My Surprise Romance

Okay another few weeks pass, and another installment of MSR. This is chapter 51 in the ongoing novella, as I like to call it. Let's see here...

Thank you to everyone who's sent me feedback about the previous chapters. Makes my day. I love email and lately I've been really lazy at answering it and I'm sorry. But you can still send it to me here: sweetheart_stories@hotmail.com. I'm what they call a feedback whore (wouldn't mommy be proud) so send me some. Or don't. But it would be nicer if you did =)

Thanks to my support crew. Ethan, your drunken emails are great (and he gave me a cool nickname--the Bad Ass Bass Bitch). David, you're just a great person. Now get to work on Maze. Lulupower--thanks for caring about me =) (go read No Strings Attached--it's JC and Lance!) Of course, thanks to the special people, Killian and John across the Atlantic. Brian, I have to add you here because I'm standing over your shoulder and your long emails give me a reason to smile. =) Val? What else can I say but thank you, thank you, thank you for all the support ::muah:: And Justin. You're more special than the word special. Thanks for the chats, the mails and everything. Bang, Bang!

Okay, last thing....go and visit the site. Shameless self-promotion at work here kids. Sweetheart Stories...it's fun (I think) and it's pretty (I think). Go. Now. http://www.freespeech.org/gabriella Tons of JC/Lance fics and lots of inane ramblings. =)

Disclaimer: As fake as Lanshy's attempts to be straight. As fake as the relationship between JC and Bobbee. Are you 18 or 21? Then you belong here. If you're not, I don't want to know. And now, what you've all been waiting for...

My Surprise Romance

People Change

Chapter 51

"Sometimes I Fall Apart"

I should have stayed in bed that morning.

To make a long story short, the whole day was...weird. Unexpected things were happening in my life and I wasn't prepared for them.

The first thing that happened was the oversized stuffed teddy bear I found sitting in front of my door as I left for school. I nearly tripped over the damn thing, and almost fell flat on my ass. Upon closer examination, I saw a small envelope, tied around the animals neck, Lance's name written on it. Grumbling under my breath, I just took the stuffed animal inside and threw it in the closet.

`Great,' I thought, a little agitated from the surprise that had greeted me. But I tried to shake it off, and concentrate on the phone call that I had received from Lance that morning. Now that was a welcome surprise...

My thoughts quickly shifted as I arrived at the University, and searched in vain for a parking space. Yeah, right--finding a parking space was like finding water in a desert--there wasn't a chance in hell I'd find one, so I just parked across the street. When I got out of my car, I nearly had my door ripped off by some speeding car that I hadn't seen.

"Jerk," I muttered under my breath as I ran across the street, desperately trying not to get hit by the oncoming traffic that was heading towards me. Luckily my legs were fast enough and I made it into the school, and to my Government class on time. I really shouldn't have bothered going though--we got our exams back. Remember the exam? The one that I had rushed though so I could get back home to where Lance waited for me? Well that was another stupid mistake I had made.

"Oh shit," I muttered under my breath as I opened up the marked examination booklet. I could only stare at the `72', which was scribbled in red ink at the top of the page. I couldn't help but cringe. Now, I know that a 72 isn't that bad of a grade, but for me it is. I had always done moderately well in college, and this...this just sucked. I had never done so badly on a major exam before.

"So, Stephen--" Marianne's voice cut through my thoughts. "What did you get?" Embarrassed by my crappy grade, I just shoved the examination booklet into my bag, without uttering a word.

"Nothing," I mumbled under my breath as Professor Greene dismissed our class with a wave of his hand. "Nothing at all..."

At the time, scribbling down any old answer just so I could go back to Lance seemed like such a good idea. And now, as the 72 weighed heavily on my shoulders, I wasn't so sure. Sure the sex we had indulged in had been great (understatement of the year--it was better than great), but my grades had taken a nosedive. And so had my whole attitude about school. I didn't want to be there anymore, surrounded by people who I could have cared less about. I wanted to go home, lay in my bed and stare at the ceiling for hours on end. I wanted to lay in my bed, because, well...Lance and I had laid there a few days ago, holding each other. I wanted to roll over on the pillow that lay next to mine and inhale his scent buried in the cotton.

Whoa, Stephen,' I said to myself as Marianne and I walked out the room together. Now you just sound obsessed with Lance. Your scaring yourself, you know. There's more to life than your boyfriend.'

The words sounded good, but for some reason they didn't soothe my soul the way I thought they would. My thoughts were empty and hollow and all I wanted was someone to hold. I wanted Lance. I let out a sigh and this didn't escape Marianne, who gave me a curious look as we walked side by side, moving through the throng of students that were exiting their classes. The hallway was packed, filled with wall to wall bodies, as Marianne and I attempted to make our way to the staircase. Our science class was on the third floor and we had roughly five minutes to make it there.

I was tired and I felt like I had weights of lead for legs. I was crabby and grumpy and I hated myself for acting this way. While Marianne and I walked up the stairs, my mind traveled back to that morning. The ringing of the telephone had waken me up about two hours before my alarm was set to go off and let's just say I was not a happy camper about it. But when I heard Lance's deep, beautiful voice travel though those phone lines, all traces of my anger disappeared. He had just called to say good morning and as Lance talked, I couldn't help but think that his deep voice sounded like beautiful music to my ears.

"Stephen," Lance spoke softly, and I could tell by the way he pronounced his words, that he was grinning from ear to ear. "I miss you. But, I got you a present. I shipped it out this afternoon--express delivery, so you should get it later today--your time."

"A present? Ooh, what?" I asked while trying to stifle a yawn. I was ecstatic that Lance had called, but I was dead tired. I had been till three a.m., working on a painting that was due tomorrow. I had to finish it, or I'd be embarrassed beyond belief in front of everyone during one of our hellish critiques. I had gone through that humiliation the afternoon that I had taken Lance to the airport and I didn't need it again. "Tell me, Lance..."

"Uh-uh, I can't tell you," he laughed teasingly. "I want it to be a surprise. But I can tell you one thing--you'll like it, I promise."

"Like? Not love?" I joked as I rested my head on the kitchen table and held the phone to my ear. It suddenly dawned on me that I was sitting in pitch black darkness, listening to my boyfriend's voice from millions of miles away. There was something oddly romantic about this set up, but I couldn't place my finger on it. Maybe it was because I missed him so much--maybe that's why it seemed so romantic to me.

"Stephen..." Lance said, trying his best to sound impatient with me. But it didn't work and before long, Lance had broken into a fit of giggles. "You'll love the present. I promise you. Cross my heart and hope to die." I sat up suddenly, jolted back to life by the word he had used.

"Don't say that," I chided him gently, only half-joking. I get creeped out whenever people say that, since death and I aren't very good friends. "Just cross your heart, okay? For me?"

"Okay," Lance agreed and by the tone of his voice, I could tell he had caught on to what I had meant. Suddenly, I heard a voice bellowing my boyfriend's name in the background. "Stephen...I gotta go," Lance sighed sadly. "They're calling us to get ready for some kind of interview...for America..."

"S'okay," I lied, trying to swallow back the truth. It wasn't okay. I wanted to talk to Lance until I turned blue in the face. I just wanted to sit there all day and listen to his voice travel over the wires that connected us from miles and miles away. But I couldn't. And neither could he. We both had our separate lives to go on to..."I'll talk to you later and I'll watch you on tv before I go to school."

"Sure. Okay." Lance's voice wavered slightly. "We'll talk later tonight or something...at least we'll be back in the states in what--three days, I think? Florida--at least we'll be in the same time zone, right?"

"Right."

"LANCE!!! Now!!! Off the phone!" I flinched at the person's voice and tried to make out who was calling my boyfriend off. I think it was Chris, but I wasn't too sure. I was so tired and my brain wasn't making good judgments. "And tell Stephen that I said `hi'," the person suddenly added.

"Chris says `hi'," Lance repeated, trying to sound as upbeat as he could. "He's yelling at me, but he still takes time out to say hi." A trace of laughter creeped into Lance's voice and I closed my eyes, trying to memorize that laugh.

"Tell him I said `hi' too." Pause. "Well..." I trailed my words off. I didn't want to be the first to utter those words...

"Well..."

"LANCE!!!!!" Chris's voice shattered the quiet between us, causing both Lance and I to laugh nervously.

"I gotta go, Stephen," Lance said softly, his words digging into my heart like a scalpel. "I'll talk to you later tonight. I love you."

I swallowed back the tears that were burning a path down my throat. "Okay, Lance...I love you too. Talk to you later." And with that, I hung the phone up, rested my head in my hands and sighed. This separation was killing me...

"Stephen?"

Marianne's voice interrupted my thoughts and it took me a few seconds to realize that I had stopped dead in my tracks, right in the middle of the hallway. A crush of students wove their way around me, some shooting daggers in my direction for blocking the path. Others just ignored the fact that I was standing there and paid more attention to their friends. When I met Marianne's aqua eyes, I noticed that she was staring at me with a look of disbelief.

"Stephen," Marianne said, agitation written all over her face as she reached out for my hand. "What are you doing? We have to get to science..."

