Ok, first off: I know, I know...this took way too long to get out and I want to apologize for that. I could give you a long list of excuses but that's not really important. Suffice it to say, I'll try my best not to let this much time pass between future chapters!! Thanks for your patience everybody!!
Now a couple of things I'd like to address:
Yes, there will be a love story. But again I ask your patience, we're not there yet! But it is coming (very soon), I promise. But be warned, this is truly more of a thriller/suspense story.
And No, I am not writing Nsync's biography. (Man, wouldn't that be sad...) That means I am not trying to stick to the facts. I am bending the characters, real or otherwise, to fit my story. So please bare with the inaccuracies you find regarding the personal lives of Nsync and their families. I assure you they are intentional.
Standard warning to get out of the way: Yep, it's still dark. But remember, it's important to the plot, but it is not the sole plot! (Which by the way really hasn't even started yet.) Not even close! So consider it like a prologue, and bare with me, I promise it gets a lot more intriguing as we go on. Remember things aren't always what they seem! WINK
Disclaimer: This story is a complete work of fiction. It implies nothing about the sexual orientation, beliefs, thoughts or actions of the real members of NSync. While it is not a "pure sex" story, if you are under 18 or offended by male/male relationships, please go away.
A quick personal note to a GREAT friend of mine and a very talented writer: Evan, thank you for being such a wonderful friend to me. You are my one and only Other Half...I treasure your company on those long writing nights, you make me laugh, you keep me inspired, and you're the only God who can keep me in line. I don't know what I'd do without you!! I better never find out either...Thems Orders, you hear !! Luv ya Twin!! You're the best!
By the way, if you haven't checked out the story Justin's Dark Angel, I HIGHLY recommend it. It's a very suspenseful story with a unique plot. It's incredible. Check it out! You won't be disappointed!
Thanks for all the positive feedback! I was overwhelmed and undeserving, Thank You!
Anyway, any and all feedback is welcome! I'd love to hear what you think. Send it to Justme@astound.net. Now on with the story!
Playing For Keeps
Chapter 3
The sun found it's zenith at roughly twelve thirty in the afternoon, so that now, almost two hours later, it fulfilled it's promise of another blisteringly hot February day. Guiding his car smoothly to a stop in the private parking space hidden behind his office, Gabe braced himself against the heat waiting ominously on the other side of his car door. Instantly tiny beads of sweat formed across his forehead. Looking back on it, maybe the gabardine suit and lined jacket were a bad choice. God, he loathed the heat. Always had. Why he chose to live in Orlando, he'd never know. Why he'd stayed was what the kids referred to as a "no brainer." He'd struck gold. Or at the very least; a golden child.
Leaning inside the vehicle, Gabe grabbed the briefcase that lay carefully on the passenger's seat. Another gift from his wife. It served more as a prop than anything else. He carried it diligently each day to and from work, but if truth be told, it was usually empty. Well, except for an engraved gold pen, a legal writing pad, a half empty bottle of Tums, and the occasional "hobby" item he'd purchase as a secret addition to that locked cabinet drawer. Today, it held only the office supplies.
Shutting the car door gently, he fumbled with the keys in his hand until he finally heard the melodic "beep" of the automatic door lock. Catching a glimpse of himself in the tinted car window, he juggled the briefcase awkwardly while simultaneously trying to button his suit, wrestle with the bold violet tie hanging loosely about his neck, and meticulously brush off a few stray pieces of lint from his jacket. Completely adjusted, he turned sideways. Sucking in his stomach ever so slightly, he took mental inventory of his well orchestrated image. Appearance was everything. That, and a killer smile. He flashed one of his highly rehearsed "Consider me your best friend" smiles now and continued to give himself the once over in the window.
Not bad, Gabriel, not bad at all.
With that, he took out a small linen handkerchief, patted the sweat from his forehead and entered his office building using the back door.
Long ago he discovered the advantages to coming in the back way. Not only did he avoid running into any unwanted, untalented "make me a star" wannabes hiding in the lobby, but it also allowed him to sneak in and out of his own office undetected. And that little trick served him well on more than one occasion. This time however, Gabe bypassed his office in Suite 9, and although it wasn't really his planned destination, he couldn't help but pause momentarily to dwell outside the basically empty Suite 8. Musing over the events of two days ago, he fought to suppress a chuckle causing his flushed face to contort strangely. Lurid excitement rushed over Gabe once again; his body physically anticipating it's next liaison. He would have to wait of course. Lance was a good thing and if you want a good thing to last, you can't rush it. Especially if it's already in a fragile state. Admittedly, things had gotten a bit out of control last time...especially towards the end. HE had gotten out of control. Something snapped, he almost went too far and the kid got hurt. More so than usual. Not that he cared. Luckily screaming prepubescent girls could hardly be considered a discriminating group. As long as Lance could still sing, dance and look pretty when he needed to, the cash register would continue to ring. Besides if the kid suffered a little bruising from time to time it was just part of the game. The whole point really. Degrading someone until they were nothing more than a pleading, crying pile of flesh. Ahhh, to be the one in control, now THAT was the ultimate rush.
Looking back on it, up until the end, the entire encounter came off as a well orchestrated thing of beauty. Gabe let out a wicked sneer in honor of the memory. What boy doesn't deserve something special on his eighteenth birthday? Being the great guy he was, it was virtually expected that he give Justin a present he'd never forget. No matter how hard he tried. And to think Justin wasn't even his true target. Not this time. Pulling it off on his birthday was just a fluke really, icing on the cake. Because truth be told, Lance was his real focus that day. They played the usual game: Gabe being the ever domineering, demeaning and stern participant, Lance simply doing as he was told. But this time he added a new twist and it proved to be very...well...arousing. In fact, he'd enjoyed every minute of it. And even if he looked the part, he was never actually angry. Not real anger. Not even when the little bastard puked his guts out all over the floor. Watching Lance's pale body convulse Gabe actually found himself smiling; more than pleased by the reaction his newest torment invoked in the boy.
