he and I were face to face, very close, as I unpinned it,
and I stepped back, flushing suddenly. Justin did as well, both of us
turning away, and I went to the phone table to check my messages as he
hurried away to the kitchen.

"What do you want for dinner?" Justin asked, busying himself at the
refrigerator.

"I don't know," I answered, deciding that turning the stereo on might be a
really good idea. We had been fine, just getting along, and then suddenly
tension was just crackling between us. We'd stood face to face, and that
was it. Now all I was thinking about was Justin's eyes, and his breath on
my face as I unhooked his pin. God only knew what he was thinking of, but
it had to be something similar. He was attacking the refrigerator.  "Maybe
sandwiches? Something simple?"

"Yeah, simple," Justin answered, almost as if talking to himself. "Simple's
good. Simple.  There's vegetables here, and some lettuce. Do you want a
salad?"

"That's a great idea," I answered, opening the windows a little to let in
some air. How could the loft feel so stuffy suddenly?

I went to the cabinet and got the plates as Justin started pulling things
out of the refrigerator and handing them to me. The two of us seemed very
domestic suddenly, deciding what was going on for dinner, sharing a
table. I decided to ignore it as Justin started setting things on the
counter next to him for the salad. Lettuce, tomatoes, and a cucumber
stacked up next to him while I pulled some bread out of the bag and started
making sandwiches for us both.

"What do you want on these?" I asked, reaching for the mustard.

"Doesn't matter," he answered, pulling a knife out of the rack to slice the
vegetables up with.

"Be careful with that," I said absently, layering the bread with turkey. I
was pleased to note that I had cheese as well. Justin was fortunate, in
that I had gone shopping right before he came to visit, so I was pretty
well stocked.

"I'm not a little kid," Justin said petulantly, chopping away. He was
smiling, though. "Do we have to listen to this? Maybe something a little
less jumpy? I want to eat, not dance."

"Fine," I said, smiling, rolling my eyes at the ceiling. I walked away to
the stereo, looking through the CD's on the rack to see what else we had. I
settled on some opera, figuring I would punish him with it for daring to
assault my musical taste, and as I popped it in I heard him make a little
sound. "Justin?"

He didn't answer, and I turned to see him hunched over the counter.

"Justin?" I said again, sharply. Something about the way he was standing
gave me a shiver. He turned a little, and his face was sheet white.

"Chris?" he wheezed quietly. The knife he had been cutting the cucumber
with clattered to the floor, the blade smeared with dark red.

"Justin!" I yelped, hurrying toward him. He turned all the way, holding his
hand to his stomach, and I saw red flowers blooming on his shirt, dark
scarlet. He took a half step toward me and dropped to his knees.

***

To be continued.