Part 2


I took a walk around the world

To ease my troubled mind

I left my body laying somewhere

In the sands of time

I watched the world float to

The dark side of the moon

After all, I knew it had to be

Something to do with you

I really don’t mind what happens now and then

As long as you’ll be my friend at the end

 

If I go crazy, then will you still

Call me Superman

If I’m alive and well, will you

Be there holding my hand

I’ll keep you by my side with

My superhuman might

                        — 3 Doors Down

 

 

*Did I cop out or do the right thing? Is this me running away or just de-cramping his space? Am I crossing that invisible line between overly-sensitive and self-pitying? Should I have stayed and tried to talk to him again? Or is it better that I don’t let him see how much it hurt……….first that he’d actually entertain ideas of me wanting somebody other than him, and second that he’d go out and so aggressively be all over a total stranger?*

 

JC clamped his eyelids shut tight against the scene he’d been gazing blankly at through the small, oval window of the private jet that currently whisked him back to the confines of sunny Los Angeles. Behind the thin barriers of skin now, he could still vividly see the heavenly blue skies out there — infinite reaches and depths of the same hues as Justin’s eyes. Those magnificent eyes, whether stormy or playful or loving, always beautifully expressive.

 

It *had* hurt. Yes, it had stung quite a bit. And maybe this was best. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe.

 

JC had waited for him, of course, this morning. Waited to make sure, for his own sanity, that Justin got back to their pad safely after his nightlife adventures. And he’d all but leapt out of his nervous skin when the front door clicked open at 4:45 a.m. Sitting upright on the bed in the dark, he’d had to dive under the covers and curl into his best fake-sleeping pose to wait for whatever might happen next.

 

After some muffled fumbling around and sounds of clothes being shed and dropped to the floor, the bed had sagged as Justin crawled in beside him and pressed naked, lean warmth parallel against his body. Just as he always did. JC was positive he’d trembled under the touch of those thick, long fingers as they’d gently brushed his hair off his neck and then been replaced by wet heat from the mouth that had caressed the flesh there.

 

“Luff you, shweetness,” had been feathered across his earlobe, and then a powerful arm had fallen over his ribcage as Justin floated from semi-consciousness into a drunken slumber.

 

JC had eased backward and rested in the hot, sleepy hug for at least 15 minutes before he forced himself up and flipped on the small lamp by the bed. It hadn’t really mattered that Justin had brought inside with him all the many reeking scents of the bar and its inhabitants. JC hadn’t been concerned with that. He hadn’t cared to speculate on what all had taken place in his absence.

 

What he’d been focusing on as he sat there and watched the snoozing figure was the way the soft brown eyelashes curled and lay against the upper ridge of the perfect cheekbone or how ruby-red those swollen lips looked as they parted just enough to let out a tiny whimper of a snore. And that tight-muscled chest as it expanded and contracted with the steady breathing.

 

*Such an effortlessly beautiful boy……….all grown up now into a uniquely stunning man*

 

“Love you too. Always,” JC had whispered to him and softly kissed his mouth.

 

Then he’d slipped the folded page from his notebook and left it on Justin’s nightstand. Grabbing up one packed Prada bag from the closet, he’d switched off the lamp again and made his way across the shadowy bedroom, through the living area, and finally out into the dimly-lit hallway.

 

Now, he glanced across the narrow aisle to where Carlos sat slumped against a pillow, drooling in his early-morn sleep. Not surprisingly, he’d been all too loyal and willing to accompany JC back to LA — even at such an ungodly hour in the A.M. He’d been waiting at the plane, along with Jake and the (well-compensated) pilot.

 

“What’s shaking, man? You okay?” Carlos had asked when JC dragged up to meet him.

 

“I’m fine. Just wanted to get outta here early.”

 

“Everything kosher with Mr. T?”

 

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” JC had grumbled and started up the stairs to the plane.

 

Jetting through the pale-blue vastness and puffs of cottony white now, JC sighed to himself and reached for the thin blanket next to him. He could already feel the depressive chill of a lonely Hollywood mansion settling in around his bones.

