"Lance, man come one. Please wake up." Came Justin's voice through the fog in his mind. He could hear the other's too, but they sounded so far away. He could hear other people too. The screech of police radios, people calling out orders. He could hear footsteps as they quickly approached him. But it all sounded so far away.
He was relaxed. He was calm. He couldn't think, most importantly, which was what he wanted. He wanted to stay in this sweet oblivion, clueless to what was going on around him. Clueless to the wicked hand life had dealt him. He didn't want to wake up and face that. He didn't want to deal with the knowledge that he had killed a man. A human being, a person with a family, a life all his own to lead. And Lance had taken that life away from him. He didn't want to think about that. He wanted to remain oblivious to it all. Forget everything that had happened that day.
His decision to remain oblivious was deftly interrupted when the acrid scent of ammonia forced him to open his eyes and move away from the offensive stench. Still slightly light headed, Lance looked around at the group gathered around him. Justin was there on his right, looking very worried. The other guys were beside him and on Lance's left. In front of him were two paramedics, the same two that had wheeled the dead body out of his living room.
'But they left the blood I'm sure.' Lance thought randomly as Justin helped him to stand.
"Are you ok, Sir?" One of the paramedics inquired, reaching a hand out to steady the young man as he swayed lightly on his feet.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little dizzy." Lance said, forcing a smile at the kind older man.
"Your mind probably overloaded, and decided to shut down for a minute. You'll be ok." The paramedic told Lance, then turned to what could only be described as his support group. "You may want to pack him some clothes and find him some place else to stay. That living room is a mess." He told them, receiving nods and thank you's from the four men.
"Lance, I'm going to go and pack you some clothes. Ok?" Chris said.
"No, I'll do it. I want to change first." Lance said, his only thought was getting out of his blood stained clothes.
With the other's protests behind him, Lance made his way into the house, knowing not to go into the living room, which was roped off. Even knowing he shouldn't, Lance couldn't help the sick and twisted fascination that forced him to peak into the sparsely, yet expensively decorated room. His eyes were automatically drawn to the dark, crimson stain on the right side of the room from where he was standing.
'That's someone's life. That stain, the blood, was someone's whole existence, and I took that away from them.' Lance thought, fixated on the marred rug. Closing his eyes, he could still see him lying there, his life running from the whole in his chest. 'I did that to him. I killed him.'
"Lance? Don't look in there. Go back outside, we'll get your things." Chris tried to coax, but Lance wasn't hearing him. He was hearing the voice of the other man, telling him to turn around, he was hearing the sounds of their struggle as they fought over the gun, the deafening sound of the gun firing.
Lance closed his eyes as he felt the bile rise in his throat, and hurried to the bathroom, where his stomach rid itself of the breakfast he had consumed that morning. That morning when everything was normal. That morning when Lance hadn't been confronted with Justin's feelings for him, and his own for Justin. That morning when things had been normal. That morning when he hadn't been a killer.
"Come on, Lance. I'm taking you to my house. You'll stay there for a while. Chris and Joey are going to bring your clothes and my car. JC's going to drive us. You need to get out of here." Justin said gently, helping Lance to his feet when his stomach had emptied all of it's contents. Lance allowed himself to be lead out of the house, leaning on Justin for support. He barely heard the detective that had arrived a few moments ago tell them that he would contact them if he had anymore questions.
Justin lead him to JC's jeep, where he sat in the backseat, mind numb, eyes blank. The only thing he cold think of was that he was still covered in blood. The blood was still everywhere, even when he closed his eyes, it was all he could see. The blood.
~*~
Justin closed his eyes on the trip to his house. Now was one of those times that he was glad he had moved out of his mother's house. He missed living with her from time to time, but she would completely flip out if she saw Lance coming into the house looking like he was. It wouldn't be a bad thing, but he didn't think Lance could handle that right now.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, he could see Lance looking out the window, but he could tell by the look in his eyes that he wasn't actually seeing anything. His mind was elsewhere, and Justin had a pretty good idea of where. His was there too, but more than likely seeing it from a different viewpoint than Lance was.
