[cw: puking, disordered eating discussion, drug use]

*

"How could you do this to me??" Do what? --And it all got worse from there at first, so much worse; Shann sobbing, eventually being able to ask if I was "a homosexual" (and I might hate that word coming out of straight people just as much as things like faggot or queer, it's so creepy and clinical, but that's beyond the point right now--), that "some girl" told her she saw me necking with Kyle Landon in his car (it was a single, simple kiss, but still) and how she knew but she didn't WANT to know and now she HAD to, that I WAS a fucking homo wasn't I??, a homo and a fucking liar, and what was stopping her from telling everybody that I was a homo and a fucking liar and cheater--

Fuck I was panicking so bad something in it shifted to anger and it became some horrific feedback loop of panic-anger-panic from the anger-anger-panic-etc. I still remember how much I was shaking, my hands clenching and unclenching, my nails digging into my palms, how much I hated her at that moment, all the walls closing in around me, suffocating; and I hate it still, hate myself and the entire situation so much. She eventually calmed down enough that I could tell her that that "girl" was a crazy fucking stalker, but I knew what I did was wrong, just like she probably knew that selling her little diet pills to random teenagers for a quick buck was wrong.

She hit me then, but I expected it. The floodgates had already opened, and it was about withstanding what came out. I'd never seen her angry before-- not truly, anyway. She'd get close, sometimes. Her face would flush red like it would when she was embarrassed or laughing or various other things, but her face would set in a purse-lipped narrow-eyed pout. It never lasted long. Like a storm cloud passing over head. Maybe I'm used to dealing with things like that enough to diffuse them when they start to happen. There are some times you can't do that, though, and when you can't, you might as well add some lighter fluid. It burns hot but that means it burns faster. It gets it the fuck over with.

Started with flooding and ended with fire-- I guess I mix my metaphors when I'm stressed. Who knew? Thinking of her anger might've been what made the switch happen. It really was something to see. It makes sense, I guess-- Mom's the most amazing woman I know, and can be so kind herself, and so passionate about so much, but that also means her anger's passionate. When she exploded, it was a fire show (a deserved one, of course).

Anyway, it was something to see but I wasn't just seeing it, I was a PART of it, and it wasn't just yelling and insulting me and calling me slurs, it was starting to be shoving, too (it was more intimidating than Nate doing so, actually). And I had my hands shoved in my jacket pockets, I wasn't going to hit her, I wasn't going to be like Granddad, and I was saying that in my mind over and over while it all went on, but the panic was starting to boil over and it was going to turn into something and I didn't know what, and I was afraid I wouldn't have control over what, so I made a brisk break for the bathroom; made it and locked the door and puked while she yelled and cried. --Halfway thru the puking she noticed that I *was* puking ("Wait-- are you fucking puking?"). Heard her slump against the door, probably slid down to sit against it (just from where her voice was). "I thought you were weird; holy shit you're FUCKED UP."

And again, the floodgates had already opened or the wildfire had already burned through everything, or whatever. So I just scooted closer to the door myself, told her that I already knew that. She asked me directly if I was gay, and I asked her if she used the diet pills or if it was just a side-hustle. "Fuck you. --And it's way fucking better than puking." Dexamphetamine especially, I bet. You know that's basically speed, right? "It's a PILL. And it works better than whatever the fuck you're on." Is this a sales pitch? "Depends on whether you're gonna tell me what the fuck is going on or not." You think I need diet pills? "I see you run like the devil's after you every single day, hear how much you puke, and you don't eat much more than I do. You could sneak around for some shit but do you think I'm fucking BLIND? Or like, DEAF??"

So I unlocked the door, we sat next to each other on the bathroom floor, and she learned even more about how "fucked up" I am. I didn't tell her about Benny, but I did tell her about Walter. She was more sympathetic than I expected, but not quite forgiving, despite that sympathy. I didn't really expect forgiveness, though. I also didn't expect to get a bottle of dexamphetamine pills out of the deal, but that's more than fine by me. She scratches my back, I scratch hers 'til something better comes along for either of us (and that's also something that'd have to be discussed and arranged). I'm so damn lucky she liked me to begin with (even if she understandably doesn't like me much right now) and that she's a little fucked up herself. Jesus.

I did miss that speed feeling, though. And this is such a small hit of it. There's something nostalgic about it.

PS: One later moment of panic came over her while I was making dinner for us (well, more for me than her, as we both now fully know)-- I was cutting up veggies and I heard her mouth something to herself a couple times before looking up quickly at me and yelling it-- "~DRESS TO IMPRESS~, HUH?? AND JUST HOW THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN 'IMPRESSING' THE RECORD COMPANY PEOPLE, JULIAN???" And I had to calm her down from almost crying again to reassure her that no, I did not fuck any record company men. I only had to feel one up. Once. Before I even met her. ...Oh, yeah, and I also blew Charlie-- She plopped her head into her arms and shouted out a muffled "YOU'RE SO FUCKED UP". I let her have the bed for the night.

