A Saturday, the old fucker biting me while even in the grave, and a funeral on the itinerary, my father's, and it would be at the likely melodramatic event that I’d finally see him again.  That thought, painful as it is to admit, is the most terrifying thing running through my mind, and not even the fact that my father is dead seems to upset me as much as knowing, certainly, that I'll see Justin Taylor there.  I’ve never felt such a fury of thoughts, tinged with loneliness and bitterness, such regrets, all those memories I'd vanquished to the far recesses of my mind suddenly popping back up at me, stark and begging to come in. 

“Ready?”  My eyes watch Mikey’s hand lower a magazine on the coffee table.  I feel blazed and lit; letting the high reach me, focus on one thing at a time sonny boy. 

“Yeah.”  I nod, eyes looking past Michael's general direction.  

We leave the apartment just as a light mist of snow begins to fall.

I look at the church certain that Jack had never attended this place in his life.  Fucking hypocrites, as I walk up the stairs, I wasn’t even sure if Jack Kinney had ever even been to church after the obligations were removed from him, but then my mind recalled my own mother’s funeral and only then do I remember my father sitting in a pew beside me, silently sipping from a flask that he had kept hidden in his pocket through the entire ceremony.  

I hear sobbing moans and cracked laments all strung out at our estranged father, fucking Claire, of course.  I stop short in the entrance hallway, unsure as to move ahead.  I didn’t care for him, not for Jack Kinney, not for my now ex-step mother, or even my own goddamn sister.  They were tolerated as family, and now that dear old Jack was dead, they wouldn’t be tolerated much longer.  Except for him.  And my feelings for him were very, very unclear at the moment.  

Michael gives a light push and I open the doors and enter the chapel, automatically seeing the blond that had been haunting with the ghosts in my head today.  Beside him is another blonde, Jennifer Taylor-Kinney.  Oh, Pops had loved that and I suppose he never really understood why she had not taken his name fully.  It doesn’t matter now, and I certainly don’t give a fuck to know why.  I see Jennifer and Claire clutching at each other, the two brats that were undoubtedly my sis’ running around in circles, chasing each other through the solemn chapel.  I’m surprised at how many people are here, apparently none of them actually knowing the real Jack Kinney.  They look like Jennifer, talk in the quiet hush like the upper middle class that they are, and they're here for her.  They're seen here for her.  It makes me want to fucking puke.

I wait in the aisle for a moment, wondering how to handle the situation.  I could skip all that fucking melodrama until it was absolutely forced upon me at the wake, but my eyes stray ahead again to the blond and Michael slips past me, his eyes on the boy as well.  

“Are you gonna talk to him?”  Michael asks quietly, already taking a seat in one of the back pews that’s clear of any people.  I usher him further down and take a seat beside him.

“Not yet.” I sit back and throw my arm around Mikey’s shoulder as an adorned priest steps out onto the platform.  

“Jack Kinney was an except…” My mind trails off, completely ignoring what the man up front is saying.  My mind works silently, tracing back, back to four weeks ago when Justin Taylor had stopped by my home, unannounced might I add.  Michael had been there, munching and reading a comic he had brought with him to keep him busy while he waited on me.  I was glad that it had been Michael, I’ll always be grateful for that.

I remember him standing there, that tired worn messenger bag hanging around slouched shoulders.  He smiled at me with a black eye and a busted lip.  He’d been in a fight and he hadn’t won.  

“Care if I just crash here tonight?”  I tried to swallow but found my mouth too dry.  I nodded and stepped away from the door to let Justin enter, watched as he limped his way over to the couch and gingerly sit on the white sofa.  There was blood on his knuckles and he placed his hand on his knee to keep the red from getting on all that white.  I blinked, reverted back to many years before that, and croaked to Michael to get the first aid kit.  I tried to be calm, tried not to think that there was an eighteen-year-old kid sitting on my Italian sofa, trying not to get blood on it after he was beaten up by his stepfather, my own father.   

