Hello, my children. I am come once again bearing gifts from my soul. Er . . .right, well anyway, it's here . . .:) This has nothing to do with anything that ever pertained to anyone's life but mine. This all comes from my head, so all the little eccentricities you see within are 99.9% me-based. If this kinda stuff offends you, then you need more help than I can provide. And now, for something I haven't done thus far . . .(trumpet fanfare) SPECIFIC THANK-YOUs. (it looked weird with an upper case `s' . . .trust me).
DLS: My lovely and talented, D. This man is utterly amazing. He has sat at his little computer in Canada and listened to me rant on about things he has to be getting tired of . . .:) He has listened to me babble on about Luke, and Jason, and Lance, and who knows what all else. Without him, I'd have no idea where Lucky Me was going. And, on a more personal level, he is honestly one of the best friends I have ever had. He has helped me figure out who I am more than he will ever know, I am sure. It's coming up on a year now that I've known him, and I've gotta tell you, D, it feels like I've known you my whole life. I love you, man . . .:)
Scotty: Oh, Scotch. What can you possibly say about this one, hmm? Scotch is definitely the kind of friend you want to have around, just to keep yourself in check. He'll tell you the truth whether you want to hear it or not. And that's one of the most valuable types of friends there is. But don't let him fool you. Underneath all that exterior, is an actual human being--and a damn good one. One whom I love very much.
And now, without further ado . . .on with the show.
Lucky Me -14-
In that year or so, I began to form a philosophy of life--a way of thinking that helps you cope with whatever it is your world is. One of the unbearably true things I came to learn was this: whether you want it to or not, life keeps moving forward. There were many times in my first nineteen years that I just wanted to shout at the universe to stop for three seconds and let me alone. But it never gave me that option. No matter what you wanted, your world was always moving. And you could get on your feet and move with it, or you could stubbornly sit in one place and be tossed around.
This stage in my life was a shift from the latter to the former--from letting life move me to moving with it. I came to realize that, if you did indeed chose to let life toss you around, you were often thrown into walls that could only be moved if you chose to move them. But the stubborn one decides to tolerate that wall until their world tilts again and they roll away from that particular obstacle--and whatever damage be done, be done.
Jason. He was one such wall. I could have helped myself, then. I could have changed what my life was. Granted, I was scared shitless of the man, and remained so for a long time afterwards--creating more problems than I ever thought possible--but if I had really wanted to do something about it, if I had really been steadfast in my need to have a better life, I could have done something. I could have left. Or I could have told the doctors the truth for once. It would have only taken one person. But I didn't do anything. I let myself be beaten because I couldn't be bothered to do anything about it.
I'm not being too hard on myself. It absolutely makes me sick when I think about what I let happen to me. It makes me sick how I let his insanity become my burden to hide because I felt some crazy need to protect him from what he deserved.
Amidst all the unpacking and all the applying for jobs I didn't get, I began to stumble onto this philosophy--don't whine about how hard life is; get up and do something about it. But it didn't all come in that week--the big realization wasn't until a couple months later, I think. But that was definitely when I began to feel responsible for what my life was. In the back of my mind I knew that I had to get a job or I'd be homeless before too many months went by. That wasn't going to fix itself; I had to do something about it.
Two days before Christmas. Ford and I were out eating dinner at a tiny hole-in-the-wall called "Dave's" that serves the best Italian food I've ever tasted. We were celebrating finally getting everything out of the boxes and put away--a bigger task than I had imagined--so at its completion, we went out to mark the occasion. I'd told Lance when Ford and I were going to dinner, and he said he'd call before we left, but it hadn't happened.
"Why do you think he didn't call," Ford asked as he twirled the spaghetti onto his fork.
I chuckled and cut into my lasagna. "He travels so much, I doubt he knows what time zone he's in half the time. It's alright. I'll talk to him soon." The subject of my mysterious traveling boyfriend had come up a few times, and it never failed that Ford always wanted to know more about him. Somehow, though, I always managed to skirt the issue, being able to keep him happy by supplying only Lance's name and the fact that he traveled a lot in his job. Ford was a pushy person by nature, and it was hard not to tell him everything, but somehow I managed.
We were working on dessert and coffee, an absolute must at Dave's no matter how full you are, when the subject of Christmas came up. "Why aren't you spending Christmas with your family," I asked casually as I took a forkful of cheesecake. I'd gotten the feeling that something was up with Ford's family, and I was interested to know, but I didn't want to come right out and say, "Hey man, your family seems fucked up." I had no room to talk, anyway.