*

Benny's FINALLY back, and I wanted to give him a good time as soon as I could, I was so excited to see him at first, but I felt like such a piece of shit that it wasn't a very sexy or romantic time in the end. Really, I was kind of checked out for it, especially in the beginning. Too ashamed still to tell him anything about Kyle or about getting caught with Kyle (too overwhelmed with how that went with Shann). Things are so close to maybe being the best they've ever been in his life and I don't want to fucking ruin that, too. I did tell him about Mom, and I finally got to be held in the arms of someone I actually LOVE while I cried about it and about everything else. Even that made me feel guilty; I hated him having to see me like this. He loves the fight I have, he loves me strong, I love being strong for him, and there I was, collapsed, a wreck, weak in ways he still doesn't even know. And I had dared to wonder if I was falling out of love with him, or if we could still work out, and seeing him flooded me with so much that I can’t believe I even entertained those thoughts but I did and I hate that I did. And G-d he hasn't even SEEN his mother in G-d knows how long and there he was having to fucking comfort me about my mother. Still so fucking selfish, still so unbearable, I had no idea how the fuck he could stand me.

He could tell how tense I still was, though, and he was multitasking originally, holding me with one hand while smoking a cigarette with the other, but he put his cigarette out to pull me in tighter, rock me gently, stroke my shoulder, try to console me. That made me feel a little better for a moment before I was slammed with guilt again. I didn't want him to feel like he had to do this. I didn't want him to see any of my pain, feared so much that it would be too much regardless of what he said, that I'd already caused him so much stress lately and didn't want to cause him any more, so I eventually pulled him into a kiss. Tried to lose myself in him, tried to get him to lose himself in me, to get us out of my head and into my body. But I couldn't quite get there. My body couldn't quite cooperate. And it had always cooperated with him before that moment. I still tried. Remembered how magnetic I could be with so many men (and women, but... ugh), how fast I pulled them in, how much I made them want me-- and this time it was Benny, a man I loved so much, whose body I knew so well, his preferences, his turn-ons.

I pulled out one stop after another and had him briefly in the palm of my hand, sighing, kissing my neck, pulling my shirt up, grasping my ass thru my jeans. I looked in his eyes and told him to fuck me and I thought my voice was perfect, that it'd go in his ear right down to his cock, that I made myself completely and perfectly irresistible-- but instead, something about it made him hesitate; some imperfection I didn't see. "You sure that's what you want right now, baby?" I told him not to fucking worry about me and there he was again. "And I told you I could take it. --Your eyes're still all red from crying, man. C'mon. We can do this later. We got plenty of time. You gotta let yourself breathe a little first, at least. I got you."

I broke down even harder, then, far more panicked than the first time.It was one thing for Kyle to see through me, but Benny… ugh, I love him, but that’s what makes it so hard. I felt so fucking powerless, so lost. I just wanted him to shut up and forget about it; I wanted to get him to rail every thought out of my fucking head, I wanted to feel back in control of things again, and Benny of all people wouldn't go for it this time. And he kept holding me but never too tightly, never so I couldn't get out, rubbing my arms, my back, not leaving me and I was so upset still, so confused, part of me wanting to shove him away from me as hard as I could and the other part of me wanting him to never leave and dying because I knew he fucking would because he always fucking did and no amount of time spent together seems to be enough time to make his leaving feel any less despairing. When I look back I'm still confused, even if it turned out alright and even sweet in the end. I'm not used to anything like this. I don't know how the fuck to act when I can't give someone I love what they want and he apparently doesn't care...?! I still don't quite trust it. I still feel like it's something I'll have to pay for later.

We didn't have sex at all that night. He offered me pot and I smoked it and it did calm me down. We stayed on the couch watching football, and I barely could tell what was going on, but he'd also put some Marvin Gaye on the record player-- he truly is such a sweetheart, he knows how much I love him-- and I was able to lose myself a little in that. I'd fallen in love with his voice second after Sam Cooke's, would listen to him in high school and college and allowed myself the fantasy of being held in his arms, sung to (the fantasies I had about Robert Plant a year or two after that were a lot hornier, as fits his singing-- not that Marvin wasn't horny-- but what else are you supposed to do when Robert's moaning in your ear like that? On top of having such beautiful hair!!). That calmed me down even more than the pot-- or maybe it was in combination with the pot.

He ordered us dinner from a Haitian place: he told me he's got some Haitian in him and that's where his middle name comes from, that his Memere would cook stew chicken like what he ordered us, and it was better, but this still hit the spot. It was really good! Very savory, well-spiced and fall-apart tender. I tried to eat as much as I could for him, and I hope it was enough. Ugh, he really was so damn sweet. It was just so hard for me to take it, then, and still hard for me to think about now. And I'm thinking of stupid fucking things like how many meals I should skip to make up for the chicken, but that's what the pills are for anyway (but I adore Benny's bigness, think it's beautiful-- but that isn't me). I know I shouldn't dwell on that too much, though. I can't do anything about it now.