"I..I..." I stammered helplessly. What was happening to me? I could barely function as a normal person anymore. One of Marianne's small hands clasped around my wrist, giving my arm a swift, somewhat painful yank as she nearly pulled it out of its socket.

"We have to get to class!" she exclaimed while dragging me down the hallway. I noticed some of the students staring at us strangely, but in all honesty, it didn't bother me. Nothing could bother me, anymore, since my head was permanently stuck in the clouds.

I might as well get used to this,' I thought with a mournful sigh. Cause I think I'm gonna be like this for the next three months...just lovely...'

When my Natural Science class finally ended, (Who the hell cared about the algae resting in the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean? I didn't, that's for sure. Unless it somehow affected Lance and I, but that was highly doubtful.) Marianne asked me if I wanted to go work on our new paintings for our Special Projects class. I noticed the hopeful look lurking in her clear aqua eyes, before politely turning down Marianne's request.

"Nah," I brushed off, trying to sound disinterested. "I really have to get home and...and..." And what Stephen?' I asked myself. And sit by the phone and hope that Lance calls? You're turning into a pathetic caricature of a lovesick idiot. You really are, you know...' And even though I was mentally beating myself up, I knew that was exactly what I was going to do, despite how embarrassing the truth was.

"Paint," I finally blurted out, realizing that the hopeful look in Marianne's eyes had now turned to a look of disappointment. "I'm going home to paint...I...uh...just like to paint at home."

"Oh yeah," Marianne nodded, biting her bottom lip. "You live in that apartment now, ever since your..." Her words trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence with, `since your mother died.'

I had told Marianne about my mother a few weeks ago. We had been getting something to eat at the diner across the street and Marianne asked how my family was doing. And so I told her what had happened over the summer (excluding a few choice details, of course) and she could only blush at my revelation. It certainly wasn't what Marianne expected to hear, but I did notice one good thing about our conversation. It was easier telling people about my mother's death. It wasn't like pulling teeth anymore and part of me felt good about that. I felt like I had finally grown up and come to terms with everything. And I was proud of myself for that.

"Yeah." I finished up our awkward conversation by gathering up my books and shoving them into my newspaper bag. As I slung it over my shoulder, I noticed that Marianne was still staring at me. Her aqua eyes traveled up and down the length of my body and I blushed under her scrutinizing gaze, wondering if I had suddenly grown another head or something. And then it hit me: Marianne was probably staring at me like that because I was dressed up again. This time I wore another button down shirt that I bought over the summer, and a pair of neatly pressed charcoal colored slacks. I never used to dress this way. The paint splattered t-shirts and frayed hemmed jeans that I used to wear, now served their purpose when I painted. I couldn't help it. I had changed over the summer in more ways than one and the wardrobe was just a fringe benefit of it all.

"Stephen," Marianne began suspiciously, as she stood up from her seat. "Have you been feeling well lately?" Her question caught me off guard for a brief second.

"Yeah, I'm fine--why?"

As she shrugged her narrow shoulders, I watched her purple ballet top shift over her bones. Marianne was so damn skinny, the girl looked almost anorexic at times. And here she was asking me if I was okay, when most of the time I just wanted to force feed her a meal.

"I don't know," she digressed as we walked out the door. "It's just that you seem so different...I mean, you miss classes to sleep in--"

That was true. I had missed a painting class the other day because, well Lance had called me at four in the morning and by the time we had gotten off the telephone, it was seven a.m. `Three hours', I thought when Lance and I finally said our good-byes. Sure, we had done a little talking and gotten down to doing a little...well...I don't want to get into details, but that had only taken about a half-hour at the most. The rest of the time, we had talked about what was going on in our lives--my school to his touring. It balanced out--kind of. But that half-hour...that had been incredible.

I felt my face grow warm at the thought. Just the mere thought of sex and Lance sent me spinning off into orbit and put me onto another planet.

"--You space out for no reason. I'd say you were sniffing turpentine or something--" Marianne continued as we walked onto the stairwell, and into a crowd of students fighting their way either up or down the steps.

Sniffing turpentine,' I thought with disdain. I wish that's what I was doing, because at least I'd be able to say this part of my life was just a bad dream.'

"--and well, you've just been distant. To me. To everyone." We stopped at a dead halt right in the middle of the stairs, causing the people behind us to swear and complain as they dodged around us. I stared at Marianne and she was clearly upset by my change of behavior. Her hands clenched into tight fists next to her hips, causing her knuckles to turn white as she continued to chew on her lower lip. We stared at each other, and I wasn't sure what to say. I felt trapped by her accusations--I knew why I had changed, but I wasn't going to come out and scream it.

"Stephen--what happened to you over the summer?" Marianne exclaimed, concern tolling through her voice. "You've changed so much, everyone in the class has noticed. It's like you're a completely different person..."

There was something about those words that bothered me--a lot. And it made me angry. "What do you mean, everyone's noticed?" I shot back, anger coursing through my veins. I hated what Marianne had just said: `Everyone's noticed.' That meant that people were gossiping about me behind my back--and that alone made my skin crawl. Didn't people have anything better to do these days? How boring were their lives if I had to be the topic of their conversation, especially when I went out of my way not to bother people.

"So basically you're saying people are talking about me behind my back?" I asked Marianne, my steely gaze meeting her own. And what bothered me was the fact that she didn't flinch. She didn't deny the words she had just spoken. She just stood there, chewing nervously on her lower lip, allowing the seconds to pass between us.

"Fine." And throwing my hands up into the air, this weird noise escaped my lips. I had it. I not only missed Lance, but I was cranky, grumpy and the onslaught of sexual frustration was beginning to settle in. And this new information was the last thing I needed.

"Stephen..." Marianne trailed off as I turned my back on her and headed downstairs. I never answered her. Instead, I just walked out of the building and off to my car. I just wanted to go home.

About a half-hour later, I pulled back into the parking lot of my apartment complex and let out a sigh of relief. Home. I'm *finally* home', I thought as I got out of the car and carefully ran up the steps that led to my apartment. I had stopped at a fast-food restaurant on the way home to pick up some lunch, and the smell of the food wafting from inside of the bag made my stomach rumble. The defeat of the 72' had stung, as did Marianne's news that I was the art department's latest gossip, but there was always Lance's phone call later on to brighten my crappy day. I began to noisily slurp on my cola, thirsty as hell, and as I walked down the hall, I noticed something that made my heart stop.

My apartment door was opened a crack.

Oh fuck,' I thought, a shiver of fear running through my body. It took me a few seconds to realize that I was probably being robbed as I was standing there. I was unable to move and just *stared* at my open door. Why me?' I thought pitifully. Wasn't my life already crappy enough without having this added weight?

I had to do something to protect myself and my belongings. So slowly, I stepped forward and pushed the door open, while its hinges creaked loudly through the half-empty apartment. I stuck my head inside and peered around cautiously. No one.

`Please, whoever you are, don't kill me,' I prayed silently, finally gathering enough nerve to walk inside. Setting my food down on the table next to the door, my first reaction was to locate the wooden baseball bat that I kept hidden in the closet, specifically for situations like this. Falling silent once more, I could clearly hear the presence of someone moving around in my bedroom.

Great,' I thought disgustedly. My room. They go where all the good stuff is, right?' Creeping towards my room, the rustling grew louder as I stepped closer. The door was closed and from behind it, I could hear loud, pulsating music waft into the air. Music? Why the hell would a robber put on music for? To listen to the CD before they stole it? Make sure the songs were good enough for their thieving hands? Or just to give them something to listen to while stealing my possessions?

"What the fuck?" I muttered under my breath, suddenly confused by the sheer oddness of the whole situation. I looked back down at the baseball bat in my hands.

Well,' I thought. No time like the present...' And with that last thought, I took a deep breath, kicked open the door and raised the baseball bat over my head.

"Whatthefuckisgoingon!??!?" I screamed maniacally as I charged into the room. The situation in front of me was blurry. I was keen on pummeling the holy crap out of the person kneeling next to a stack of my CD's that sat on the floor. Judging by the shoulder length, chestnut colored hair and miniskirt, I assumed it was a girl and within milliseconds, the intruder placed her arms protectively over her head. I guess she saw the baseball bat and heard my screaming...

"Oh my God, Stevie, don't kill me!!!!" The girl shrieked as I was about to bring the weapon down over her head, but then the words rang in my ears. I froze in midair.

Wait. Stevie? There was only one person in the world who called me that.

"Cynthia?" I asked in disbelief as I stared at my cousin, taking in her newly darkened hair. She had dyed it again. I dropped my hands to my sides, allowing the baseball bat to fall to the floor with a loud clatter. It rolled underneath the bed, but neither of us cared about that. Cynthia had pulled her body into a ball, arms still shielding her head and she was trembling with fear. I guess I had scared the crap out of her.

"Stevie?" she squeaked out as she moved her shaking hands from her face. "What the hell was that? Why did you almost kill me? What's going on?"

I let out a sigh of relief, relieved that it was only my cousin and not some random burglar. "Cynth...God, shit, Jesus...you fucking scared me," I breathed as I fell to the floor next to her. "You left my front door open.." And then I realized that in the haste of wanting to kick the intruder's ass in, I had also left my front door wide open, welcoming any stranger into my apartment. Leaving my bedroom and approaching my door, I noticed an envelope lying in front of it.

