Rebound

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 woke up before Justin, and when my eyes opened I realized that he was hugging his pillow, not me. I thought about all the mornings so far that I'd mentally complained, extricating myself from his spiderlike octopus grip, and now, suddenly, he wasn't holding me. Whatever was wrong with him, whyever he didn't want me to touch him last night, it was definitely serious. I sat up, drawing my knees up to my chest, and watched him for a while, thinking about how cold and empty I felt inside. His strong arms with their dark tattoos and lacy webbing of dark amber hair were wrapped around a pillow, and his face was tense. I could hear him murmuring, like he usually did, inarticulate words and noises, but I couldn't pick anything out that gave me any clues. With no answers coming from him, at least not while he was asleep, I slid out of bed and into the shower.

The honest truth was that I felt like crap. I'd barely slept last night, not realizing how worried I'd actually been. All I'd dreamed about all night was Matt, about the day he'd left the store and not come back, reliving it over and over, and when I woke up in the dark there was a horribly familiar feeling. The night that Matthew had died I hadn't been able to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes the only thing I could think about was how much I missed him, and how alone I was. All I'd known was that if I reached across the bed I wouldn't find anything. The sheets would be empty and the mattress would be cold, and that was the way I'd felt last night. Justin, for whatever reason, had cut himself off from me completely, not even noticing when I woke up in the middle of the night so many times last night, shaking, trying to breathe, fighting off tears.

Or, even worse, he might have realized it and done nothing.

He might have known that I was hurting that badly, and just laid there and pretended to be asleep.

I couldn't go on like this. I wouldn't be able to live like this. This was exactly what I was afraid of feeling all along. This was why I was afraid to open up to Justin, to let him in. I hadn't been able to admit to him for so long that I loved him, hadn't been able to say it out loud, because I was afraid of feeling this. I was afraid of the crushing sense of loss, of defeat, of being alone when things were over. I was afraid of it because I'd felt it before, and it had almost destroyed me. I didn't know if I could go through that again, didn't know if I could be that strong again, especially not here. The last time, I had my friends, my bookstore family, but here I had no one. I was a guest here, apparently in more ways than one, as I seemed to be more of a guest in Justin's life and heart than someone who actually belonged and was welcome there.

I tried to shake it off. After all, I didn't even know if it was me Justin was upset with, or if he was just hurting. I didn't know if him pulling away from me last night was the same as him pulling away from me forever, and I sure as hell didn't know if we were over. It was stupid to think that now, stupid to jump to conclusions and let my emotions spiral out of control before I knew anything. It was ok to be scared, but I didn't have to let it rule me, and I didn't have to let it trick me into feeling things I didn't need to and making decisions and assumptions that I shouldn't. I turned off the shower and got dressed quietly, watching Justin the entire time for any signs that he was stirring, but he just continued sleeping, so I headed down to the kitchen.

Passing JC's bedroom door, I saw that it was still standing partially open, the way it had been last night. He and Justin didn't really close their doors, ever, unless they were in their rooms doing something, and I noticed as I walked down the hall that his bed was still neatly made with everything in place. As far as I could tell, nothing had been disturbed, and I guessed that he hadn't come home last night. I confirmed that when I walked into the kitchen, and discovered it empty. The whole house was quiet, the coffeemaker wasn't turned on, and nothing had changed since I'd made my dinner last night and left the dishes in the sink. I washed my plate up quickly as I waited for the coffee to brew, and thought about how strange it felt to be in the kitchen alone. Sure, I'd been alone in here yesterday, but the boys had left notes. This was the first time since Justin and I had moved in that there wasn't any sense of people having been here, any sign that JC had already breezed through making eggs or waffles or something.

There wasn't any sign that Justin had eaten, either, which meant he must have gotten himself some food while he was driving around last night, while he was supposed to be eating dinner with me. I'd been almost panicking, leaving him messages and flipping back and forth through the news channels, and he'd been driving around doing what, exactly? Not answering the phone, unless he was talking on it to someone else. Eating, driving, and thinking about whatever it was that he couldn't share with me. Something must have happened at the studio yesterday, and I began to spin out scenarios in my mind as I made some toast and sipped my coffee, not really having the appetite for anything larger. I thought about trying my hand at some of JC's famous cheese eggs, but it just felt so wrong not having him in the kitchen that I didn't want to go anywhere near the stove. I know it sounded odd, but in my head, mixed in with everything else, it made a weird kind of sense.