He could see the man standing there, between him and Lance. He could see the gun pointed at Lance. He could still feel the fear that had immobilized him when he walked in on the scene that he was reliving in his mind. He flinched when in his mind the gun went off again. He remembered thinking in some part of his mind, that Lance was shot, and then felt the relief he had felt when he realized that wasn't the case.
"You ok, Justin?" JC asked beside, quietly enough that Lance hadn't heard him.
"Yea, I was just thinking." Justin said, glancing over at his friend of too many years that he couldn't even remember a time they hadn't known each other.
"I can't believe this happened. I mean, what was that guy doing there? That's what I want to know. The detective said that the lock had been picked, and that there were signs that he had been there a while, but nothing was taken, nothing moved. It was like he was just sitting there, waiting for Lance to come home or something." JC thought aloud. This was the first time Justin had heard that. He hadn't talked to the detective after he gave his statement. This baffled him as much as it did JC. Why would he have been there? What did he want? Did he go there for the purpose of killing Lance? If so, then why? Justin couldn't think of any reason why someone would want to harm such a beautiful creature as Lance.
Glancing in the rearview mirror again, Justin saw that Lance hadn't moved at all. He wasn't even sure if the older man had blinked. He wouldn't be on it. He just sat there, motionless, starring out the window at nothing as they drove through Orlando.
"Ok, here we are." JC said, pulling into Justin's driveway. Justin helped Lance out of the car, then let him blindly follow as they entered the house.
"Lance, come on. We'll get you cleaned up. You can wear some of my clothes until Chris and Joey get here with yours." Justin said, steering Lance up the stairs and to the bathroom off the guestroom. Lance stood there, in the middle of the room, while Justin rummaged in the room down the hall, looking for something that Lance could wear.
Lance wandered into the bathroom after a moment, and reluctantly looked in the mirror. What he saw made his stomach turn again. There was blood on his face, not a lot, just a small spattering. It was on his neck, his light blue shirt was stiff with the dark maroon splotches that covered the majority of his shirt. His pants were worse. Of course they would be. When the man had fallen, and taken Lance down with him, he had fallen on Lance's legs. The blood had pooled on him before he was able to roll the man off of him. And his hands. Lance's hands were red, covered in it, as if he had stuck his hands in red finger paint. As bad as he looked, someone would have thought he was the one that was shot.
'The police and the guys did think I was the one shot for a minute.' Lance mused to himself. 'How had this day gone so wrong?' It was only a little after two in the afternoon. He had only left the studio about an hour and a half ago, yet it seemed like an eternity had passed.
"Here Lance. You can wear these when you get out of the shower." Justin said, laying some clothes on the counter beside the sink. He then made his way over to the shower to start the water, when he saw that Lance wasn't moving. He was stuck in place it seemed, staring at the blood that covered his body.
"Lance?" Justin said, laying a hand on Lance's shoulder. Lance shook himself out of his mind and focused on the friend.
"Sorry, I was kinda spacing out there. Let me shower and I'll see you guys downstairs." Lance said, giving Justin a reassuring smile, that Justin didn't quite buy.
"Ok. If you're not down in an hour, I'm going to come in here and get you." Justin said, grinning mischievously at Lance.
"Wouldn't that be an event." Lance responded as he began to take his stiff shirt off.
"I'm sure it would. You got an hour." Justin said before stepping out of the bathroom.
'I could have lost him, in more than one way, today. I couldn't have lived without him.' Justin thought, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, pushing those thoughts out of his mind. He still had Lance, maybe not as intimately as he wanted, but he was still there, alive and kicking, and still his best friend.
Lance was alive, but he had come so close to not being there. He had come so close to losing his life. Justin had come so close to losing the one thing that meant more to him than anything in the world. He couldn't have handled that. He couldn't have gone on functioning in any normal capacity had Lance not survived that encounter.
Justin barely felt the sobs that racked his body as he thought about that possibility. It was something he didn't want to think about, but he couldn't get it out of his mind. Even if Lance didn't return his feelings, Justin would have curled up and died right there with him.
"Justin? Are you ok?" JC asked, having heard Justin's sobs from the kitchen, and came to check on his younger friend.
"I could have lost him today, C. I just stood there, and it could have been him that had gotten shot instead of that other guy. I could have lost everything today. Why was he there, JC? What would I have done if I'd have lost him?" Justin cried into JC's shoulder, as the older of the two held him in a tight embrace. They all knew of Justin's feelings towards Lance. Though he hadn't come out and stated them, they all knew.