He smiled a rather painful-looking smile. "My family and I don't really get along."
"Oh no?"
He shook his head. "I told them I was gay. They told me they didn't have a son anymore." He scrunched his nose up. "We don't talk much," he grinned and hesitated only momentarily before taking another sip of coffee.
I smiled sadly at his attempt to lighten the mood, but also in recognition. "I know," I tried. "I've been there."
"You're family didn't take it well?" His eyebrows raised, hoping for a connection on this painful subject. With things like that, if you can find someone who's been through it too, you inexplicably feel a little bit better--it doesn't make your hurt any less significant, just a little more commonplace.
I shook my head. "There was no one to tell but my mom. I'm an only child, and my father died when I was twelve." I paused and took another bite. "She kicked me out when I told her."
He'd put down his fork and reached across the table, not touching me, but just trying to be closer, hoping it would help. "Do you talk to her at all, now?"
You know how sometimes your mouth opens before you're really ready to say anything? I studied a knot in the wood of the table and sighed. "She's dead." It came out monotone, without clear feeling, as I stared at a that knot. "Died a couple weeks ago. Never really made up with her."
"I'm sorry," he said softly. I wasn't looking at him. I didn't want to see his eyes because they'd make me remember, and I didn't want to remember. I didn't want to go back into that part of my brain.
"Don't be sorry," I said. "It's not your fault. Besides, it's just the way life happens sometimes." My mother had been another one of those walls I'd refused to move. I'd lived with her for a long time, and in that year after she kicked me out, I never once tried to get in touch with her to try and reconcile things. Whether it would have worked or not, I still didn't even try. I'd tried to make up with her while she was in the hospital, but not hard enough. And then it was too late. And whatever damage be done, be done.
Ford and I went to see a movie after that, and as we'd eaten dinner late, it was well after midnight when we got back to my apartment. Neither of us were tired, so I invited him in. We often stayed up until the wee hours of the morning talking with each other. I felt so at ease with him immediately. We'd just clicked.
I saw a red number one flashing on my answering machine, so I hit play as I prepared two glasses of lemonade--the staple drink for our late night chats. The machine beeped as I plopped ice cubes into the glasses, and soon Lance's resonant voice filled the room.
"Shoot, I missed you," it said. "This's the second time this's happened. I wish I could get a handle on the time. Hell, I wish I could get a handle on the time zone's. I used to be so good at that. I blame you entirely. Anyway, I guess I'll talk to you tomorrow, or something. I love you, Luke." He made a kissing sound. "Bye."
Smiling, I carried the filled glasses into the living room and sat sideways on the couch, facing Ford. "I love him so much." Ford smiled back at me. We'd been idly chatting for half an hour or forty-five minutes, I guess, when the phone rang. "What time is it?" I asked as he got up to answer the phone.
"Past one." We answered each other's phones. I don't know why we did it, but every time one of us was at the other's apartment, we answered his phone. "Hello, Luke's apartment," Ford practically sung, grinning as he leaned against the wall. "He sure is," Ford continued. "May I ask who's calling? . . .Just a sec," he said. He held the cordless out to me, and I got off the couch to meet him half-way. "Guy named Jason," he said as I took the phone.
I blinked. "Jason? Jason's on my phone?"
I guess he saw something unsettled on my face. I'd never told him about Jason. "Yeah. Something wrong?"
I didn't answer him as I brought the phone to my ear. "Jason?" I asked, not wanting to believe it was really him.
"Who the hell was that?" Yep, it was definitely Jason. And he was drunk, or had at least been drinking. Regardless, he was off the wagon he may have never been on in the first place.
I went over and locked the door. Deadbolt and chain, even the bottom one. "Friend of mine," I said, checking the peephole.
"Just a friend?"
"Why's it any of your concern anyway?" I asked, wanting to go over to the windows to make sure he wasn't out there, either. I found, however, that I couldn't move. My voice may have sounded strong, but I was scared stiff. And he knew it. For him, that was the point. "And how the hell did you get this number?" I'd mastered the art of sounding fearless, but he'd never fallen for it. Not once.
"You can't run from me," he cooed in that thick, disgusting, sugary molasses voice of his. "You can't get away. You belong to me. You know that. It took me awhile to track you down, but I did it. You must've known I would."
I stayed silent. I don't think I could've talked if I'd had something to say.
"It doesn't matter where you are. It doesn't matter who you're with. I own you. You know that." And there was a click. I took the phone away from my face and ended the call. But I just stood where I was, not blinking.
