BRIAN’S POV

I’m gonna puke.

Right now.

Gonna fucking puke.

I swallow hard. Try to hold back the vomit rising in my throat.

Christ. I look around for a trashcan, anything...

But there’s nothing here in this room. Four square grey walls and one rectangular door. No windows, just a metal table, metal chairs. And nowhere to puke.

Close my eyes and breathe deeply. This isn’t happening. Can’t be happening. There is no fucking way that I am sitting in an examination room at the cop shop. The door opens and Horvath comes in.

“Listen, Kinney,” he starts, then his voice fades.

I look at him, trying not to be so fucking desperate, but he’s my only hope here.

“Yeah?” my voice cracks out of my throat.

He sits down in front of me. “They’re going to have to question you,” he looks at his hands, then back up at me. “And you’re not going to like it.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” I ask him sharply.

“It means that they’re going to ask you some personal questions... and I’d advise you to tell the truth,” he says it quietly.

“Of course I’d tell the fucking truth,” my voice raises louder than I intend. “I haven’t done anything wrong. That fucking shit nephew of my mine is a goddamn liar, and—”

“Just tell them the truth. I’m going to see if there is anything I can do,” he gets up slowly and starts for the door.

“Wait,” I say.

Horvath turns and looks at me.

“Is it really that bad?” the words come tumbling out of my mouth and I hope I don’t sound as pathetic as I feel.

He sighs and shakes his head. “It’s obvious this is bullshit. What he’s doing isn’t right.” He pauses and looks at me. “But...” he lets the word hang in the air.

But what? I know there is really nothing he or I can do to make this go away. If the kid decides he’s going to screw me... well, fuck, he’s going to screw me. The law has no room for protecting faggots.

I look away from him. I’m not going to make him say it. That I could be fucked. “I understand,” I say under my breath.

He gives me a curt nod, and puts his hand on the door knob. He starts to leave, then turns back. “I believe you, Brian. Remember that,” he says it quietly and leaves, locking the door behind him.

Locking the fucking door. Like I’m really some fucking criminal. I know it’s not him doing it, not the guy screwing Deb. It’s the cop inside him that’s trained to do it.

But, Jesus Christ.

I stand up, and turn towards one of the cool concrete walls. I lean against it, closing my eyes and resting my forehead on the hard surface, pressing my palms flat on the wall as if I could somehow bust through if I tried hard enough.

But huffing and puffing and bravado and all my shit that I usually pull isn’t going to work here. Nothing can blow this house down.

Horvath is right. I have to stick to the truth. It’s the only thing I have on my side right now. I have to bury my anger and save it for later. Save it for when I see that little shit again.

I rub my eyes, and my hands stink like latex, remnants of the empty condom I quickly pulled off my dick and shoved in my pocket. It made me really feel not right to be found like that by that cop. Fucking a trick in the elevator. Somehow it just doesn’t seem... right anymore. Doesn’t exactly seem like... I don’t know, but I feel like shit now, and that’s the truth.

The door opens and I spin around like I’ve been caught doing something wrong, and I already know that this isn’t going go well. Rage is burning inside me and it’s all I can do not to fucking scream at the cops and tell them to go arrest that mother fucking son-of-a-bitch nephew of mine for being the liar. Because it’s not me. Not me.

Fuck, I think I’m gonna puke.

“Sit down, Mr. Kinney,” the taller one says, and for once in my goddamn life, I do what someone tells me to do. I pull out the metal chair and park my ass on it, wondering if I should try my best to smile innocently or if I should have no expression or if I should let my brows furrow together in my forehead and my teeth clench together so fucking tight I think I’ll fucking break one of my fillings. That’s the one I go for. That’s the only one I got.

“There are some pretty serious accusations against you,” the other one says, sitting down in the chair that Horvath recently vacated. The taller one stands behind him, staring me up and down. I can feel his hatred from here. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he finishes.

I sit quiet for a minute, debating the thousand things I can say. I want to say that I demand to speak with my lawyer, but Jesus Christ, that sounds like admitting guilt, somehow... I want to tell them to fuck off and die... I want to tell them that little bastard is a liar... I want to tell them to stop fucking staring at me... I want to tell—

“Those accusations are false,” I say it slowly and deliberately. These words are the only things I can think of. I can’t say anything stupid and cocky. I can’t let my anger come seething out. I need to do what Horvath told me to do—tell the truth.

“I understand our officer found you... sodomizing... another man in a public place,” the fucking cop gives me this look of disgust and I know I’m dealing with yet another fag hater.