So what possessed him, just seconds later, to get so violent? What he did to that boy went beyond the usual slap and it couldn't really be labeled 'paddling' either. Even if the flat wooden board was the weapon involved. No, he'd viciously attacked Lance. His backside anyway. But what frightened him most was he hadn't stopped until he saw blood. And even then it took him a moment and a few deep cleansing breaths to regain his senses. Staring hesitantly at the paddle in his hand, he'd immediately dropped it to the floor afraid of what might happen if it remained in his possession. It was almost as a second thought that his cold eyes fell to the mangled figure lying at his feet. The young man held one arm protectively around his body, awaiting the next blow; the other hand fought to clear the mixture of tears, snot, and saliva from his face. On the brink of hyperventilating, Gabe could tell Lance was struggling to say something, but only odd sounding sobs escaped his lips.
Thoroughly repulsed by the display in front of him, Gabe moved to the corner of the room, shaking slightly. But it wasn't concern for the boy that made him shutter, quite frankly, what Lance was feeling was irrelevant to him. It was his ultimate loss of control that alarmed him the most; a flash to a part of his past he wanted forgotten. He closed his eyes and ran his hands through his thick hair.
**Jesus, how far might he have gone. Would he have let it happen again? **
Unable to concentrate due to the quiet moans coming from behind him, he calmly ordered the kid to "shut up." At this point there was no reason to yell. Pointing to the pile of crumpled clothes in the middle of the floor, he watched as Lance labored slow and painfully to get dressed. Once completely clothed, minus the vomit soaked t-shirt he kept in his hand, Lance stood obediently in the middle of the room, still at the mercy of the man in front of him. For a solid five minutes Gabe said nothing, allowing the silence to amplify under his insensitive stare. Finally, fearing Lance might actually collapse, Gabe moved forward. He stopped directly in front of the blond and reached into his pocket. Hearing Lance gasp nervously, he pressed his finger against the boy's lips.
"Shhhh."
He pulled out a small tissue and gently dabbed the tears from Lance's bloodshot green eyes. Feeling the fragile young body trembled beneath his touch, Gabe wondered if it was fear or pain that caused him to shake like that. He liked either explanation. After returning the tissue to his own pocket, Gabe reach his hand around to the back of Lance's head. Entangling his fingers in the fine blond hair, he affectionately pulled the boy's face close to his own, as if trying to end the encounter with a passionate kiss. But instead, he moved past those tender young lips and maliciously pressed his mouth against Lance's ear.
"You understand this is all your fault. You brought this on yourself." Releasing his grip, he backed away and watched in utter disbelief as the blond quietly shook his head in agreement.
Now two days later, positioned in the hall outside that very room, Gabe reveled in the amount of power he possessed. I've committed the perfect sin. That's what made this whole sordid affair such a beautiful thing; he'd made sure all the players shared the blame; felt equally deserving. And they all wanted to keep it a secret. Humiliation was the ultimate weapon and he unconsciously thanked God, the Devil or any other Deity responsible for creating it...it kept those boys in check and him in control. He had a long, stimulating future in front of him. Basically he was untouchable.
Composing himself, Gabe focused on the task at hand, his current priority. Pausing only for a quick sip from the drinking fountain, he moved straight to the front desk located in the reception area. There as expected sat Sheila hard at work, her fingers moving at mach speed across the keyboard. He wondered absently what she could possibly be working on. She was HIS personal secretary, she'd been gone for over a week and to his recollection, he'd left no real work for her. But he dismissed the thought quickly. It was Sheila after all. She'd been with him from the beginning and god knows she understood the mechanics of the office better than he did. Whatever held her attention must be necessary. Besides, experience taught him better than to question this feisty, lay-it-on- the-line brunette.
They were both employed by Tambro Records back when he was just establishing himself within the music industry. She worked for one of the senior VP's as an executive secretary, he worked for another as a Promotions Assistant. At the time, they were thrown together on more projects than he cared to remember. And no matter what the issue, they always seemed to lock heads. She stood up to him, bullied him, proved him wrong at every turn and she did it with the respect and adoration of all those around her. He hated her. And the feeling was more than mutual. That's why, when the time came to spread his wings, to branch out on his own, she was the first and only person he asked to come with him. She accepted the offer without hesitation, and they'd work as team ever since. Ten years and counting. Sure he was the boss, but most of the time it felt like she was the ring master running the show. She kept it organized.
Quietly moving up behind her, he gave the waiting area an obligatory glance. Thankfully they were alone. The stiff blue chairs lining the edges of the room sat desolate, apparently word of Nsync's return to Orlando had not yet hit the news. Reaching into his jacket pocket, Gabe pulled out a small sliver box dressed simply with a yellow bow, and placed it on the desk alongside her. If her fingers paused on the keyboard even momentarily, he never saw it.
"What did the temp girl botch this time?" Her gaze remained unchanged, locked on the computer screen, her voice tense.
"Excuse me?"
"You can't possibly think that your little trinket there will work as a bribe, do you?"
"It's nice to see you again too, Sheila." He leaned in close behind her, his hot breath just inches from her ear. "But I'm afraid you lost me...why am I bribing you again?" Picking up the gift, he leaned over her, a bit too closely, and gently set it down on the keyboard this time, interrupting her typing. She signed exasperated.
"How many times do I have to tell you not to hire from that budget rate temp agency?"
The question was basically a redundant one, but Gabe felt compelled to answer it anyway. "What do you mean, 'budget rate'?"
"Oh please! You always hire some pretty young gal with no experience and big breasts to ogle over and then what happens? I return to a stack of papers and some big mess to clean up!" She turned to confront him, her hardened face just inches from his own. She never even blinked. "This is your mess Gabe, whatever it is, you can clean it up."
When they were alone, she always called him Gabe.
He held his ground, invading her space. His own eyes danced with delight as he lost himself in hers. "Do you know how radiant those fiery green eyes of yours are when your being paranoid?" He lowered his voice and whispered seductively, "Right now, they're simply exquisite, Sheila."
Weighted silence filled the room.
Then a burst of laughter erupted from deep within her, effectively dismissing his rather corny come-on. She crossed her arms over her chest, as she leaned back into her chair, pulling away from him. Her smile lingered. "Nice try. What's in the box?"
He relaxed, leaned against the desk, and returned her smile. The game was over. She was softening, her frustration and anger vented. Flirting with her meant nothing and they both knew it. Although truth be told, at five years her junior, Sheila found him more than a little attractive.