"Lance Bass," I read out loud as I picked it up. His name was written in one of those pink gelly pens and decorated with a string of small hearts. Sighing to myself, Lance's words echoed through my ears; `Either there'll be girls waiting for you or you're gonna get shitloads of mail and presents for me.' Remembering the teddy bear I had rescued that morning, I had a sneaking suspicion that Lance's prediction had been right on the money.

I didn't do anything with the envelope and instead, I left it lying in the hallway. I was not going to play mail collector. Instead, I locked up and grabbed my bag of fast food off the table. Heading back into my bedroom, I saw that Cynthia had taken a place on my bed, a look of relief appearing on her face when she spotted the paper bag in my hands.

"Oh Stevie!" she exclaimed happily, clasping her hands in front of her chest. "You brought me food!" Raising an eyebrow at my cousin, I just flopped on the bed next to her and grinned.

"Cynthia," I began. "I didn't even know that you were coming over here...but..." Poking around in the bag, I pulled out a cheeseburger and waved it in front of her. "Luckily, I bought three of these. This one was for my dinner tonight--but I guess you can have it..." Without a word spoken, Cynthia grabbed the burger from my hands, tore the wrapper open and bit into it hungrily, as though she hadn't eaten for days.

"Geez, Cynth - got quite an appetite there, huh?" I teased her, and in return, I was rewarded with a dirty look. "What?" I asked defensively as I removed one of the cheeseburgers from the bag. "And why are you here? How did you get in here? Only one person has a key and sure isn't you."

Swallowing her food, Cynthia's expression went from evil to sweet in a matter of seconds. She began to eye my soda, and before I knew it, swiped it right out of my hands and took a long gulp of the liquid, before rolling her eyes. "Let me guess? Lancey's got a key, right?" She waited for my nod and then raced on. "I told your landlord downstairs that I was your sister--I showed her my ID, our last names matched and--" She gestured triumphantly with her hands. "Voila! I'm here! Anyways...I quit school, went back home and then mom and dad kicked me out once they found out," Cynthia muttered under her breath and threw her sandwich down onto its wrapper. She looked absolutely disgusted.

"What?!"

She rolled her eyes at me, a dejected look crossing her face. "What are you deaf? I said, `I quit school--"

I cut her off with a wave of my hand. "I heard you the first time...I guess I'm just in shock. Cynthia..." The idea that George and Florence would kick her out seemed next to impossible. She was their princess, their pride and joy and now this???

"Cynthia..." I managed to say through my shock as I moved next to her on my bed. Wrapping a reassuring arm around her shoulders, I gently egged her on. "What happened? Tell me."

Cynthia looked up at me and within seconds, my normally hyper, exuberant cousin, had been reduced to a sobbing mess, crying and wailing as she fell against my chest. She threw her thin arms around my neck, nearly breaking it in the process, while her tears seeped onto my shirt.

She remained like that for a couple of seconds, and I just rubbed her back, still unsure what to do. I wasn't used to seeing my cousin so...well, depressed. I was about to say something when Cynthia looked up at me and began to talk. I'll admit, her words were a bit garbled and rushed, but I managed to get the main idea.

"I quit school," Cynthia began, reaching for a tissue to wipe her face. "I quit college during the third week--I just couldn't get into the whole routine of classes and authority and all that shit. I missed most of my classes and when I did go to them, I didn't even pay attention. I had other things on my mind..." Cynthia's words trailed off and a embarrassed blush swept across her cheeks. I knew Cynthia and I knew who she had been thinking of...a certain boy-band member who's name began with a `J'.. Before I could say anything, my cousin started her story up again.

"So I called Josh up. I told him I quit school and he was kinda mad, but not as pissed as I expected him to be. I asked him if I could come on tour with him and the rest of the guys after I got my life together and he said, `yes. He sounded thrilled at the idea, since we'd been missing each other so much," A elated grin lit up Cynthia's tear-streaked face as she remembered the conversation she had with her boyfriend, but it didn't last for long.

"So I went back home," Cynthia sighed, the smile disappearing rapidly. "You know, since I couldn't live on campus anymore--and I told mom and dad that I quit school." Cynthia buried her face in her hands and let out a weary groan. "They were so mad at me. I never heard my father scream so loudly or look so angry at me--" My cousin looked up then, a certain kind of sick humor creeping into her eyes as she recalled what had happened. " "And so they threw me out of the house..." The humor was gone as soon as it came, and those luminous violet eyes filled with a fresh batch of tears. "And so I came here, Stevie...I didn't have anywhere else to go...."

And before I could even say a word, her brave facade crumbled and Cynthia collapsed in my arms again, crying as though her heart was breaking into two. My first instinct was to assume that Cynthia was overreacting--she had quit school and her mom and dad threw her out, end of story. But then, as my cousin held on to me, sobbing, my heart suddenly went out to her. I knew what she was going through because I was going through the exact same thing. I missed Lance and I was miserable, but I hadn't quit school. However, my cousin had pulled a true "Cynthia"--she had followed her heart. She quit school because it was making her unhappy, and she had no place in her life for unhappiness. Cynthia was a free spirit in sorts. She lived for the moment and authority just wasn't her thing. And she wanted to be with Josh--the one person who made her happy.

I knew what she was feeling. I just wish I had the balls to pull a "Cynthia" of my own. I wouldn't of course, but the idea sure was nice...

I held onto my cousin for a few more minutes, trying to calm her down a little, until Cynthia's tears finally began to subside. Looking up at me after a few seconds had passed, she looked up at me and swallowed.

"Thanks," Cynthia whispered, trying to smile through her sadness. "Thanks for not judging me or anything. Even though I do really stupid things..."

"You don't do stupid things," I reassured her gently, as she sat up on her own, leaving my arms. "You just do what your heart tells you to do..." And although I was trying my best to keep a brave face, I couldn't help but let out a forlorn sigh of my own. I sounded so depressed and I hated myself for that. I wished I could have followed my heart as well...

I suddenly wished I had taken a leave of absence from school this semester. Instead of trying to attend classes and do homework, I wished I had traveled around the world with my boyfriend. Life was too short to sit in classrooms and turn in paintings for a grade. I wanted to live like I had lived over the summer--free and unrestricted from any kind of authority. I then realized that I missed Lance so much, I would have given up everything for him and that kinda scared me.

Was I becoming dependent on Lance?

Dependency is such a dirty word.

I never wanted to be one of those whiny, dependent boyfriends, unable to breathe, eat or sleep without their significant other. I didn't want to be a tag-along, pain-in-the-ass. I wanted to be strong, able to stand on my own two feet without Lance holding my hand.

Yet while these thoughts ran through my mind, I still missed Lance terribly. No amount of self-therapy could take that feeling away. I wanted everything--to quit school and be with my boyfriend and still have a successful art career. Was that too much to ask?

My thoughts were cut off short as a noisy slurp jolted me out of my daze. Looking up, I saw Cynthia polish off the last of my soda as she gave me an apologetic grin.

"I'm thirsty, Stevie," she said as she flashed me a charming grin. "Sorry..."

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, trying my best to be angry with her. But I just couldn't muster up that energy to be mad. That was Cynthia and she did crazy stuff like that. I knew it. Everyone knew it. Why even try to change her?

And then she sighed. It was a loud, sad sigh that made me look at her with curious brown eyes. Cynthia looked so sad and I wished that I could do something to cheer her up. I was about to recommend something like going out shoe shopping, my treat (that always brightened her day--always), but I never even had a chance to offer, when she suddenly blurted out something that surprised me.

"Stevie--I miss Josh so much." She looked down at the comforter underneath her and blushed. "I don't know how you're doing without Lancey, but I miss Josh like you wouldn't believe." She closed her eyes briefly and then opened them back up, a look of amazement and wonder lurking in those violet eyes. "He's just opened up my world and showed me how great it is to be in love. Everytime he calls, I get so giddy and happy it's practically sickening and you know what?"

"What?"

"I hate myself for it. I've never been dependent on another person, let alone a man--" She gave me a teasing grin before settling back into her pensive thoughts "--I thought I was stronger than that. You know--" She looked up at me and rolled her eyes, the blush on her face growing darker as she continued to talk. "--Cynthia Peterson--always the tough, big-mouthed girl who's independent." Her face twisted into a grimace. "Well, I don't want to be her at times, Stevie. I have feelings and you know what? They're scaring the shit out of me." She looked at me again and this time, her gaze met mine, pupil to pupil and I knew that she was serious. Dead serious.

There was something about her truthful words that just touched me inside. Here was my cousin, strong-willed Cynthia, who seemed to be able to tackle everything and anything that came in her way, admitting that she was...well, needy.

And you know what else freaked me out? The idea that Cynthia and I were having thoughts that ran along similar lines. Granted, Cynthia had always been somewhat of a tough cookie, while I had this wonderful tendency to worry too much about anything and everything. We both had our flaws and yet we had both snagged these wonderful boyfriends who now millions of miles away. And now we were both worried that we had become too dependent...