The two of them must have had a fight, and it was probably about whatever they'd been working on. I'd seen his response to being criticized by the other guys, his tantrum and whining and pouting, and could only imagine what it would be like if JC criticized what he was doing, too. Why else would they have left separately, unless they weren't speaking to each other? When we had moved in, and all along since then, JC had been adamant that this was Justin's home, and he wouldn't push him out of it. I was willing to bet that Justin, with his self centered turns, in full out prima donna tantrum in the studio, wouldn't extend JC the same courtesy. It wasn't a very kind thought to have about my own boyfriend, but as much as I loved him I had to be honest. Justin was a very big fan of getting his own way, just like Chris and Joey had both warned me, and he didn't handle it very well when that didn't happen. He must have argued with JC and said something that made him leave.

That was the only scenario that made sense, and the more that I thought about it the more that I figured that JC, hurt and upset, would probably go to Chris's house. He was closer to Chris, and they had that bond he'd told me about. Joey was out of town, and I knew that JC wouldn't go to Lance if he was hurting about something, not if it was something to do with Justin. I hoped that JC would go to Chris's, anyway, because the alternative was too disturbing. I didn't want to think about Kevin's wife still being out of town, and JC maybe going there. He seemed to think, at least based on what I'd overheard in their private conversations, that Kevin would offer him some kind of comfort, although he also seemed to know and grasp that it wasn't true. I didn't know about his state of mind right now, though. Whatever happened between JC and Justin must have been catastrophic for Justin to be like this, so I could only imagine and worry about what he would do, and whether he would go to Kevin because he felt like he had nowhere else to turn to.

I was so worried about him that I tried his phone again, but again it rang and rang with no answer, and again I didn't leave a voicemail. I was concerned about him, and just wanted to make sure he was ok, but I didn't want to put myself in the middle of the fight without knowing what it was over and why Justin was taking it so hard.

Justin still hadn't come downstairs when I finished breakfast, and I thought about going upstairs to see if he was awake yet. I decided against it, figuring that I would let him come to me, since he'd made it clear that he wanted space. I went to the music room and tried to read my book, but I couldn't concentrate on it, and ended up just flipping through magazines. Eventually I heard him moving around in the kitchen, and he must have known I had been there since the coffee was brewed, but he didn't come looking for me, or page me on the intercom. After waiting and letting my animosity and worry start to build again I decided that I needed to go for a refill, and when I walked into the kitchen Justin barely acknowledged me with a nod of his head as he loaded his cereal bowl into the dishwasher. He was completely showered and dressed already, and his car keys jingled in his pocket.

"Good morning," I said, standing by the coffee machine.

"Morning," he mumbled, not meeting my eyes. He started to walk past me, head down, hands in his pockets, giving me a wide berth as if he thought I'd try to hug him or touch him again. He was walking toward the garage.

"Justin?" I asked, shaking inside but trying to keep it out of my voice.

"I'm going out for a while," he said, turning around but still not looking at me. He was staring toward the floor, and I couldn't even try to see his eyes because of the baseball cap on his head.

"Justin, what's going on?" I asked, my voice neutral and filled with concern. "What happened yesterday? What can I do to help you? Please, just tell me."

"Nothing," he answered, shaking his head. I saw that he was starting to tense up, his shoulders rising a little. "I don't want to talk about it."

He turned, but I couldn't let him go with just that. I had to let him know that I was here for him, that whatever was wrong it would be ok and we would get through it.

"Justin," I began again, stepping toward him. His head snapped up, his eyes flashing and his mouth twisted downward.

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" he snapped, spittle flying. I was so startled, stepping back, that I dropped my coffee cup, and it exploded on the floor between us. I'd forgotten Justin's quick temper, and my hands were shaking as I turned and began pulling paper towels off of the roll. When Justin spoke again, his voice was softer, and I wondered if he regretted yelling at me, the way he was always sorry afterward when he did something to hurt me. I remembered JC's story, too, and wondered if Kevin had said he was sorry in the beginning, but Justin wasn't like that, was he? He would never treat me like that, would he? "Chris."