"I don't know why he was there, Justin. I wish I did. Or maybe I don't. I don't' know. But I do know that if we had lost Lance, we would have relied on each other to get through it. He wouldn't have wanted us to sit around moping and crying, he would want you to move on and live your life. He would want you to live the life he would have never gotten to live." JC said, feeling sure about his answer, but also rather uncomfortable. He didn't enjoy talking about his friend as if he HAD died. But Justin wanted to know, needed to know. He needed that comfort. "But that doesn't matter, Justin. What we would have done doesn't matter, because we don't need to worry about it now. Lance is here, and he's fine. He's alive, unharmed, and right in that room behind you."
"I know. I was just so scared, JC. When I walked in there, and saw that gun pointed at his chest, I didn't know what to do. And it's all my fault. He wouldn't have gone home if I hadn't told him." Justin said, starting to cry all over again.
"Told him what Justin?" JC asked, not understanding.
"I told him this morning that I loved him. I told him, and he told me he didn't love me, and I was fine with that. I hadn't expected him to love me back, not in that way. Then he said he had to go get something. I let him go, but something was bugging me about what he said and the way he said it. That's why I went after him. But if I hadn't of told him, he would never have gone home and none of this would have happened." Justin explained his theory, while JC thought of what might have happened had Justin not told Lance that he loved him.
"Justin, if you hadn't of told Lance this morning, you're right. He might not have gone home. Not then anyway. But, if the police are right, and that man was sitting there waiting on Lance, when he did go home, the man would have still been there. And if you hadn't had that conversation with him this morning, you wouldn't have followed him home, and who knows what might have happened." JC explained, as a way to sooth Justin's fears and guilt. It seemed to have worked. Justin stopped crying at least.
"He's been in there a while. Do you think I should check on him?" Justin asked, eyeing the door to the bathroom.
"I think�" JC started but was cut off when the bathroom door opened, emitting a cloud of steam. Lance stood there in the too long sweat pants and sweat shirt, toweling his hair dry. He eyed the two friends standing across the hall from him.
"Were you guys hoping to catch a free show or something?" Lance asked, smirking at him. His brow furrowed in worry when he saw Justin's tear stained face, his eyes red and puffy, his nose slightly red, as happens when one cries. "Are you ok Justin?" Lance asked, walking to his friend and placing his hand on the taller man's shoulder.
"Yea, Lance I'm fine." Justin said, pulling him into a tight hug. They held each other tightly for a few moments before JC joined in, squeezing both tightly. Their moments of reassurance and bonding were interrupted by the ringing of the phone.
"I'll get it." JC said, walking away from the two still clinging to each other.
"I was so scared I was going to lose you." Justin whispered into Lance's we hair.
"I know. I was so scared you were going to get hurt. I expected him to turn around and shoot you. God, Justin, I couldn't have let something like that happen to you." Lance said, burying his head in Justin's shoulder.
"Uh, Justin. You may want to come and get this. It's one very upset Mrs. Harless." JC called from the living room.
"Uh oh. I'm going to get it for not calling her sooner. It must be on the news already." Justin said releasing Lance and walking to the living room to take the phone.
Lance watched him walk away, and turned back into his bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed. What a day. He was tired. Very tired. But his mind wouldn't stop thinking. It went over everything that had happened that day. Justin's confession of what Lance already knew. The chaos that ensued at his home. His home, which was now like a forbidden place to him. A place that used to make him so proud, just to say that he owned it. His haven, his sanctuary, was now desecrated. He didn't even think he could live there anymore. He didn't know that he wanted to. But what worried him the most, was that Justin was right. He could have died earlier that day, and his biggest regret would have been that Justin didn't know the truth. His biggest regret would be that he'd lied to the only person he had ever loved, about the thing that mattered the most in life.
How could he have done that? He knew what his reasons were when the day had started. He recited them to himself everyday when he woke up, reminding himself of why it could never be. But now those excuses were just that, excuses. They weren't reasons, they were copouts. They were a means to keep himself protected, to keep his most vulnerable feelings to himself. But that didn't seem to matter anymore. How could he be hurt worse than he already was. With those thoughts, Lance drifted into a restless sleep.
