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Date Posted: 22:43:45 09/05/02 Thu
Author: Kira
Subject: Part One~Continued.....
In reply to: **Kira** 's message, "**Let Me Fly* Justin/solo album novella! Part One! Feedback please" on 22:41:30 09/05/02 Thu

Ugh, sorry, I forgot about the flashbacks. They're supposed to be in italics. I think they should be pretty easy to find, but it might be a little confusing without the ilatics. Ooops.

Part One- Con'd

**

The heat rushed to Justin’s face, flushing alabaster cheeks in a deep cherry. The weights clanged shrilly as he thrust the bar over his head, creating a tempo to his madness. Slowly, he brought the bench-press bar down, explosively thrusting it upwards once more. The motion was fast, robotic, controlled as he breathed, his legs bent up on the bench. His arms were quickly deteriorating in strength- burning, stinging, rumbling against the bones-begging for rest. Justin’s chiseled chest was hardening, buzzing with greedy inhales of precious air and the unwilling exhales. He closed his eyes, chanting, pushing, berating himself mentally. Silently. He kept everything inside because secrets weren’t secrets, if they weren’t uttered. If they weren’t spoken…armed by breath, by weakness.

His arms were trembling. The limbs that were once two pillars of strength were hot, melting into languid, useless extremities. But Justin continued on, squeezing out another rep before the bar, heavy and cumbersome, plummeted rapidly down to his chest, pressing against the taut flesh harder than he anticipated. With a desperate plea and a soft whimper, he gathered everything in him. Every fiber of hate and shred of anger. Everything that was negative and insecurity, went into raising the bar off his chest. Over his head. Above the world.

Justin barely got it about the holder, but dropped it successfully into the safety bracket. Helplessly, his arms fell down at his sides, dangling emptily. For a long while, he breathed haggardly. Until he wasn’t dizzy and the ceiling wasn’t warbling in nauseating circles. His fingers shook as he forced his arm up. It flopped over his eyes and Justin continued to breath. Blue eyes closed at the wetness that welled up on its own accord.

It was too much. He was suffocating, drowning in demons that he couldn’t control. They were born by every flash of the camera. Every dissecting, malicious review he read and pretended it didn’t affect and buried the pain it caused. But Justin didn’t know how to stop, how to make time for himself to heal the wounds inflicted in the battle of fame. To rest. To rejuvenate. He was petrified to experience his feelings and now he was inundated in a chasm of black emotion.

Coercing his weary body up, he grabbed his water bottle, suckling on the spout as he stumbled the exit. He struggled into a jacket as he left the hotel gym and walked to the elevator. Brushing away the perspiration that trickled annoyingly at his hairline, he waited in the empty elevator for it ascend. The doors parted and he walked on shaking legs to his hotel room. Grinning brilliantly at Chris, who merely stared at him. Watching him through deep, probing eyes, his phone pressed to his ear.

Justin’s gaze slid away and he headed to the shower. Not taking a moment to partake in the scalding heaven of the steaming water, because he had work to do. Decisions to make. He dressed in a pair of loose jeans and an old tee shirt. And marched out into the suite, his body still tingling and buzzing from his intensive workout. Justin plopped on the couch, his long legs stretched out on the soft cushions as he picked up the glossy proofs. Sliding on his thin-framed glasses, Justin eyed them meticulously with the eyepiece, looking for the slightest imperfection. His eyes drooped, his body exhausted and coupled with his sleepless nights of worrying, wondering. He sighed sleepily, but for once didn’t fight it.

He needed escape, if only for a moment.

**

Chris watched, like a father would a son, or a brother would a brother, as Justin drifted off. His hands loosened around the images. His auburn eyelashes fluttered, crescent moon trying to become full- but his eyes would flare open in a vain attempt to remain in reality, grounded. But soon, he gave in, succumbing to his lust for dreams, where he could drift in the waters of his muse: music. And splash in the reveries where songs and melodies and lyrics resided.