Ford came over to me. "Luke, you're shaking." I hadn't realized. He took the phone and led me over to the couch. "Who was that?"
"Jason," my voice answered automatically.
"I knew that. Who's Jason?"
"Ex-boyfriend." Again, automatically.
"Luke, snap out of it." Ford reached over, and taking my chin, he forced me to look at him, shaking me just enough.
Slowly, my eyes focused on Ford's face. The concern I saw there registered somewhere in the back of my head, but I couldn't deal with that right now. I just turned my face away from him and stared at the coffee table.
Ford was sitting in a fit of confusion beside me, trying to figure which end was up. "I don't understand," he said, shaking his head. "Luke, please tell me what's happening."
The silence slowed everything down. "I really really don't want to talk about it," I half-whispered, half-murmured.
"Why'd you lock the door like that when you started talking to him?"
I got off the couch and walked to the other side of the room. I hated it when he did that. Asked the same question a different way. If I just played along, this would all be over quickly. Ford was not gonna give up without an answer. That much, I knew. I had my back to him, and I was staring at the wall. "He's dangerous," I said, just loud enough for him to hear me.
"How do you mean?"
I guess he was just curious, but god, right then I resented him so much for pressing the issue. I'd said I didn't want to talk about it. Why wasn't that enough for him? Turning around, I closed my eyes and sighed. Just say it. "Jason beat me," I blurted. I opened my eyes and glanced to where he sat on the couch. "Happy, now?" He just sat there, stunned. "Now, I really don't want to talk about this." I started walking towards the kitchen.
"Luke, I--"
"Ford!" Eyes wide, I turned to face him. "I don't want to talk about it!"
He nodded, and I stood there--realizing I had nothing to actually do in the kitchen.
And there was a knock.
My eyes darted to the front door, as did Ford's. My head was a mindlessly-loud jumble of non-specific declarations of fear and I couldn't get it to shut up long enough for me to actually think about what I should do.
"It might not even be him," Ford supplied me, reading my thoughts. "We should at least look."
What the hell did he mean, "we"? My eyes switched between the door and Ford. "You look," I told him. "If you don't recognize him, don't open it." My fearless facade was still with me, but I almost peed in my pants. I was just praying that Jason couldn't break down a door, and if he did, there were knives in the kitchen. And Ford was here. He couldn't attack us both at once, could he?
The air in the room was too heavy to breathe as Ford waded through it. Taking a very deep breath, he leaned forward and looked through the peephole. And after a few seconds, he looked again. "I don't believe it," he whispered--any trace of fear in his stance or his voice was now nonexistent.
"What?" I was almost not-afraid, but I couldn't help and think about the calm before the storm.
He looked at me, pointed to the door in bewilderment, and paused before saying, "There's a boyband at your door."
I blinked. "What?"
He nodded. "There's a boyband standing on your doorstep. Look for yourself."
I did indeed look. I practically ran to the door and looked through the peephole. And there was my proof. All five of them standing on my doorstep. I wouldn't've believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. I unlocked the door, and just before opening it, I turned to Ford. "Don't tell them. About Jason calling. Okay?" He nodded, looking extremely confused, and I flung open the door.
We all screamed like an excited bunch of little girls. Hugs flowed like water, Justin's hug being a little tighter, and he smiled at me in understanding.
I'd saved Lance for last. As soon as we met each other's eyes, my hands reached up to cradle his head, and I planted a kiss on those marvelous lips. He immediately responded, bringing his arms up around me, and I felt the edges of his lips turn up slightly.
We were greeted with a chorus of "Aww"s and "Eww"s--all of which I ignored. The kiss finally came to and end, though, and right as we released each other, Lance's eyes nervously shot over to Ford.
I noticed Lance's worry and positioned myself so I was behind him with my arms encircling his waist. "Oh, don't worry about him; he's cool. Right Ford?"
Ford was definitely having a little trouble grasping the situation--it was hard for me not to laugh. "Uhm, yeah, sure. I won't tell anyone," he mumbled. Though it seemed to take a lot of effort, he managed to focus on me. "How come you never told me that the Lance you were dating was Lance Bass?" he asked, motioning towards the man in my arms, like I didn't realize who he was.
"You never asked," I smiled. "And besides, Lance'd never met you, and I didn't want to tell you without him knowing."
I felt Lance smile against my cheek. "I don't mind, as long as you promise not to tell anyone. If you're a friend of Luke's, you must be a good guy."
Ford smiled back. "I guess the same goes for all of you."