"I miss Lance," I said, not knowing that I actually spoke those words out loud. "I miss him so much, I wake up and I just wish he were here with me..."

And then I sighed out loud. It was a sad sigh, the result of feeling so overwhelmed by my thoughts, it was making me sick. And Cynthia heard my sigh, met my gaze again and then....laughed. She laughed at me. It was a full-on laugh, all teeth and crinkled up corners of eyes and she suddenly looked so happy.

"Stevie..." she managed to gasp out while laughing. "Oh Stevie...you know what I suddenly realized?" She paused for dramatic effect, holding her hand to her chest. "We're nuts."

"What?" I questioned. "What are you talking about, Cynthia Marie Peterson?"

"We're....nuts..." She giggled like a maniac, collapsing on my bed and then kicking her legs back up, pulling herself into a sitting position. "Look at us...we're a freaking after school special on love or something...we're pathetic, lovesick idiots..."

And then I realized something. She was right. Cynthia was absolutely right. We were lovesick and to tell you the truth--it was kinda funny. I began to snicker and pretty soon, I had caught a case of the full out giggles myself. And there we were, Cynthia and I, sitting on my bed, tears running down our faces...

Looking back, it didn't make much sense, but I realized how good it felt to just let go like that. To laugh and not give a damn. And suddenly, I thanked God my cousin had sneaked her way into my apartment. She made me laugh. She gave me a new perspective on things and she always made me smile. I was glad to have her there.

Only if the good times could last...

Later that afternoon, I worked on one of my past-due paintings for my special projects painting class. I hated the idea that I had "past-due" artworks--that was something I was unfamiliar with. But, oh well, no time like the present to start getting caught up. Almost meticulously, I began to spread out my art supplies on the metal table next to my easel, while Cynthia lounged on the futon watching some trashy talk show. I heard her huff, "What a load of shit this is," and then flip through the few channels that I got.

"Stevie, you have got to get cable," Cynthia muttered restlessly as she flipped back to the previous channel that she had been watching. "This sucks, you know..."

I briefly closed my eyes, wondering if allowing Cynthia to stay with me for the next few weeks was such a bright idea after all. I decided it had been and went back to covering the stretched out canvas in front of me with a layer of gesso.

"Cynthia," I began to explain. "I know the tv stations suck, but there's no way I'm shelling out money for some stuff that i won't even watch half of the time."

"Mmmm," Cynthia mused as she began to channel surf once more. "I guess I can see your point...but you know, if you got MTV, we could see Josh and Lance all the ti--" Her words were cut off by the rude buzz of my intercom, signaling that someone was delivering something to me.

"Great," I muttered disgustedly as I placed my paintbrush down. "It's probably a bunch of kids hoping that Lance is here..." I had already told Cynthia about the three pizza delivery girls, showed her the teddy bear and found that the one card outside my door had multiplied into a stack. All she could do was laugh at my unfortunate situation. `Typical Cynthia' I thought as I strode over to the intercom, and pressed the button that allowed me to hear who was visiting.

"Hello?"

"Uh, hi...this is Federal Express. I have a package here for a Mr. Stephen Peterson..." The male voice crackled through the intercom and I closed my eyes, hoping--scratch that--praying--that this wasn't some kind of weird prank. Part of me wanted to refuse it, but the other part of me was nosy to see what the package was.

And then I remembered the earlier phone conversation between Lance and I. Maybe it was that gift he was telling me about.

"Okay, bring it up." I clicked off the intercom and turned back around to look at Cynthia, only to find her staring at me with a mischievous smile on her lips.

"So, Stevie," she began slyly while polishing her nails on her t-shirt. "You and Lancey ordering some--ahem--mail order fun?" Casually blowing on her nails, she dared to meet my gaze, and found me standing there with a blush. No we hadn't been ordering any `mail order fun', as she so eloquently put it, but what if Lance got me something perverted as a joke? There was no telling what that boy could have found in Japan, and knowing Lance, he probably would send it to me as a joke. He didn't know that Cynthia was living with me.

So in response (and partially out of nervousness), I reacted to her wittiness by sticking out my tongue and popping her the bird. Cynthia just rolled her eyes heavenwards and snorted. "Real original, Stevie..." Before I could respond, there was a knock on my door and within seconds, I opened it and found a real, genuine Federal Express man standing there, with a real, genuine Fed Ex package propped on one hip.

"Stephen Peterson?"

"Yes?"

"This is for you--" He handed me the package and smiled. "--all the way from Japan." Looking at the electronic clipboard in his hands, the delivery man pressed a few buttons and handed it to me. "Just sign here, sir..."

Complying with his request, I signed the device with that neat, fake pen thingy and handed the clipboard back to him. Japan', I thought as I bided him farewell and locked the door. I wonder what Lance got me.' Gently, I rattled the cardboard box and heard the object bumping around in there. `He must have gotten me more than one thing', I thought excitedly, staring at the box.

Taking a seat on the futon next to Cynthia, I examined the package carefully. It was covered with beautiful Japanese stamps, and a smile crossed my lips as I noticed Lance's handwriting scrawled across the mailing label.

"So, are you gonna stare at that thing all day? Open it already, Stevie!" Cynthia demanded. Getting up from her place on the futon, she swaggered over to my work table and picked up an exacto knife.

"Here," she said, shoving the handle of the knife into my hand. "Open. Now. Or I'll do it for you." Complying with her request, I carefully sliced the box down the center of the tape and pulled the flaps open. As I peered inside, I noticed that there were quite a few items in there, each one individually wrapped up in white tissue paper. But first and foremost, a light green envelope sat smack dab in the middle of it all.

I felt the smile on my face grow even wider as I saw Lance's handwriting on the envelope. Lifting it out of the box, I ran my thumb under the flap and pulled out two sheets of paper, folded together. When I unfolded them, I noticed that both sheets had the logo of a hotel printed on the top, as well as some Japanese writing on the bottom. I began to blink back some stray tears as I realized the note was around two pages (front and back) long. However, the tears quickly disappeared as I skimmed it over, and noticed that the majority of my boyfriend's words could have been given a NC-17 rating. There were things described in that letter that I had only dreamed of. I don't know how Lance managed to do it, but he had turned me on without even being there.

"Uh...um..." Words refused to leave my lips, and instead, they came out in a stammer, as I refolded the letter and slipped it back in its envelope. "I think I'll read this later..." Being the perceptive girl she was, Cynthia automatically noticed my discomfort and grinned as though she was the cat who had just polished off the canary.

"Ooh, a little bedtime reading, Stevie? Is pure, sweet innocent Lancey tarnishing your eyes with porn?" Luckily, she had said this very sarcastically, her voice as sugary as honey. I don't know why she got such a kick out of teasing me about my sex life...really, she had one of her own to be concerned with.

"Oh, shut up," I shot back, grinning to keep the edge off my words. "Let's see what's in here, okay?" I began to paw through the box, noticing that Lance had briefly jotted a quick note on some of the gifts. There were three separate packages, each one numbered in (I guessed) the order I should have opened them up in. I reached for the one marked #1, and carefully read the message on it aloud:

"Stephen--I noticed how terrible yours looks and thought you'd like a new set."

"A new set?" Cynthia asked, puzzled by the words Lance had used. Arching an eyebrow at me, my cousin just smirked and settled back into her seat, while I cautiously unwrapped the tissue paper from the object. And before I knew it, I was staring at a brand new set of paintbrushes, every shape and size imaginable. They were high quality, sturdy and clearly expensive.

Lance had placed a post it note on the case and I read it to myself: `I know how much you need them. I passed an shop one day and these were sitting in the window. Hope you like them.'

I was speechless, not by the gift itself, but by the thought that Lance had put into it. Even million of miles and various time zones away, I was constantly on Lance's mind. And then the distance gap suddenly bothered me. It gnawed away at my heart, knowing that Lance wasn't next to me--to watch my reaction as I opened the gift up. I couldn't kiss him or give him a hug or even say `thank you' face to face. And that bothered me the most.

Noticing the sudden onset of sadness, Cynthia leaned forward and touched my forearm.

"Stevie," she whispered, her voice low and the look in her eyes full of understanding. "It's a wonderful gift...perfect for you..." She smiled and I swear her eyes became glassy. "Lancey's a great guy."

I didn't want to speak, because I was afraid that my voice would come out in this unpleasant crackle, so I just gave her a nod of my head. There was no way that I could ever repay Lance for getting me such a thoughtful gift. Never.

Placing the brushes gently on the floor, I couldn't wait to get to the next gift, a longish, rectangular box. Unlike the brushes, there was no little handwritten message on the tissue paper, just a number two. So I ripped off the wrapping like a kid on Christmas morning, wanting to see what Lance had gotten me.

In the box were three small jars filled with some kind of sticky looking liquid. One was red, another was the color of caramel and the last one was dark brown. At first, I thought they were ice cream toppings...but my mouth dropped open as I examined the pictures on the box. The handwriting on the box was in Japanese, but the photos told a different story. And then I read Lance's post it, stuck to the box.