"No, you're right," I said, dropping to my knees, not looking at him. I began to blot up the coffee with a huge wad of paper towels. "If you don't want to talk about whatever's bothering you, I shouldn't have asked. I should have just minded my own business and not tried to find out how to help. Just because I love you and I care about you doesn't mean you should turn to me if something's wrong, especially when you made it clear last night that you don't want me anywhere near you."

I said it in a flat, neutral voice, trying not to sound accusatory or to let him know how hurt I was, but I don't know if I managed to keep all of that out.

"Chris, I just," he began, and then his voice stumbled to a stop. I looked up at him, waiting, seeing the struggle on his face, but then he sighed and looked away. Our eyes had only met for a second, but it was long enough for me to see that something was different there. I may not know what or why, but something had changed in Justin's feelings for me. "Never mind."

Never mind. Yeah, that was a great answer. That told me a hell of a lot. Thanks, Justin. I'll just continue pouring my heart out on the floor while I clean up the coffee and the damn broken mug, since you obviously have no intention of helping or explaining.

"I'm going out," he said again, and I couldn't bite back the words this time.

"Do I even get to know where?" I snapped, remembering everything I'd felt last night. "Or do I just get to sit here and worry, not knowing where you are or when you're coming back?"

"I'm going to my mother's," he answered quietly. "I need to see my mom."

"Your mom?" I blurted, the words just tumbling out now. Leave it to me to know exactly how to make a bad situation worse. "You won't talk to me, but you're going to go talk to your mother?"

"Why do you have such a problem with my mother?" Justin snapped, his face reddening again, and I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Me?" I demanded, pointing. "Justin, you're the one who bitches about her! You're the one who cries almost every single time you talk to her, so don't go throwing it back on me like I'm the one who has the problem here."

"I don't have to explain this," he said, stepping away. He was sighing and shaking his head, and he turned and started walking down the hall again. "I don't want to talk about this, I don't want to argue with you, and I don't want to take you with me, ok? I just want to go talk to my mom."

I watched him go, thinking about how often he handled his problems by walking away from them. As scared as I was of the answer, there was one question left that I had to ask.

"Justin," I called, and he kept walking. I said it louder, stepping into the kitchen doorway, my voice booming down the hall. "Justin!"

He stopped, but didn't turn around, and I almost choked on the words.

"Do you want me to be here when you get back?"

His answer, when it came after a few seconds, was soft, and I could hear the pain in his voice, too.

"I don't know."

He walked into the garage as I slid down the kitchen doorway to the floor, feeling hot tears gush down my face. I don't know how long I stayed there, how many minutes I sat on the floor with my knees folded up and my head resting on my arms, because the time just seemed to stretch out. All I could think was that Justin didn't want me anymore, didn't love me and didn't want to be with me, and I didn't even know why. More than that, I also didn't think it would hurt this much. I loved Justin, but I'd been holding myself in reserve the entire time, too, trying to keep myself from feeling too much. Apparently I'd felt more than I thought, because right now I felt like Justin had ripped my chest open with his bare hands and then walked away.

Finally wiping off my eyes, I stumbled up the stairs and went through my bag, digging out the number I'd swore I wouldn't call even if I was dying.

"Hello?" he sounded wary, and I realized he probably didn't have my number programmed into his phone. Why would he?

"Chris," I began, my voice weaker than I meant it to sound. I tried again. "Chris, it's Chris V."

"What the fuck do you want?" he snapped. Even if he sounded angry his voice was low, and I heard a door close somewhere behind him.

"Chris, I was wondering if you knew where JC was," I began. Even if Justin had decided things were over, I had to know why. I had to understand what was wrong, for whatever tiny bit of comfort that might give me. "I really need to talk to him."

"I don't think he needs to talk to you," Chris said harshly. "Maybe you should leave him alone. He wouldn't even have any of these problems if it wasn't for you."