"Oh god, where's my head? I blame you," I said quietly as I kissed the side of Lance's neck. "Everyone, this is Ford Myers, my next door neighbor, and a good friend of mine. Ford, this is Joey, Justin, Chris, JC, and of course, Lance."
"Of course," Lance giggled. God, how I'd missed that giggle.
"Anyone want a drink?" I asked, reluctantly pulling away from my giggling blonde boy and starting to the kitchen--this time with a purpose. Both Chris and Joey ordered a beer, so I turned and raised an eyebrow at Ford.
He grinned. "Alright, anyone else for a beer?" No one else spoke up. "Okay then, three beers comin' right up." He left to get the beers from his fridge.
"I've got lemonade and Coke. Who wants what?" JC wanted a Coke, and Lance and Justin decided on lemonade. I got the drinks from the kitchen, including a coke for myself, my lemonade from before having long been finished, and went back into the living room. Ford had returned, and as I snuggled up behind Lance on the floor, I glanced to the door to make sure all three locks were done. They were.
"So," I grinned, "what the hell are you guys doing here, anyway?"
"Nice to see you, too," Justin laughed.
"You know what I mean. I thought you guys were traveling over Christmas. How long are you in town? Why didn't you say anything before? Why aren't you with your families?"
Joey smiled. "Slow down there, question man." I grinned. "With the schedule change, we found ourselves with a few days we hadn't counted on."
"Our families didn't think we were gonna be free, so most of them had made other plans without telling us where they'd be," JC continued.
Lance snuggled back against me. "We decided we didn't really have time to spread across country and get back within three days, since we didn't know where we'd exactly be going anyway, so we were all set to spend Christmas in the hotel. Then I called here, and you weren't home, and I was bummed."
Chris laughed. "You should have seen the look on his face. He looked like a sad little puppy." And indeed, I found myself pulling Lance closer as I pictured it. "So, then it just sorta hit all of us. We all missed you, and we had a few days. So, why not? And here we are. We didn't even pack anything."
"You got plane tickets on the spur of the moment two days before Christmas?" Ford questioned, eyes wide.
"We're in NSync!" Guess what? Unison.
"Oh, that's just sickening," I mumbled as I got up to get another drink.
Near enough to an hour later Joey stood up. "Well, it's two-thirty in the morning," he said, "and I'm exhausted. I think we should all be getting to our respective homes." Everyone began to stand up.
I got up quickly. "No." They all looked at me with confused faces. I didn't want them to leave. I didn't want to risk Jason being out there. And I didn't want to tell them that. They'd gotten in okay, but why take chances? "Come on, it's late. You just got here, and I don't want you going home to empty houses. Y'all can stay here. It'll be like a slumber party. I've got another bedroom, two of you can share the bed in there--I can't imagine you haven't done that before. One of you can sleep on the couch, and I guess someone will have to sleep on the floor somewhere. It'll be fun." I smiled at them. "I'm not taking no for an answer."
But luckily, no one much challenged me on it. They were all tired, and weren't in the mood for arguing. Ford was kind enough to offer his couch, so no one had to sleep on my floor. And so, I successfully managed to keep everyone safe and sound, or at least close.
I ushered Lance to my bedroom and closed the door behind us. "I've missed you," I grinned as I pulled him to me so we were flush up against each other.
He hummed his agreement into our kiss, our lips and tongues trying desperately to make up for time lost. In the course of things, I must admit, we got a bit carried away. I'm not, however, prepared to make any apologies. We ended up, a bit out of breath, me lying on my back on the bed, and him straddling my hips. Both clad only in boxers, and both with a noticeable bulge therein. And we were contented in just looking at each other, making eye contact quite often, but also drinking in the other's presence, as if neither of us could really believe it.
"I love your skin," I said softly as I trailed a finger down the middle of his chest.
He arched his back to meet my finger. "My skin?" I nodded. "What's there to love about my skin?"
"The color," I smiled. "I love the color."
He looked down at my finger as I continued tracing patterns on his torso. "I think the correct response to that would be `What color?'" he giggled. "There's a reason the guys call me an albino, ya know."
"Albino?" I looked up at him, and he grinned back at me and nodded. "You're not an albino. You're . . .milky."
"Milky?"
"Yeah," I defended my word-choice and grinned. "You're skin's got a milky quality to it." I sat up and kissed him lightly. "I happen to find it very sexy," I smiled.
"Oh yeah?" A growling whisper, and absolutely irresistible.
"Mmhmm." I turned us over so I was lying on top of him. I kissed his ear and his jaw, before feeling contented to just be there with him. "Can you breathe? Am I too heavy?" I asked, wanting to make sure he wasn't uncomfortable.