“C? I’ll call you back, tonight sometime,” Chris whispered carefully.

“Okay. I’ll be up.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll call anyway. Peace, man.”

Chris closed his tiny cell phone and slowly got up, carefully plodding through the suite. He pulled the pictures from his hands, setting them noiselessly on the coffee table. Grabbing the decrative throw off the chair, he covered Justin, smiling as he wrinkled nose at the bridge, mumbling under his breath. Chris placed his hand on the top of Justin head, his hands sinking into the fuzzy curls and stroked it softly, as he did years ago and lulled him back to sleep. Chris’ brown eyes fell over his young friend and he shook his head, feeling older than time. Justin had lines, crinkling around the corners of his eyes, scars that he didn’t remember.

He spoke softly, in a rich flow of syllables. “What’s bothering you, Justin?” he asked in a breathy tone. Justin furrowed his eyebrows, muttering indecipherable words. Chris continued to rub his head. Justin always had what Chris called an “overactive psyche” the parts that were buried deep within the layers of his personality, the unique spirit, odd traits and mountains of pride, wafted to the surface when Justin was sleeping. Sometimes, Chris managed to pry out pieces of his problems. Unfortunately, Justin slept like the dead when he was exhausted, and he appeared to be so. Chris simply tugged the blanket higher up, tucking it around him and stepped away from the couch. He walked slowly, around the piles of Justin’s things, but his eyes widened, glimmering with curiosity when he noticed a blank jeweled case peaking out under the a pile of clothing catalogs. Chris’s raw inquisitiveness nature overpowered his morality and with one swift motion, he snatched the CD case off the carpet and grabbed his cell and CD player, stepping out onto the balcony.

The air was crisp against his stubbly cheeks, piercing the loose knit of his sweater, but Chris squatted on the floor with a groan and drowned out the urban sounds with his headphones. He slid the case into his player and eagerly pressed play. He closed his eyes and simply listened. The sounds of splashing rain were born from a pregnant, tense silence. Thunder rumbled from one speaker to another and Chris was stiff with anticipation. A single cello warbled wistfully in the background, providing Chris with audible color that danced through his closed eyes. He was always able to see sound, purify his passion into psychadelic visions of emotion. This cello was foreboding and deep, smooth and sultry. Wistfully harmonies of a shallow female voice fluttered around lightly, before Justin began singing. His voice was silkier than he remembered. The grittiness was still present, but somehow Justin had learned to control it. Chris closed his eyes and simply listened to the words and sounds that were Justin’s memories, his life, his past. Chris trembled and continued to listen.

**

He had seen thousands of sunsets throughout his lifetime. Over the hills of Virginia or the mountains of Asia. The sun was bigger in Europe, because the topaz light wasn’t strangled and blocked by unyielding buildings. But New York was a breathing, pulsating contradiction. The sunsets were captivating, the type of visual love that made JC weep or Lance hum and take a moment out of his day to just stop and just sit still. The sun swept over the myriad of glasses boxes, bouncing the pastel light through the urban forest. The city, however industrialized, was a thing of nature. Trees for human to swing from, scream from. Love from.

The music had stopped and the CD had been returned to its place on the floor without Justin so much as stirring. But the music still buzzed within Chris’ chest, his mind. The album was musically incredibly, lyrically brilliant, emotionally addictive. It told a story, weaved a tapestry of a side of Justin that Chris was numb to- the man he was forced to be at fourteen. The ragingly insecure boy he still was. The beckon of intrigue he’d been his entire life.

Chris was stilled into silent contemplation, his heart still pounding out the cadence of the songs. The winds were harsh, but the sun’s beauty masked the cold. Nothing could quiet the exuberant man like emotion. Feeling was awkward and he didn’t know what to do with it. It was cumbersome and frankly annoying. It made him pensive and when his eager mind swirled with thought he dwelled on it. Pounced on it and it hurt, because he realized how bleak the world could be. He grew up destitute, blessed with only a smile and a passion for singing, entertaining, escaping. But he’d evolved into a rich man, the type of man that he loathed. He had so much now, he could provide in manners he never dreamed, but infinite others had less than he. It was overwhelming.