"Chris, I don't want to hurt him," I began, and he cut me off, his voice sharp with anger.

"I give a fuck what you want!" he snapped. He took a deep breath, but when he spoke he didn't sound any less upset. "Leave him alone, Chris. Stop fucking with his head, and stop fucking up his life."

How was I fucking up JC's life? I hadn't done anything to him except try to help him, and he'd thanked me for it.

"Chris, I just want to talk to him," I repeated. "I'm worried about him."

"You're worried about him?" Chris demanded. "Maybe you should have worried a little harder! Maybe you should have been worried when he opened his house to you and your boyfriend threw him out on his ass!"

"What?" I asked, stunned. I was right. Justin had told JC to leave, and hadn't even thought to mention it to me.

"Leave JC alone," Chris repeated, and hung up on me.

Leave JC alone? The hell I will. JC was the key to whatever was going on here. He knew what Justin was thinking, and it would be a cold day in hell before I let Chris Kirkpatrick tell me who I was and wasn't allowed to talk to. I dialed JC's phone again, realizing that he mustn't know who the calls were coming from because he didn't have my number, either. I hadn't left any messages, and if he looked at the skipped calls it wouldn't tell him anything. No matter what had gone on between him and Justin, I had a feeling that JC would still talk to me.

"JC, it's Chris," I began, my voice halting. What could I say? I couldn't come right out and demand to know what was wrong, but at the same time, JC and I had been honest with each other so far. "I know that you and Justin had a fight. I don't know what's wrong, or what it was about but I'm worried about him, and I'm worried about you, too. I think you're at Chris's, but he wouldn't tell me. I just, I don't know. I tried calling you before, a couple times, but I figure you didn't know it was me, or didn't know my number. I hope that's all it is."

I couldn't be sure, because neither Justin nor Chris had given me any idea of what exactly was wrong.

"If it's not, I wish you'd tell me what I've done wrong," I said quickly, not wanting to think that anyone would be mad at me for something I didn't even realize I'd done. "I don't know if I'll be here for much longer, and I just, I guess I wanted to check on you, and let you know that I might be going. JC, please just call me and let me know you're ok, or please come home."

I spent a large part of the rest of the day pacing the house and packing my stuff. I kept telling myself that I wasn't sure that I was really leaving, that I couldn't just go without knowing what was wrong or why things between Justin and I had shattered so suddenly. I kept telling myself that I was just moving into the room across the hall, that I would give Justin his space for a day or two and then he would come back, his eyes big and full of tears and regret, and explain everything to me in some way that would make it feel better, some way that would make it not hurt. As many times as I told myself that, though, as I carefully unloaded each of the drawers I had moved into, I couldn't shake off the feeling as I laid my clothes in my suitcases that the next time I took them out would be in Boston, and that I wouldn't unpack them in this house again.

I thought about the sense I'd had the whole time we'd been here, almost from the second the plane landed, of Justin plugging me into some sort of mythic boyfriend slot, deciding exactly what role I would play and where I would fit in his life. I guess it was just as easy to unplug me from that slot, to decide that I just wasn't working out and let me go like a gardener or a maid or someone else who used the side door, someone else who wasn't part of the group and wasn't part of his life and really shouldn't be noticed by anyone important. Maybe I hadn't meant anything to him at all. Maybe he didn't love me as much as he said he did if it was this easy for him to just shove me aside and run away to his mother.

I tried to tell myself that I was wrong. I tried to remind myself of the way things had been in the beginning, the night I'd told him about Matt and he'd taken me home, making sure I was ok. I remembered the first time he'd kissed me, quick and impulsive while we were making dinner, how shy and embarrassed he'd been to do it. I tried to smile again thinking about the day when he'd hugged everyone in the store because I wouldn't let him hug me, and I remembered the night he'd cut his hand and how hard he'd tried to take my pain away, to keep me from feeling hurt and alone. I thought about him throwing himself against all my walls, pushing through my defenses, lowering his own at the same time. He couldn't be faking that, couldn't lie and bluff his way through feeling something for me, feeling like that.

But if he loved me, why wasn't it enough? What was I doing wrong? What hadn't I given him? What could I do for him that was better than what I was doing now?

