Hush little baby -- don't say a word. And nevermind that noise you heard. It’s just the beast under your bed. In your closet in your head.~ Metallica

"It's too tight!" the frantic cry came. "Loosen it please! I can't breathe!"

*He didn't want to loosen it, he wanted the man beneath him to cry, to sob out for mercy and an end to pain. He wanted Justin Timberlake to pay for his sins.*

"Please," Justin begged as his cheek began to swell, "Why are you doing this to me? We're blood!”

*Blood indeed. Blood meaning what? Friends until the end? Well, then, blood it was.*

"I trusted you," Justin hissed shakily. "I loved you dammit!"

*Love is blind, isn't that what Eve said in her song. Isn't that what every great poet quoted at one time or another. Well, this love was no longer blind. This love was about to end.*

"I don't understand," Justin wailed as his assailant pulled the choke chain tighter. He felt the veins in his neck threaten to rupture and a searing headache rush past his temples. "Why?"

*Why not was all the psychotic figure could think.*

Justin grew silent, lost in his own world, quickly loosing any fight left in him. He tried to pray but could no longer recall the words the Lord instilled in him -- he tried to sob but the tears had abandoned him for higher ground -- he tried to scream some more but his vocal chords were badly bruised from the collar around his neck.

A dog would receive kinder treatment than this.

And for what? For a love that was bastard in nature -- a love that was wrong and frowned upon. A love he gave his soul to only to be betrayed as such in the end.

Was it the end?

Life felt so slow ... seeping from his veins. Flashes of happier times sailed through his mind.

His limbs gave out first, flopping to the bed in defeat. Then his head crushed down against the pillow, wet with his tears.

He wondered what they would say at his funeral? What the fans would do when Justin was gone? How his family would deal with his loss ... and who would take care of his momma?

"I loved you," he whispered in a choked voice. "Always. Loved. You."

Justin felt his eyes roll back and his lips swell sickeningly. It was as if his life had been a mere blink.

Then the collar was gone.

He woke up naked and cold with swollen eyes and a sore throat.

"Chris?"

His hands rubbed over his throat gently feeling for marks or any sign of what had happened.

"Yeah?” Chris popped his head out from the bathroom of the hotel room ... a Q-Tip in hand swirling around his ear. "You okay?"

Justin shivered. "I don't know. My throat hurts."

Chris ducked back inside the bathroom for a brief moment. "Yeah. You were wild in your sleep last night. I couldn't calm you down."

"You couldn't?"

"No." Chris snapped the light off and sat down next to Justin. "Going on and on about love and funerals or some shit."

Justin stared at him blankly. "It seemed so real," he gasped, throwing his achy body back down to the bed. "I mean ... Really real." His eyes met Chris' in hopes of explanation or something. There was nothing in those vacant brown eyes.

"We fucked, Justin. Fucked. It wasn't anything more ... and dramatics won't get you anywhere."

Justin felt the verbal punch in the gut and sucked his breath in. "I didn't mean ... I really wasn't being dramatic. I just ..." His words fell away from his lips in confusing half sentences that meant nothing. "Nightmares I suppose."

"Well, just don't go telling anyone about this, okay?" Chris stood up and sighed. "I mean, it's not like I want this to happen again. We were just ... drunk and lonely. So. Don't say anything."

Justin nodded in confusion as he watched Chris leave. It wasn't real? How could that be. How could the exchanged words be simply a fantasy? Chris proclaimed his love. He'd said it. Justin knew it.

The next night Justin slept alone in the king sized bed. He shivered as he slunk down in into the cool sheets and curled up.

His throat still ached.

His mind was still confused.

But Chris said he was dreaming. And he trusted Chris.

So as sleep took his body over and dreams began to invade his gentle mind -- and as his long eyelashes began their delicate flutter against his cheeks the torment began again.

Only this time it was cold metal against his wrists and heavy material blinding his sight. It was clammy skin pressed against his cheek and hot breath hissed in his face.

“Just a dream,” Justin murmured through gritted teeth. “A dream.”

“Is it now?” the voice asked. “Just a dream. I know you feel me here.”

