I Survived Seattle

by J. K. Hogan

  Sometimes, when he suffered ongoing, debilitating anxiety, Justice had to compartmentalize things just to get through the day without melting down. He had to concentrate on meaningless short term goals to keep from being overwhelmed by the big picture. Read, Baby Steps. Thank you, Dr. Marvin.

  Because he needed the distraction, and the caffeination, Justice decided his first goal was to make it to the little coffee stand down the block. It was crisp outside, because the Pacific Northwest was dangling on the precipice of autumn, but it wasn’t what most people would call particularly cold.

  Justice’s anxiety had chilled him to the bone, and when he was having an attack, he often wore clothes as armor. So he donned a steel gray pea coat over his simple t-shirt and jeans, and popped the collar. Then he wrapped a thin scarf around his neck and stuffed it down in the neck of his coat like a fucking ascot, until it covered most of his chin and mouth.

  Once he was suitably armored, Justice ‘baby stepped’ his way to the coffee stand on the corner, resolutely not thinking about anything beyond that. He was blissfully enjoying his lightly sweetened, lightly creamed Triple Death when he felt a presence behind him.

  “There you are!” said a disembodied voice from over his shoulder.

  Actually, it was only disembodied because he’d closed his eyes to savor his coffee, and refused to open them back up to reality. Unfortunately, the nagging little spectre wasn’t going to go away that easily.

  “Jesus, Justice, I’m gone for like five fucking minutes while you’re still in bed, and you sneak out on me!”

  Lara flitted around him like a hummingbird, her wavy red hair flaming out from underneath a chunky, hand-knitted toque. No matter how hard he tried to imagine her away, she seemed to be pretty well rooted in the here-and-now.

  “Calm down, La,” he said, using their old college nickname for her. “I just needed some damn coffee.” His teeth were chattering. Either she didn’t notice, or she chose to ignore it. Either way, bless her.

  “Well, since you couldn’t be bothered to worry about your costume, I took the liberty of picking it out for you. It’s back at the house. I even picked up a couple of accessories for Nic, and I called and told him what you’d be wearing.”

  At the mention of the impending nuptials, and especially of Nic, the blood drained from Justice’s face and his hands seized around his coffee cup. Damn, she wasn’t going to let that one slide. She knew him too well.

  “Jussie, you’re not freaking out about going with Nic, are you?”

  Since Justice was well and truly done with lying to his friends, he had to spit it out. “Okay, A, don’t fucking call me Jussie. It’s ridiculous. And B, you know me, I’m freaking out about the whole goddamn thing, and would be, with or without Nic.” More or less.

  “I know, baby. But you’ve got to try to keep it together, for Rory’s sake. He’s nervous, ya know? Besides, it’s just one night.”

  One never-ending, gut-twisting, all-eyes-on-Justice-even-if-they’re-not night. God, he was so boned. But Lara was right, Rory became infinitely more nervous as the big day approached, and he had to show up for his best friend.

  “Why do you people have to live in goddamn fucking Seattle?”

  Lara bumped shoulders with him. “What’s wrong with Seattle? You fit in here…”

  “It’s just so far from home,” Justice said, a bit melodramatically.

  “But what if it was home?”

  “Laaaa,” he said, drawing the syllable out in a warning town.

  “Jussieeee,” she mocked.

  “Oh, balls.” Yep, he was so boned.

  * * * *

  At the risk of sounding conceited, Nic thought he looked pretty damn hot. He hadn’t been able to do it for years, mainly because Colin hadn’t liked his dorkier side, but Nic had always loved cosplay. He loved the creativity of trying to convincingly embody a character.

  When he did a costume, though, he did it up big. He wore a long black, fitted cutaway frock coat. The lapels were leather, and had several straps and buckles attached to them, that would buckle across his chest. Under the coat, he went with a deep, blood red cravat and waistcoat, over a crisp white shirt. On his legs were tight fitting gunmetal gray breeches and leather gaitors that matched the leather on his coat. The bottom of the gaitors just barely covered the tops of his shiny black motorcycle boots.