And in thinking that was I falling back into the trap JC had fallen into with Kevin? Was that the moral of JC's story?

I was confused. I needed to talk to Justin, but I didn't want to do it over the phone. I didn't know where his mother lived, so I had no choice but to curl up on the couch and wait for him to come home, unless I wanted to call a cab and leave for the airport now. Since I couldn't concentrate on anything, I just sat and turned every minute of our relationship over and over in my head, falling deeper and deeper into my hole, trying to figure out where I'd done something wrong or hadn't done enough. I was also trying to figure out where Justin had failed me, as well. The blame couldn't be all mine, and the longer I sat alone, left behind by him, the more I managed to think of all those little things he'd done all along to make me feel diminished.

It got dark outside, and I hadn't eaten, but I couldn't think about it. I tried to, but when I opened the refrigerator and actually looked at the food, my whole stomach clenched so hard that I almost doubled over. I looked at the bottles on the bottom shelf, Justin's beer that he shouldn't even have at his age and JC's bottles of Smirnoff Ice, but those weren't the answer, either. I walked back from the kitchen to the music room, trying to find the smell of Justin on the couches, to catch a sense of him somewhere in this room, the most personal one in the house besides his bedroom. There was nothing there, nothing that healed the hole in me, the empty spot in my chest, and I walked down the hall to the studio, but there was nothing there, either. JC's immaculate hand at work again, no doubt. I could have gone upstairs, laid on the bed, put my head on Justin's pillow, but I didn't want him to find me like that.

Instead he found me on the couch, or, more accurately, he saw me there on his way through the house. I heard the garage door open, and heard the sound of feet in the hallway, walking toward the stairs. I looked up hopefully, wondering if it was JC but praying it was Justin, and when he went by, I almost called out to him. The coldly appraising way he looked at me froze the words in my throat. Justin's face was closed, completely stone, and his eyes darted over me like he was looking at something he'd found stuck to his shoe. For a second something else flickered across his face, and he looked like he would speak. His lip trembled, his eyes watered, but then he turned away and stomped up the stairs, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

I burst into tears again. There wasn't anything else I could do, and my brain just shut down. I couldn't think, I couldn't chase after him, I couldn't even speak. All I could do was sit in the gathering darkness and feel things inside me slipping and breaking and spiraling away. I had my knees drawn up again, my face buried in my hands, when I felt a hand gently settle onto my shoulder. I looked up, hoping it was Justin, praying that it would be him come to tell me that this was all some kind of mistake and that he hadn't meant any of it, but it wasn't Justin. It was JC, and he pulled me against his chest, rubbing my back as I sobbed against him.

"Chris?" he asked, sitting next to me. "Chris, what's wrong?"

I couldn't speak. I tried to, but I couldn't get around the words. I couldn't even explain to him what was wrong, because I didn't know.

"I'm sorry I didn't return your calls," JC said, his voice almost a whisper. Did he think that was why I was upset? "You were right. I didn't know it was you. And I'm sorry Chris yelled at you. I asked him, after I got your message, if you called, and he told me what he said. I wasn't going to come tonight, but you sounded so upset, and I was worried about you. I'm sorry, Chris. I thought Justin would have told you what happened, but he hasn't told you anything, has he?"

"No," I answered, looking up.

JC's blue green eyes stared back at me, all that depth contrasting with all the flatness I'd just seen in Justin's. JC's face was solemn, the way it usually was, but I could see that he was also upset. That little line had appeared between his eyebrows again, and his narrow eyes somehow managed to look a little sad. He reached over and pulled some tissues out of the box, not looking, and I realized that he must know where it was by feel from the other things he and Justin must have used the tissues for. Thinking about that sent a fresh wave of anguish through me, tears springing onto my cheeks again. On the one hand, I felt mildly absurd, crying because I wasn't going to have sex with Justin again, but on the other hand I couldn't stop, and JC's lips pursed as he blotted under my eyes carefully.

"You're hurting so much," he said softly. "I'm sorry, Chris. I'm so sorry."

"Why won't he talk to me?" I asked. JC knew him. He had to know something I didn't, some secret to the way Justin's mind worked that would make me understand this. "Why won't he tell me what's wrong?"

