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Date Posted: 23:50:57 10/28/02 Mon
Author: Kira
Subject: **Let Me Fly** The Conclusion...Feedback Please

I know it's taken me FOREVER to finish this, but I finally did. I've been working on this for a long time. I think I did what I wanted, but y'all will have to tell me. I'm nervous about the ending. But yeah, read it, enjoy it, reply to it, maybe there will be a sequel.

Part Three

As families do, Justin’s loved ones banded together, shrouded him in love and support. Loose ends were tied. Trivial decisions were made. Within several sleepless hours, the release parties were planned, colors schemes were selected and Chris has locked himself in his room, working tirelessly at the perfect outfit for Justin’s release party. Justin made as many valid decisions as he could, but his mother had forced him to stay in bed for a full 24 hours and simply rest. Justin spent much of that time, cradled by his spirituality. He prayed and meditated and wrote an old nothing book he’d picked up years ago. Filling it with his small, imperfect script, pouring out his thoughts.

Lance, who was now in Houston, even helped, finding Justin an excellent psychiatrist specialized in the mental disorders that affected celebrities more so than the average person and she was willing to work with Justin, help him find the right path.

Justin draped the towel over his head and glared at the business card. He was fresh from the shower, feeling sticky, hot and still incredibly devoid of any energy. “What’s this, Lance?”

“It’s the contact information of the psychiatrist Ms. Lynn told you about.”

“I don’t want it.” Water dripped off the end of his nose and Justin patted his curls fervently. The card fluttered to the carpet.

Lance groaned. The deepness of his voice not lost through the flimsy cell phone connection. “She’s pretty good, Justin. Very discreet. No one is going to know.”

“I’ll know.” Justin grumbled.

“Justin…man, it’s not that big of a deal. She’s a very nice person. I’ve…I’ve been to her…a lot…” Lance resigned, feigning confidence.

“What?” he gasped.

Lance chuckled. “After the whole…September 11th, I went…to see her,” he explained. “She really helps, J.”

Justin leaned flopped back and against the bed after retrieving the card and he glared at it again. As if it was the cause of his problems and not the solution. “Lance…”

“What? Are you afraid she’s gonna make you FEEL something?” he scoffed.

“YES!” Justin answered hotly. “Yes, yes, yes! It’s raging in me, Lance, and right now, it’s safer to keep it in.”

“You can’t, Justin…trust me on this one, you can’t…”

Justin closed his eyes and swore. “Why does everything have to be a fucking battle? I’m tired of fighting,” he surrendered, feeling himself begin to tremble.

“I know,” Lance added softly. “But the battles make it worth it.”

**

Justin climbed the stairs, wincing with every step. He sniffled, his nose running from the frigid conditions outside. Clutching the rustic banister tightly, he trudged upward. The faded black door opened and a small woman stepped out. Mona smiled brilliantly, her eyes drifting into slits behind her thin framed glasses, but quickly, as her deep brown eyes washed over his crumpled face. “Justin, hey! What’s wrong?” she asked slowly.

“Hey…” Justin grunted and finished limping down the hall. “I slipped on the ice outside your building…fuck…now my back hurts.”

Mona chuckled quietly and grabbed his hand, leading him into her home. “Clumsy.”

Justin loved her apartment. It was bursting with color. Although she didn’t have much money, the place was drenched in vivacious hues. The large, old couch was wrapped and securely tucked with bright blue fabric, accented with lavender, green and cobalt stripped pillows. The doors were replaced with long strings of bright glass beads and thick tapestries hung from the walls. The large windows were opened, and light poured in, illuminating the small dwelling ever more.

Justin awkwardly stood against the wall, whining and whimpering about the pain in his lower back that inched tortuously down his legs, pool at his feet in sparks of throbbing sensation. Justin studied Mona as she pushed through the strings of colored beads that separated her bedroom from the living room. Wearing a simple pair of blue jeans and a blue sweater. Her long straight hair was balled up into a messy bun, a scarf of blue chiffon was tied stylishly around her head, the wistful ends dripping down her sleek, brown bodice. Her features were dark, her skin smooth. Composed of fine lines and smooth curves, Mona was eerily beautiful, something that could easily be missed with just a passing glance.

Another dismal groan pulled her out of her task and she flicked her eyes up, peering at him worriedly over her glasses. “Lay down on the couch, Justin,” Mona requested softly.