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

“Man, you don’t look so hot. Got mange?”

 

Chris laughed and clapped Justin on the back as they headed off the stage and toward Justin’s dressing room somewhere in the bowels of Radio City Music Hall. Chris had shown up near the end of the grueling Monday afternoon rehearsal and was brutally honest with his first-look review.

 

Grueling for Justin because his entire body felt like it had been run over by a cement truck. Twice. And because his heart had refused all day to move its heavy ass out of the pit of his empty stomach. Especially after he’d awakened to 1) discover the handwritten letter waiting for him, 2) realize JC was gone, and 3) understand the idiocy of what he’d done.

 

“So I’m hung-over. Deal with it. This ain’t a beauty contest, ass,” Justin snapped and wiped the dripping moisture off his brow with a towel.

 

“Oh, but *I* still think you’re the sexiest little boy-band break-awayer EVER. Nick Carter, Bobby Brown………None of ‘em got a tight little tooshie like yours, bay-bee. You are da MAN.” Chris joked and squeezed a plentiful handful of Justin’s backside.

 

Justin swiped at him with the towel and scowled. “Cut it out, you pervert. I’m too young for your ancient ass anyway.”

 

“Witty as hell, Timberlake. You slay me every time.”

 

Justin ignored the typical sarcasm. “Lemme just get my keys and my phone outta here, and then we can kick it.”

 

“Where we going, crabby ass?”

 

“The apartment. You can hit the bar while I shower. It’s just been restocked like crazy.”

 

Chris watched as Justin scampered into his dressing room and rummaged around quickly, snatching up what he needed. When Justin stood dead-still for a few seconds, intently clicking through his tiny phone’s Caller ID list, Chris thought little of its significance.

 

“So where’s Chasez? Slumming back at the pad today? Dude owes me money,” he said nonchalantly. Innocently.

 

Justin raised his head slowly, phone gripped in his hand, and froze him with hard, cold, ice-blue eyes. “He left me, Chris. I was a stupid-ass……….did ignorant things……….And he hit the fucking road……….Left. Can’t blame him, I guess.”

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

Justin,

 

I’ll be on my way back to the house in LA by the time you read this. Don’t forget to take some aspirins, btw. You know you’ll need them.

 

After what happened last night, I started to think that maybe I’m crowding you and asking for too much of you – especially right now when you’re so busy trying to establish your own identity and do your own thing. Maybe I’m too stuck in the old ways of how things used to be for us, and maybe I’m holding you back, not letting you have your freedom to fly. And that’s just so not fair.

 

I want you to soar, baby. I don’t want to keep you down. And that’s the truth. You being happy is most important to me. Most important of all.  It’s my peace of mind.

 

So I’m going back to California until I leave for Houston on Tuesday morning. You have lots of rehearsing and interviewing stuff to do between now and the show Thursday night. I figured you didn’t need me around bugging you while you have all that on your mind. I’m getting out of your way.

 

I don’t want to fight with you, Justin. Not last night. Not anytime, if we can avoid it. And I don’t want to drive you to go out and do the things Trace was kind enough to tell me you were doing at Spa last night. So maybe this separation is a good thing. Although it doesn’t FEEL good as I sit here and write this. Nothing feels good right now.

 

You were wrong to suspect anything is going on with me and Lance. Very wrong. You know good and well why Lance and I aren’t together anymore, and it’s the same reason we can’t be together like that now. But I must be doing something terribly wrong if you seriously think I could do that to you. So maybe I need to take a closer look at how I can fix that. I never want you to doubt me and how I feel about you.

 

I’m sorry about the argument and how I didn’t stop it when I could have. I’m sorry for getting pissed and just letting one bitchy comment fall into another and collapse the whole nice evening. Like those stupid dominoes.

 

I’m sorry, Justin. Sorry for things I didn’t say and do. Sorry it all toppled and fell into the wreck it did. I think that I’ll be sorry I left as soon as I’m gone from you, but it’s probably best this way.