Anyway. When I think of love I always think of the nicest parts, the easiest parts; of feeling wanted and needed and adored and wanting and needing and adoring in return. Of being able to give all the GOOD of myself to someone. But I know, rationally, that it's also about weathering the bad, of caring for one another, being more open and more honest and more trusting. Those parts have always been so damn difficult for me. I mean, my bad is SO bad. I never want anyone to have to deal with any bit of my crazy or even see it. But maybe that's unrealistic? Ricky saw my crazy, stuck with me through my crazy. Maybe someone else will too. Maybe Benny will.

*

A lot of positive things, finally! After weeks of hell. One: while Walt did suggest some lawyers to me and did pull some good strings to help me in other ways, I ended up choosing an attorney that Kyle was already using. Lou Palladino-- well-respected, has quite a bit of experience with helping "celebrities" and other public figures deal with slander, libel, stalking, outing, making pictures and film disappear. Perfect. So things should be fine for Kyle and I, which leads me to:

our single released last week and it's already in the top 20... as number 20. But you have to start somewhere! And I haven't had any press person ask me any stupid questions or bring up anything about Kyle and I outside of the scope of the musical. We've done interviews together, too, and it's still gone well. We haven't done anything with each other since the camera debacle and Kyle understands (speaking of cameras, though, the sound and flash of them still makes me flinch, ugh; sometimes I’ll hear it in my sleep and bolt right upwards, it’s terrible). It's for the best in many respects, including the fact that Benny's back home so I wouldn't even want to anyway. Which leads me to the BEST news:

The one and only Benjamin DuBois Jones is now officially our road manager!! As soon as we were alone I couldn't help but jump up and down in his arms and spin us around in an embrace, both so happy and proud of each other, both so in love, AAAAH! The celebration for it was as raucous as a crew party should be, and the increase in pay means that he won't have to take nearly as many off-tour gigs. He'll be there for me more often at home, but be busier on the road: that's the tradeoff. It's a tradeoff I can live with, tho-- I need him most in those off-road moments, when and where the realities of life become unbearable. When the party was over, we went back to his place (I made sure to shut all the damn blinds...) and we slow danced, had more wine, made love-- I was sincerely in the mood for it this time, very much so, and Benny could tell. Romance almost the way Kyle would like it. A good reminder that Benny can be just as much of a romantic, and that it's awful of me to not give him the chance. I want to have all the chances in the world with him. And G-d I'm still so proud of him and I was so proud of him in the moment, too, and it made everything even better, made everything feel that much more. --And ugh, he really does just feel so damn amazing, every time.

...That was just round one, though. We hadn't seen each other in so damn long. So at one point while Benny and I were naked and in bed, after the first time, I said: I know the road crew isn't supposed to be a monarchy and all, but considering you're the road manager now, aren't I more a queen now than a princess-boy? Said it with a laugh, but the thought did turn me the hell on, and it only did all the more when he agreed to it-- it sparked round two; I rode him so hard and deep it was like I was fucking his cock more than he was fucking my ass. I didn't want him to touch me, didn't want him to move, had him "pinned" to the bed as much as I could, wanted him to know that I was fucking him, getting so turned on by it, him getting turned on by how much I was turned on-- UGH, how hard I came, and the way HE came, that perfect kind of blissed-out disbelief on his face, in his voice, the way he said "Jesus christ, baby" with a laugh after it all. UGHHHH it was all such a fucking rush and it still is, but at the moment I felt so ecstatic I thought it would tip over into some form of crazy at any second (I didn't), had to bury my face in a pillow while I was still in the strongest throes of it. He’s mine as much as I’m his, and I just felt so damn powerful for once, felt so powerful together, on top of the damn world, and G-d I needed that even more than I thought I did.

Even thinking about all this now, even now that I'm back with Shann-- that we WON, that we won together, that I helped him accomplish something so amazing, the strength of him, the strength of US, what we could continue to do together, so much opening up again before us, so much fucking possibility, that such an incredible man is mine, that he loves me-- I can barely believe it. G-d it feels electric. Truly, I don't think I've felt quite like this in my entire life. It's something I've reached out for for so long, but could never quite touch. And here it is, here we are, here I am with him. I love him more than words can say. My precious, darling Ben.

PS: Part of me is worried what Walt will come up with as retaliation, but then I remember I have Lou, now, and the worry isn't as prominent. And then Shann and I have things figured out between us for now (after a week or so of near-silent treatment). I do have Lou, I could figure that out with him, probably, but if our deal works out for Shann and I well enough-- regardless of how close we remain (whether we're still friends or if it's simply a detached business-like relationship)-- that isn't as pressing as it used to be. And it's not like she has a place to stay beyond mine right now anyway, I would never just kick her out to fend for herself and I told her so. I still have to soothe the occasional aftershock for her ("DID YOU ONLY LIKE ME BECAUSE I LOOK LIKE A MAN TO YOU???" No...), and she says she's only going to do the bare minimum to keep up appearances and I "don't deserve anything more than that", but that's fine.

*