  Samara had even come over to help him with his ‘do’. She put a little smudge of ‘guy-liner’ around his eyes; he was skeptical at first, but even he had to admit that it made him look totally sexy and mysterious. She’d attacked his messy blond hair with her flatiron and gotten it completely stick straight. It added around two inches to the length, so much that it was brushing his shoulders.

  On top of the vampirish straight hair, he put his black top hat, complete with metal rivets around the brim, and some handmade steampunk goggles as a hatband. Lara had dropped off a few steampunk-ish odds and ends she found at an eclectic vintage and handmade costume shop. He was given a pocket watch that was now pinned to his waistcoat and stuffed in his pocket. He had a belt with a buckle that looked like it was made of watch gears that had been soldered together, and some sort of leather and metal contraption that strapped over his arm that made it look like a biomechanical limb. The effect was pretty damn cool.

  The cherry on top was the heavy calf-length greatcoat that he put on last, and the metal and wooden cane he’d picked up. It was a damn good costume and had set him back a large chunk, but it would be worth it when he saw Justice’s face.

  When Nic stepped out of the bathroom, Sam just stared at him silently for what felt like several minutes. He was beginning to think that maybe she’d swallowed her tongue, when she finally spoke.

  “Holy fucking shit, Nico!”

  “Good?” He asked, stretching his arms out and doing a slow spin.

  “Good? I think Justice is going to demand you go home and get him pregnant immediately!”

  Nic barked out a laugh at the absurdity of the statement, while secretly hoping her prediction was pretty spot on —without the impregnation part. He liked the idea of Justice as a mindless puddle of lust over him. He liked it a lot.

  Nic grinned at Sam. “You’re right, I’m a sexy beast.”

  She nodded and threw a pillow at him. “You ready to go impress the pants off of your man?”

  Nic didn’t even bother to correct the ‘your man’ part of the statement. He wasn’t lying to himself any longer. Justice was his, whether he liked it or not. “Yes, ma’am, I certainly am.”

  “Call me ma’am again and I’ll have your balls, no matter how many layers you’ve hidden them under,” she said fondly.

  “Not as many as you’d think,” he answered with a lewd wink, causing her to erupt into giggles. “What time is it?” he asked for, like, the fiftieth time in the last hour.

  “Check your pocket watch, Sherlock.” She tossed him her car keys, and he caught them left-handed. “Almost time to go get your man. Be good to my baby.”

  Sam had agreed to lend Nic her car, so he could pick Justice up and take him to the wedding like a real date should. Justice deserved that after all he’d been through lately.

  Rory’s official wedding was to take place in a small Catholic church on the outskirts of the city. It was a nod to Rory’s Irish-Catholic upbringing, with just their families and the wedding party. Right after, they were having a huge reception at a place called The Canal. That was the part that guests were invited to.

  Nic shot off a quick text to Justice to let him know he was about to leave, and that he couldn’t wait to see him. He was getting his things together to leave when his phone chirped a return message.

  Dealing w best man issues. Gonna have 2 meet u @ reception. J

  Nic frowned at his phone. That seemed a little odd. Why hadn’t Justice called him? He could have called. Nic would have come anyway, and waited for him to finish whatever he was doing.

  A prickle of unease skittered up the back of N
ic’s neck, but he tried to ignore it. He could only imagine how much Justice was battling with his anxiety, just being a part of the wedding. That man was stronger than he gave himself credit for.

  Nic said a quick goodbye to Samara, grabbed his cane and headed out. It was time to pick up his date, whatever state Nic may find him in.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nic pulled up to the reception site a little early. He parked in a public parking lot and walked to the rather innocuous looking building hidden by a copse of trees. It wasn’t much to look at from the outside, but he knew from the website that the inside was enormous, and apparently the view of the canal was not to be missed.

  As he approached the entrance, Nic saw a silhouette of a man huddled in the shadows. It was Justice. Nic couldn’t see his face, but he knew that body anywhere, even in the dark. As he got closer, two things stood out to him. First was the fact that the silhouette was smoking. He’d never heard Justice say anything about being a smoker. The second was the posture; Nic could tell from the stiff set of his hunched shoulders that something was very wrong.