Justin grunted and lowered his body stiffly down onto the couch, sinking into its worn cushions. He kept his legs straight relying on the strength of his arms and tediously lowered himself down. With a serious of painful contortions, he managed to slide out of his coat. Grabbing a pinstriped pillow, he folded his arms around it and tucked it under his head. “It’s hurts, Mona, fix it…” Justin whimpered, pouting.

“I know it does,” Mona walked over to Justin and set some items on the table.

Justin closed his eyes and trusted her. He grunted at the strong, almost oppressively smell of mint that filled the air, stinging his nose. Mona carefully lifted up his shirt and awkwardly pushed up her sleeves. “Man, I haven’t seen you in weeks. How is everything? How’s the album coming along?” she asked, her voice husky as she tentatively touched his back, searching for clumps of knotted tissue.

Justin flinched, sucking in a slicing breath. “Things are great. Diddy wants to work on the album, produce a song or two,” he began giddily. “I just spent a few days with my family, and they’re all fine. Living and growing. Steven’s actually riding a bike now, can you believe that?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean it’s got training wheels, but he’s getting so big! I’m going back tomorrow, I didn’t come here for the album,” he pushed out tersely as gentle fingers probed his back.

“Oh, why then?”

“Britney…shit, Mona…”

“I’m sorry…sorry. What’s going on with you and her?” She asked, nibbling on her bottom lip.

Justin rubbed the back of his head with his hand, large finger ruffling his curls. “I’m just…tired of this, ya know. We argue, then we fly our asses around the country to make up and then we argue again, because I can’t go to this party or she can’t take five minutes out of the day to call me. I’m not even touring and I’m exhausted.” Justin whined, rubbing his cheek along the plush, stripped pillow.

“I’m sorry, Justin.” Mona scooped her fingers into the large jar of icy hot and lifted up his shirt completely. She slid her leg over Justin’s legs, straddling them comfortably.

“It gets so hard sometimes, it’s…suffocating… I know it’s my life, but it just gets rough at times…”

“How do you deal with it?” Mona questioned, her brow crinkled with concern.

Justin shifted uncomfortably and scrubbed a manicured hand over his face. “When I was younger, I’d cry, hide in closets just to make everything disappear for awhile…”

She smiled. “I have a closet, down the all to your left, knock yourself out,” she interjected playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

“Nah, I don’t think I’ll fit. I just need to relax and just not think right now.”

Mona grunted. “Relax your back, Justin. You’re hard as a rock back here.”

Justin snickered automatically. “Most girls like that, Mona,” he whispered saucily. A slice of rich pain sobered him quickly. “I know…” his fingers gripped the pillow.

“What do you want to do, Justin? If you could do anything right now, what would it be?”

“Hmm, no schedules or commitments? I think I’d go somewhere, a place that’s warm, but not hot.

“By the water?” she prompted.

“Yeah, near the ocean. I love falling asleep listening to the ocean, hearing the waves crash against the beach.”

She pushed deep into the tissue, beneath the surface of the palm and needed sensually, her palms sliding over the angered flesh. “I went to Catalina once…it’s beautiful. It’s like a completely different world. Tiny houses are built on this steep, green hills and the water just sparkles from the entire island. The houses are rustic- old and classic and the air is sweet, like peppermint,” Mona’s words were thick, her voice husky.

Justin’s mind calmed, concentrating on the movement of her hands along his torso and the pleasurable tingling that coursed over the skin, like tiny sparks bursting across the sky. Breaths became deeper and his fingers unfurled, releasing the pinched grasp on the pillow.

“The beaches were so beautiful. The sand was soft and most, almost completely white and the waves rolled in neatly, crashing against our legs, washing up beautiful shells and glass, polished by the sea. We sun always shined, gently over our heads and everyone wore these long, silky dresses. It was calming there, no cameras or tabloids, no internet or television. Just gorgeous gardens and meadows, oceans and sunsets…”

She moved rhythmically, digging her palms into the muscles, raking them forward and backing, kneading in the oily substance. The glass beaded bracelets along her arms clicked and snapped with her movements, creating a lulling metronome that kept time with Mona’s delicate ministrations. Justin drifted away, into that magically place of light and tranquility that she spoke so freely of, his mind meandered in dreams of lilting beaches, topaz sunsets and leagues of glittering peace.