"Well, my dear, consider it a 'welcome home' trinket. Not a bribe. At this point, I'm unaware of any messes that need cleaning up."
She frowned slightly and glared at the large pile of papers lying on the desk in front of her.
He caught the look. "I mean, MY messes." Then, picking the briefcase up off the floor, he looked down the hall. "Is Lynn Timberlake back from lunch yet?"
"She arrived about twenty minutes ago I'd say. Would you like me to ring her?" Sheila was holding the gift to her ear and shaking it.
"No, I'll stop by her office on the way to my own.." With that, Gabe turned his back to Sheila and started down the short hallway.
"Hey Gabe, tell your wife I appreciate the gift...whatever it is." She turned back to the computer, and once again the rhythmic tapping of the keyboard filled the office. For now the small package remained unopened, tucked safely away in her top desk drawer.
He simply smirked, he had no idea what was in the box either.
"Is the coffee fresh?" he called over his shoulder.
"Of course."
"When your bring it; forget the cream."
"Not even on your death bed."
It was their ritual, he always asked and she never brought it. Not once. A genuine smile slid across his face. Things were looking good: Sheila was back, the routine restored. So no surprises in that area. The boys were in town, he had a few surprises planned for them; well some of them. And as for one Ms. Timberlake...well she was about to get the surprise of her life.
"I swear JC if you make us eat at one more Hard Rock Café, I'm personally going to take that menu collection of yours and shove it down your skinny little throat!" Chris groaned following Joey into the backseat of Justin's car. Then in unison four car doors slammed shut; punctuating the comment.
"Hey, you had your chance! I asked you guys where you wanted to eat and as usual, all I got was a collective dumb ass stare." JC placed his hand over his heart taking mock offense to the complaint. "Being the great guy I am, I stepped up to the plate, cuz god knows SOMEBODY had to take control! And THIS is the thanks I get?"
The car grew quiet. He was right. Without him, the three of them would still be sitting around the kitchen table staring at each other: Bored and starving.
"Fine...you fed us. You get all the credit for this gas bubble working it's way through my system. Happy now?" Chris moaned as he fought uncomfortably to get the seat buckle across his hips. He was loosing the battle.
"Your undying gratitude is all I ask." JC joked smugly, until he felt the palm of Chris' hand come from behind to smack him upside the head.
"Ow!!" He rubbed his temple feigning real injury. "Rough crowd. Now I remember why we usually let Lance organize these 'friendly' outings of ours. Hey, that reminds me, has anyone heard from him today? I tried to call him earlier, but all I got was his machine."
Again the car grew silent. Each boy shaking his head.
"Man, I guess this stomach bug really hit him hard, huh? Hey Justin..." Chris leaned forward, resting his chin on the seat in front of him, "you were the last one to see him... how'd he look when you brought him home on Saturday? Pretty bad off?"
You have no idea.
Instantly the memory of Lance's swollen eye and tear stained face flashed before Justin. But he pushed it aside and managed to force a fairly sincere smile. "You mean albino boy? He always looks bad...who can tell?" Laughter flooded the car. It was an inside joke between the four of them; a reference to the early days when the guys first met Lance. If ever anyone needed a make over, a real wardrobe and to "turn it up a notch"... it was Lance. Wholesome, shy, naïve, small town Lance.
"Man that is sooo true. Isn't there some sort of saying...you can take the boy out of Mississippi, but you need to beat the shit out of him before he'd kick that 'country hick.'" The statement was supposed to be funny. And maybe it was. Everyone else sure seemed to think so. Everybody except Justin. His face went stone cold, his stomach suddenly doing aerobics without the benefit of the rest of his body. Breathing in deeply through his nose, he concentrated all his energy on swallowing the bile and half digested remnants from lunch that rose hot and burning against the back of his throat. Joey was only playing around, building on the joke Justin himself started. He knew that. But Justin found nothing in that comment even remotely amusing. This time he couldn't even fake a smile, instead he busied himself by starting the engine and pulling out of the parking lot; pointing the car in the direction of home.
Suppressing his laughter, JC glanced at the boy sitting next to him. The look on Justin's face was serious and somber; his mind obviously focused somewhere else. That was happening a lot lately. He reached out, touching Justin on the shoulder. Allowing his hand to lingering only momentarily, JC felt each muscle in Justin's arm tighten under his touch; the reflexive move of someone guarding five small bruises from further harm.
Not that JC could have known that. "Hey J, you okay?"
Weaving in and out of traffic, Justin glanced in the review mirror, as if preoccupied with the activities of the white Jeep Cherokee following closely behind him. In doing so, he caught a quick glimpse of his backseat passengers: Chris' beady eyes were burning a hole in the back of his head, Joey on the other hand, diverted his stare uneasily out the side window. Justin felt a surge of anger well up inside him. So JC wasn't the only busy body in the car.
They were all waiting for an answer he was never going to give.
With every essence of his being he wanted to stop the car, right then and there, get out in the middle of the four lane highway, raise his head to the sky and scream in the deepest, most guttural, demonic voice imaginable, "Would everybody just leave me the fuck alone!!"
But he didn't.
Instead, he concealed his anger and decided to try a more effective approach. He'd act surprised and cocky. Hell, nobody would question that. "Who me?! Of course I'm fine! Please...I AM the one and only Justin Timberlake. Need I say more?" Keeping one eye on the road Justin turned to face his fellow bandmates and flashed them what he'd long ago termed his "boxed set": A wide, boyish grin combined with that devilish gleam in eyes he could manifest at the drop of a hat. It was practiced, polished and drove the fans wild. Even these guys: his closest friends, his brothers, the people who knew his best; never questioned it's sincerity. Probably because it used to be for real. But that was a long time ago.
"Ohhhh Man..." Chris collapsed against his seat. Over exaggerating his every move, he tossed his head back and rolled his eyes. "Would somebody please find a leash for pretty boy's ego! I think it's time we got it under control..."
This time Justin laughed. Partly for real, partly because it was what they expected, and partly because if he didn't JC would never get off his back.