 

Focus your energy this week on doing your best. You’ll have a lot of people watching your gig that night. Including me. I can hardly wait to see you shine. Break a leg, baby.

 

You are my love,

JC

 

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

 

“Ju, you’re lame! Inherently obnoxious, I swear! He didn’t leave you. He’s just giving you some space. Jesus Christ. Take a Valium, Boy Wonderful. Chill out. The world’s not ending.”

 

Chris actually wished he had a bottle of Valiums at this point. He’d pop a few himself. Oh, yeah. You could bet on that.

 

He’d been listening to the drama of the latest events in the love life of two of his closest friends now since he and Justin had left the Music Hall over a half hour before (with Lonnie in tow, as usual). Justin had just stepped out of the bathroom, thick blue towel tied loosely around his bare waist, and now grabbed a beer from the kitchen as he started to talk again. Chris, with his own bottle of Beck’s in hand, roamed around the apartment curiously and checked out all the minor decorating changes they’d done since he was here to visit last.

 

Well, to be honest, the decorating changes that *JC* had most likely done, seeings how that department of the domesticity was more *his* cup of tea than Justin’s.

 

“But he’s not here, CK. He went away. And this is just messed up,” Justin groaned.

 

“Didn’t he say in his note he’d be back by Thursday night?”

 

“Not exactly. Just that he’d be watching.”

 

Chris turned from the painting on the wall and rolled his huge, dark eyes. “Earth to Justin Simpleton……….How long have you two been with each other? As a couple? Hmm?”

 

“Sixteen months.” Justin tugged at the towel and poured some of the beer down his throat. “And two weeks.”

 

“And you’re in love and the whole bit?”

 

“Yeah. Duh.”

 

“Then why in the hell would he NOT be here to see your very first solo act? Moron much?”

 

“Because I was a prick to him.”

 

“Tell him you’re sorry. It’s not like you never had to crawl back for being a prick before, right?”

 

Justin smirked. “We don’t fight much, man.”

 

“I know. But when you do, who’s usually the one that flew off the handle and started it?”

 

Grunting, Justin rolled his head around on his still-damp shoulders. “Me. The asshole. Always me……….He never even complains about all the dirt I get in the press for the millions of chicks I’m supposed to be banging……….And I gave him fucking hell for Marcella.”

 

Chris began to amble around the room again and shook his head. “He’s been undercover longer than you have, babe. He knows the real deal. Besides, that piece of ass is *hot*.”

 

“Fuck you, Chris. That doesn’t help one damn bit.”

 

“Boo hoo. Hey, I’m not the one snapping on my boyfriend about some GIRL he wouldn’t possibly be interested in to begin with.”

 

“Shit. I really screwed up.” Justin spun around and headed for the bedroom but continued with the conversation as he dropped the towel and dug through his closet. “I went off on him about Lance too, dawg.”

 

“So you said. Not smart, kiddo. Pretty stupid, actually. You know what a damn train wreck THAT was, Ju. And you were the one there to pick up the little bashed pieces. Remember?”

 

“Yeah.” Justin was quiet for a moment, mulling it all over in his mind one more time. “I know it’s retarded, but it just freaks me out sometimes……….C’s so close to Bass and all. Always has been.”

 

“Not close to Bass like he is to *you*, man. Not anymore. Not for a long time.”

 

“I know. I know.”

 

“And do you know WHY, Justin? Do you?”

 

“I’m sure you’re about to fucking clue me in. Why?”

 

“Because, dude, you give Chasez that one thing Lance never could……….a total commitment, all of you all the time, whenever he needs you. Bassman wasn’t ready to put that much into it. You always have. C loves you, man.”

 

“I woulda gone with him to Texas, CK. I would’ve. If he’d asked.”

 

“Ju, you’ve got a buttload of crap to do HERE this week to prepare for the biggest night of your life. He wouldn’t ask you to put that aside to come with him. You know JC. And now you wanna be selfish enough to guilt him all to hell for a two-day trip to see Lance. When nobody’s seen Lance for months.”