`Stephen--I saw these and I thought of you. Get this--flavored body paints. I thought I could test out my artistic abilities on you the next time we see each other...and if I'm not good, then I can just lick it off. smile'

Smile???' I thought in amazement, as I shifted in my seat, desperately trying to hide the, uh, problem forming in my pants. He wants me to smile? Bastard...he's getting it the next time I see him...' And with that, my mind began to drift off, thinking up the proper punishments for my boyfriend.

"Stupid mind," I muttered under my breath. My thoughts weren't helping out my situation much. And so I placed the body paints over my lap.

"What are those?" Cynthia asked, eying the box. I could tell that she wanted to grab for them, but I stopped her just in time.

"Just some paints," I lied as I reached for the third and final gift. "More boring art supplies." I'm a terrible liar, so trust Cynthia to pick up on my shifty eyes and nervous demeanor.

"Sure it is, Stevie...sure it is. I know it's just more dirty stuff," she sighed, blowing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. "I swear, you two boys go at it more than any couple I know..." I ignored her dead on comments and instead, pulled the final gift out of the box. Unlike the other two, this one had a bright red bow that was placed smack dab in the middle. The package was flat, and reminded me of a diploma. Turning the gift over, I noticed Lance's familiar scribble written over one of the flaps of tissue paper.

`A little housewarming gift for you.'

My curiosity piqued, I just ripped open that tissue paper (carefully though--I didn't want to rip Lance's words) and flipped the gift over.

There, in my hands, was a picture frame. A wooden one, painted a nice light blue color. And in the frame was one of the pictures from our little dalliance back in the photo booth in Florida. It was the one where Lance and I were just staring into the camera, happy, content smiles on both of our faces. There was an unmistakable glimmer of exhilaration and amusement in our eyes.

My heart stopped beating. Or at least I think it did.

"Stevie," Cynthia's voice pierced through my daze, as her hand reached out and shook my arm. "Come on, let me see what Lancey put in the frame..."

I really didn't want to show it to her, since the moment we had shared in the photo booth had been so private and sweet. But I was proud of that picture as well. Lance and I looked good together and there was something about the way we looked at that moment that made my heart swell. I blinked the tears out of my eyes before meeting my cousin's curious gaze, where she was staring at me with waiting expectancy. Hesitantly, I handed the frame to her, waiting for the dirty photo booth jokes to start any second.

There was a moment of silence, and I didn't dare look at my cousin. I just didn't want to see her laughing her ass off at something that meant so much to me. A couple more seconds ticked by and I finally garnered enough courage to lift my head and look at Cynthia. Much to my surprise, she was staring at the picture, a look of astonishment written all over her pretty face.

"Oh, Stevie," Cynthia breathed, shaking her head in amazement. "Stevie...this is so sweet..." Running her fingertips lightly over the glass, a brief glimmer of tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

"Really?" I asked tentatively, as she handed the picture back to me. "You think so? I was expecting you to make fun of it."

Cynthia looked up at me with what can only be described as a look of shock. "What? Make fun? Stevie, you've gotta be kidding me..." She gave another firm shake of her head. "Lord, that has to be the sweetest gift I've ever seen.You're so lucky to have him, you know." The tone of her voice softened as Cynthia began to fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat. "In fact, sometimes I wish Josh was a little more romantic at times...you know, like what you and Lance have..." Giving me a shaky smile, Cynthia tucked her legs underneath her body, still looking restless as she did so. "I mean...I'm happy with what we have, but you and Lance...not only are you two major horndogs--" She gave me a teasing smile as she said this. "But you two are so in love...it's really sweet to see."

And as Cynthia said this, I looked down at the photograph in my hands. And she was right. Lance and I were in love...I just wished I didn't miss him so much.

Over the next few days, my life (much to my surprise) seemed to get better. Maybe part of it had to do with the fact that Cynthia was living with me, never allowing me to get into a "mood". Maybe it had to do with the picture that Lance had sent me--I had placed that on my nightstand. It was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes in the morning and the last thing I saw before I went to bed. Sure, I had to look at my ugly mug, but it was worth it to see Lance smiling at me. And one night, as I lay in bed and stared at his face, I realized that it was a thousand times better than any picture printed in a teeny magazine. The smile on his face was the result of being with me, not because some photographer told him to smile like that.

Marianne and I had made up as well. The next day in school, I apologized for yelling at her on the staircase.

"Look, my life's been really stressful lately," I explained, over cups of extra-strong, make-you-sick-to-your stomach University coffee. "I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

"I know, Stephen...I figured that with your mom and everything..." Marianne said softly, before tipping the styrofoam cup to her lips. "And just to be honest--you haven't been the topic of the art departments gossip lately--someone just mentioned the way you've been acting in passing...So I'm sorry to have brought that up, too.."

Smiling at the brunette, I couldn't help but feel a little relieved at her words. So she had stretched the truth a little--didn't we all at times? Maybe Marianne was just concerned about me. I mean, how often does a person change so radically in a time span of three months? Especially if you've known that person for roughly three years, and they've never showed one iota of change?

My life seemed to be on a roll. I had made up with Marianne (in fact, I had even promised to give her a ride to the Masse-Simon Art Gallery to see an exhibit for out Art Seminar class tomorrow--she hates driving). I was caught up on my past due paintings, and I had even talked to my History Professor about writing an extra credit paper to boost my fledgling grade. And to make things even better, Lance and the rest of the guys were back in the states--finally...

"Stephen? Is that you, baby?"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the mock come-hither voice my boyfriend had just used.

"Yes, it's me, silly..." I said, trying my best to swallow back a chuckle. I know he wanted to sound sexy, but...it just wasn't working. "And since when did you become Barry White?" Taking a seat at the kitchen table, I looked around the room in amazement. Ever since Hurricane Cynthia had moved in, my apartment looked more like the bargain basement at a thrift store than an actual place of residence.

"Aww, I'm disappointed you didn't like my sexy voice," Lance pouted, as an image of my boyfriend, with his lower lip stuck out in an exaggerated pout filled my mind. For the millionth time since Lance and I had parted, I wished that he wasn't so far away. Hearing his voice made me just want to hop on the next flight out of Ridgemont and to wherever in the world he was

"So whatcha doing, Stephen? Homework?"

"Would you believe nothing?" I answered dryly as I pushed a stack of fashion magazines to the opposite side of the table. "Just cleaning up Cynthia's mess--"

"Oh shut up!" Cynthia shouted from her place on the futon. The disgusting, nauseating scent of nail polish wafted through the air and looking over at my cousin, I watched as she went through the motions of wedging cotton balls between her toes.

"I can hear Cynthia in the background," Lance laughed. The sound of his deep voice made me long for the actual person to be sitting with me, so I could hear that laugh face to face. "So are you two acting like the Odd Couple?"

"Eh, she's actually kinda fun to have around--that is, when she isn't gagging me with her nail polish!" I said loudly enough so that Cynthia would hear me. I was rewarded with her casual, yet effective, flip of the bird. Laughing, I closed my eyes, trying to imagine how my boyfriend looked at that moment. I wondered what he was wearing, what his hair looked like and how he smelled. I wondered how his skin would feel against my lips if I would have kissed him. I wondered what he smelled like...

"So you're back in Florida, right?" I suddenly asked, trying to switch the subject. My mind was concentrating way too much on the physical aspects of my boyfriend and maybe, just maybe if Cynthia weren't sitting ten feet away, I would have let our phone conversation drift into more intimate territory. But I couldn't do that.  "Yeah," Lance said, and even though he had just spoken one word, I could tell by the tone of his voice that he just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep. Lance sounded so tired. "We flew all night and I'm completely jet-lagged, Stephen. My body feels like I'm about to drop dead."

There was something about the way he said those words that made a shiver run down my spine. But I just shook it off.

"Aww, poor baby," I whispered seductively, lowering my voice so that Cynthia wouldn't hear. "If I were there, I'd give you a little massage--maybe that would wake you up..."

"Mmmm," Lance murmured, his voice dropping a few notches. "I like...go on..."

"I can't," I sighed as I picked up a ball point pen that sat next to me. "Cynthia's in the other room and I don't want her to hear."

"Oh." Lance said shortly. "Shit."

"I know," I sighed, as I uncapped the pen and began to doodle my boyfriend's name (just like a lovesick teenage girl would) all over a spare paper napkin. "Maybe later...you have that welcome back concert tonight, right Lance?"

"Yeah." Pause. "Welcome back to Florida--big freaking deal. I don't even want to do this concert, Stephen." My eyebrows shot up into the air. I was surprised at the bitterness that coursed through Lance's voice--usually he was the one always so thrilled about going on stage and performing.

"Lance--"

"Stephen, I'm tired, okay?" Lance said bitterly. "You know at the time, a second leg of this tour sounded like a good idea. Now? Now, I'm just tired--we don't get any breaks. We just keep working and working and..." His words trailed off for a moment.

"What?" I asked worriedly.

"I miss you," he said simply. "I miss you, Stephen. It's hard going from seeing you everyday to waking up alone in strange hotel rooms, you know." And then he yawned--a big, loud yawn that reverberated through the phone wires and directly into my ear.

"Geez, I didn't realize how exciting it is talking to me," I teased him as I placed the ballpoint pen back on the table. "Hope I'm not keeping you up, Mr. Bass..."