It worked. The tension in the car faded, quickly replaced by lighthearted jabs at each others expense. Justin slipped into the banter easily. It was familiar, comfortable and allowed him to be himself. But most importantly, it wasn't intrusive. His thoughts and feelings, as screwed up as they may be, were all he had left to call his own. He'd be damned if he was going to be forced to give them away too.
Less than 25 minutes later, Justin found himself once again standing by the picture window in the living room, peering out at the backyard. This time there were no streamers or balloons, no crowds of people and God willing, no phone calls. And that suited Justin just fine. Watching Chris, Joey, a Nerf football and some sort of one-on-one football game involving drowning the opponent were all the entertainment he could handle. They'd begged him to join them, and under normal circumstances, in this heat he'd have raced them to the pool. And at first he'd actually agreed. But somewhere between the top of the stairs and the door to his bedroom, he remembered the bruises. Disappointed, he briefly contemplated whether or not wearing a shirt into the pool was an option, but in the end, he decided it was just too risky. So he made up some excuse about suddenly feeling too tired, which was kind of true too, and backed out. Now standing by himself, he suddenly felt very heavy, like he'd been handed a lead weight. To an outsider, Justin's demeanor would probably be interpreted as a longing to join his friends outside, but that really wasn't the problem. Moving away from the window, Justin returned to the exact spot he'd occupied for well over three hours earlier this morning. The sofa. Picking up the remote from the coffee table in front of him, he clicked on the television. Seeing the image appear on the screen, he couldn't help but let out a small laugh. Unbelievably, the cartoons were still on. So much for being just a Saturday morning thing. Then abruptly his smile faded, remembering more than just the cartoons from earlier today. Replaying the scene in his head, a fresh wave of guilt washed over him.
His mom was only trying to say good bye...
Sounds of early morning preparation filled the upstairs. Justin followed her in his mind as she went from room to room, attending to minor details before leaving for work and, he assumed, searching for him. Her soft voice called out to him from the top of the stairs, then again from somewhere down the hall. But Justin simply ignored her. Moments later he listened to the dainty clip clop of her heels as she stepped from the kitchen out onto the patio; her unsuccessful hunt for him continuing into the backyard. As he heard the faint echo of "Jellybean" bounce across the pool, Justin envisioned her systematically going from the basketball court, passed the tin shed they liked to call a game room, around back to her herb garden...even though he ever spent any time there...and finally entering the garage. At this point she would be checking for his car. And she would find it. It was her familiar search route and living with three boys made it a well traveled one.
Momentarily, things grew quiet. No sounds in the yard, no foot steps in the house, not even the shutting of the door. Nothing. Then ten minutes into the silence, the sliding of the patio door and a very softly spoken "Justin Randall" signaled her return to the house. She was no longer calling to him. At this point the name was synonymous with worry and frustration. Sitting in the family room separated from her by only a wall, Justin bit his bottom lip as her overwhelming concern ricocheted through his head. Still he ignored her. It's not like the house was that big, eventually she would find him, but he was going to make her do all the work.
It didn't make sense, not even to him. Just moments before, when she spoke of leaving for Europe, all he wanted was to spend time with her. Now, as lonely as he felt, he was pushing her away.
Trying to escape the heaviness in his chest, he faced the television once more and willed himself into a trace-like state. It wasn't hard really, he loved cartoons, always had. That's the thing about cartoons: You can lose yourself in their world for hours without so much as a single thought entering your mind. And it was a world where no one gets hurt. No matter what happens to them, a cartoon character bounces right back. Neat trick. With his eyes locked on the television in front of him, his attention bounced between his mom and the LooneyToons. She was shuffling through papers somewhere in the kitchen, Wyle E.Coyote was falling off a cliff.
Then without warning she entered the living room and stopped suddenly, stunned that he could have been that close to her this whole time. Justin was laying on his side, spread across the couch. He refused to look away from the screen, but felt her stare gauging him. She stood motionless waiting for him to say something. He didn't. Finally, with a small sigh, she simply walked in front of him and crouched down; purposely blocking his view. Great. Now he had no choice but to acknowledge her. She played this game better than him...she always did.
"I called everywhere for you. Didn't you hear me?"
He shrugged but remained silent. Still avoiding her gaze, he turned his attention to the small golden pendant swinging hypnotically from around her neck.
Her eyes narrowed dramatically. Even out of the corner of his eye, he could see it. "I thought we settled this?"
Please just leave it alone. Leave ME alone...Your going to anyway.
He pushed out a loud breath, annoyed. He wasn't particularly talkative at the moment. "Mom...I didn't say anything."
"My point exactly." She moved in; struggling to make eye contact.
He groaned inwardly. "What do you WANT from me?" The tone was harsh and accusing...more so than he intended. Rolling onto his back, Justin closed his eyes, dreading her response.
"I WANT you to be okay with this. Honestly? I really don't understand what's going on here, Justin. The moodiness...the early hours...forgetting entire conversations...And frankly I don't have the time to sit here and hound you about it." She glanced at the watch he'd given her just weeks earlier for Christmas. "Ugh. I've got to go..." She stood up carefully, using the arm of the sofa to stay balanced on her high heels. "I really need to prepare for a meeting scheduled this afternoon."
Ah...saved by the bell! Eager to move away from the conversation at hand, he clung to the new subject, smiling. "Oh yeah? Is that Mayflower hottie going to be there? What's her name again? Sasha? Sandra?"
She leaned down to kiss him, "Nope...It's with Gabe."
Justin's world went black. The name hitting him like a blow to the stomach. Suddenly it was two days ago and he was back in that office, reliving it all: The suffocating pressure of Gabe's body crushing his own, the painful, probing touch of his fingers, the frigid breeze of the air conditioning against his bare skin, even the scent of his cologne mixed with the lemon oil polish on the desk. The entire flashback took only a second, but it was horribly vivid, and once again Justin lost control of his own body...victimized for the second time by a man who wasn't even in the room. When it was happening for real, he wasn't allowed to react; he couldn't flinch or push away...one of Gabe's rules. But this time his reaction was unmistakable. His face twisted in disgust as his body shuttered, repelling violently against the memories. Even the couch visibly shook.