Darkness rolled. In typhoons of suffocating power, slamming against the light, snuffing it out with a powerful gasp of power and fear. Justin’s eyes opened sharply, pupils dilating in the midst of the thick black and he blinked. His body was still exhausted, spent from any form of energy reserved for anything to breathing and blinking. His mind was blank, overwrought with the emotion of the past few days. Idly, he wondered if he’d broke. If he was too shattered to put back together. Justin closed his eyes and licked his dried lips, rubbing his tongue over the scaly skin.

Wearily, he tugged the blankets over his shoulders and shivered, pushing his face into the pillow. Justin was cold, the bitter emotional cold that froze frigidly from the inside out. He was tired, and he wanted to breathe freely, but devastating guilt weight heavily on his soul. He missed Mona. She has been his vibrant streak of color for the past threw months, slicing through the deepening gray, creating hope. Mona was a good friend that was away from the chaos of his musical life, to her he was just Justin.

It was so difficult for him to comprehend how he’d hurt such an unspoiled spirit. She was tarnished, cracked and Justin’s emotional instability, his moment of carelessness had caused such pain. His hand breathed the net of warmth and his fingers purposely tangled around the coiled cord of the phone and he pulled feebly. The large base toppled off the edge of the nightstand, flopping noiselessly onto the pillow and he rolled over, dialing the numbers slowly. His hands began shaking after the second ring and when a voice, husky with sleep answered, Justin couldn’t speak. He simply sighed with trepidation.

“Justin?”

“….yeah…it’s me…” he managed.

“Okay...”

“I know…um, I just wanted…to uh, how are you doing…after? How are you doing?” he amended.

Mona sniffled and the rustling of covers overtook the silence. “Justin…”

“I know, Mona, I know you’re hurting and I know you probably hate me, but…just, please. Don’t shut me out too. Don’t lock the door on whatever we had, because I adored it so much.”

“It’s too hard…” she interrupted softly.

Justin gripped the phone tighter and shook his head, his eyes wide with unfettered hope. She was talking to him, despite the thickness of tears in her voice and the truncated speech, Mona was giving him time to explain his peace. It was a beckon that he clung to like a hand gripping his in the dark. Tears shuffled effortlessly down his gaunt cheeks and he scratched the side of his face. “I’m so sorry…Mona, if I could take it back, I would. I’m so sorry…can you accept that?” he asked piteously, closing his eyes.

There was an exaggerated silence that spanned across both lines before Mona swallowed thickly. “You shouldn’t have to take it back, Justin. You…fuck you…you shouldn’t have to apologize for this, because…God. Never mind. This is my fault as much as it is yours. But I can’t just sit here and forgive you for…what you did. I can’t sit here and blame you for me not being a virgin because I wanted it, Justin. For a split second, I wanted you to love me the way you loved her…the fucking bitch that hurts you time after time and leaves ME to pick up the pieces. But you didn’t…I was just, what? Comfort to you? A way out? I can’t do this anymore…” Mona’s razor sharp words were truncated by breathy sobs.

“Mona…don’t shut me out…please…don’t hang up. I’m sorry. You’re right, everything you said is right!”

She continued to cry into the receiver. Loud gasping howls that dripped of pain. He could hear her teeth chatter with their force and he cried along with her, whimpering apologizes across the void.

“I’m having…a um, party…” he began weakly, sniffling. “A release party…I’ll send you an invitation…I want to see…you…it’ll be a lot of people, but…you can come…if you want…I kknow you were looking forward to it…

“Goodnight, Justin.”

He hung up the phone, blinking numbly. His head flopped lifelessly against the pillow and he lay immersed in self-deprecating thought. Wondering if Mona was still crying. He rubbed the top of his fuzzy head, longing to comfort her, make her pain stop.

Justin was feeling a bit crazy, an eerie sensation prickled. Something about the inky black and the deafening quiet shook what little resolve he had. Justin leaned back against the pillows, pulling the blankets around him even tighter. His eyes flicked back in fourth in the darkness. He’d been in bed so long, he’d been idle for nearly twenty-four hours, his mind was racing, whirring as it normally did when he was being shuffled from destination to destination. Justin was alive with torment. He’d never felt such desperate helplessness before. Dark thought swirled, made him ill as sinister visions flashes through his mind. With a jaded whimper, he jerked, pressing his face into the pillow, pushing out several harsh sobs. Not trusting himself in solitude, Justin rolled out of bed, stumbling as he pulled the blanket off with him, keeping the warm cotton around his shoulders. Justin wandered out into the suite, where his mother was sitting comfortably on the couch, her head resting on JC’s shoulder as they watched television. Inwardly, he rejoiced in their presence. Lynn’s eyes moved to her son’s weary gait and she smiled softly. “Why are you up?” she questioned, feigning anger.