  He’d come up from behind, so Nic took a moment to just look at Justice, and feel what he was feeling. Justice’s costume was simple, but stunning. He had on a jet black tailcoat with intentionally mismatched buttons, over a black brocade waistcoat. His stovepipe trousers where dark gray with subtle pinstripes, and he wore knee-high bondage boots over them.

  The short sides of his hair had been almost completely shaved, and some extensions woven in with the curls on top, giving him an unkempt sort of pseudo-mohawk that flopped forward over eyes that were heavily lined. Under his chin was a leather studded dust mask that had been pulled down to allow him to bring the clove cigarette to his lips. Nic was most mesmerized by the metalwork he wore. On each hand was a gauntlet, with a set of mechanical metal claws, that covered the hand down to the wrist. They were incredible.

  Though Justice shivered in the night air, an untouched leather duster lay on the ledge beside him, along with a top hat and a Venetian mask. Nic would have loved to see the whole ensemble together, but he had a feeling he wasn’t going to get to.

  Justice was very, very pale. At first, Nic had thought it was a costume effect, but it was just Justice. His eyes were as dark as Nic had ever seen them and even in profile, he could see the bluish smudges that extended below the eye makeup. There were tracks along his checks from the eyeliner and mascara, where it looked like he’d been crying.

  Fuck. Nic had a bad feeling. But enough was enough. “Jus,” he said quietly.

  If it was possible, Justice stiffened even more at the sound of his voice. He turned the rest of the way towards Nic, and the effect was striking. Not only because of the costume, but because of how absolutely wrecked he looked.

  Those green eyes were almost black, and they were bloodshot. He had definitely been crying. Justice brought the clove back to his lips with shaking hands for another slow drag, while Nic waited patiently for…something.

  Justice dropped the cigarette on the pavement, and ground out its sickly sweet smoke with his boot heel. He simply stared at Nic for a long moment before surging forward, grabbing Nic’s face and crushing their lips together. The kiss tasted of whiskey, tobacco, and desperation, and the combination made Nic’s stomach churn with worry.

  Breaking the kiss, Justice rested their foreheads together, still clinging to Nic’s cheeks with his gauntleted hands. “I’m so fucking sorry.” His voice sounded so broken, Nic’s heart reached out to him, wanting to fix whatever had broken him. But Nic had a feeling it might have been him.

  “What do you have to be sorry about, baby?” Nic asked, thinking he knew and probably didn’t want to hear it.

  Justice sniffled and scrubbed at the tears that seemed to try and fall despite his will, further smearing his eye makeup. “I can’t go in there with you. Not now. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to.”

  * * * *

  Justice winced as he watched Nic’s reaction. Nic’s face hardened almost imperceptibly, his jaw tightening, and he slowly dropped his hands that had been grasping Justice’s shoulders.

  “What?” he asked, in a flat voice with no discernible inflection.

  Justice couldn’t believe he was doing this to the sweetest, hottest, most perfect man he’d ever met. He’d tried so hard to deal with the anxiety, because giving in always cost him so much.

  He “baby-stepped” his way through getting ready, through standing up for Rory with all eyes on them. But he started to melt down as the happy couple had been captured for pictures, and the small wedding party trickled away to head to the reception hall. When he could no longer see Rory, feel his easy confidence in Justice, the panic started to trickle into his system.

  Needing more time, but still trying to muscle through, Justice texted Nic to tell him to meet him at the reception. He had to get himself together. He had really tried. But his mind got away from him. He started imagining all of those heads turning when he walked in with a guy on his arm. He imagined the judgmental glances and the whispering behind hands.

  Sure they were in Seattle, but half the guests were probably Catholic. They’d gotten married in a church, for fuck’s sake. Justice hadn’t even realized people were still doing that. Showed what little he knew about marriage —or about religion for that matter.