“I own the floor. Technically the elevator was on my property when I was fucking him,” I say it back to him. Not gonna get me on some shit like that.

“You’re sexually involved with a teenage boy, is that correct?” he stares me down, like Justin is fucking 13 years old.

“Not anymore. And he has nothing to do with this discussion,” I stare at the door, not looking at either one of them. How dare they bring Justin into this.

The taller cop, leans down to look at me, standing behind his partner. “Yes he does, Mr. Kinney,” he stares at me hard, and I know he’s trying to catch my gaze, but I keep my eyes diverted. “It shows that you have a history of assaulting underage boys.”

At those words, I can’t help but look at him, and the thought... oh Christ, the thought of it... I feel blood pulsing to my face and I lose it, fucking lose it, pushing out of my chair, knocking it backwards and I yell at them, “This is bullshit! Justin has nothing to do with this! My fucking nephew is trying to screw me because I caught him stealing money from me in my own goddamn house!” The words come stumbling out of my mouth and over my lips and I feel my face flush with anger, heat racing up into my temples and my heart pounding hard...

Christ, I’ve fucked up. I’ve lost my temper. I’m two seconds away from losing everything...

How can this be happening to me?

How can this fucking be happening to me?

“Sit down, Mr. Kinney,” the cop at the table says. “We’ve got your statement. We know what you’re claiming,” he says it like he thinks I’m lying.

I bend over and pick up the chair slowly. My hands are shaking and I can’t see straight, but I need to calm down or I’m never getting out of here.

The only way I can control this situation is by controlling myself.

Sitting back down in the chair, I take a deep breath and let it out again. Calm. Cool. Controlled.

“I’m just disgusted with these accusations,” I say it quietly, knowing if I let my voice go any louder I’ll be screaming.

The taller one muffles a laugh. “I can assure you, Mr. Kinney, so are we.”

I glare at him. This is no fucking laughing matter.

The cop sitting across from me gives me a long hard look. “Can we continue now?”

I nod.

“Thank you,” he pushes through some papers in front of him. “Tell me. What’s the relationship between you and your sister?” he begins, and I know I’m in for a long fucking night of questions.

I answer him. I answer all of the stupid questions, about my family, about my “lifestyle”, about my job, I answer everything as quickly and as curtly as I can. And I answer everything honestly, as honestly as I can. By the time it’s over, I feel like I’ve told them more than I’ve ever told anyone.

I feel violated.

And now I understand what Horvath was talking about.

“So, we done now?” I ask when it appears the questions are over.

“Yeah. Just don’t make any plans to go out of town,” the taller cop says and snickers again, walking out the door.

The other one gets up from the table. “We’ll be in touch in a few days, Mr. Kinney. Here’s my card in case you have anything else you’d like to tell us.”

He leaves, and Horvath comes in again.

“You okay?” he asks.

I stand up from the table, my legs feeling shaky from sitting so tense for so long. “Fabulous,” I mutter and follow him out the door.

“I called Michael. He’s waiting for you out front,” he passes me back my cell phone and wallet.

I nod a little in thanks. The relief of getting out of that fucking place is quickly being overtaken by anger again, and by the time I’ve woven my way out of the corridors of the cop station and into the front where I see Mikey waiting for me, I feel ready to throttle someone.

One glance at Mikey’s worried face is like a fucking slap in the face that all this is real, and I push past him, giving him a look, and I fumble in my pockets for my cigarettes.

“Brian, oh my God!” I hear Michael behind me, scrambling to catch up as I storm out of the station. The Brian Kinney they nailed to the fucking wall in there is not going to ever come out again.

“I heard from Horvath... your nephew—he told them you made him suck your cock?” he follows me outside. Hearing his voice, so incredulous, so fucking naïve. I wanna push him to the ground and scream at him, ‘we’re never going to fucking win, Mikey!’, but the cool air on my face feels so good and the sense of freedom again just fuels the fire inside me.

“That’s what he told my cunt sister... and that’s what my cunt sister told the cops,” I light my cigarette, sucking back the acrid smoke.

“I gave that little asshole free comics,” Michael says, as if that’s the worst of my problems. “They don’t believe him, do they?”

Christ, he has no idea what is fucking going on here. He has no fucking idea how bad this can be. I don’t even wanna think about it. Don’t wanna think about how I could lose everything.

I look at him hard. “Listen up Michael,” I say. He’s got that fucking doe-eyed look on his face. The one I’ve seen too many times before. But I want him to hear this. He needs to hear this. “Are you listening?” I ask again.

“I’m listening,” he mumbles.

