*

Was able to tell everyone else (not every single person on the crew, but the rest of the relative insiders), including Jeffrey, that my last gig was exactly two weeks from today. I completed the terms of my contract, I was working on tying up all the legal loose ends, and I knew I needed a break from all of this more than anything. Jeffrey seemed the most surprised out of everyone, though Nathan put a helluva performance on for me (good boy). Then again, I suppose I should be happy that he was so surprised. It means he knows as little about me as I'd hoped. He's worried about what he's going to do, but out of all of us, he's got the best shot at joining some other group or even doing something outside of music. He's a little rat, but he's a smart little rat.

So that's that, then. It's another strange feeling... and I still feel so tense it's even harder to sleep than usual. If Nate's there, I can. But he can't always be there. Walt's already flown back out to California, thank goodness; for the couple days he was still around part of me was absolutely certain he'd kill me. It all just seemed so damn plausible. Lorenzo probably killed people. Walter already hasn't shown much scruples in what he'd stoop to to either keep his people in line or keep himself on top. But would he go to THAT-- I couldn't take any chances, but I didn't want to go completely insane. A very difficult balance these days. It just meant I didn't go many places by myself.

Visits with Nathan still fairly consistent, but very careful. Not always in our rooms. He thinks I'm being too careful-- "paranoid"-- but I don't think you can be too careful in the situation we're in. He missed having sex with me. He didn't say it, but I could tell, that first time after everything. I wasn't quite sure how to be with him; whether to keep everything on or get fully naked, whether to be gentle or rough, keep him loose or tie him up. It's the end of so much and close to the beginning of so much at the same time. Such a strange place to be in.

He rode me. I wasn't sure if I'd like the feeling of him on top and facing me for anything, even that. But ugh, that fucking dick slapping my stomach (a bit above, etc)... and then, watching him jack himself off while I thrust into him or he thrust himself downward... getting to feel so much of his body the whole time. It was very easy to be won over to it. And he was SO into it, and he felt so fucking good; I was lost in my own bliss, losing myself to the feeling again for once, coaxed along by little murmurs of "Yeaah, Raj", "FUCK, Raj..."-- UGH I wish he was coming with me immediately (I mean, we both came pretty soon after that moment at that time, but you know). He's still such an idiot but he's also an absolute darling and I told him so and I knew he would giggle at it and I didn't care. But he knows why he can't come with me immediately as much as I know. He doesn't like it. He's going to be more pouty about it as the days wear on, I'm sure. But I know he understands, at least. I'm not leaving him behind. Not really.

He's still been smoking a Benny amount of cigarettes lately, though. Every so often, too, he'll just sigh, shake his head, look up for a moment, say "Why's shit so fucked UP". I know now that he doesn't want an answer (I did answer the first few times). At least, he doesn't want an answer from me. More of a cry out to the universe, I guess. And it's not like I could think of a good answer for him anyhow.

*

We were in Toronto and Nathan had one of his most stupid ideas yet, and so did I (going along with the stupid idea). But we're SO much less known in Canada, so against all odds, I think we fucking got away with it. If not, fine, Walt or gossip media sinks us and we're faggot pariahs for the rest of our lives. Maybe it'll be a good thing for us in the long run, who knows. I mean, Nate needs all the ego checks he can get. Or we can just move up here and nobody'll bother us. Just be the two weird American fags.

I'm grasping at whatever I can because I'm anxious about it now, but I took a val after my line after I knew where we were going, 'cause I knew I'd be a wreck otherwise. I wanted to go with him, to share that with him, and I didn't. So I shut up the part of me that didn't. --I would have NEVER taken Nathan to a club myself. It absolutely would have never been my idea. I didn't think he was ready for them at all. I didn't think we'd ever be in a place where we'd finally have a chance to not get so instantly recognized. A decent bit is at stake right now.

It's so close to the end it's easy to give in to stupid ideas like that, though. A decent bit is at stake but there's so little time left. And I did ask him, after he asked me if I knew if there were any of "the kinda clubs YOU prob'ly go to" around, if he could take the possibility of a male stranger flirting with him. Then, if he could take the possibility of seeing a male stranger he thinks is personally the ugliest motherfucker he's ever seen wearing the most sexed up thing or next-to-nothing he's ever seen without being a fucking asshole about it. ...He winced at that one, hastily swore to me that he "won't be a dick". And I told him he better not be, because the first sign of it and that's it for the night. No sex, either. Nothing. "Damn, you're serious." DEAD fucking serious. And I added, again, before we got inside-- DON'T make me regret this, Nathan[116].