As Michael sprinted back to the couch I realized that my few seconds of transcendentalism was over.  It was time to face my reality.  I was suddenly glad that Michael had met him a few holidays ago when I dragged him over to my father’s house, a weak move on my part, because hell, I just didn’t want to be over there without my back-up system.  It had been the only time since Jack had remarried six years earlier that I had taken Mikey anywhere near them.  The evening of course ended with disaster as all Kinney holidays do.  There was a fight that was expected by all, with Justin storming upstairs, Jack to the liquor cabinet, and me pushing Michael out the door.  That next week I had noticed a litter of bruises around Justin’s neck when I picked him up at his rich little high school per Jennifer’s request, something came up un-expectantly, something about taking Jack to the doctor and after that I’d stopped listening.  I had quietly asked what happened and Justin just as quietly told me not to ask questions I already knew the answer to.  I guess after that, he grew on me a little.

Since my father and I had an estranged relationship, it made it hard for me to be around Justin and not have to encounter Jack. I genuinely like the boy’s company when I have it, enjoy it. So yeah, the kid was hot, honestly, one of the most beautiful fucking men I have ever laid eyes on and that is another bag of psychosis I have yet to deal with.  Justin likes me, a hell of a lot more than any stepbrother should like his older stepbrother, and I know it and I am so fucking tentative of that attraction because I feel the same pull in me, that pull to touch his skin, or to kiss him on the mouth and finally, fucking finally push my tongue inside him.  Every peck on the cheek, every fucking hug, every time I had got close enough to just fucking smell him I was insane with this ravage lust to just fucking take him, Jack and Jennifer be damned.  

Fuck, it’s so goddamn complicated because Justin is as close a thing to a brother, besides Mikey, that I have ever known and that isn’t even saying a lot.  It wasn’t like I was over at Jack’s all the fucking time, maybe one time every couple of months and then it had just been to see Justin, see his art and ask if his hand was still having trouble after he broke it. I smirk just to remember the ‘fell down the stairs’ excuse because I had applied it so often in the past.  We don’t have a brother type relationship, because, he isn’t my brother and the feelings that I have for Justin, and undoubtedly he’s having for me cannot be defined by the conventional brotherly love saying.  Also, the fact that he’s so goddamn young doesn’t help any.  Fuck, what a mess.

At that time it didn’t even fucking matter, because something much more than that was coming up on the horizon.  My inconsistent visiting all changed drastically the month Jack was informed of a fast growing cancer.  Informed that he would be dead in two months.  Jack had ignored the warning signs his body had been sending him and had only found out about the cancer when it was untreatable and unmanageable and maligned.  The good ole’ docs down at Allegheny had told him to make the best of the time he had left and to enjoy it too because fuck knows it wouldn’t be that long.  Five weeks after the doctor’s had made their dramatic statement, Justin Taylor showed up at my door.

“What the hell happened?”  For a fucking second I thought it had been Deb there.

“I got into a fight Michael, nothing serious.”  Justin smiled slightly, winced at the pain in his lip.  He lifted his hand to let Michael clean the wounds, and I moved closer to look at them, been amazed that they resembled carpet burns.  I had become an expert at how much to hide what was really hurting when my father had taken his rage out on me and from the way Justin’s good hand had stayed to his side, almost as if cradling his ribs, indicated to me that a few of them were bruised, and I had desperately hoped that none were broken. Michael slowly leaned forward, got a good look at the boy’s face, and then turned to meet my eyes.  I remember that look in his eyes, pleading me to do something beside just stand there because he sure as hell didn’t know what to do.  This wasn’t me after all.

“What’d you piss him off with this time?”  I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the chair beside the sofa.  Justin leaned back onto the couch, trying to keep his hand still while Michael wrapped the gauze around it.