Justin pulled against the cuffs arching his back in the struggle. His legs thrashed wildly toward the end of the bed as the voice grew hands -- hands that peeled away his sports briefs leaving him vulnerable for the impending attack.

“Just. A. Dream.” he grunted trying to stay calm. After all, nightmares were just subconscious images splaying across the patterns of sleep. Or so Justin tried to convince himself.

But there was no mistaking the searing pain he felt as something long and cool thrust into him. His mind whirled with sleepy agony that pushed him into some dimension where he was detached from fear.

Fear he could smell.

He forced himself to lie still -- to accept what abuse was coming his way. Somehow he *knew* it was someone familiar pushing the inanimate object into him. He *knew* it was someone who loved him -- or professed to.

He heard it ever so lightly, brushing words that slipped into his ear. “I love you. We’re blood.”

It made Justin sob as his body whipped around on the sheets. He felt the blood seep from him and the unmistakable feeling of lips around his flaccid penis. “Stop!” he cried -- and he felt the rip of his skin from the metal cuffs. “Please stop. If you love me stop.”

“I love you so I have to go on,” the voice replied darkly. And the mouth continued to suck and lick and try to push fear away to achieve the ultimate humiliation -- an erection.

Justin’s body fought the battle however and soon the mouth was gone. The painful thrusts didn’t stop though. They simply paused for air before something hard and warm entered forcefully.

And Justin passed out from it all -- leaving his body for higher ground and a black world where it didn’t hurt so much.

When morning arrived and shattered Justin from his dreams, he awoke chilled and curled under the sheets just as he’d been when drifting off into slumber.

So when he peered at his wrists and saw faded red welts his heart jumped. His hands flew over his body and he stared down at his sports briefs. They were untainted. The sheets were clean yet he had pain that couldn’t be explained.

Tears rolled down his cheeks and Justin curled into a protective ball.

Something was deadly wrong.

He eventually found enough strength to climb from bed and wobble to the bathroom. Standing under the hot spray of water he looked down at himself trying to find one tiny bruise or mark, anything other than wrist marks to back up his horrifying night.

But there was nothing.

Only the pain that caused him to walk funny.

With sunglasses covering his blood shot eyes, he managed to stumble down to Lance’s. It took every ounce of might he had to raise his hand to knock. His entire body was on high alert and when Lance pulled the door open, he collapsed into strong arms which caught him in shock.

“Jesus Christ, what happened?” Lance tugged Justin into his room. “Justin! Talk to me!”

Justin forced himself to stand. Dizziness surrounded him and he tried to focus on the pale green eyes staring with such concern at him. “Lance, nothing. Bad dreams. I guess. I’m not feeling well. Sick. I suppose.” His words were jerky and stammering -- his world was dimming.

“Lay down,” Lance commanded.

“No. Can’t. Bus. We gotta go.” Justin teetered backwards a bit and Lance steadied him.

“Fuck that, Justin. Down. Now.” Lance guided Justin down to the soft bed and gazed at him. “What’s wrong?” Lance’s hand brushed over Justin’s forehead, feeling for fever. “You’re pale, Justin. Stomach hurt?”

Justin nodded. His throat was dry and achy -- from crying he supposed. His arm rested across his stomach and Lance picked it up. “What in the FUCK is this?” he hissed, running his fingertip over the red welt gracing ashen skin. “How did this happen?”

“I don’t know.” Justin admitted lowly. “I just wanna go home.”

Lance sighed and paced the room. He stared at the body lying on his bed and grabbed the phone. “Chris’ll know what to do,” he said as he sat by Justin’s knees. Instinctively, he rubbed at them, trying to ease the pain that his friend so obviously felt.

“Christopher is on the line. What’s up?”

“Chris. Justin. Come to my room. He’s sick or something. I’m not sure what to do.” Lance tried to speak lowly as Justin seemed to cringe from sound. His brows knitted and his shoulder pulled up in an attempt to stop the careening throbbing in his head.

“I’m on my way,” Chris said curtly.

So Lance sat next to Justin to wait. And Justin forced his body not to coil up in agony.

Next
Hush Main
Destiny's Main
Home
Email the Author: Destiny