Justin wiped his wet face on the blanket, but said nothing.

JC slid away from Lynn and Justin flopped down in the middle dropping his head on his mother’s shoulder. JC patted Justin’s knee softly as he focused on the television. Kicking off his shoes, he pulled the corner of Justin’s blanket up over his legs and sighed. “You wanna watch ‘Friends’?”

“Yeah,” Justin answered, sounding so much like a child as he nestled closer to his mother’s side. She kissed his forehead, brushing away the curls and he shuddered. “I was scared to be alone,” he breathed into her hair.

Lynn slid her arm around him and nodded softly. “It’s okay…I’m here.”

JC turned the volume up a notch and set the remote down. They watched silently as the television blared until Justin spoke quietly. “Since when does Rachel have a baby?” he furrowed his brow. “Isn’t she still dating Ross?”

Lynn laughed shrilly as she swept her hand softly over Justin’s forehead. “No, she and Ross broke up like twice and then she dated around now, she has Ross’ baby last season.”

Justin grunted. “Damn, I haven’t watched this in years.”

“You want the DVDs for Christmas?” JC chuckled.

Justin swiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Yeah.”

**

The morning came quickly, the light ambled into the dark in waves of azure light and frosted torrents. Chris rolled out of bed, just as worn and weathered as he had eighteen hours ago. He stretched idly, venturing out into the common room of the suite. Lynn had taken a motherly hold on the situation, calmly pushing Chris aside and caring for her son, leaving Chris think and process what he’d seen and heard. He had the ability to handle dramatic situations selflessly, his innate fears never entered his mind until it was over. Then, he was rapt in a reflective mode that he couldn’t escape. It was cycle that had haunted him for his life.

The only thing Chris fled from was emotion. He’d avoided Justin, rationalizing that he needed time with his mother. Chris spent two days holed up in his bedroom, sewing, making an outfit for Justin’s album release. He’d embellished a simple suit and the detailed beadwork took him hours of razor-edged concentration and kept his mind on other things.

Now, Chris was weak and hungry. He walked into the kitchen, where Justin was standing. He froze, his darkened brown eyes contemplated a mad dash back to his bedroom, but when Justin picked up his head and smiled languidly, Chris was trapped. He shoved his hands in his pocket and slowed his stride, scrapping his socks on the plush carpet, shocking his toes with the static.

“Morning,” Justin offered quietly, tugging at the bottom of his tee shirt. “You want an omelet?”

Chris swallowed. “With potatoes?”

“Yeah. My mom got some groceries. She stocked the fridge.”

The tension rose, pushing out the flow of conversation and Justin paused, to stare questioningly at Chris, his blue eyes boring deep into brown before he broke away to retrieve eggs and cheese from the refrigerator. Justin looked haggard, weak in his movements and about the eyes. Chris winced at the way the skin crinkled around his lips and how loose the fabric flowed on Justin’s tee shirt. It swallowed him. Chris longed to forget the past few days, but it was hard. The inevitable onslaught of blame and guilt crushed him after the dust had settled and tears had dried. Chris sighed and tore his eyes away. He nibbled on his nails, tearing them off to the quick and wiped them on his pants. His gaze lazily moved upwards and his heart stopped. Chris’ vision tunneled at the edges, causing him to stumble blindly. Chris shot forward and slapped Justin’s hand. “PUT IT DOWN!!!”

The knife fell haphazardly to the floor, skidding across the kitchen. Justin stood in complete shock. Chris’ hand clamped painfully around his wrist, his eyes expanded and his mouth open.

Chris drew in a deep breath and peeled his fingers from Justin’s wrist. Justin stumbled back against the sink, stricken and disgusted. “Chris.”

He turned around, running his hands through his hair. His heart rammed against his ribs, sending lances of agony and fear throughout his body. “Oh God…” he panted brokenly.

“Potatoes.” Justin whispered lugubriously. “I was going to cut up the potatoes…”

Chris began pacing, his trembling hands covering his face.

