Tripping Down 12 Steps Into Malibu

We accept who we are be it a good or bad thing

Ryan groaned into the crook of Brendon's neck as he finished in the younger man's hand. Brendon continued lazily stroking Ryan as he softened. Flicking his wrist just enough to create a friction. He watched in adolescent fascination as the cum followed the flow of water to the drain.

Eventually Ryan pushed his hand away. Jerking at the touch to his over sensitized body part. They stayed pushed against each other as the hot spray of shower water rained over them. Ryan used his forehead to push Brendon's up. Tilting his roommate's chin upward until their lips met. It was the closest either man had come to kissing in the rain.

"You've got to be fake." Brendon groaned when their mouths separated.

"What?" Ryan turned away from him to lather his hands with the soap.

"You're too perfect to be real." His arms wrapped around Ryan from behind.

"I'm real." He leaned into him. "You should know. You just had your hands all over me."

"Hmm." Was all the response he offered.

Ryan felt his boyfriend's cheek rest between his shoulder blades. He realized how euphoric this simple exchange was between them. If it was possible, he would want to live in this moment forever. Just him, Brendon and the steamed room creating a cloud around them.

He was about to voice his thoughts of holding up in the shower forever to Brendon when the water became an enemy. The hot flow became a freezing spray.

"Shit!" Brendon shrieked. Pushing through the curtains and leaving Ryan to suffer in the cold alone.

"Fucking fuck!" Ryan was seconds behind him. Grabbing a towel on his way into the bedroom.

Brendon was holding his stomach. Clutched over in laughter. "'Maybe that was the shower's way of telling us we were in there too long."

"Maybe." Ryan scrubbed the towel through his hair before tossing it to Brendon. "Maybe you should get dressed because we have group in ten minutes."

"Maybe." He mimicked. Catching the towel but refusing to cover himself. "I should just go like this."

"But then I would have to kick everyone's ass who looked at you."

"No one is going to be looking at me. They'll be too busy looking at you." He rolled his eyes. Drying himself off while Ryan openly watched. "Because you're just so damn beautiful."

"Shut up." Ryan pulled a pair of jeans from his dresser. "Get dressed."

They were still somehow four minutes late to the group exercise. The room of people paused to stare at them when they entered hand in hand. The instructor for the day -a thin, old woman- smiled warmly at them.

"Come in." She coaxed. "Pick an empty mat."

There were no neighboring mats. So Brendon took an empty place in the back. Ryan took the one closer to the front.

They were in a room with ceiling to floor mirrors. The kind that covered every wall. The only part of the room that didn't reflect the class was the closed wooden door. Ryan felt unnerved being forced to stare at himself like that.

"This is you." The instructor was saying. Waving her arms at the classroom. "This is who you are."

And Ryan knew that was the ninth step. To accept who he was as a person. So now he had to decide for himself, who was he?

He stared at the mirror image of himself. Starting at his head. His hair was still wet. Hanging around his face in unkept strings. There was something otherworldly about looking yourself in the eyes. If you stared long enough, it didn't feel like you were looking at you at all. And the man looking back at Ryan couldn't be him. His eyes were too dark and tired. His lips too cracked and dry. His cheeks too bone thin. This couldn't be him. This was a stranger.

A stranger in his own mirror? No. He needed to accept that this was him. This is how everyone saw him. Thin and weary. Ugly. When did he become so ugly? He used to be beautiful. Before he was forced to stay in this place for so long. This place. The people. The lack of freedom. It all stole his appearance. How could Brendon look at him everyday and tell him how good he looked? His boyfriend must be delusional if he thought Ryan was anything other than repulsive.

He couldn't keep looking at himself like this. His eyes darted to the corner of the room. The reflection of the man he now looked at looked even worse than he did. He was looking at Patrick. Standing in the left corner of the room. Holding his arms around his middle too tightly. As if he might fall apart without it. Patrick, who was usually so beautiful, was drained. Over some fucked up guy he met in a rehabilitation center. Over someone like Ryan.

What would happen to Brendon if Ryan relapsed the way Pete did? Would his beauty be taken away too quickly to catch? He couldn't take that risk. Not now. Not ever. Because even if he did make it out of here clean, even if he and Brendon managed to bypass every obstacle in this hell hole, that didn't mean he wouldn't ever fuck up. Of course he would. He was Ryan Ross for crying out loud.

Step Nine: We accept who we are, be it a good or a bad thing.

Accept who he is, huh? He could do that.

Ryan stared himself down in the mirror again. This time expecting the disappointment staring back.

He was a piece of shit. But a decent enough piece of shit to not drag someone down with him the way Pete did to Patrick. He needed to go. Get as far away from Brendon to preserve his allure. And he needed to go now.

He turned on his heel to escape through the door. Earning dirty looks from the people standing around him. He could hear Brendon calling after him but he didn't stop. He swung the door open and ran. From the voice. From the mirrors. From himself.