Push Me, Pull Me

Part One: Chapter Eight

Brett had never felt as terrible as he did when he woke up on Saturday morning. The sun wasn't up yet. His head was pounding and sharp pains like ice picks shot through his eyes and temples and he was afraid if he moved he was going to vomit, but eventually he had to.

When he kicked his feet off the bed, his heel bumped something warm. He looked down.

Justin was asleep on the floor, one arm curled under his cheek and the other slung loosely over his side. He was snoring very softly, and for some reason that surprised Brett. He'd always thought Justin would be a silent sleeper.

Brett slowly pushed himself out of bed, careful not to trip over him, and went to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. Even the sound of running water hurt and the friction of the bristles on his teeth felt like knives in his temples.

When he went back into the main room, he knelt carefully beside Justin, slowly lowering himself with the help of the bed so he wouldn't overbalance and fall. Gently, he nudged his shoulder. He didn't budge. So Brett tried again, whispering, "Hey, Justin. Hey."

After a few more tries, each more insistent than the last, Justin's eyes fluttered open. They darted around a moment before settling back on Brett. He had a weird expression on his face that Brett couldn't place.

"Thanks for coming over last night," he said. "I'm sorry."

Justin shook his head as he sat up, leaning back against the bed. "Don't be. How are you doing?"

"Better." Brett shrugged. "Not great. But better." He looked up at the bed, back at Justin's face again. "If you want to sleep a little more, you can take the bed. I'm up."

Justin shook his head again. "I'm awake now." Thankfully he kept his voice soft. He could see the headache written in the lines of Brett's face. Brett shifted uncomfortably and Justin stood, offering him a hand. He wrapped his arm around Brett's and pulled him up.

And then Brett saw it, just peeking out from underneath Justin's shirt collar, the barest edge of a smudge of bluish-purple against his tanned skin. A hickey.

Was Justin seeing someone he didn't know about? Suddenly, Brett's throat tightened and the air rushed out of him like he'd been kicked in the chest. The back of his neck went cold and clammy and his nose went hot and painfully prickly. He didn't mean to say it, but he squeaked, "Justin, is that...?" and he gestured vaguely at his own shoulder, just where the mark on Justin's was.

Why did that hurt so much? And why did it make him so angry? Knowing somebody else was biting his neck, probably kissing him, probably a lot more -

Justin's face paled, everything except his ears, which burned bright pink. He pulled his collar closer to his neck. His adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed and he looked away, ashamed to meet Brett's eyes.

"It's not important," he said softly. "I mean, it doesn't matter. I'm not seeing him anymore and it wasn't anything serious to begin with. It wasn't even dating, really. Just a string of one-night stands, I guess."

Brett's fingers curled into his palms and he swallowed. What was his head doing? It was obvious Justin felt bad about it and that made him angry, too, that whoever this guy was made him feel like he had to be ashamed, and all Brett could think was, I would never, I would treat him right, I would take care of him and do whatever it took to make him realize how special he is, every single day if I had to. And he meant it so adamantly that he couldn't find the energy to fight with himself about it.

"Are you okay?" he finally asked. His voice was soft, and, he hoped, free of blame, because he wasn't mad at Justin. Never.

Justin nodded. "It's over now. I deleted his number and email so I can't even contact him if I want to. Which I really don't." He chuckled, but there was something dark in it, something Brett had never heard come out of his friend's mouth that almost scared him. He didn't like this evasiveness, this vagueness, because it was almost like Justin was trying to hide an -