The approaching darkness gracefully shoved in into reality and out of the wealthy man’s pity. He stood up, pushing against his thighs and waddled into the suite, his legs numb from his soul searching. Justin was still sleeping, the blanket nearly covering his face. Chris grinned, tucking his wallet in his back pocket and grabbing his coat. Venturing toward the younger man, he pulled the blanket down, pooling the soft fabric around his chin, so he wouldn’t suffocate in his absence and slipped out of the room.

He returned, cheeks a blisteringly red from his short walk, inundated with bags of food. Their rich, salty aromas poured out of the thick containers as he set them on the counter, shed his coat and washed his hands. He’d gotten a feast from the soul food place at the edge of Manhattan. The establishment was considered a dive by the snobby residents for the entrance wasn’t all that appealing- the chipping paint and faded green sign, but inside, the ambiance was one of family, fun and love and the food tasted of such joy. The sauces were rich, the potatoes were creamy, the catfish was crispy and the desserts were delectable.

Chris grabbed beers from the fridge and set them in a bucket of ice, not surprised when Justin, staggered blindly into the kitchen, rubbing his curls into place. Chris grinned happily. “I got your favorite, bro. Look, greens, fish, spaghetti, everything you like.”

Justin smiled sleepily, his eyes drifting closed on their own accord. “Thanks man.” He was groggy and his voice was deep, gritty.

Large first came up, rubbing the weariness away from Justin’s eyes. He eyed the clock and nearly dropped his plate piled with food and the bottle of water, he chose over the beer. “It’s nine thirty!?!” he gasped.

“Yeah!”

“Chris! Shit! Do you know how much work I have to do, seriously? I have more shit to do then time in the fucking day!” He unceremoniously dropped his plate on the table and plopped into the chair, dropping his head into his arms. “How did I sleep so long?”

“Justin, you were TIRED. Exhausted. You can get everything done on time, now just eat and you can start after…okay?” He rubbed at the screaming muscles in the back of his neck and sighed, nodding. “You just need to calm down before you, like, I don’t know rupture something…” Chris advised.

“I know,” he resigned.

Chris sat down and bowed his head with Justin as they mumbled silent prayers. When the Amen’s were said and Justin popped out of his seat, running to grab a stack of folders and a small bottle of pills. “Chris, I’m sorry, this is like the rudest thing, but I’ll just be a little better if I get some more of this done, okay?”

Chris’ shoulders slumped and he grumbled mentally. “You’re becoming like Lance, man.”

Justin rocked his head forward and grabbed his bottle, popping a white tablet into his mouth, guzzling from a water bottle.

“What’s that, J?” Chris asked softly.

“Oh, just some herbal thing,” he replied.

Chris rolled his eyes, standing up to snatch the bottle. His eyes scanned the label and he couched on his catfish. “St. John’s Wort? Since when are you into all this healthy crap?”

Justin distractedly gazed upward, chewing slowly. “What?” Chris discerned hesitation in his eyes. “Um…er, I heard that…uh…it’s helps with mood…you know like a healthy boost…”

Chris bite his tongue, tasting blood as he tried not to laugh. “Where did you…hear that?”

“Europe. Everyone takes it there and it’s good. It helps, I think?”

Chris could count all the times that Justin blushed or appeared bashful in any way. The first was when he was fifteen and Chris was giving him the coveted condom talk. The second time was when he’d been taunted endlessly about having his friend girlfriend. And the third was when he was hiding something that he deemed embarrassing or private. Then, with the bottle in his hand and Justin anxiously shoveling food in his mouth was the third time. Chris’ shoulders slumped and he slid the bottle back over to him with a phony smile.

“Justin,” he began gently. “You know people take these for depression, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you know it doesn’t work…well, medically they can’t prove that it works…” he added gently. “But if you’re depressed, it’s an easy, private, discreet fix…”

“Yeah.”