But it turned out fine! More than fine, especially at the time. Just a more typical dance club, nothing really kinky. Not any of the most obvious or advertised ones. So I was out of leather completely, not even my jacket, which felt strange (Nate had a jacket, this time). A little naked. Really, I looked a bit more fem than I have in awhile (all black, satin shirt, boots-- well, I suppose not COMPLETELY out of leather, then-- silver belt n' dangly earrings n' things, my rose/sandalwood) and he looked like his typical gorgeous Greek athlete self. A little more like old times. But he wore those jeans, of course... I asked him to, and I had my fingers tucked in the rip while we made our way around the place, as we hung out near the back with our drinks; my fingers found their way there while we were dancing, even (and he did giggle and guffaw at some of the music and some of the outfits, but thankfully nothing too awful). It was all so stupid, but he and I were high off various things at that point (including his smell, his smell among a mix of other wonderful smells, his smell with mine...), and he was a gorgeous boy dancing across from or against me in the dimness, parts of him and his beauty revealed again suddenly in flashes of colored light and bass thumps, getting sweatier and sweatier (his smell getting increasingly irresistible), and I could just imagine meeting him there as a stanger; so free, so stunningly handsome, so many others making eyes at him but the two of us really only having eyes for each other. I couldn't keep my lips off him for too long after awhile; I got to introduce him to that sort of half-foreplay half-dancing desperate wanting while I was fully enveloped in it, around others enveloped in their own versions of it, and I hope he did notice some of those things. The similarities, perhaps, to dancing in a straight club, but also the differences.

I blew him in a bathroom stall once we were tired of dancing (we blew each other). It felt right. He's not Ricky. I know that. No one else can be Ricky. Maybe it's not just about Ricky, either. It's the moments I first shared with him, but it's not just about him. The time, the place, the ~setting~... all things I never expected I'd be able to share with Nathan. He was *just* mature enough for them, and I'm more thankful for it than he probably understands.

We still had to make our own way back. Not much time to talk, but I don't think either of us wanted or needed that tonight. --I feel like I'm holding my breath until I call him or he calls me after we both make it to our rooms, and then a deep sigh of relief. Always some nerves, still. There might always be, with him.

*

Just one more day before almost everything that began ten years ago ends. I was so certain at the start of this tour that I was going to kill myself after the end of it. Nathan will never know, but that was the first thing I started planning for this year. Extensively. I was so certain I had nothing left to give, and that there was nothing good left, only ugliness. I AM exhausted, in ways I never thought possible. That much is true. Emotionally, mentally, physically. And I know I need to figure everything out with speed. One thing at a time. Craziness is still so close to the surface but I've been able to keep myself relatively functional lately. I still know I can't stop; I know I'll fully collapse once I do. I hope I'll have people to turn to once I get back. I think I will. Anna, hopefully, even though I know she has Eli to take care of and I'd hate to pull her away from him just for my sake. Pammie. LR people. One of some of those, hopefully.

So much of this was Hell, or it became that way. So much of it was a struggle that none of the others understood, and I didn't trust them to understand. Maybe Greg was right, all the way back then, that Rory would have been alright to talk to. There was just so much uncertainty. So much danger. Even well-meaning straight people don't always understand the danger. Especially well-meaning guys. They haven't had to live it. They haven't had a drug deal in a new part of town turn into a game of "smear the queer" (all you wanted was insurance you'd fucking function for the next week). They haven't been grabbed from behind, thrown down on concrete, kicked and stomped on and called horrible things while they curled up and tried to catch their breath to scramble away and run run run run run. They don't know what it's like for all that to happen, to be surrounded by men that you know want you dead, and figure out how the fuck to not die. You're in enough of those situations and there's always a little bit of you that wonders if you should be figuring out how the fuck to not die, I think.

