Chapter Twenty-seven
Jesse sat tucked in a corner of the couch in the chill-out room, his back to everyone.
Kenny, Julian, and Trish huddled at the table in the kitchen area making small talk with each other in muted voices in an attempt to keep a neutral atmosphere.
Their delicate demeanor made him want to escape from them even more, but since Kenny had shown up at Brandon’s that morning and practically carried him out the door to bring him to the studio, he knew even if he did leave someone would come chasing after him.
He understood what they were trying to do.
They all believed if they could get him playing music again he’d feel better.
The problem was, he was waiting to run into Evan at any second.
When Evan left him, he sat on the stairs for half an hour in blank shock.
Finally he got to where he could move, but the only thing he found himself able to do was pace from one room to another, not knowing what to do with himself.
At one point, he had revitalized by deciding he wasn’t going to lose Evan, he would fight for him, he would force Evan to believe they could be together and everything would be as perfect as before.
Then in his mind he saw Evan’s cold eyes, heard his harsh words, and his battle spirit retreated.
As that happened, he came to the hardest realization of his life; as his final act of respect for Evan, he had to leave.
Having nowhere else to go, he called Brandon.
He knew he could have called Kenny, or Julian, or even Trish, and any would open their doors to him, but only Brandon would truly understand, and at that moment, he wanted to go to the one person he knew would never walk away from him, the one person who had always protected him.
After they unloaded his belongings at Brandon’s new apartment on North Dearborn, he drove the Cayenne back with Brandon following on his Suzuki.
When they left the mansion for the final time, he sat behind Brandon on the motorcycle, punching the code into the keypad to close the gates.
As they shut, the finality of it made it seem all his and Evan’s time together had been nothing more than a surreal dream.
That night, Brandon didn’t make pathetic efforts to cheer him up. He sat beside him on the couch in his apartment, not saying a word. Maybe it was the silence that did it, but he broke down. Brandon had wrapped him in his arms as he cried and told him what happened.
The next day, he couldn’t bring himself to go into the studio, there wasn’t anything important to do besides going over tour stuff and rehearsing, and rehearsing he felt was pointless until they would be able to get into the Auditorium Theatre where their kick-off concert was going to be held, so he ended up calling Kenny, told him everything, and that he wouldn’t be coming in.
Wednesday morning came, and once again he refused to go into the studio. In the evening, Kenny showed up at Brandon’s apartment with Julian and Trish, but to his relief, Brandon blocked them at the door and spared him from having to deal with the cheer-up brigade.
Thursday, he didn’t get out of bed except to go to the bathroom and take a long shower, where he stood under the water more than washed. Brandon brought him a pizza from Uno’s, but he only managed to get down half a slice before feeling like he would be sick.
Unfortunately, that morning after Brandon left for the theatre, Kenny came pounding on the door.
He had no choice but to answer it and didn’t have the will to fight him when Kenny demanded he come to the studio.
Evan hadn’t been there when they arrived, but he knew without seeing him he was there now.
As he finished the thought, Evan walked into the room.
Jesse kept his eyes focused down. The others silenced their conversation as Evan stopped in front of him.
Evan tossed the Ferrari F430 keys on the couch beside Jesse. “I thought I told you not to leave anything behind.”
“I don’t want it,” Jesse mumbled. “Keep it.”
“What do I want with it? It’s your little toy, it’s not my style. It’s parked near the guard booth in the garage.” Evan turned to walk away.
All his anger, all his pain, rose faster than Jesse could control.
He leaped up and whipped the keys across the room.
They crashed into a picture hanging on the wall, shattering the glass.
“That’s all you care about, isn’t it? Your fucking image!
What’s the best car to drive! The best clothes to wear!
The best fuck buddy to have in your bed! ”
Evan walked over to the broken picture, picked up the car keys, and walked back to Jesse, stopping inches from him. “Is that what you think? That you were just some fuck buddy?”
“What else would you call me? You kicked me out the door like I was nothing just because of some goddamn pictures!”
Evan grabbed Jesse’s upper arm, his grip firm, but careful to not hurt him. “Don’t ever…EVER…mock the feelings I have for you!”
He threw the keys down on the couch and spun for the door. Greg, JJ, and Jeremy stood by the door, looking trapped by what they had witnessed. Evan rammed his shoulder hard against Greg’s as he passed.
Jesse stared at the floor for a long moment, the phantom of Evan’s rough touch lingering on his arm. He picked up the car keys with trembling fingers and walked toward the door. His shoulder brushed lightly against Greg’s as he turned down the hall and headed toward Studio B, alone.
? ? ?
Jesse glanced up at the clock in the control room. He had been at the studio all day, all night, refusing offers to go to his band members’ apartments or out to dinner with them. Now the studio was empty save for the security guard. He turned off his music and sat listening to the silence.
He felt numb. It was as if all his emotions, all his desires, had shut down.
He didn’t want to eat. He didn’t want to drink.
Most of all, he didn’t want to feel. The thought of smiling or laughing seemed a concept beyond his reach and he didn’t want to try and grasp it.
The only thing that sounded halfway decent was going back to Brandon’s, crawling into bed and lying in the dark bedroom.
Thinking about it gave him just enough energy to push away from the control desk and leave the studio.
Walking out to the night shrouded city, he headed across the street to the parking garage.
He stepped inside and stumbled to a halt.
His eyes locked on the F430, its dark blue paint seeming black in the dim yellow garage lights.
He clutched the keys and walked toward it.
When he climbed in, he wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but he thought he caught the faint scent of Evan’s cologne lingering in the car.
Despair closed his throat from air, his eyes began to burn.
He pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, his body shaking with tears.