I swear I could hear him smile. "Stephen, I'm sorry," Lance apologized, as he attempted to fight back another yawn. "I'm just exhausted and I wish I didn't have to do the show tonight, that's all. but what are they gonna do? Cancel the show because I'm tired?"

"Yeah, I can see the headlines on the eleven o'clock news," I joked. "*NSYNC cancels show because Lance Bass needs his beauty sleep." We laughed at the thought. "Come on, you know Josh is the sleepy one in the band. You can't suddenly become the sleepy one--you have a reputation to uphold."

"Yeah, yeah..." Lance sighed. "I know--to be the business-orientated one...thank God I have you to keep me in line, Stephen."

"Keep you in line?" I whispered devilishly, a smile spreading out on my face. "Hmmm, you're right. I do know how to keep you in line--but only if I have the handcuffs..."

Pause. And then, "Stephen...don't get me all worked up here--not if you can't finish it..." His voice was begging, pleading...and as much as I wanted to finish the naughty thoughts that were circling around in my mind, I knew I couldn't. Lance and I had...done... stuff (that was really the only word I wanted to use) more than one time and I had been the only one in the apartment when we did it. My face turned hot at the memory. Damn Cynthia,' I thought to myself. Would it be too obvious if I sent her outside for a few seconds?'

"Stephen, I wish I were there with you....I wish I could kiss you..."

"Lance... stop it..."

"I wish I could touch you."

Whimper.

"I wish I could just take you and throw you on the bed and just...fuck you, Stephen. All day. All night. That's all I want..."

"Lance...I..." I was at a loss for words, not to mention that I could barely breathe. My chest was tightening as well as my pants. The image of Lance and I stretched out on a bed, our bodies pressed together, like we had been so many times before, filled my mind and I could barely think straight. I forgot about Cynthia sitting on the futon and I just rested my head on the table, overwhelmed by the feelings of both lust and love that were raging through me.

"Stephen?"

"Yes?"

"I have to go now...rehearsal..."

"Auuugghhh," I groaned. "How can you do this to me, Lance? After you got me all worked up here..."

"Easy," Lance laughed, sounding happier than before. "I just did, didn't I? Now say good-bye to me, Stephen..."

"Do you think you deserve a good-bye?" I said teasingly. "After what you did to me?"

"Like you didn't like it....Stephen?"

"Yes?"

"I love you. I love you more than anything in the world..."

My heart melted at the words that Lance had just spoken. Why the hell did he have to go and say something mushy like that? It only made me want him even more...

"I love you too, Lance...call me after the show?"

"Promise. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay...bye, Lance."

"Bye, Stephen."

Click.

And as I hung up the phone, I couldn't help but feel that Lance and I were going to make it through this separation. It would just take time...

Later that night, I began to work on another painting. For some odd reason, I was restless. I didn't know what to do with myself, and it seemed as though I had tons of energy pent up inside of me. And what better way to get rid of all that energy by working on a painting, right?

So I mixed the colors around on my palette, and began to apply the paint in large, messy blotches to the canvas (I didn't dare touch the new brushes Lance had sent me. I just couldn't. I was just waiting for the right painting to use them on and this one was definitely not it). I didn't know what I painting and I didn't care. I was just...restless...I spent a few more minutes working on my makeshift painting, before dropping the brush in disgust.

"Blech," I muttered under my breath. "This fucking sucks." As I stood there and stared at the still-wet canvas, I could hear Cynthia's footsteps approach my work space.

"Geez, Stevie--it looks like a mud splotch," my dear cousin cracked, leaning in closer to examine my painting. She turned her head towards me and raised her eyebrows. "Is that what you were going for? Mud? Cause there's plenty outside I can get you..."

"No," I sneered as I took the painting and tossed it to the side. I didn't care where the canvas landed and Cynthia and I watched, as it landed face up on the wooden floor.

"Stevie, are you okay?" Cynthia asked seriously, as I crossed my arms over my chest. "You look kinda flushed..." She lifted the back of her hand to my forehead, feeling for my temperature. "Hmmm...you are kinda warm..maybe you're coming down with something."

"Nah." I shrugged her words off and bent over to pick up the painting I had just thrown. I really don't know what had gotten into me...and as I stood up and straightened out my body, I shivered.

It was a small shiver, but Cynthia, with those hawk eyes she possessed (God bless her), noticed how my body swayed slightly in the warm air of my apartment.

"Stevie--you know the old saying--when you shiver like that, someone just walked over your grave..."

"Stop that," I scolded her as I wiped my paint-splattered hands on an old rag. "I hate that saying....it's just an old wives tale, you know..." I continued my feeble attempts at cleaning my hands, but soon realized that it was in vain. The paint had dried on my hands and was now impossible to remove without soap and water.

"Stevie?" Cynthia called out my name once more, gently touching my shoulder to gain my attention. "Sure you're alright? You just look really weird..."

"I'm fine," I answered sharply. "I think...I think it was just the Chinese food or something. I'm just never ordering Szechwan again--too spicy." I tried to make a joke as I wagged an index finger in Cynthia's (unconvinced) face.

Taking a place on my futon, I propped my feet on the coffee table and reached for the remote control. `Maybe I'm feeling weird because of the Chinese food...that's gotta be it...the Chinese food. People always get sick from Chinese food.' As I continued to think, Cynthia fell onto the futon next to me, still staring at me with that concerned, overprotective amethyst gaze.

"Stevie.." Cynthia said shakily, reaching out to wipe the trickle of sweat that was running down the side of my face. "What is wrong with you...are you gonna puke or something?"

"Nah," I said, my words betraying the queasiness I felt inside. What the hell was happening to me? "Oh look...eleven o'clock," I said, quickly changing the subject. "You know Cynth--you know what the beauty of living in Ridgemont is?" And suddenly, I was calm again. Nausea gone. Shakiness disappeared.

"What?" Cynthia asked suspiciously, squinting at my sudden calmness.

"You can get The Simpsons three times a day here--at five, six and eleven," I laughed uneasily as I hit the `power' button on the remote. "The perks of living so close to Canada...."

"Yeah..." Cynthia trailed off as the television screen came to life. We were both expecting to see America's favorite cartoon family.

We didn't see that.

Instead, Cynthia and I watched a scene of mass chaos unfold before our eyes. People were running around and yelling at the top of their lungs. Most of them were teenage girls, crying hysterically and screaming bloody murder.

"What the fuck?" Cynthia muttered as we continued to watch the television.

Suddenly, the scene of mass chaos was replaced by the face of a young girl, her tear-streaked face taking up the entire screen. She was no more than fourteen years old and a reporter had shoved a microphone into her face.

"Oh God," the girl cried. "I don't know...it was just horrible...I mean, they were just singing and this guy just starts opening fire. Everyone just started screaming...it's like something out of a nightmare..."

The distraught girl's face was suddenly replaced by the calm mug of an anchor woman. She was wearing way too much makeup and in contrast to the images that had preceded her, she was, in my opinion, a little too calm.

"Orlando police say that they have the suspect, a Marvin Johannson, in custody. He is currently being held without bail at this time."

And then they flashed a picture of *NSYNC on the screen. It was a publicity still of them--one of those lame, happy, let's-all-smile-for-the-camera photos. At first it didn't register in my brain why they would show a picture of Lance and the rest of his bandmates on the screen. To make the sad teenagers happy again? It just didn't make sense...

I felt Cynthia take hold of my arm in a death grip, her freshly polished fingernails digging into my skin as she did so. Her breathing had become raspy and labored, and for the life of me, I couldn't understand why my cousin was cutting off my circulation. Maybe she was feeling sick too...

And then the reporter spoke again: "One member of the popular boy-band was rushed to the hospital with a gunshot wound....his name and condition is being withheld at this time..." Suddenly, a scene of happy, smiling elderly people at a retirement home replaced the picture of *NSYNC.

"In other news, Ridgemont's elderly are..."

And then it all clicked. Everything came together and the realization hit me like a lead weight. There had been a shooting at an *NSYNC concert. One of the guys had been shot.

I sat there, frozen in my seat, while my brain just repeated the information it had gathered.

There had been a shooting at an *NSYNC concert. One of the guys had been shot.

Oh. My. God.

"Stephen? Stephen?" I looked over at Cynthia, tears streaming down her face. She was calling me by my full first name. She was crying.

I don't know why I had become so simple-minded then. I mean, there had been news that someone in the band was shot. I had no idea who it was and I was just sitting there, on my futon, my mouth hanging wide open as my mind tried to process the information. It just wasn't clicking and making sense. Lance? Josh? Justin? Chris? Joey? Lance? Shot? Never--things like that didn't happen to the people I knew, especially when one of them was someone I loved with my whole heart. Right? Bad things like that only happened in the movies.

This wasn't a movie. This was my life.

"Stephen!" Cynthia leapt up from her place on the futon, and began pacing back and forth like a caged animal. She ran her hands wildly through her hair, unsure what to do with them. "What are we going to do? I don't know who was shot....oh my God!!! You're just going to sit there...what if it was Josh? What if it was Josh??? Oh my God..." She had become hysterical then, and so had I. Tears began to stream down my face, my emotions finally clicking in.