“Is that why you’re taking it?”

Justin sipped his water, wiping the sauce from his chin and the novel curls on the top of his head bounced forward. “Yeah…”

There was a tensed silence throughout the rest of the dinner. Chris spent most of his time pushing his food around on his plate. The tantalizing aromas were dulled by the pain warbled through him. Justin depressed. It was something they’d all suspected for awhile now, because he’d been withdrawn, quiet, pensive, and incredibly hard on himself since March, but hearing it was a sock to the stomach- a breathless ache that just grew.

Justin ate slowly, his face pinched in frustrated concentration as he worked carefully, his greasy fingers maneuvering the glosses pages carefully.

Chris sighed, wishing Justin would stop obsessing about his album, put it away and just talk to him. But he knew it wasn’t going to happen. Grabbing a magazine, he flipped it open and pretended to be interested in an article about the safety in public schools.

Justin jumped suddenly, his eyes shooting down to his hip and he snatched the vibrating cell phone off his belt with a nervous chuckle. “Hello? Hey Debbie. What? What?!” Justin’s screaming split through the stressed quiet and Chris’ snapped up and his eyebrows listened. It was good to see that Justin smile, the one that showed his pearly white teeth, and light up his whole face. Chris smiled too, because it was so damn contagious. “Really? Shit. This is big, right? Oh my god, hold on…” Justin turned his attention to Chris and giggled shrilly. “Man, they’re playing the single on the radio!”

“Already?!” Chris shrieked.

“Yes!” Justin pulled the phone back to his ear and began chattering excitedly while Chris hopped out of his chair and ran over the small stereo tucked in the corner. He yanked it off the stand, snapping the cord out of the wall. Chris’ heart was beating in his ears as he fumbled with the electrical socket, risking shock as he tried to plug in the radio, give it life. He yelped when the plug was in. “What station, Justin?” he asked, his voice a thin breath.

Justin was jabbering a mile a minute, then calmed down enough to answer. “Um, 107.5!”

Chris thumbed the tuning dial, his motions too jagged and hyper to find the delicate channel of the station. Justin was behind him, slapping his shoulder repeatedly, jumping up and down. “Hold on, J. Gimme a sec!”

Finally, the static unfurled into music. Justin’s music. Chris turned his head, from his stooped position to witness Justin’s reaction. His eyes lift up, darkening to a deep sapphire and his mouth dropped open, his sentence trailing into slack-jawed awe. He dropped the phone, turning up the volume, letting the smooth vibe of song fill the air. Justin gasped, picking up the radio, holding it in both hands. “It’s so weird,” he whispered over his own voice, sweet and smooth. “Not to here you hear y’all with me…”

Chris smile shakily, savoring the moment. “It’s a kick ass song, Justin.”

He nodded, still entranced by the radio. He set it down, seeming eerily calm and pressed his fingers over the meshy steel vibrating with his voice, his passion, his emotion. “So weird.”

Without a second thought, Chris gathered the young man in his arms, hoping to start a celebration for Justin and comfort his own growing trepidations simultaneously. He was petrified that Justin’s solo career would take him leaps and bounds above NSYNC. And Chris’ dream, his vision that nurtured him for seven years would be the contracted curse holding him back and Chris’ baby would crumble.

It was the epitome of bittersweet.

“Hey, y’all like that? That was the new joint from none other than Justin Timberlake. I have to admit, it’s hot. I’m diggin’ it, but the payola…er, play for say, tells me I have to. I mean if it was comin’ from a brotha, it’d be different, but comin’ from a wanna-be Jacko from a friggin’ boyband…I’m thinkin’ not. But money talks and apparently Timberlake’s loaded…”

He tensed in Chris’ arms, obviously stunned by the DJ’s words. The jubilation of the moment fading. Justin walked calmly to the radio and turned it off with a deliberate flick of fingers. Chris studied him carefully, maintaining the silence. “That’s great that they’re playing your song already,” Chris offered positively, his voice too loud and over-compensating.

