Was it seventy? Or eighty feet down?

How did everything get so fucked up.

Brian leaned over the bridge rail and gazed at mottled late-day light on the murky river below. The hypnotic effect only served to disassociate the present and turn memories into fresh wounds.

It started two weeks ago.

Brian could feel something tied to his heart slowly ripping itself away. How to stop it. Should he. Layered in conflict, his intellect scrambled to re-erect his damaged walls. His mouth rallied. His stance supported. He willed up anger to hide the hurt, and he had himself soooo convinced that he was right.

Until the moment he held Justin, pressed his cheek to him and whispered, “Then what the fuck are you still doing here?”

Then he fell apart a little. Where Justin couldn’t see. Possibly heard. But even that much, Brian kept short of being really heard.

Justin ran his hand softly over Brian’s shoulder. He had heard an almost tender change in tone. But what did it mean.

“Would you care if I wasn’t?”

Still hemorrhaging through his fortress, Brian pulled back.

“It’s your call, where you wanna be. You decide.”

He caressed Justin’s face slowly, fingertips straining to stay. Then his hand slipped free, and when Justin hadn’t answered by that time, he knew it was over. Brian walked like a returning soldier from some harsh war, to the chair at his desk. He collapsed facing away and leaned his throbbing head on a raised arm, closed his eyes and fought for safety behind the little left of his walls.

How did everything get so fucked up? – Justin thought as he dragged himself in a daze to the bedroom and sat hard onto the bed, mounted his elbows on his knees and sank his head into his hands. After Brian told him to decide, he knew his answer. And that choice didn’t want him.

On the last night they’d slept with bodies touching, Brian replayed all the reasons why it was best to let Justin go. Justin stayed numbly silent, having run out of reasons to stay.

Gone were the automatic kisses, light banter, pleasure of close proximity. The few times their paths crossed became high-wire balancing acts. They talked civil, held their own, moved on. Brian knew Justin was still fucking with Ethan. Justin was convinced Brian could give a shit anyway.

By the end of the line, they had crusted so much contempt over their true feelings, it was almost too easy to say good-bye.

In the dim light of one living room lamp, Justin had entered the loft for the last of his things, not expecting Brian to be there. Then he saw Brian, a shadow in the shadows, leaning cross-armed against the refrigerator.

Justin wouldn’t let Brian’s presence intimidate him. He walked right in. Saw his things at the foot of the bed and piled like a bonfire waiting for a match.

“Thanks for helping me pack.”

“No trouble at all.”

Justin scanned for a carrier, grabbed the duvet off the bed, hurled it to the floor and threw his things into it.

Brian pushed off the fridge, leaned on the counter.

“Leave the duvet.”

“Small price for all the times I let you fuck me.”

“We’re keeping tabs now?”

“There is no more we.”

“And that’s MY fault?”

Justin faltered, froze, then recollected himself before resuming his work, keenly aware that Brian was slowly moving toward him.

Brian stopped at the far side of the duvet, stepped a bare foot onto the hem.

“Justin, look at me.”

Justin stopped, slowly lifted his head, massed his defiance so he might look at Brian without breaking down.

Brian shielded with an emotionless expression.

“Do you believe this is what I wanted?”

“Doesn’t matter what I believe. You already answered that.” Justin broke contact, pulled at the duvet as he continued his wrap job. God, don’t let him come any closer. Or I might never make it out of here. Can’t do this anymore. Can’t.

Because I won’t lie to you? Fuck it. Go with my goddamn blessing then. Brian lifted his foot and watched the duvet slide away, saddened yet pleased that Justin, whether consciously or not, needed to keep that connection.

Justin used his sweat pants to secure his pack, looped his arms through the bindings and jerked the roll onto his shoulders like a hiker’s backpack. He stepped away leaving only his loft key on the floor.

Brian pulled the door wide open to afford the greatest distance.

As Justin passed through the doorway for the last time, he threw a quick side-glance. Their eyes met. In that instant, the walls almost fell. But the stubbornness and hurt ran too much interference to maintain that touch. The next instant, they were moving apart. There were no “later’s” .

But there were also no “good-byes” .

That was seven days ago.