Lance.

Suddenly, I knew why I had been acting so restless and perturbed. Something in my body knew something had happened to Lance. It was second nature to know when someone I loved was hurt. Just like all those other times when something bad happened.

And the first thought that entered my mind was a completely selfish one: "Why does this always happen to me?"

I was ashamed to even admit something like that, but it was true. That was all I could think of. Why me? Why did everyone I loved have to be taken away from me or hurt in some horrible way?

Calm down,' I tried to soothe myself. Lance might have not been the one that was hurt. It might have been Joey or Chris or Justin or Josh.' I looked over at Cynthia, who was now shaking uncontrollably, her body wracking with sobs and I immediately took his name back.

Wordlessly, I headed over to the phone and immediately dialed Lance's cell phone number. I got his answering message. Shit.

I called Cynthia over to the telephone and told her to try Josh's cell phone. She got the same thing as I did--a lame recording. They must have turned their phones off...that had to be it, I tried to rationalize. Why else wouldn't either of them answer their cell phones? Normally those things were superglued to their ears, unless..

`No, no, no, no....stop thinking that. Lance is okay. Lance is okay. So is Josh...'

I couldn't take it anymore and neither could Cynthia. If we waited all night for someone to call us, we probably would have both dropped dead from the sheer worrying. No, sitting around and waiting for our boyfriends to call wasn't even a possibility in our minds. So Cynthia and I did the only thing two panic-stricken people could have done in our situation: We called the airport, booked two tickets to Orlando and got our asses on the first flight out there. That was the only thing that made sense to us.

The next few hours that passed my life were nothing more than a blur in my mind. As I sat in that airplane seat and bit my fingernails down, I realized I didn't even remember how Cynthia got the tickets. I remembered sitting on the couch, staring blankly into space and while Cynthia wrangled over the phone for tickets. The next thing I remember was Cynthia running out of my room, her duffel bag in hand, stuffed with various articles of clothing. And then we left. We took a taxi down to the airport and now...

Now we were en route to Orlando to find out the condition of the people that Cynthia and I loved. I barely remembered the flight down to Florida and that was odd. I hated flying with a passion, and normally, I would have been shaking and sweating out the entire trip. This time however, I could have cared less that I was thousands of miles in the air, with nothing below me but numerous, faceless towns and cities.

The two of us remained completely silent during the entire trip, but what struck me as odd was Cynthia's reaction. My cousin just sat there, silent tears streaming down her cheeks as she clutched onto a string of ancient looking rosary beads. Straining my ears, I could make out the whispered Hail Mary's that escaped her lips, over and over, as though Josh's life depended on those prayers.

And that's when reality slapped me in the face.

I never realized how strong love between two people could be. I mean, I knew that I loved Lance and that I would have done anything for him, but I just never realized what love was until that moment. It was making yourself sick with worry, hopping on a flight to where the other person was just to make sure they were okay, so that you could be by their side. Love was one of those things that could have been read in so many different ways--the possibilities were overwhelming. Look at Cynthia--I had never seen my cousin, in the twenty years I've known her, ever turn to religion before. She used to skip Sunday School when she was younger and now she was saying a rosary.

Love made you do weird things. And the last few months of my life, was the result of love. And for some reason, it scared me that one emotion could make a person change so much.

As my thoughts coasted on, I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into my own world. The time seemed to creep by as slow as molasses and part of me was ready to rush to the cockpit and take over that airplane's control myself. The wait was just making me angrier and soon enough I found that my worried thoughts quickly turned angry.

Lance,' I thought bitterly, as I kneaded my fingers into my palms. Why did I have to meet you? Why did I have to fall in love with you, James Lance Bass? So when things like this happen, I think I've lost you?? So someone can take it into their own hands to play God and shoot you for some stupid reason that made perfect sense in their own twisted mind?'

I closed my eyes, hiding the tears that threatened to slip out of my eyes. I didn't want to cry over him. For some reason, I didn't even want to think of Lance anymore, but that was a pretty useless request, since Lance was the person who filled my thoughts night and day. `I hate you, Lance. I hate you for being in that stupid pop band, for all the traveling you do, the trips around the world and the concerts you have to sing at....I hate the fact that we're so many miles apart and that you could be hurt (dead) and I don't even know it....'

The tears finally slipped from under my eyelids, and down my face, cooling off my flushed cheeks. I felt like I was living in someone else's nightmare. My temples throbbed like hell and I thought that I was going to throw up any second. A horrible image of Lance's body lying on a gurney, bloodied, bandaged up and lifeless refused to leave my mind.

And that's when the announcement came over the airplane's PA system. "We're about to land in Orlando...the time is 3:41 a.m....please fasten your seatbelts..."

We were here. Finally. And neither Cynthia nor I could get to that hospital fast enough.

Once we got off the plane, Cynthia and I aimed some questions at the airport staff (of all the nights Cynthia forgets to recharge her cell phone, she would choose this particular one wouldn't she?) and the two of us found out that the wounded *NSYNC member had been taken to the Orlando Medical Center.

After hailing a taxi, Cynthia and I had finally made it to the hospital. We drove there in silence, the streetlights lighting up the half-empty streets that we traveled down. Memories of the good times Lance and I had shared, filled my mind, and without thinking, I touched my lower back. I ran my fingertips over the tattoo I had gotten and I swallowed back the tears that were forming in my throat. Crying wasn't going to help anymore. Tears didn't heal anything--and the damage (to whoever had received it) had already been done. The crying just was an aftereffect...

My thoughts came to a halt as the taxi began to do the same. Before the vehicle braked, Cynthia swung open the taxi door and ran out of the partially moving vehicle. No amount of speed would keep her from her man, and the taxi driver and I watched as Cynthia ran though the doors of the emergency entrance.

Since I was left behind, I paid the driver the fare and climbed out of the taxi. My feet rested on the pavement and I began to run blindly towards the peaceful glow of the emergency room. I was so close...

"Watch it you jerk!" I had never noticed the ambulance that whizzed through the small lane and took a few, stumbling steps backwards while the driver shouted the words out his open window. That didn't even faze me. Through the doors, I could see Cynthia standing at the desk, adjusting the strap of the duffel bag that lay over her shoulder. She looked angry and as I strode into the building, I wondered what the problem was.

It never struck me that two crazed looking individuals, fresh from the street, would have been denied admittance to see the guys. That just wasn't a possibility in my mind. After all, Lance and I had been through so many things, that it was natural I'd be allowed to see him. I'd be rushed in like a member of his family, because I was his boyfriend, right? Everyone knew that.

Correction. Everyone in the *NSYNC camp knew that. Outsiders didn't know that, and it was that minor mistake that slipped my mind.

I watched as the elderly nurse on duty, whose silver nametag read, `Sylvia', practically laughed in Cynthia's face.

"Sweetie, do you know how many of JC's Chasez's girlfriends' have come into here and asked the same thing you have? Now, why don't you go on home and find out about it like everyone else on the news..." Sylvia said, in an annoyingly cool tone of voice. I watched as Cynthia's face went from distraught to perturbed in a matter of seconds. I'm surprised she didn't leap over the desk and strangle Sylvia. But Cynthia just straightened herself up, cleared her throat and looked the nurse in the eyes.

"Please," Cynthia begged, giving Sylvia a sweet, innocent smile. "Please, I'm begging you--I'm his girlfriend. His real girlfriend....Cynthia Peterson. Please, just tell me if he's okay...I'm begging you.."

Sylvia just gave a firm shake of her head, and an almost mocking look appeared in her hard brown eyes. "I'm sorry, miss. After the nature of the situation, we're not allowed to release any kind of information to any outsiders--"

`Outsider?!?! How dare you call me an outsider!" Cynthia began to scream, pounding her fist on the desk. A vase of flowers jumped into the air and then fell onto the floor, the glass shattering into a thousand pieces, while the water splashed on Cynthia's bare ankles. But she didn't even notice. She was too angry to care.

"I'm sorry, we have a list of family members only," Sylvia interrupted in a hard voice. "There have been girls coming in and out of here all night claiming to be a girlfriend or sister---we have a list of family members there are no girlfriend's on it. Now, please go home before I have to call security on you."

By that time, I had enough. I stepped forward, cutting in front of Cynthia (who was clenching her fists, looking as though she was about to punch Sylvia's lights out), an apologetic look on my face.

"Look," I said, aggravated by the whole absurdity of the situation we were in. I couldn't believe this was happening--I just wanted to know who had gotten hurt. Was I asking too much? "She's telling the truth. She is Joshua Chasez's girlfriend--just tell us, who was hurt?" I said, my voice taking on the same begging tone as Cynthia's. I was desperate. There was no way they could tell us to go home--not after we flew here. And out of the corner of my eye, I saw a large, beefy looking hospital guard approaching us. "Please...was Joshua Chasez or Lance Bass hurt?"

The nurse looked at me with the same mocking expression, and I was about to hope over that desk and beat Sylvia up myself. "Look, I'm giving both of you one more chance--go home before I have to call--"

"Cynthia!!!!!"