“I asked him if he had nut cancer.”  Michael stopped what he was doing and looked at Justin with amusement.  I, however, was not amused.  Justin smirked a little and sat up more, giving his other hand to Mikey.  “It’s not as bad as the left but it stings like hell, maybe just some of that spray or salve or something, fuck no, don’t even touch that, I don’t think a little fucking band-aid’s gonna work.”  Michael gave him a look, but did as told, pulling him up a little bit more so that Mikey could sit on the coffee table.  Justin looked up from his hands to look at me.  

“He was drinking.”  He sighed, a sigh he had learned from his mother I was sure.  “I was over at Daph’s 'cause ya know, exams are next week and I probably should have just stayed the fuck over there, but her parents are weird about that shit.” He gave Michael a look for some mistreatment before continuing.

“And when I get in the house I can hear Mom just fucking screaming up stairs, and I went up there because hell, Jack coulda' been dead or fucking anything could be going on and I just couldn’t stand for her to scream like that.  But it’s Jack, he’s just standing there, just fucking standing there.  And he sees me, and it’s like a switch goes off in his head, ya know?”  He looked at me again, for so long, like he just couldn’t stand to see anyone who hadn’t known exactly what he had just been through and I was the closest thing he was ever going to get to that.  I looked back at Michael, looking at the two of us with those fucking innocent eyes that have never seen his uncle hit him, or his mom not love him, he’d never experienced any of that.  Michael asked quietly for Justin to stand up and raise his shirt so that he can get a look at his ribs.  Mikey had learned a lot from his teenage misadventures with me, like the proper way to bandage a sprained wrist, or if a rib was broken or bruised, or if that nose was going to have to be reset.  I helped Justin to his feet, keeping a steady hand on the small of his back.  I didn’t look down, but Mikey’s gasp was so fucking loud that it echoed in the quiet loft.  I felt Justin tense and try to take a step back.  I held him still and tilted my head to look at the damage.  Fuck, that was all I could think at the time, all I can think still.

“Justin, Christ, what the fuck happened?”  Michael was still looking at Justin’s hips and waist, his face scrunched up in concentration, tugging the teen’s pants lower.  “Justin, fuck, this is…” He looked up at me, “I think we need to go to the ER.”

“No!  Fuck no, it’s fine, I’m fucking fine, all right?  Just let me-” He jerked out of Michael’s grasp and moved to the other side, away from the both of us.  “I told you, Jack–” I stopped him temporarily, moving toward him slowly, trapping him between the coffee table, the chair, and Mikey and me.  Sneaky, but it’s effective. 

“That’s not fine, some of those marks – fuck Justin, they’re fucking weeks old!”  I was yelling and I couldn’t fucking help it because it just made me sick to think that my father was doing this to this, fucking kid, just this beautiful stupid kid that never did a fucking thing to Jack Kinney in his life.  “And they aren’t from getting the shit kicked out of you on a daily basis.”  I didn’t want to think what those were from.  Those fresh finger shaped bruises sprouting up over burn marks months, years old, and scratches, like someone had been cutting him with a dull knife all along the smooth skin of his hips and waist, and I wondered, horribly, if they went down lower.  

“Quit fucking yelling at me, okay?”  He grabbed his shirt and covered the expanse of skin he had mistakenly showed us.  I think now in the chapel, had Justin even remembered that they were there, were they that normal to him?  Or was it intentional, him showing it to us, just so that someone else knew and he finally wasn’t alone in knowing.  I wondered if he was happy if the secret at last came out.  As far as I knew, Justin didn’t really have any close friends, there wasn’t a Mikey for him to come running to which explains why he showed up at his half-known, stepbrother’s loft on the sketchy side of town.  He had looked between the two of us his eyes widening by the second.  

“I don’t want to talk about it okay, just-” I was that second, without him even saying anything I knew, like I knew my fucking name or my eye color.  I knew it like it was intrinsic in me to know it.  I couldn’t help myself from looking away from him and I noticed out of the corner of my eye he stood up a little straighter immediately.