As if on cue, he felt the liberating warmth of his mom's lips bash clumsily against his forehead; pulling him back to the safety of his own home AND the reality that he wasn't alone. She'd witnessed his little tirade! Sheer panic ran through him like a live wire, awakening every nerve in his body. It was as though he was on fire. Frantically he struggled to sit up. How was he going to explain that?! Damnit! Damnit! Damnit! Embarrassed and scared, he immediately searched her face for...for...what? Understanding? Recognition? An explanation? Right...as if she could actually provide any of those for him.
And that's when Justin saw it. Taken aback by his obvious rejection of her, she stood frozen in place, stunned. Her eyes filled with despair; a sadness unlike any he had seen before.
Oh god, she thinks I pulled away from her touch...from her.
This time he really hurt her. "Mom, I didn't..."
"No, Justin." Her voice was firm, but her touch extremely gentle as she wiped away the smudged lipstick left on his forehead. "Clearly you don't understand how much I want this. How much I really NEED this. You know full well that my leaving has nothing to do with my love for you." Justin's eyes instantly fell to the floor, he never could face her when she scolded him. Unfazed by his reaction she continued on, "Pouting stopped working when you were five. So as I see it, it's time for you to grow up and find a way to deal with the situation." She paused, contemplating her next words. "Your being incredibly selfish...You have no idea how disappointed I am in you right now." She acted tough, but those were tears she was blinking back. Justin swore he saw one fall as she turned to leave.
Before stepping outside, she look back at the almost lifeless figure lying on the sofa. Her only son. She didn't know what to do. Something was wrong and it wasn't an illness and it wasn't excitement about vacation time, of that she was certain. He looked small lying there. She wanted nothing more than to scoop him into her arms like a child, hold him tight, kiss him where it hurt and tell him everything would be alright. But she fought the instinct, Justin was a man now, and he needed to act like one. Still...maybe she was being too hard on him.
"I'll see you at rehearsal tonight...if you still want me there."
He should have apologized. He should have reassured her. He should have at least looked in her direction. But a quiet "Yeah, whatever" was all he could manage.
Then he heard the door shut...He should have said good-bye.
Don't worry mom...I'm disappointed in me too...
Clutching the small sofa pillow that lay along side him, he covered his face to muffle the impending scream. "Ugh! Get a grip Timberlake! Your losing it..."
Why was he having so much trouble moving past it this time? By now it should be buried conveniently next to all the other vicious memories he kept lost inside his mind. Really for him, this time wasn't any worse than before. Sure it was horrible. It was always horrible; every time. But he'd learned to put it behind him. Not that he had a choice really. Refusing to let the images to the surface was the only way he found to survive.
It was a game of make believe really. Just like he pretended to be a fireman when he was six. Now it was the same idea. Pretending it never happened; pretending he was normal; pretending to be the Justin Timberlake everyone expected. That was the game plan. But this time, someone changed the rules, the game plan wasn't working. Thinking back on it, maybe time was the culprit. With Nsync touring for much of the last eight weeks, it was nearly impossible for Gabe to get to them. There was one terrifying day back in December when he made a surprise appearance in New York. They were scheduled to tape a segment for the Morning Show, when the green room door burst open and out of nowhere, Gabe walked in. He claimed he was simply "in the area" and wanted to say hello. Of course, both he and Lance exchanged worried glances; suspicious of Gabe's true motivations. And they broke out in a cold sweat when Joey happily insisted that Gabe spend the next two days with them. But strangely enough, he held true to his word and behaved like the old Gabe. The father figure Justin once admired and respected, even loved. Lance agreed. There were no snide comments, no trying to get them alone, not so much as a misplaced glance in either boy's direction. At one point Justin actually found himself genuinely laughing at a joke Gabe told.
Was that it? Had he fooled himself that it was over...it would never happen again?
Was he really that stupid?
Blinking slow and hard, Justin forced himself back to the present. His attention drifting to the clock on the VCR. Was that right? By now his mom usually called. At least once.
Mulling it over once more, maybe he was punishing his mother for leaving him. He didn't know. But he knew it wasn't fair and it really wasn't her fault either. She had responsibilities; a job to do. And that meant she had to leave. Nobody understood that better than him; his whole career centered around him leaving. Why had he acted like such a baby this morning?
With the remote still in his hand, he quickly clicked off the television. Elmer Fud would just have to capture Bugs Bunny without him. He stood up, taking the still untouched glass of orange juice he'd left behind earlier this morning with him. Moving into the kitchen, he dumped the entire glass down the drain and set it next to his cereal bowl in the sink. He could hear his mom scolding him now, "Justin, how many times do you have to be told? You don't leave your dirty dishes in the sink. We have a dishwasher. Use it." But she wasn't here and he'd get around to it later. Then in the quiet of mid-afternoon, he sat on the stairs feeling very much alone. Of course he wasn't really alone. The heat prevented him from sitting outside with Chris and Joey, but JC was in the downstairs 'music room' working on something. Probably a new song. Maybe he'd join him for a little while. Kill some time before they needed to meet with the choreographer, Darren, who decided it was time to change a few things around. As he put it, something "just wasn't working on stage." Which interpreted as, "your looking like bumbling idiots in public."
Justin walked carefully down the steep set of stairs into the basement. Converting a room of the house into a place to create and play music was really JC's idea. And early on, he christened the space as "the music room," although in reality it was nothing more spectacular than a fourth bedroom. And a small bedroom at that. But JC loved this place, and spent as much time as possible in front of the keyboard that was really the only musical instrument in the room. He called it his haven, his sanctuary. The rest of the group called it, "The Joshua Cave." With the door left partly open, Justin could see JC sitting in his usual spot, but he was talking on the phone, not playing music. The door creaked softly as Justin pushed it open a little farther, and leaned against the frame, listening in. JC turned around at the sound and waved his best friend inside. Smiling, Justin ignored the invitation and stayed where he was.
"No, Darren changed the rehearsal to six....You sure?...Okay, cuz you know if your still sick, we can do it without you. Or even reschedule it. It's no problem, you know?" Well that answered that; he was talking to Lance. "Nope, that's fine. I'll just pick you up on my way over there...No really, I was gonna leave early anyway. Sheila called. She's got a box of memorabilia crap we all need to get autographed before the end of the week, so I thought I'd run by the office and pick it up." JC broke off, allowing Lance back into the conversation. Looking at Justin, he rolled his eyes and shook his hand violently, faking the all-to-familiar hand cramp that always accompanied the never-ending autograph sessions. Justin laughed out loud.