“Of course,” Justin’s voice was light, eyes still dancing from his minor triumph.

But Chris knew Justin, who performed, crafted facades without a glimmering thought. The giddy 14 year old who loved to perform and entertain and transformed into an emotionally fragile man that hid his vulnerability until it overwhelmed him.

Chris scratched his the side of his cheek, shoving his hands in his pockets and swaying from side to side, because he could never be still. Justin was standing there, scratching the slick wood with his thumb innocently, his posture unreadable.

“Justin…that DJ on the radio was just…being a shit, you know that, right?”

“Yes…Chris, I’m just going to finish this dinner later, thanks for getting it for me…” Justin smiled shakily, dropping his plate still full of food on the counter.

“Justin, you can’t just shutdown like this. You’ve been doing it for awhile and it’s really not healthy. You can’t flash a smile and pretend to be okay. And you can’t believe that celebrity shit, we separate ourselves from the fame. Right now, I’m Chris…just Chris, the elfy lookin’ guy from Pennsylvania with four sisters, no brothers and some funky issues with money and his father and his height…” Chris explained, his ears tingling with concerned ire. “But you’re starting to believe that Justin Timberlake bullshit. No one can live up to that charade, that painted china folding screen that we put up the moment we step outside. Justin, NO ONE!”

Justin nodded, grinning, because he didn’t know what else to do. He turned, walking swiftly into his bedroom, but Chris was right behind him. “Do you hear me, Justin? Is this getting through that thick skull of yours?”

“Yeah, it is, Chris…” he replied dryly, shrugging off his shirt, changing into a silver button up and a pair of black pants.

Chris was confused, his worry swelling to anger. “Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“No, Justin. You need to stay here and listen to this.” Chris crossed his arms over his chest, parking himself in front of the door.

Justin ran his gelled fingers through the dusting of curls on the top of his head. “No, I need to get out of this suite. I need to go out and have fun for a few hours.”

Justin glanced at himself in the mirror before grabbing his wallet. His eyes flashed with defiance as he noticed Chris’ position. He arched an eyebrow a wicked smirk claiming his alabaster features. “Move, Chris…”

“No…”

“Chris, move.”

“I’m not moving, Justin. I’ve been here for two days…two days and I’m more worried about you than I have been in years. You need to sit down and we need to talk about some of this shit, you can go putting out an album and being shoved into a schedule of pure chaos if you’re not stable-”

Justin raised his eyebrows, taking several steps forward, his body language was threatening, muscles gliding underneath his shirt. “Not stable, Chris, I’m just nervous about the album and everything…”

“Liar,” he spat. “You’ve been lying to me since I got here, for months. You lied to all of us about Britney. You lied to us about being okay with everything. And you hid the fact that you’re depressed…and I’m sorry, Justin, but popping some weed in pill form isn’t going to touch it…”

“Okay. I’ve heard enough!” Justin’s voice catapulted to booming levels. “I’m not going to stand here and listen to you try to dissect my psychological condition. I’m going out. I’m 21 and I can do it all myself now, Chris. I’m a big fucking boy, who doesn’t need you watching out for me anymore. I can stand on my own two feet just fine.”

“I never said you couldn’t…” he replied softly. “I just want to help…”

Justin nibbled on his lips, feeling his control slipping. “You want to help me? Let me get out of this room before there’s no more air left…”

Chris stood firm, determination glinting in his eyes. But he looked at the man, looking so much like a boy, drawing in struggling breaths, clinging to something that wasn’t real, just a comet shifting the sky and he shuddered, closing his eyes. He stepped aside, unblocking the path. Justin ventured out into the living room, calling for the car. Chris watched as he slid on his jacket and waited impatiently, pacing in front of the door.

“Part of being a man, is admitting you need help, Justin…”

The door closed behind him.

© Copyright by Kira, 2002.

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