Justin eyed the knife, but dared not to touch it. “Is…that what you think of me, Chris?”

“No…”

“Yes…it is.”

“No, Justin!”

Justin kicked the cabinets, unable to control the anger that was streaming from his body. “Thanks for the fucking vote of confidence, Chris!”

Chris whirled around, his eyes wild. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”

Justin stilled, his eyes closed before he opened them slowly, releasing the onslaught of tears. “Exactly…”

In an instant, Chris was sobbing, his wretched emotions coercing themselves to the surface. The younger man paled, his shoulders dropped and he nibbled on his lip as he watched Chris wrestle with his tears. Wiping his hands stubbornly across his face, turn his back to him and shudder, staggering unsteadily to towards his open bedroom.

Then Justin realized, after nearly a decade of friendship, he’d never seen Chris cry.

“Chris…”

“I’m…just going to…”

Justin’s arm flared out and caught him on the shoulder. Chris jerked away and another sob echoed through the suite.

Closing the distance between them, Justin draped an arm around Chris. “You scared me,” he gasped.

“I’m sorry.”

Chris scrubbed his hands across his face, hiccupping. “The knife and…” he shook. “God…that knife.”

Justin turned Chris around and hugged him hard, enveloping in him in the life that still welled beautifully through his veins. “It’s okay…”

Chris grasped frantically at Justin’s shirt, the fortified beats of his heart making him howl with agony. “Shit…I’m okay…Justin, I’m…”

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Okay…”

Justin reluctantly let him go, but held him at arms length. He caught his eyes and smiled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Chris licked at his running nose. “Promise?”

“On the life on my mother, I promise. I promise.”

Chris nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” He paused and dried his face with the hem of his shirt. “Can I chop the potatoes?”

“Sure.”

**

Justin’s lip curled in disgust as he stabbed a cold piece of omelet and slid it into his mouth. He chewed quickly, swallowing the food before his stomach could turn on him. “Mama, I’m ready to go.”

Lynn glanced at the food on his plate and sighed. “Baby, you have to eat.”

“I did. See…” Justin shoved an obligatory piece of eggy potato into his mouth and chewed with a saccharine smile, blinking exaggeratedly.

“More than that, smart ass,” she amended. “I don’t want you passing out at practice today.”

Justin smiled. “I’ll eat something light at break.”

He stood up from the table, taking his plate with him. Adrenaline was creeping into his system. Justin was buzzing pleasantly. He tugged on his mother’s sleeve. “Let’s go, let’s go…Justin. Dance. Now.”

Lynn took her time sliding on her gloves, covering her head of blackened curls with a crimson hat. “Justin, are you sure you’re up for this today? A lot has happened. With you and now you can Chris,” she prompted.

Justin nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes, yes. I haven’t danced in like, weeks. It’s killing me, Ma.”

Justin’s eyes flickered to Chris, who was staring out at the overcast gray of the day and he cringed, unable to read his expression. “Chris?”

“Yeah?” he answered robotically.

“You want to come?”

“No, thanks though.”

“You okay…after…?”

“Yeah,” he interjected sharply. “I’m fine…go on.”

“Chris…maybe you should come with me,” he suggested warily.

“JC is here and Lance said he’d call in two hours. Go.”

“I’ll be back.” Justin returned loudly.

**

Dancing was a form of mediation, a physical workout for his body; release for his mind; peace to his soul. Justin moved fluidly, gracefully, contrasting the harsh, exuberant beats that bounced about the mirrored studio. His shirt had been shed hours ago as had his shoes.

Sweat covered his body like a second skin and Justin couldn’t be happier. He celebrated music with movement, unscripted but methodic and precise.

His legs swiveled. Arms twirled. Hips swayed. And for the first time in seemingly centuries, Justin was contented, serene. He closed his eyes and savored the lightness for everything seemed to melt away: the anger, the fear, Britney, Mona, the album. For now, he was free, flying in his mind, soaring in his heart.

“Baby, it’s time to go.”

He plummeted hard to his sobering reality.

Justin opened his eyes and slowly stopped dancing. He stood still for a moment and just breathed, ribs expanding, lungs sucking in air. He placed his hands on his hips before walking to the stereo, turning it off.

Lynn smiled warmly and tossed him a towel as Justin gazed at her. “I let you play as long as a I could.”

Justin nodded and wiped the sweat off his face, toweling off his upper body. “What do I have today?”