Again JC returned his attention to the phone, "Hey why don't I pick you up first? You can come with me to the office and... " Justin watched JC's face twist in confusion as Lance stopped that idea in it's tracks. "Uh...okay. Whatever you want...I guess I'll just pick you up afterward then...well Justin's here, so I'm gonna go. How about I see you in..." JC looked at his watch, "let's say one hour. Does that work for you?...Sounds good. Alright...bye."
JC closed his cell phone, that perplexed look still plaguing his face. "That was strange. It's like he went ballistic at the thought of me picking him up first. I don't get it..."
It made perfect sense to Justin. But he played along, "Well he's been sick and all. He probably just doesn't want to do anymore running around than necessary, you know?"
"Yeah...I guess." JC was still hesitant, "Say you want to go over to the office with me?"
Not a chance in hell. "Naw. I think I'll just hang out here. Maybe take a nap or somethin', then meet you guys over there. Chris and Joey were still in the pool when I came down here, so they'll probably just want to ride over with me. You said six o'clock, right?"
"Yeah, six." JC sounded disappointed, but Justin got up and left the room quickly, before he could press the issue any further. There was absolutely no way he was going to chance a run in with Gabe, even if it just meant passing him in the hall.
Lying on his side in bed, Lance clicked off the receiver, his hand crashing down alongside him as if the weight of the phone was too much for him to bear. Then slowly forcing himself up into a standing position, he walked toward the bathroom. The phone laying forgotten somewhere under the bed sheets. He'd lost another 24 hours of his life. Unfortunately it wasn't the day of Justin's party. That quite possibly stood as the worst day of his young life, but he remembered every sickening minute of it. No, yesterday was the missing day. Most of it was a hazy blur of sleep. Interrupted only briefly by a single trip to the bathroom, a failed attempt at eating lunch and a few phone calls. Most of which he ignored. His mother called sometime in the middle of the afternoon. At least he assumed it was his mom, the caller ID actually read JIM BASS, but that was very unlikely. He'd never really know; he didn't answer it and whoever it was left no message. He almost hit the 'talk' button when he saw the name, but decided against it. This time he might not be able to put on a happy face and be the son she expected to hear. This time she might hear his pain. So instead he made a mental note to call her later and quickly forced himself to return to the black security of sleep.
Thankfully, it was an intense, almost comatose slumber. Probably induced by the mixture of exhaustion and pain pills. He never took pain medication, prescribed or otherwise. Even when he'd hurt himself during that stupid bull-fighting mishap in Cancun. But Justin found the pills hidden way in the back of the medicine cabinet and practically forced them on him. He'd held strong and refused. Lying to Justin, who quite honestly wasn't buying it, that he was feeling "okay." But then Justin left. And with no one to busy his thoughts or be strong for, with only himself to focus on, the night became long and painful. His back throbbed so severely he could only sleep for minutes at a time. And even those minutes were spent dozing on and off on the bathroom floor due to half a dozen episodes of dry heaves that threatened to kept him there permanently. So with all this working against him, somewhere in the middle of the night his resolve wavered and he took the pills. In the end he was glad he did.
Even now, seven hours since his last dose, he was still feeling a bit fuzzy and lightheaded, but the effects were wearing off fast. Entering the bathroom, Lance yawned trying in vain to suppress the coinciding stretch that always seemed to follow. Ultimately permitting his arms to rise above his head, he whimpered as each muscle in his back cried out in protest. Yep, the pain medication was definitely wearing off. He studied the clock next to the sink. If he could just make it through the next four hours...maybe less...he'd be able to take another one of those small pink capsules and sink once again into a deep, black, painless sleep. It was that thought; that hope of returning to unconsciousness, that kept him moving forward now. That and the idea of JC standing at his doorway sometime in the next forty-five minutes.
Leaning in very close to the mirror, Lance carefully examined the sensitive, inflamed area under his left eye. He'd avoided looking at it ever since that night. Optimistically hoping that by the time he did, it would be gone. It wasn't. Hiding the marks on his body had become almost routine, but his face? That had never happened before.
But this last time, Gabe told him to do the impossible; he told him to watch. Or more accurately, to lie on his back, his legs forced apart and stare into the icy cold eyes of a man he used to trust, while feeling his body being ravaged. He didn't have the ability to escape inside his mind like Justin did. So it was the only piece of security he had left; to be able to close his eyes and block out the reality of what was happening to him. And now Gabe managed to rape him of that too. Lance wanted to do it; to keep his eyes open, telling himself: Just do whatever it takes not to get Gabe mad. But it was SO HARD. Instinctively he would look to the side or stare at the ceiling, until finally his eyes slipped closed on their own accord. Then abruptly, he'd feel the sting of a reprimanding slap across his face. His eyes would pop open and the agonizing cycle would begin again. Before it was over, he suffered five or six blows to his left eye. He lost count after four.
It was the most horrendous thing Gabe ever forced him to do. And as difficult as staring into Gabe's eyes was, the truly sickening part, the part that still invoked waves of nausea inside him, was knowing Gabe was staring back into his, mocking him, laughing at his torment. He stole a window into his thoughts, his fears, his very soul. It was surrendering to this monster, allowing him to conquer his body, peer into his soul and count the tears sliding down his face that haunted Lance's waking hours. Another reason he struggled to stay in the murky emptiness of sleep; Gabe couldn't see his eyes.
Standing in his bathroom, thinking back on it now, Lance felt his body break out in a cold sweat. Stop it Lance, it's over...just move on. Well there was no mistaken that it was injured, but at least the eye wasn't actually black and blue. When the time came, he'd have to come up with some sort of cover story, but for now he'd brave the shower, praying the hot water would feel good against his skin. If not, without the aid of those little pills, it would be the shortest shower in history.