“They’re heterosexuals. They think all us perverts are after only one thing... to get our hands on some sweet piece of little boy meat,” I spell it out for him. I head towards the driver’s side of my car, looking for my keys in my pockets, and complaining about having to pay a lawyer. I need to find a fucking lawyer—Melanie definitely isn’t the one to defend me for this.

Mikey is still going off, asking me if I’m getting arrested, as if I fucking know the answer to that—I remember that he has my keys and stick my palm out to take them from him. He tosses them to me, and starts freaking out, standing there with his hands at his sides, his face all wrinkled up with worry.

“Well, you can’t just wait around for them to come and take you away,” he wails. Like I’ve ever done that before in my fucking life. Waited for anybody.

I crumple up the parking ticket sitting on my dashboard, left there by some ignorant cop.

I laugh bitterly at the irony of it all. “I don’t intend to,” I say and jump in the car, squealing out of there, burning the rubber on my new tires, and relishing in the feel of the power of this car.

Glance back at Mikey, standing on the sidewalk, watching me tear off into the distance. Shouldn’t have left him there, but goddamn it, I gotta deal with this before I fucking tear myself apart.

Get out to the suburbs, and come to a stop in front of the bitch’s house, the tires shrieking against the curb as I pull too close to the sidewalk. I toss my cigarette on the front porch on my way up the steps, taking them two at a time.

Ring the front bell, biting at my lips... not sure who to take down first, my fucking nephew for lying or my fucking sister for believing him. I put my foot up on the doorframe, just waiting for her to answer the door.

Inside the house, I hear her come closer, then she pulls open the door. I get one look at her moonface, then jam my foot in the door, blocking her from closing it. She starts swearing at me and I push harder on the door to open it.

Jesus Christ, I’m so fucking mad I wanna smack her across the face. Wanna make her cry... see her look at me with that fear in her eyes. Want her to know how fucking important this is.

But that pain, that anger, that fear was reserved for Jack, and her asshole husband after that. And it won’t come from me. Never from me.

I hate her for making me feel like this. For letting out that goddamn animal that I’ve always known has lived inside me. For pushing me so fucking close to the edge that I’m clinging on by my fingernails. For making me want to feel like this.

I wrestle with her and the door, screaming at her to open it, open the fucking door, and she’s threatening to call the police, but I push my way in, throwing her back against the wall.

I blindly enter the house, looking everywhere for that little shit, but I don’t see him anywhere, so I head for the stairs to go up, but Claire leaps in front of them, trying to block me. As if... as if... what? What the fuck does she seriously think I’m going to do?

The panic that runs across her face sickens me. The fear, the disgust, that I see there.

My own goddamn sister.

She never fucking liked me. She always hated that I was gay. Always hated who I was. Told me she was ashamed of me. Told me she’d rat on me. Blackmailed me and lied to me and threatened me and made fun of me...

And all the fucking time I never, ever fought back with her. Because I could take her shit more than I could take Jack’s. If she told Jack... shit... now, after having told the fucker myself... it seems ridiculous. But when I was 15 I believed he would kill me. I honestly believed he’d fucking beat me until I stopped moving.

Later, when I got older, made money, I helped her out when that asshole husband of hers left her. Gave her cash, I paid for shit, and she always said it wasn't enough. Without ever thanks from her for what I could give. Never anything from her.

And now this.

I look away from Claire and lean over the banister, yelling up the stairs, shouting for the fucking kid to get down here.

“You think I’m going to let you near him, you sick pervert?” she screams at me, the words ringing in my ears and going straight to my stomach like a fucking knife shoved inside me.

I take a deep breath, then go back to her, leaning in front of her, looking at her like I’ve looked at her for all of my 31 years. My fucking big sister. The one my parents wanted. Daddy’s little princess and Mommy’s little angel. And me. The one they didn’t want.

“You think I actually molested your son?” I ask her, disbelieving. She can’t really think that. She doesn’t answer, just looks at me and I feel a shred of something from her.

She doesn’t really believe it. I know she doesn’t. But she’d rather believe that I would do something like that than believe her son is a lying sack of shit.

Not gonna let her fool herself. Not at my expense.

“You know, maybe, if you had asked me before you called the cops,” I throw at her.

“Why should I? And why would he make it up?” she yells back at me.

“Because your kid is a twisted, fag-hating liar, Claire, that’s why!” I spit it in her face then take a couple steps back. Gotta get away from her, fucking bitch. “Who’d he learn that from?”

I hear footsteps in the living room, and turn around, ready to throttle John, but instead... oh... instead I see someone else. The timing couldn’t have been more appropriate. I laugh sarcastically, “Enter mom, stage left.”