 

“I suck. I’m a loser. I don’t deserve him. I just……….depend on him being around……….He keeps me going. Know what I’m saying?”

 

“You’re not a loser. And — trust me —  I don’t even wanna know ‘bout the ‘suck’ part. But whodathunk the great and glorious, charismatic and charming Justin Randall Timberlake was, deep down, insecure and needy in his most intimate relationship? Wow. Man. That’s big. Heart attack time. Should I alert the media?”

 

“Bite me, Chris.”

 

“Thanks, but I’ll pass on that one. Spazz might take off my head. Or he might think he’s *trying*. Ha.”

 

“So……….you don’t think I’ve lost my *whoa* in his eyes then?”

 

Chris pivoted around to the closer sound of Justin’s light, lyrical voice and found him standing just inside the living area, holding two new beers. He wore only his Levis, and tight raw muscles rolled just beneath the taut skin of his chest and upper arms. Tiny lights in his blue-gray eyes twinkled.

 

“Uh, no. No, man. I don’t think you’ve lost even an ounce of the *whoa* factor, and I’m not even……….I mean I’m probably not a good judge of that kinda thing, ya know.”

 

“Sorry. I wasn’t……….you know……….trying to wig you out. Want another beer?”

 

“Sure. Grazie.”

 

Handing over one of the bottles, Justin fell onto the couch and stretched out with a tired, pained moan. “Jesus. I feel like hell.”

 

“Hey, what are these, man? Did C do all this?” Chris had stooped down to thumb through the stack of canvases and drawing pads that stood next to the balcony door, occasionally picking up one to inspect more carefully.

 

Justin squinted open his eyes and glanced over. “Yeah. Aren’t they fucking awesome? He’s mega-talented, and so full of inspiration lately.”

 

“They’re gorgeous.”

 

“Yep. I’m having a coupla them framed as a surprise for him……….Oh, and I’m also on the lookout for a little gallery to buy so he can show some of them.”

 

“Really now? Yowsers. Some bling love. You’re a pretty decent boyfriend, I guess. Most of the time, anyway.”

 

“I’m crazy ‘bout him, Chris, man.”

 

“You’re just crazy. Face it.”

 

“Go to hell, Kirkpatrick.”

 

Distracted, Chris was staring at what he held. “This one’s just……….wow,” he whispered respectfully.

 

“Which one, dawg? Lemme see.”

 

Chris held up the calming, colorful sunset from the turbulent evening before, and Justin’s breath hitched somewhere deep in his windpipe.

 

“I, uh, hadn’t seen that one yet. He just did it last night……….right before I fucked everything up.”

 

“Call him, Ju. You little shit. You know he’s hurting too. Call him and tell him how much you need ‘im. Like you’ve been telling me.”

 

“He’s prob’bly glad to be the hell away from me and my fire-breathing tantrums.”

 

“No. I don’t think so. I’m……….um……….catching a definite pattern here in this art he’s been putting out. I……….see something……….and it’s so clear now.”

 

“What?”

 

Chris put his beer bottle down and displayed two more of JC’s creations. “You don’t see it?”

 

Justin shifted his long form on the couch to get a better view. “No. I’m a stupid-ass, I guess.”

 

“Keep looking. So vivid and colorful……….and check out all the fucking RED everywhere, Justin……….That’s *you*.”

 

“Me?”

 

“You. Red. The shade of the flow of life. And of fire. Warm, energetic, intense, exciting, dynamic, spirited……….Love……….Everything you mean to him. It’s all right here. You’re the red in all of his paintings and drawings, Justin. Without a doubt……….It’s all *you*.”

 

Justin didn’t move a muscle in his body for a while, only gazed at the pictures. When he spoke again, it was a soft sound, but holding a determined, older edge.

 

“I think I should give him a ring, to see if he made it home alright……….to find out if he’s okay.”



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