Thirty-five minutes later, fully dressed and standing next to the kitchen table, Lance waited out JC's arrival with a frozen waffle in hand. Jumping around on the dance floor was going to be tough enough, doing it on a empty stomach would be unbearable. Edgar, the doorman, rang up just moments ago to inform him that JC was on his way up. Finally. The clock on the microwave put JC about fifteen minutes late already, and Lance didn't want this night to last any longer than necessary.
Waiting until he could hear JC humming to himself somewhere down the hall, Lance cracked opened the door, leaving it ajar. Returning to the bathroom, he hurriedly brushed his teeth, spitting out the toothpaste just as JC entered the apartment. Yelling.
"Yo, Lance! You ready to go? We're late."
Lance glanced one last time at his eye in the mirror. Show time. "What do you mean, 'we're' late? YOUR late, buddy." He yelled still facing the mirror. Then turning to leave he opened the bathroom door, but paused as if held in place by some sort of inertia. Letting out a small sigh, he quickly shut the door again and went back to the medicine cabinet. Grabbing the pain pills, he shoved them deep in his pocket. Just in case.
Without trying to hide his eye, he walked casually passed JC attempting to get his shoes from the other side of the kitchen. "Hey. Just let me get my shoes and were outta here."
He saw JC's eyes widen, but simply ignored him as pushed passed him.
"Jesus!" JC reached out and spun Lance back around to face him. "What in the hell happened to you?"
"You mean my eye?"
"No Sherlock, I mean the electric mishap that caused your hair to stand up like that. YES, of course your eye!" He let go of Lance's arm feeling him pull away slightly. Still JC stayed close, leaning in to get a better look at his friend's face.
"Trust me, the explanation is not as glamorous or exciting as you'd think."
"Let me be the judge, okay?"
"Really Josh, it's so stupid." He felt his face blush, hoping JC would fall for whatever lie was about to pop out of his mouth. "When I got out of the shower yesterday, I slipped on the wet floor and 'BAM'...my face hit the corner of the sink." He watched JC cringe at the thought. "Yeah, it hurt like hell, but I'm lucky it's only a little swollen; I could've just as easily taken the whole eye out."
JC shook his head at him, eyes still wide. "God Lance, you really are..."
Lance cut him off, mumbling somberly, "I know, I know...a klutz." He walked away from the older boy and sat down...slowly. Cussing under his breath as he bent over to put on his shoes.
JC watched him closely, wondering if he should be reading more in to those words, but he didn't know what. "Actually, I was going to say, 'You really are having a bad couple of days, aren't you?'" He stood motionless in the kitchen doorway, waiting for Lance to respond. But he only glanced up long enough from tying his shoes to toss JC an affirming roll of the eyes.
Trying to be positive, JC continued on. "On the bright side, at least we're off for the next 3 weeks, right? It'll probably be well healed by then, so we won't have to worry about making any sort of 'official statement' or anything." He paused watching the younger boy bite his lip as he rose out of the chair. "So that'll make Gabe happy."
Lance snatched his apartment keys and sunglasses off the counter and moved quickly passed JC. Almost knocking him over. "Yeah, well...whatever makes Gabe happy..."
Sarcasm blasted through the apartment as the front door slammed shut.
JC stood there, dumbfounded.
Lance was standing by the locked car when JC caught up with him. Not wanting to draw any unwanted attention, especially from the three teenage girls unloading groceries just a few cars away, JC remained silent as he preceded to open the car. But once locked safely inside and away from earshot he turned to Lance, who sat somewhat sideways against the seat, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. "Hey Scoop, I didn't mean to put business before you, you know that right? I really am sorry about your eye."
"Huh?"
"That whole Gabe comment...I didn't mean that him being happy was more important than you. Or your eye. I was just trying to be upbeat, lift your spirits and all. But I'm sorry, I guess I kind of blew it."
"Forget it." Lance tried to dismiss the whole incident quickly, but JC still looked hesitant.
"Really JC, it's okay. Like you said, it's been an rough few days. I'm just moody." He sighed, then let out a small chuckle. "Besides, what's with the optimism? I thought you were the serious one, isn't Joey supposed to be the cheerful Nsyncer."
JC burst out laughing, "Oh yeah...that's right! Man, I always get us confused...I'll try and work on that."
Lance was finally laughing too. "Please do."
They parked the car next to Justin's and walked up to the Rehearsal Studio twenty minutes late. Grabbing hold of the long shiny handle directly in front of him, JC turned to look at Lance. "Ready?" Without waiting for a reply, he slid open the oversized metal door. The loud grinding screech of metal on metal penetrated each boy to the core, and although the temperature was well over ninety degrees, a shiver ran down their spine. Constructed mainly of steel over 60 years ago, the outside of the building was weathered, rusted and appeared in desperate need of a face lift. Originally built as a small aircraft hanger, it held a colorful and varied pedigree: Serving Orlando honorably as a National Guard Armory, a community shelter, a fairly successful auto body shop, functioned briefly as a roller skating rink in the early-80's and finally as a warehouse whose doors were permanently closed by the Department of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms in 1990. "Illegal weapons possession" or something of the sort was the only information available on that topic. Purchased by an unknown businessman, it sat as an empty shell of its former self for more than 5 years when Gabe Huxley stumbled across it.
Most likely it was painted white. Maybe pale yellow. The dangerous combination of weather and time left more rust colored paint chips scattered along the concrete than on the building itself.
Lance always considered the warehouse an eye sore. Years ago, without discussing it, he actually volunteered the whole group to repaint it. He saw it as a bonding experience, and chance to give something back to Gabe. The man who poured his heart, soul and money into making their dream come true. Boy, was that a mistake, Joey just about killed him. But as it worked out, Gabe turned his offer down anyway. He wanted Nsync's affiliation with the studio to be kept a secret from the fans. He claimed to have a theory; the more dilapidated the place looked on the outside, the less likely anyone would ever discover what was going on inside. So far it worked.