Still on the bridge, Brian looked out toward the three-river convergence known as Pittsburgh’s Golden Triangle. He thought of all the little “golden triangles” he’d discovered on Justin and smiled to himself.

Then the loss hit him again and he fished through his pocket for a cigarette. He’d been trying to quit and kept a half pack just to prove he could resist the temptation. He clamped the cigarette between his lips, willed up enough control to remove it and fling it aside. If he could do that, he could wipe Justin out of his mind.

“Hey, Sugar. You dropped this,” came a woman’s silky voice.

Brian glanced over his shoulder. She was a good-looking lady with a high-gear smile, holding the cig out to him. Either a working girl or a cruising cop. Brian didn’t see any back-up car lurking.

“Keep it,” he smiled.

“Light my fire?” she slid the cigarette between her lips, leaned on the rail so their arms touched.

Brain drew back slowly. “We’re not each other’s type.”

“Don’t jump. He isn’t worth it.”

Brain pulled out his lighter, flamed it and let her light that cigarette. “I wasn’t planning on jumping. And yeah, he was.”

Why the fuck did he say that? To a stranger. Not the one who needed to hear it. Brian left her softly blowing smoke into the light breeze. He walked the downward half of the bridge to a city skyline of window lights against the evening darkness. Plan: he’d grab a bite to eat – not at the Liberty Diner, then hit a night spot – not Woody’s or Babylon.

There was one place. It had been awhile.

One arm wrapped around a small portfolio,Justin started up the bridge sidewalk. He’d felt so heavy the last couple days, even a short jaunt would leave him huffing for a breath. He sighed and trudged along the bridge sidewalk leading out of the city.

Had it been only seven days ago…

Justin climbed the second landing to Ethan’s only to be cut off by a gruff old man leaning from a doorway.

“Hey. You live with that violin kid?” He pointed up toward Mozart’s 5^th, floating through the hall on the next landing.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Justin stopped and smiled.

“Good for a goddamn headache. You tell him to tone it down, or I’ll get the landlord to show his and your sorry ass what’s good.”

The door slammed so fast, Justin blinked hard. He took a second to digest the moment, then hurried up the last few steps.

When Justin entered, Ethan stopped playing and smiled. “What happened to you?”

“Don’t stop for me,” Justin moved close and briefly kissed his lover. “I got stuck in line at the laminator. Did you eat yet?” Justin set down his portfolio, headed into the kitchen.

“Hadn’t thought about it till now. But I’ll love anything you throw together.”

They exchanged a smile. In seconds, Ethan and his violin were back into their trance. Justin peered into a refrigerator full of scraps, knit his brows, pursed his lips and summoned every ounce of his creativity.

That night, Justin lay awake on his side, eyes toward the street lamp-lit window as he tried to keep from bumping into his bedmate. Ethan was a hot sleeper, preferring to stretch out under just a sheet and without the annoyance of additional body heat. He’d mentioned that when Justin clung too close.

When their new love was a hot roll and tumble, it seemed logical to think that staying together for the night would intensify their closeness. Now it seemed that their closeness was hottest only when it was brief. Bewildered by the feeling of something missing, Justin glanced at Ethan before carefully leaving their bed.

He stood naked beside the window, his alabaster skin frosted in bluish light as he searched the street below for – what? He shivered, gripped his arms and looked to a dark corner of the room. Thought a moment about Brian’s half-smile, the last one, the one that let him go without so much as a wave.

Quietly Justin moved to the corner, gathered the duvet, carried it to the couch. There he spread it out, bedded down into it and buried himself in its folds. Just for a little while. Until the chill passed.

That was Day One in paradise.

Now, a week later, Justin walked the last half of the bridge and wondered what to make for dinner tonight, after he emptied a sink-load of dishes. Ethan would probably practice until the guy downstairs blew a gasket again. Justin would wash the dinner dishes, then try to finish his class assignment.

At least Ethan loved him.

Brian and Justin “pass” each other from across a short span of river – Brian on the Sixth Street Bridge, Justin on the Seventh Street Bridge.

Song: “Illuminate” by Orbital/David Gray

[1]-[2]-[3]-[4]-[5]-[6]-[7]-[8]-[9]-[10]