~*~
It was all happening again. Every bit of it. From the conversation to the drive home. From the squeak of the front door as he pushed it open, to the cold sound of the voice behind him and the click of the hammer as the gun was cocked. His heart beat fiercely in his chest. He didn't want to relive this. Once was bad enough. He didn't want to go through it again and again. But there was something different this time.
This time Justin wasn't there. Thank God Justin was safe. He wouldn't get hurt. He wouldn't have to witness what Lance knew was about to happen, but was powerless to stop. He didn't want Justin to have to relive it, like he was. But there was something else that was bothering him.
He heard the gun fire, saw the gun fire. But the man didn't fall. There was still blood everywhere. All over him, but the man was still standing. He was standing there, looking at Lance as if nothing had happened. It wasn't right. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Then it hit him. He hadn't shot the assailant, he was the one who had been shot. It was his blood pooling on the Oriental rug. It was his blood all over his body, his life draining out of him, like water through your hands. And he couldn't stop it.
'No. NO. NO!!!'
"Lance! Dear God, Lance wake up!" Chris was screaming at him, shaking him violently, as Lance thrashed around in the bed.
Lance opened his eyes quickly, sitting up in the bed just as fast. His skin was cool with perspiration, the sheets damp, his hair matted. His eyes were wild with fear. His throat scratchy from screaming. His breaths were short and gasped. He couldn't' gets air into his lungs. He tried and tried, but he couldn't get enough air.
"Jesus, he's hyperventilating." Chris nearly shouted. "Justin, go get a bag, any kind of bag. It doesn't matter. Hurry!" Chris ordered, and Justin quickly left the room to do as he was told. "Lance, you've got to calm down before you pass out. Just relax. You're ok. Everything's fine. Just calm down." Chris said, his voice low, soothing. He rubbed lazy circles in Lance's back, trying to calm the younger man. He'd never seen someone so scared in his life.
"Here." Justin said, returning from the kitchen with a small brown paper bag, and handing it to Chris. Chris closed the opening into a small hole and placed it over Lance's mouth.
"Take deep breaths Lance. Just calm down. You're ok. It was just a dream. You're fine. Just relax." Chris said, as Lance slowly calmed down, breathing deeper. Justin was on the other side of Lance, his arm around his shoulders, offering what little support he could.
Lance began to relax some, his breathing returning to normal. He leaned into Justin as Chris removed the bag. Justin hugged him close, wiping stray hair from Lance's damp forehead.
"Man, you scared the shit out of us." Chris said, taking a deep breath to calm his own nerves.
"I'm sorry." Lance said, his voice only a whisper.
"Don't be sorry." Justin said, squeezing Lance tighter.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Chris asked, laying a reassuring hand on Lance's arm. Lance nodded. "It was happening again. I was back in the house, and he was there. But he shot me. There was blood everywhere. I was bleeding to death and I couldn't stop it." Lance said, shivering at the memory.
"It's ok. It was only a dream. He can't hurt you." Chris assured him. Lance nodded. "Do you want some water or something?" Lance nodded again. Chris left the room.
"Why don't you try to go back to sleep. You look exhausted." Justin said, easing Lance back down on the bed. Justin leaned down and kissed Lance's damp forehead. When he stood to leave, he was stopped by Lance's hand grabbing his.
"Justin?"
"Yeah, Lance?" Justin asked, turning back to face him.
"Could you stay with me? At least until I go back to sleep?" Lance asked him shyly. Justin smiled at him and nodded. Lance moved over in the bed to make room for Justin.
Justin sat with his back to the headboard of the bed, and pulled Lance into his arms, Lance's head resting on his chest. Chris returned a few minutes later with the water, but Lance had already fallen asleep.
"You can go stay in my room, Chris. I'm going to stay here with him, and I know you will refuse to go home anyway." Justin said quietly to Chris, who just smiled knowingly and left the room. Justin looked down at the man in his arms, wanting to take the memory of that day away from him. Erase all the hurt and fear from his mind and heart. He settled for running his hands through Lance's hair, and holding him while he slept. Justin had no intention of leaving until Lance woke up the next morning.