Now Lance simply pitied the structure. Pitied the ugly façade it was forced show the world each day. The lie it lived. On the outside, it was ugly and harsh. Scarred and battered by the onslaught of others; people over which it had no control. But inside... inside was where you discovered it's true potential. The reception area was lush with greenery and fine artwork. Even a small fountain bubbled gracefully in the reception area. Beyond this, the front section held only a few small communal offices and a make-shift recording studio. The remaining bulk of the building contained the dance rehearsal hall. Sure under close examination, the battle scars from years of wear and abuse were still there. But with care...and a fresh coat of paint...it looked almost new. If nothing else, at least it was restored to it's former self. Luckily for this building, someone took the time to venture inside, to pry open the cold rusty door, to look beyond the oil stained concrete, cobwebs and blacked out windows, to see the potential that still lay inside. Otherwise it's beauty, warmth and charm may have remained lost forever.
To Lance it stood as a symbol; a large, bulky icon of himself.
Strolling through the entrance, JC and Lance were instantly accosted by a burst of cold air and five pairs of cold eyes. Justin, Joey, Chris, Lynn and Darren were all waiting, obviously quite impatiently, on their arrival.
JC held out his hands, taking control. "I know, we're late."
Lance raised his eye brow and tossed him a "you want to try that again" glare.
"Fine! I mean, I was late." Then under his breath, just loud enough for Lance to hear, "Happy now?"
Approaching the group in front of them, Lance smirked, "You know it."
Then out of nowhere, Lynn was in front Lance, gently holding his face in her small hands. "Oh my... Lance, you poor thing! What have you done to yourself. Are you okay?" Her motherly tone and gentle caring touch caused his voice to catch in his throat and threatened to bring tears to his eyes. The rest of the group quickly closed ranks around him, and once again he was forced to allow someone else to peer into his eyes. Damnit, he wasn't prepared for this; or for her.
Fortunately, JC jumped to his rescue, even if he didn't know it. Shaking his head, he smirked, "It's a whole messy 'slipping-in-the-shower-hitting-head-on- the-sink' story that will bore the hell out of you."
Still holding his face, Lynn's attention fell back on Lance. She narrowed her eyes and turned his head slowly from side to side as if scrutinizing his every facial flaw. "Is that what happened?"
Purposely avoiding Justin, he simply nodded while watching the rest of the groups reaction; trying to judge their gullibility. At this point, Darren stepped in, "Well if it's just the eye, then we should be fine. Your not hurt anywhere else right? No sprained ankles or hands?"
Lance grabbed Lynn's wrists and carefully removed them from his face, smiling at the love he saw in her eyes. "No the rest of me is just fine."
"Well isn't that a relief to hear." A deep, lively voice rang out from the back of the building. The entire group turned, shocked by the sudden appearance of someone behind them. There stood Gabe, leaning against doorway to the dance hall, dressed casually in shorts and polo shirt, smiling. As was everyone else, except for two boys who were staring at each other as their blood ran cold.
Chris instantly flew out of his seat and ran up to the man, throwing a single arm around him. "Gabe, my man! Long time no see. What are you doing here?"
"Well now, how am I supposed to just go home, knowing full well that my boys are back in town? Except for Justin and Lance here, I haven't had a chance to see any of you. So when Lynn mentioned the rehearsal earlier today, I thought 'What the hell?'"
"Your kidding?! This is so great...I can't remember the last time you showed for one of our rehearsals!"
He grinned at Chris' bounding enthusiasm, "Yeah, I missed you too Chris." Then walking closer to be part of the group, Gabe looked directly at Lance. "So you hurt your eye, huh? Ow, looks pretty painful."
Lance forced a fake smile, trying desperately to act happy like everybody else. "No it's alright. I'll manage."
Gabe took another step forward, reaching out to grab the pale blond's broken face. "Are you sure, because it looks..."
"He said he's fine." Justin's harsh voice broke in, moving slightly in front of Lance, careful not to touch him.
As Gabe took a step backward, the room grew absolutely silent.
"Justin!" Lynn scolded, completely flabbergasted by her son's unusual behavior. "What has gotten into you?! Gabe is only showing his concern, there is no need to be so rude!" She turned to face her boss, "I am so embarrassed Gabe. I don't know what to say?...Wait, yes I do" Reaching out, she pulled Justin away from Lance, and positioned him in front of Gabe, "I think you owe him an apology, don't you?"
The tension between the two men confused everybody in the room. Stunned by his own boldness, Justin felt a surge of strength well up inside him, he wanted to hold his ground. But the disappointment in his mother's face, and the evil glare the rest of the guys were giving him made him back off. He was the one looking like a jerk, Gabe got to be the 'good guy' once again.
"Sorry." He kept it sweet and simple. No explanations. No excuses.
Gabe smiled from ear to ear looking down at the boy. It was a very friendly, warm smile, but Justin read the meaning behind it as clear as a bell: Gabe won again. Darren decided to end this right now. He needed their full concentration and by no means did he want them preoccupied by Justin's little outburst. "Okay everyone, the clock is ticking...30 minutes late I might add...and we have A LOT to do. So get your dancing feet into the studio."
Nobody moved, still confused by the little scene that played out in front of them.
"NOW!!" Darren yelled, clapping his hands together for effect. Suddenly the group snapped to life and followed their long time choreographer into the dance hall.
Remaining behind, Gabe held out his arm to Lynn, offering himself as her escort. She smiled at his generosity. "I'm so sorry Gabe, really. Justin's acting so strange lately. I can't even begin to explain his behavior. I'm really worried."
"Lynn." He was charismatic and charming, "He's young. He's got a high pressure career and just returned home from a very demanding tour. Justin is stressed. And now your leaving, so naturally he's feeling a little strained and uptight." He gently patted her hand and flashed her an understanding grin. "Give the kid a break."
She still looked uncertain and sighed deeply, "I know, but I've been thinking...maybe now isn't such a good time for me to leave."
"No Lynn, I think now is the perfect time for you to go. It's the opportunity of a lifetime; it's your career. And we both know Justin wouldn't want you to give that up. Besides I'll still be here, and the guys, so it's not like he's going to be alone. Trust me by the time you get back, three weeks from now, Justin will be a completely different boy. "
"Yeah, I suppose your right."
She was watching her son perform some sort type of sit and spin dance move, and never saw the evil smirk that twisted across Gabe's face. "I know I am."
Remember, any and all feedback is welcome! I'd love to hear what you think. Send it to Justme@astound.net. Thanks for reading everyone!!