“Don’t you fucking dare!  You don’t know shit, ya hear me?  You don’t know a goddamn fucking thing!”  He got my attention with that and if I was yelling before he was fucking screaming then.  Michael tried to move toward him, to try to just, fucking comfort him but Justin just slinked away, shaking with the force of something that had been bottled inside him for too long.  “You don’t know, all right, you’ll never know.”  He whispered, a tear sliding down his cheek and fuck, I just felt all that pain and unhappiness that was radiating off him from living with Jack for six years.

“We’ll help you, Justin.” Mikey looked between the two of us, his eyes searching hopelessly for some sign in the either of us that the suggestion would make everything right.  

He turned to Justin again with hope in his voice, “So you won’t have to go back there, fucking ever again, ok?  My ma’ll let you stay with her, she’s great, and Vic too, right Brian?”  I was so fucking angry, no, it wasn’t going to be all right, not for a long, long time.  Justin just looked at Michael and smiled, more of those damn tears spilling down his cheek.  He sunk to the couch, laughing and sobbing and shaking his fucking head at, I didn’t know, being caught, or putting himself in the situation, or Mikey’s empty promises.  

He pulled his knees up to his chest and winced at the pain in his ribs.  For one endless moment after the yelling and screaming but before he slipped down I was irrationally angry with him.  Fucking livid at him for bursting my little bubble and completely, fucking, completely proving that my father was this fucking monster. His blood was in me, didn’t Justin understand that I didn’t want to fucking know that, know that I, fuck, that I was maybe, slightly, never-in-a-fucking-million-years capable of doing that to someone.

“He’s dying and I’ve never been so fucking happy in my entire life.”  Welcome to the club, kid.  Membership included with the first beating you get from Jack fucking Kinney.  “We’re all supposed to be sad, and insipid Claire and her spawns around all the time, crying her stupid damn eyes out, and I hate her and I hate him – and my own fucking mother,” He stopped for a minute, and his eyes lost that fucking light and they sneak off, taking his mind with them, and his next words are barely loud enough.  “And she knew, she fucking knew what was going on in her own goddamn house.  How can a parent, god how can anyone not help someone when they’re fucking terrified and crying and trying to shout but his hand on my mouth, and I thought I was dying…” He stopped and let a sob come through and then I fell down with him, close enough to have touched his rocking body.  

“A fucking kid who didn’t know anything and, and I was so fucking scared, so scared that I couldn’t even be around him without flinching and I’d pray that he’d get so fucking drunk that he’d choke on his own damn vomit.”  His face became this utter look of fury.  “I hope he dies screaming.”  His eyes clenched shut and I knew that there were memories in his head that were drowning him.  He fucking laughed for a moment, a stark contrast between his earlier monologues, and it scared the fuck out of Mikey and me.  

“It doesn’t matter, that’s what he said, it didn’t fucking matter cause he was fucking dying anyway and he was going to hell whether or not and I hope she burns with him.”  He laughed again and didn’t even bother to hide the wince when the sobs shook his small body.  I wanted to touch him, to just fucking touch him and make him better but I couldn’t because I could deal with the beatings and the words but this, this fucking never happened to me, never even fucking thought it would.  I remembered the marks on his body and how fucking close he had been to that fucking crazy gleam in Jack’s eye, that live hidden wire in Jack that I had never even touched.  And how much I just wanted to erase every bad and awful thing my fucking father ever did to him.  

For a long time after that it was silent, until Justin looked at me and then I knew with that look, that he was alright with me, that he didn’t fucking hate me for not having to go through all that shit or that Jack was my dad because fuck I thought he would, just this insane thought bouncing around, that he’d blame me and I just couldn’t handle that of him ever thinking of blaming me. 

I did the only thing I could think of that night, I got him fucked up out of his mind.  It seems like none of it fucking matters now, sitting in this church, watching them mourn, feels like Jack Kinney was right all along.