He chuckled a bit. "Yes, I can breathe, and no, you're not too heavy." His hand brushed back and forth along my side. "I don't think I can move, but then, I don't really want to." I knew he was grinning.
"Well that's good," I mumbled into his neck, "because I could stay like this for the rest of my life."
"Fine with me." His hand kept brushing, and a moment of silence ensued.
"Did I lock the door?" I was almost positive I had.
"Mmhmm," his voice rolled into my ears.
"You sure?"
"I saw you," he reassured. And he must have felt the change in me, because the hand that had been brushing along my side, now came up to rest on my back. "Luke, what's wrong?"
I felt the heat of my breath reflected back at me from his neck. "Promise not to freak out?" I could feel him become more and more worried.
"I reserve the right to freak out should this be worthy of it. But I promise to try not to."
I nodded against his shoulder. "Before you guys showed up . . .Jason called." I immediately felt him tense.
"What'd he want?"
"To make sure I was still afraid of him."
The hand on my back now traced back and forth along my spine. "I don't understand," he whispered. "I thought you stood up to him."
"I did." I sighed. "I was just fooling myself." I felt his muscles shift, trying to sit up, so I got off him and sat on the end of the bed, he sat facing me. I looked into his eyes, and he didn't need to ask his question. "The last time Jason hit me was a little over two months ago. We were together for, like, a month and a half where he didn't touch me. That was unheard of."
I was looking down at the bedspread. Lance scooted closer to me and brought my chin up so I was looking at him. "Why didn't he . . .I mean--"
I nodded, understanding what he meant. "I'd had broken bones before. I mean, he'd broken my bones before, and I'd always had a cast. But they never stopped him from hitting me. In fact, he usually liked it more, because I couldn't get away as fast."
"Bastard." I don't know if he was even aware he'd said it.
I nodded. "But that last time was the first time I'd had two casts at once."
"Two?" He looked up at me, his eyes wide with a hint of sadness.
"Yeah," I whispered. "My left leg, and my right arm." He came closer to me and put a hand on each limb. "I'm okay, now," I said softly. He nodded, so I continued. "They put me in a wheelchair, because I couldn't use crutches with my arm, and they had to call him to come get me from the hospital. He'd never been part of the hospital ventures. The only way he knew I'd been was from my casts, usually. I think it scared him, seeing the physical evidence of what he'd done. I think the actual sight of me in the hospital scared him, and the wheelchair scared him, and my two casts scared him, and he just never hit me again."
"Well, that's something, at least." I pushed him back a little, so he was leaning against the wall, and I lay between his legs, my head resting on his hip.
"I convinced myself he'd gotten better. I told myself that he'd realized what he'd been doing, and that he'd changed. And I believed it. I really believed it. Up until that call."
"What'd he say?"
"That I couldn't get away from him. That he `owned' me, and that he'd track me down wherever I was." I was silent for a moment, and his hand ran through my hair. "He hasn't changed," I whispered. "He's still the same person he always was. He gets off on my fear. He loves being able to control me with it." My breaths were ragged. I wanted to cry. "And I hate that I'm scared of him. I hate that he does that to me."
"Luke, it's not your fault," he said, tugging me up a little, so I was sitting against him, and wrapping his arms around my waist. "Any normal person would be scared in your situation. You haven't done anything wrong. He's the one at fault here, not you. Okay?" He kissed the back of my neck, and I nodded. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise." He hugged me tighter, and I put my hands over his. "I love you," he said softly.
"I love you, too." I smiled and snuggled back into him, feeling truly safe for the first time in a year.
To Be Continued . . .
I had planned on it being longer, but that just seemed like the right place to end it. And for those of you who'd been complaining about a lack of the guys, well--you're welcome . . .:) Okay, so drop me a line at Lauren2993@aol.com, and if you've got AIM, feel free to IM me, but make sure to identify yourself as a reader, or I might ignore you . . .:) Also, I'm going to start another story. It will be called "Don't Ever Die Again", and like my good friend Scotch, I'll be switching between stories. So, now I'll work on the first installment of DEDA, and once that comes out, I'll work on LM, and so on and so forth until DEDA ends. It will be a short story, consisting of only about six installments or so. And no, this isn't the BSB story I've been talking about. This one is yet ANOTHER story I've been mulling over, and it'll be about NSync. So, don't say I don't keep you informed . . .:) I love you all to teeny tiny bits, -Lauren aka Pook