I walk into the living room and look at her. I haven’t seen her since I confronted her in church so many months ago. Haven’t heard from her. Haven’t talked to her. Haven’t even wanted to remember that she existed. I’m sure the feeling is mutual.

“You have a helluva nerve showing your face,” her voice cuts through me and I come closer to her. Looking at this woman I once loved. Staring at her as though I don’t even fucking know her... how can I be her son?

“Nice to see you too,” I push it in her face and I get the reek of brandy and it makes me want to gag. Makes me think of too many years as a kid, smelling her stinking breath while she held me in her arms, quietly sniffing back tears as she wished my father would come home to her.

I stand so much taller than her now, and I look down on her, sensing her revulsion with me that I’ve felt since the second she first found out. Since she found out my truth.

I want to make her feel uncomfortable and I lean in real close to her. “What, don’t I get a kiss?” I say it and I hear Jack’s voice out of my mouth and I know right then and there that I’m too close to losing it.

She tells me to stay away from her, and I try to push past her to go into the kitchen, but she puts her arm up, blocking me. I know I could throw her aside like a rag doll... make her fall back on her ass, spilling her drink all over her, crack her head against the wall and it would all be over. But no... that's not me.

My sister starts in on me again and then my mother too and I simply can’t believe that these are the two women I spent my life with. That these two people are all that’s left of my natural family and it makes me sick to think that I almost brought another Kinney into this world. I can only hope that there’s enough of Lindsay in Gus so that he’ll never be like me or any of these people that share my blood.

I pace back and forth between them, my sister on one side and my mother on the other, feeling like I’m fucking caged, tearing back at them for each of their barbs at me.

And it starts to hurt somewhere deep inside of me, and I start to realize that...

They want to believe this of me.

They hate me.

And as much as I want to be rid of them... they want to be rid of me too.

Then my fucking mother says the words that really hurt. Cutting down the people in my life. Cutting down the only people that have ever really been my family. Tells me she’s not surprised that I would do the horrible things she believes I’ve done.

“It’s what happens when you turn your back on the Lord,” she says it so self-righteously.

All I wanna do is ask her... what happens when you turn your back on your own fucking son?

Her words burn inside me. She knows, she fucking knows how to hurt me still. She’ll always know, and she’ll always have that power over me as long as I let her.

Not again.

I make a decision to never, ever, give her that power again.

“Fuck the Lord,” I seethe into her face.

She just stares at me. Cold. No reaction. I want her to throw her drink in my face or slap me or something to acknowledge my existence. To let me know that she still loves me enough that I can hurt her back.

But nothing.

And I draw the line in the sand. It’s over. My throat tightens and my breath catches in my lungs.

“And... fuck you,” I stare right into her eyes as the words make themselves out of my throat... around the ball of hate, around the disappointment and betrayal.

My own goddamn mother doesn’t believe me.

Somehow the anger has gone, and sadness overwhelms me. I feel my eyes stinging and I give up on them... give up on this.

If they want to crucify me for my sins, for what they think I’ve done... if it makes them feel better... if it’s what they have to do... I know I can’t stop them. I know there’s nothing that I can do to stop them. And I hate that I feel like I’ve given up. I hate that I feel like I’ve lost my whole fucking family, because I never wanted them anyway... and I never really loved them... or anybody... anyway.

I walk out of there. Into the street. Climb in my car. Jam the keys in the ignition.

Close my eyes and push my palms against my cheeks. Bite on my lips and take deep breaths... but all I hear are shuddering gasps pulling in and out of my throat.

I cried over my father’s death. Bitter tears that marked my relief that he was finally gone and my mourning for the father I wished I could’ve had.

And I shed a tear over the rest of my family. For who they could’ve been... for who I wanted them to be...

Because they are dead to me now.

How stupid I was, thinking that I could buy his love. Passing my father packets of cash. Lending him money to help him out, when he’d done nothing, ever, for me.

How stupid I was, believing the lies from my mother’s lips. Thinking that if I took her to church, brought her flowers... that she could somehow want me for who I really am.

How utterly foolish I was.

I pull a joint out of the glove compartment, light it and take a long drag. The sweet smoke calms me momentarily.

There is no fucking way they will win this. I’ll spend every goddamn penny I have on lawyers to make sure that there is no way they win this.

And when they finally realize the truth... when it comes creeping out—because I know it will—I will laugh and laugh in their faces.

No more packets of cash from me.

No more secret deposits into my mother’s bank account.

No more paid bills for my sister.

Not one more cent will come from me.

They’re dead to me now.