Lynn flipped open her palm pilot. “I cancelled some interviews, a lot of them, so the rest of the day is empty.”

“You WHAT?!” Justin growled.

“I cancelled some interviews,” Lynn repeated hotly.

“Mom, you can’t just cancel shit. This album is kind of important and it needs promotion.”

Lynn popped Justin on the back of his head. “Watch your language. First of all, am I not your manager?”

“You are,” he seethed.

“Am I not your mother?” Justin nodded. “You are my responsibility both professionally and personally and you are not up to these interviews right now. Those reporters aren’t going to be easy on you. You need to take care of yourself-a habit you seem to have forgotten how to do. So I’m doing it for you. We’ll handle everything else later. You going home to EAT and to chill….”

Justin angrily snatched his bag of the floor and retrieved his shirt, shrugging into it jerkily. Justin was a professional, always extending himself to keep that apart of his reputation. No matter how horribly his personal life was going, Justin was delivered with funny, articulate interviews.

He gave the media want they wanted. He didn’t know how to do anything else.

He did he best to grumble and sulk on the ride home, swaying in the back of the dark SUV, slumped in his seat with his needless sunglasses arched over his eyes. The soft rocking of the vehicle exposed his exhaustion, bundled in warmth and drained from the hours of exertion, Justin found it next to impossible to stay awake. The bright whites filtering through the tinted glass created a soft glow and Justin settled into the pliable leather and closed his eyes.

Justin woke up sharply, staggering harshly at the feminine hands probing his face. Opening his eyes, he shrunk back against the corner of the seat, horrible shrieking coming from his mouth.

“Justin! Shh! It was just a dream. You’re okay…you’re okay,” Lynn was hovering over him, hands resting firmly against his shoulder.

He was freezing, shuddering. Justin clawed helplessly at his shirt and closed his mouth, quelling the callous, gravelly screams. Lynn leaned back on her haunches, running her fingers through her short black tresses.

“What happened?” Justin whispered, shrugging out of his jacket.

His body was abruptly warm and he blinked, peeling off his jacket. “I don’t know…”

“You started mumbling something and then you started crying out. Your cheeks are flushed,” Lynn leaned forward, placing the back of her hands on Justin’s face and neck. “You have a fever, sweetie. See, this is exactly why I cancelled everything today. You push yourself too damn hard, Justin.”

Justin smiled sleepily. “I’m okay, Mom. I’ve worked through worse, you know that.”

He saw they were in the parking garage and opened the door, slowly pushing himself out. “Why are you fighting me on this?”

“I’m not. I’m not.”

Lynn pulled him into the elevator and shrugged against the wall, untying the scarf from her neck. “You are, Justin. You don’t know anything different, besides working yourself ragged. This has to change.”

“Mom…”

Lynn peered up at him and blue eyes full of guilt and despair. “Sometimes…I regret every decision I made, Justin. I see you now, hurting and lost and I just want to take it into myself to make everything easier for you. Sometimes I just want to pull you away from the media and the fans and everything that haunts you. You pretend it doesn’t, but I’m not blind.”

Justin shook his head, pulling his mother in his arms. He snuffled into her hair and lifted her easily off the floor. “I love you for fighting for me. I love you for my life, Mama. My…situations isn’t yours. It’s mine.”

Lynn laughed, wiping her face as they walked down the hall. “You problems are always mine, baby. No matter how old you are, they will be.”

She pushed him inside, closing the door. “Go to a cool shower and change. I’ll cook you something.”

Justin leaned back against the door. Watching as his mother, a profoundly strong woman pushed up her sleeves and washed her hands. As petrified as he was of the future, he felt comforted knowing he wouldn’t have to walk the miles alone.

Wearily, he headed into the bathroom.

**

Chris was oddly silent, as the snow fell, coating the city in glittering white. He worked at Justin’s feet, pinning the loose pants he’d altered until they hung perfectly. Loose and stylish, but not long enough to cover Justin’s trademark tennis shoes. Justin stood rigidly on the wooden stool, running his fingers over the delicate pattern of his peasant shirt, made of powder blue Chinese silk. The release party was later than night.

Justin didn’t remember that Chris could sew. In all their years together, he’d never known and now he felt incredibly guilty as he stared at himself in the mirror, wearing Chris’ art. “Chris…this is…wow, I love it.”