"Maybe he can't," JC suggested. "Maybe he's tried to, maybe he wants to, and he just can't find the words."

"He could tell his mother," I said, shaking my head. "He can talk to her, but he can't talk to me?"

JC shook his head and looked away for a second.

"You know him," JC said finally. "You know how he is. As mature as he can be sometimes, at other times Justin is a scared kid, and sometimes when you're scared you want you mother. Sometimes when you're upset about something, that's the only place you can go."

"But I don't even know what's wrong!" I said, shaking my head. "I don't know what I did, and I don't know how to fix it. I feel like I don't know anything."

"Maybe it wasn't you who did anything, Chris," JC said softly, looking away again.

"Did he really tell you to leave?" I asked. JC nodded, still looking away. "Why? What happened?"

JC turned to look at me, and his face was gravely serious. I could see that he was in pain again, and I wanted to reach out to him, wanted to comfort him the way he had just comforted me. I rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly, but that seemed to cause him more pain.

"It's not really my place to say," he answered, his voice so low that I had to lean in to hear him. "You need to hear that from Justin."

"When?" I asked, feeling my eyes tear up again. "When am I supposed to hear it from him? He won't even talk to me! He won't tell me what's wrong. He won't even look at me. I love him, and he's tearing me apart, and I don't even know why."

I started crying again, against my will, wishing I could be stronger, but I just couldn't help it. JC reached out for me again, pulling me toward him, wanting to give me a shoulder to cry on, and I leaned in, and somehow I ended up kissing JC. It didn't happen all at once, not like he pulled my mouth right up to his. My lips were near his, my cheek sliding against his own, his chin with its little strip of beard scraping mine, and then I was kissing him.

This was why I didn't feel comfortable here. This was why I didn't like the thought of Justin and JC spending so much time together, and why I couldn't help thinking that JC was perfect. He wasn't just attractive. He was attractive to me. I'd been hiding it from myself, burying it from the minute I met him, but there had been too many times that I'd looked at his long fingers, or his many layered eyes. There had been too many times that I'd listened to his voice or watched the way he moved, and even now all I could think was how strong he was and how soft his mouth was, and how different he was from Justin.

Justin.

My boyfriend.

I pulled away, my face flushing, and saw that JC was blushing as well. Neither of us seemed to know what to say, but he had kissed me back. I hadn't imagined that.

"JC, I can't do this to Justin," I said finally, standing.

"Neither can I," he said. "I can't do this to him or to you. I should go."

I wanted to tell him not to, but he was right. He should go. I loved Justin too much to hurt him with JC, to be the same person to him that JC had been, and JC loved Justin too much to ruin his relationship again. Neither on of us had to say it because we understood each other, and respected each other. For just a second, the barest fraction of time, I wished that I had met JC first, that he had been the one to get through to me, but then I realized that I loved Justin. I might care about JC, and I might find him attractive, but I didn't love him. I might someday, but not now.

"I have to go talk to Justin," I said, smoothing back my hair. "I have to go find out what's going on with he and I, and where we stand, and I have to tell him about this, too."

"Even if it hurts him?" JC asked, frowning.

"Even if it hurts him," I answered, nodding. "I care about him too much to lie to him, the same way you did."

"Chris, I'm sorry," JC said, looking down again.

"Me, too," I answered truthfully. I left him in the music room. He knew his way out.

I walked upstairs, not bothering to be quiet, and opened the bedroom door, not bothering to knock. I'd had enough of Justin's way. We needed to talk, and it needed to be now. I paused as I opened the door, surprised to see him curled up on the bed, his face red as well. He was hurting just as much as I was, and it needed to stop. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw me, and he started to talk, but I cut him off.

"Justin, baby," I began, sitting on the bed. "We need to talk. We can't run away from this anymore."

"Chris, wait," Justin began, sitting up.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "We can't wait anymore. We need to talk about JC."

To my surprise, Justin's face began to tighten, pain rippling over his features.

"Oh, God, Chris, I'm sorry," Justin squeaked. "I didn't mean to."

Didn't mean to what?

To be continued.