Spinning around, Cynthia and I looked in the direction that the voice had come from. And like the American Calvary riding over the hill, there, fast approaching us, was Josh. He looked tired. There were dark circles under his brilliant blue eyes, and his hair was sticking up in about a thousand different directions. He looked like he was ready to drop--but the ear-to-ear grin that spread over his face told a different story. Josh ran to Cynthia, arms open, enveloping her once he drew close enough.

"Josh..." Cynthia's wail became lost as she buried her face in his chest. "You're okay...you weren't hurt..." He didn't answer her, and instead, Josh gently stroked her brown hair, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. I saw a few tears forming in the corner of his eyes, but before they could fall, he closed them and just held my cousin in his arms.

I felt a tired smile form on my lips, as I watched the two standing there, and for a brief moment, I forgot about Lance. Can you believe that? All thoughts of my boyfriend had flew out of my head as I watched Cynthia and Josh reunite. There was something so wonderful about seeing two people so in love...timeless, you know?

"Stephen?"

I closed my eyes upon hearing my name. I knew that voice. I would know it even if I had amnesia.

And so I turned around, and standing in back of me was Lance.

I didn't say a word and to be honest, I couldn't speak even the most simple word of English if you would have paid me to. Lance was standing there, a can of cola and a bag of potato chips clutched in his hands, while his mouth fell open in a shocked gape.

You would have thought that after all of those moments, all of those things Lance and I had shared, our reunion would be easy. I almost felt like I shouldn't have been seeing Lance standing there, because I had fully expected him to be the one who had gotten shot. It was as though a miracle had occurred...

We just stood there, staring at each other. His eyes, jade in color from worry and exhaustion were fixated on my brown ones. I took in the sight of his face, watching the way his lower lip trembled and how his eyes suddenly took on a glassy look...

The can of cola and the chips dropped from his hand, landing on the floor beneath him with a loud bang. Lance rushed over to me and wrapped his arms tightly around my neck.

"Stephen..." Lance repeated my name, whispering it in my ear as though he were taking his last breath. "Oh God, I've been calling your house all night...and you never answered...I thought something happened to you..."

"You thought something happened to me?" I asked, somewhat jokingly. "Lance, I..." And my words stopped as Lance pressed himself against me and I felt another batch of tears fall from of my eyes, spilling onto my boyfriend's soft, navy blue shirt. The warmth of Lance's body, next to my own, felt so good....so reassuring because it meant he was alive. I felt his lips brush against my earlobe, trying to turn the gentle touch into a kiss, when the sound of someone clearing their throat snapped both of us back to life.

"Ahem."

Startled, Lance and I looked up at the tired, yet stern gaze that radiated from Josh's face. He stiffly shook his head at us, darting his eyes to where Sylvia and the bodyguard were staring at Lance and I as though we had grown extra limbs. And then I realized that the middle of a public, well-lit hospital was no place for Lance and I to have an affectionate reunion.

A little embarrassed by our spontaneous actions, Lance and I quickly dropped our embraces like we had been burned. Clearing his throat, Lance looked down at the floor underneath him, two red spots appearing on his cheeks, before looking back up at me. A small embarrassed grin appeared on his lips as our eyes met. I'm sure I looked the same--happy, yet embarrassed. I couldn't help it. Neither of us could keep our eyes off each other, as Josh motioned to Sylvia.

"Hey--it's okay for these two to have access" Josh told the angered looking nurse, as he wrapped a protective arm around Cynthia's narrow waist. "Cynthia and Stephen Peterson--please add them to the list." And with that, Josh smiled down at my cousin and led her away from the desk. Wanting to get her revenge, I watched Cynthia turn her head and stick her tongue out at Sylvia. Judging from the nurses' angry expression, she had never been one-uppped before. And under different circumstances, I would have disapproved of Cynthia's childish behavior. But not this time. This time, I was thrilled that Cynthia could be so immature at times.

And shooting the nurse a gloating look of my own, I spun on my heel and followed Lance off to where the rest of the band was resting.

Josh and Cynthia were halfway down the hall already, leaving Lance and I behind them. My boyfriend was silent, walking down the hall, biting his bottom lower lip with each step he took. And then it dawned on me...someone had been hurt that night. Maybe it hadn't been Lance, but one of the guys had been shot.

"Lance?" I whispered, reaching out to tug on his arm. "Who got hurt?" We stopped dead in our tracks as Lance wearily rubbed his bloodshot eyes. He looked incredibly exhausted as he met my worried gaze.

"Chris." He spoke his friend's name softly, as though it hurt to even utter that name. "He was shot in the shoulder....the doctor said if he would have moved his head a few more inches...he would have..." The words trailed off, but I didn't need Lance to finish them. I knew how the sentence would have ended. A look of pain flashed over my boyfriend's handsome face, as he began to recount the past events of the night.

"We were in the middle of singing, `I Drive Myself Crazy' and it's so noisy...so loud..." Lance closed his eyes and shook his head, as though he was trying to rid his mind of the terrible images. "And then...I don't even remember what happened. For some reason, I looked down.." Lance's voice fell silent, and he swallowed nervously. "And there was this guy...he was just grinning at us...and I don't know how he got so close to the stage, past the guards...and he was holding this thing...and the next thing I know..."

Lance grew silent as his eyes flew open. He stood in front of me, a pained look in those beautiful eyes. Those eyes that I had lost myself in so many times, whether we were just talking about life or making love or goofing off with our friends...Those eyes were filled with so much anguish, that for a brief moment, he didn't look like the James Lance Bass I knew and loved. He had the eyes of stranger and that scared me more than anything in the world.

"Stephen," Lance spoke softly, looking as though he were in a dream. "The only thing I remember is hitting the floor and thinking...`I'm going to die and I'm never going to see Stephen again.'" He lowered his eyes and took a few steps closer to me, so that we were barely an inch apart. The next words he spoke, came out so quietly, I had to strain to hear them.

"And I just kept praying...hoping that you'd make it through when you found out that I was ki--"

I never let Lance finish his sentence and instead, I pulled him close to me and kissed him. I didn't care who was lurking the halls, or who saw. I needed to kiss him. I needed to feel his lips against my own, I needed the reassurance that Lance was still here with me. I felt my lips part willingly, and the feel of Lance's tongue slip between them. My hands clutched at the thin material of his white undershirt and for some reason, I looked down.

My fingers were brushing against a thin dark crimson stain, smeared haphazardly across my boyfriend's chest. Blood. It had to be Chris's. Soaked and dried into the cotton material.

And I think that's when the final, absolute shock of what had happened that night finally sunk into my thick skull. Lance could have died. He would have been gone from the Earth and I would have never had that final chance to say goodbye to him.

I would have never gotten to tell Lance, `I love you' again.

And I don't know what made me suddenly realize that. It had been bothering me during the flight, during the taxi ride, but the realization--the cold, hard truth if you will--really hit me hard at that particular moment.

And I suddenly hurt like I had never hurt before.

I had my parents taken away from me, but this...Lance...he was so much different. I loved him in a completely different way. It was a sexual, physical--needy, if you must--sort of love. Something I had never had with anyone else. But it was more that that. He was everything I had at that moment. My one reason for living. And the idea that it could have all been taken away from me in one brief second?

That was the hardest thing to comprehend.

I met Lance's eyes and suddenly, I saw all that love, all that support and caring that we had given each other through the past few months, taken away from me by the hand of some deranged individual. And if I thought I had cried hard before, nothing matched the force of the tears that left my eyes now.

"Oh God," I cried while wrapping my arms around Lance's neck, holding on for dear life. "Oh, God, Lance...don't ever leave me...please..." With those words, Lance broke down himself, sliding his arms around my waist as he rested his head on my shoulder.

"Stephen, I'd never leave you," Lance whispered between his own sobs. "You know I wouldn't. I'd be there with you always. I love you, Stephen." He picked his head up from my shoulder, staring into my eyes as a smile creeped over his face. "Even if I died, I'd still be with you, watching over you--"

I placed a hand over his mouth, stopping the words that left his lips. The smile disappeared and a serious look appeared again. Those weren't the words I wanted to hear.

"No...don't leave me. I love you," I whispered frantically, pulling Lance's body closer to mine. I desperately needed to feel his heartbeat against my own. "Please, Lance, promise me..."

He met my eyes, and this time the sadness in those clear green eyes suddenly disappeared and a look of exhilaration replaced it. Tightening his hold around my waist, Lance placed another soft kiss on my lips, sending a shiver throughout my body. I felt a gentle smile cross my lips as I waited for his answer.

"I promise, Stephen..." Sealing his words with another, much more passionate kiss, Lance locked his gaze with mine and curved his lips into a beautiful smile. "I promise."

I'm not hurting Lanshy. I refuse to shoot him. Chapter 52? Who knows....I have a big-ass design project coming up, but that's not to say I won't slack off and write the continuing chapter of the novella.....remember, mail me: sweetheart_stories@hotmail.com and visit me at http://www.freespeech.org/gabriella. Please? Yes I like self-promotion. It's fun. Hate me for it if you want =)

Love ya poodles and until the next time around... Gabriella

(Queen of the Gutter/Lansh Porn Queen/Madame Gabriella of Lancedom/Bad Ass Bass Bitch)