And then there's Walter, of course. Left Lorenzo just to get scooped up by one of his fucking friends. There were so many girls around Lorenzo, too. And I couldn't really help any of them and they couldn't help me. We were just terrified of each other and of him. We were crabs in a fucking bucket. I still think of that one girl from a little over six years ago, too. I know I need to ask Nathan about that someday, even if I dread the answer. Ugh, so much of what I was around... it wasn't just like Lorenzo's girls so I put it out of sight out of mind. Throw enough glitz and glamour on something and a faggot'll get distracted by the glitter, I guess. And I still thought of myself as a crab in a bucket, I think. It's not me, for once. Thank christ. It's all a big joke. It's all a party. It's not me and they're laughing about it with me. They don't know. I pass. And for the longest fucking time I just took that and that was enough. In other words: for the longest time I was an absolute fucking coward. To Shannon, too, even if I didn't have full control over that. I can apologize to Shann, at least. I never learned that girl's name. I never saw her again and I have no idea where she is, what she's doing, if she's even still alive. I wish I knew what to do about her. I'll think about it and it still hurts and I KNOW Nate wouldn't understand that. Pammie would, but I'm still afraid she'll be stuck on my cowardice, and I couldn't blame her if she was.

I told Cryssie before she died that I hadn't abandoned her or LR-- I was kept from them, I hadn't left them behind. But now I think it was a bit of both. It still wasn't about the kind of shame Cryssie assumed. I love them all so much and I always have and always will. I never felt embarrassed by them, or ashamed of them, or of my ties to them. I didn't want to get hurt. I didn't want THEM to get hurt. I was certain I would hurt them. And it's the same with Eli, with Anna, with Mom (with Pam, too...). I never wanted to let them down. I still don't. It crushes me to think about. I don't know what to do when I let people down except hide. Is this-- leaving-- just more of the same?

I think I did everything I fucking could. I'm barely holding on. I can't see this entirely as running away, even though it still feels like it emotionally. If it's a running away, it's a retreat, I suppose. A strategic retreat and recovery. Like Walt running back to the remains of his boat, ha. --Ugh, I don't even want to be in the same city as him. Might try and find a place in LA to crash awhile. Ugh, it feels like when I escaped Lorenzo and had to hole out on the other side of the city for a month to make sure he wouldn't find me and kill me, or follow me back to Mom's house (really my worst nightmare at that point). At least I don't have to worry about anything like that. I'm sure Walter would've fucking threatened my mother somehow or brought her into it if she was still alive. He would've brought up Cryssie if he ever found out about her, too. Nothing he wouldn't stoop to. So I'm glad I didn't lose it when he brought up what I had to do to survive. My heart was pounding out of my chest and I thought my teeth would crack, but I didn't crack myself.

And GOD... there's so much that I know I'll miss. The routines of it all. Performing in front of people. The nicer parts of the recording and engineering processes. Just singing itself. I can barely think of that. I need to hold on for the last show. I feel more and more certain that I'll hear from Nathan (I suppose I need to be home enough to check my messages, or get someone else to do so for me), so that doesn't feel too badly. It'll feel like quite a bit once I'm gone. I know that. So much is right about to hit me and it can't. I love him, but I'm not sure how, yet. I don't think it'll be possible to know 'til we know each other without all this. Would he even want to, though? It would be more difficult for him. It's like he said-- Walter made sure this was his life. Do I want to take extra time out of my own life to teach a grown adult how to live his? Do I love him THAT much? That remains to be seen. It depends on how willing he is to try, for one thing. My patience is still quite a factor, I can't lie... I never thought anything would get through to him about Walter, though. I had no idea I even would, the day that I did. It's like some part of him really did understand, and the rest of him had to catch up.

Such an emotional rollercoaster. Every day is, really, honestly. That's how it is for me. It's something I've had to accept. I tried to fight against it for the longest time, felt so much shame at feeling so adrift, so lost in my own feelings. It's still difficult. Writing always makes it easier. It's something to hang onto, even if only I can understand it (that makes it even better)-- I guess I can't feel too ashamed of my strangeness with writing then, either. It's served me, in its way. I don't know why I am the way that I am. Sometimes I'm afraid to show myself in case someone asks. I wouldn't have an answer. And what then? But it's getting harder and harder to care as the end draws closer. So much seems almost as silly as things did the night Jack and I smoked pot together (GOD, Jack... another thing I'll probably cry about once I'm home. I'd love to be friends with him but I'm afraid that would just feel like an insult to him the way it was for Shannon).

One more fucking day. What the fuck.

*

[116]And he gave me a joking salute and a "yes, Sir" and that's the first time he's ever yes-Sir'd me. And I know he didn't mean it the way *I* would want him to mean it, but I still very much enjoyed hearing it (and I did have to call him a good boy for it)... FUCK, him "yes, Jules"-ing me is still wonderful but the first time he "yes, Sir"s me during sex it'll drive me so insane it blanks my brain. At least I have the sound of it, now. Wonderful to think about.