  Then the epic clusterfuck of all meltdowns had ensued; full on dripping sweat, shivers, wringing hands, paranoia…he was even smoking. Justice didn’t smoke. Only when he was supremely, ridiculously stressed out did he smoke, and even then it was only cloves or cigars. The fact that he was on his fourth was an indication of just how much of a mindfuck he was in at the moment.

  Justice tried to focus on the conversation with Nic, despite his dizziness and whirling thoughts. Nic was the last person he’d ever wanted to hurt.

  When Justice said nothing, Nic kept talking. “You’re telling me this now?” He made a sweeping gesture indicating himself, and more importantly, his costume.

  Justice hadn’t been paying attention, too wrapped up in his own shit. Nic was fucking gorgeous. He looked like some immortal archangel vampire prince, or some kind of shit. Beautiful in that devilish way that made you think naughty thoughts even while he slowly stole your life force.

  The costume was spot on. Probably cost a small fortune. Justice felt even more like an asshole. He had to try and explain, but deep down, he knew that no amount of explaining could make someone truly understand his fucked up mind.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful,” Justice said. He’d opened his mouth to explain, but that was all that came out.

  One side of Nic’s mouth quirked up in a poor excuse for a smile that Justice didn’t even deserve. “Yeah? Let’s go inside, then. You can show me off.”

  Justice shivered and looked down at his steel-toed boots, another tear sliding down his cheek. “Can’t,” he said in a shaky voice. “I just physically cannot walk in there. It’s hard to explain.”

  “Try.” Nic’s voice was hard, and brooked no argument. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and waited. Justice imagined him barely restraining himself from tapping his foot.

  “I’m broken,” he said. “That’s the best way I know of to describe it. Things aren’t wired right in my head. When it comes to drawing attention to myself, making a spectacle…I’m just frozen in place. I can’t do it.”

  Nic’s eyes softened, only from angry to sad. “I would have waited until you were ready. I just…jerking me around like this…kind of a dick move, ya know? A Colin move. I just thought you were different.”

  “I was —I am. This disorder though, it doesn’t let me have what I want. No matter how much I want it. It’s a terrible burden for me to put on someone else, having to deal with my neuroses. I couldn’t ask you to compromise the things that you want or need, just to pander to my illness.”

  What Nic said next was not what Justice had been expecting.

  “Don’t be an idiot, Justice.”


  “Huh?”

  “Everyone has baggage, everyone has to adjust to one another when they get involved in a relationship. I live on a boat, for chrissake. How many boyfriends do you think that’s scared away?”

  “Don’t wanna know,” Justice mumbled, tamping down an unfounded stab of jealousy.

  “You have no idea what I would or wouldn’t have done. That wasn’t your decision to make! If I thought you’d stand by me the way I wanted to stand by you, I’d take on your neuroses, as you call them, in a heartbeat. Everyone deserves to be loved, despite, or because of, their idiosyncrasies.

  “I’d have given you whatever you needed, had you asked, but I’m not going to help you hide from what you’re afraid off. Anxiety and fear are two entirely different animals, Justice. And I think you’re blaming the wrong one here.”

  Justice’s head snapped back as if he’d been struck. Was that what he was doing? Was he confusing his disorder with his fear of coming out? Was there really a difference between the two?

  Nic was right, he’d had every opportunity to back out of this gracefully, without hurting Nic. But he’d chosen to keep burying his head in the sand. He wanted to change, to be different, but he didn’t know how.

  Nic sighed and wiped an errant tear off Justice’s cheek. Justice was helpless not to lean into the touch. “Ah, Justice. Don’t you know I was falling in love with you?”

  Love? Wait…was?

  Justice’s head pounded and his vision wavered. “I wish I could give you what you need. I don’t even deserve to try. After what Colin did to you, I can’t ask you to hide with me…can’t ask you to wait. I wish I were free to be with you…but my disorder runs my life. I don’t know if I can ever be different.”

  Nic pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes briefly. “Shut up, Justice. Stop telling me what you don’t know or can’t do. What do you want to do?”