“…mmm…” he grunted, the pins in his mouth moving precariously.

“You’re welcome,” Justin smiled, rubbing his stomach. “I can see my nipple through this shirt, can I wear something under it?”

Chris nodded distractedly before spitting out the last of the pins. “You work out five hours a day to improve that body, but you don’t show it off. That makes so much sense, Justin.”

Justin rolled his eyes. “I ain’t showing no nipple, man.”

“All the other pop stars are doin’ it,” Chris whined, feigning a feminine voice. “I’m sure you have something to go under it. Now strip so I can sew the hem and don’t stick yourself.”

Justin carefully stepped off the stool and pulled up the legs of his pants, turning around to change quickly. Several weeks had past and the album release was approaching. Justin was still struggling, gripping tightly onto loved ones to remain relatively sane, but he could be seen smiling- the pure, unfettered smiles that split his face, creating beautifully smooth angle; the kind that was unabashedly contagious. He laughed too and everyday that goofy side of himself that had been buried in the passing months was emerging.

He was still bothered by haunting dreams and the media had voraciously jumped on his cancelled appearances and the headlines were flooding in by the dozens. Lynn was handling them all, hurling her sharp Southern wit at the articles, assuring the public that her son was fine and just in need of some rest.

Chris tossed the hemmed pants and on tugged on Justin’s shirt. He shrugged it off and sat on the bed in his boxers. Something nervous and tainted with fear fluttered in his chest and flew into his room, rushing to get dressed.

Justin followed his usual ritual of getting ready for important functions: he took a long bath, mediating to his music of choice and took his time getting ready, dancing about the large bathroom in the buff, flexing in front of the mirror, making himself laugh, hoping to be comfortable in his skin. Carefully, he sorted through his astounding collection of diamonds, selecting only a pair of large studs for each ear and a diamond encrusted watch. Joyfully, he ran a dab of gel through his hair, twisting his fingers at random ankles to letting his short, reddish tresses fly any direction that wanted. He dressed easily, spraying with a nice musk and slid on his shoes. Easing a black beanie over his shorn curls, Justin headed out of the bathroom, feeling edgy, but eager to show himself, his music, his soul, his baby to the world.

JC was sitting on the bed, a CD player in his hands, face beaming with a sparkle Justin had seen countless time. JC ran his free hand through his hair and grinned blissfully. Justin chuckled, he’d just come from the studio. Music was his drug and JC was dancing on the notes lingering in his mind.

“You liked my studio?” Justin laughed.

“Yep. Chris showed it to me yesterday, he ended up leaving me there,” JC gushed. “I love it…nice Janet pictures by the way.”

“I thought so,” Justin wiggled his eyebrows. “So what did you do? I know you played around.”

JC feigned innocence, lifting his eyebrows, jutting out his lower lip. “I know not of what you speak.”

“Liar.”

JC’s face grew serious and he fiddled with the black cord of the headphone in his hand and cleared his throat. “Chris took me there to show me around, make sure everything was in order, I think I was getting on his nerves,” he admitted with a guilty smile. “But something was left in the recorder. And I know I taught you better than to leave the masters in the studio. So I snooped and this track you had was so…freeing and angry, but it was refreshing that you got that out…so I played with it. Cleaned it up, added some guitar and it’s just…damn, Justin. It’s phenomenal.”

“Um, now I really don’t know what you’re talking about man. I didn’t leave any masters in the studio.”

“You did.” JC nodded firmly and stood up.

He slid the headphones over Justin’s ears, pressing play on the CD player. Justin voice floated seamlessly through the speakers and he almost didn’t recognize it. It was smoother, but deeper. Pain dripped from every note, raw and melancholy. Justin closed his eyes, listening to the words and racking his brain to remember when he recorded it. JC pushed the player into his hands and sat in the chair on the fair side of the room, giving Justin some space.

Visions, hazy snatches of time floated rapidly through his mind and he jerked, recalling the smell of liquor and the intense force of the helplessness of sobs. He could feel his hands digging into his scalp, yanking with frustration and anger at curls that just weren’t there. His eyes shot open as abrasive breaths moved through his nose, out his parted lips. His thumb foraged blindly for the repeat button and the song started over. Flopping onto his back, Justin wiped at his eyes stubbornly, cursing their wetness.

With a sharp jolt, Justin shot up and checked the clock frantically. “Get your guitar!”

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