He didn’t want to get out of the
car.
But he had to for his sanity, for
the guys, and for himself.
To say the past three weeks had
been hell was an understatement. He
thought it was bad when she told him. He
thought he was pretty damn upset, but he didn’t realize what else would come
with the knowledge that the woman you were going to marry, or at least you had
planned it in your head, had cheated on you with your best friend.
It was that part that hit him hard,
the part about Wade, and hit him much later than he expected. His mom had been shocked. Trace had been shocked. But the person that was most shocked was the partner
in crime who didn’t expect the black eye and bruises that Justin kindly
presented to him.
It had been a bad day, that day
afterwards. Britney and him had existed
with each other and talked and screamed and cried the rest of the day and that
night a friend came to pick her up and he hadn’t seen her since then. He had heard from her, oh had he heard from
her. Trace advised to break it off completely;
“ignore the whore” was his cute little rhyme.
He had ignored her calls especially after she threatened that Wade was
going to press charges.
Assault. Whatever.
He knew Wade didn’t have the
guts. In fact, he had to give it to the
guy. He didn’t whine, didn’t make
excuses and he apologized. He didn’t fight
back when Justin barreled through his room at the Staples center, only to try
and push him off. When he was done
physically harming the bastard, Wade quietly got something to wipe the blood
from his mouth and sat down, telling Justin he’d tell him everything if that’s
what he wanted.
And he did. He told him everything, everything Britney
had said, how he had had a crush on her for a while, how he was terrified but
wanted to tell Justin all along, how he tried to pressure Britney into telling
him sooner by threatening to tell Justin himself. Justin didn’t know if they were lies, but it
made him feel better to be able to put more blame on her.
And it made him feel empowered when
Ricky, one of Britney’s security team, busted through the door and asked if
there was a problem. Wade told him there
wasn’t one. Wade looked afraid. And he had every right to be. Justin still had fight in him and he had been
almost waiting for Wade to say one wrong thing so he could pounce again.
He floated, feeling like somehow
getting in a fight had accomplished something and he felt that if beating
people up was what was going to make him get through this, then he was ready to
go. All he needed was a boxing ring.
But the world crashed back around
him 30 minutes later. Britney had found
out about Wade and had called his mom.
But she didn’t understand. She couldn’t. He hung up on her, knowing she wouldn’t let
him live it down and not really giving a damn, and instead called Trace. Trace told him he needed to calm down and
control his actions.
So he said fuck it and shut them
both out. He shut everyone out and
locked himself in his house. But it wasn’t
his house, it was their house, and
the more he stayed inside the more he pulled back into himself. He remembered buying the house with her,
sharing the house with her, christening the house with her. He wanted her back. But how do you ignore the whore, when you
love her?
He almost wanted to forgive her. But by the time he had come to the conclusion
to run out and go find her, she had left, gone to the other side of the country
to finish up her tour. She called saying
she was going to have someone come get all her stuff out of the house. It shocked him to hear her that calm and
level heading about things, compared to the screaming, sobbing nightmare of a
woman that had stomped around his house a few days before.
But having her mom come up and get
all her belongings shocked him more than any tone of voice she had ever used
and was probably the worse thing about the whole dramatic affair. He had to sit there and watch her rummage
through their house, packing things
up and all the while trying to apologize for her daughter. He sat there, letting it boil inside of him
as he drank a beer, and then another, and when she left he moved to harder
liquids. He called Trace in ball of
pathetic sobs. He wanted to drive. He needed out, not caring the consequences of
empty beer bottles on the table and a half empty bottle of Jack in his hand. But right before he go into car, another one
pulled up, blinding him with its brights. The door slammed and before he could make out
the figure through his blinded druken gaze, Mike came
charging. He threw him up against the
wall, cussed him out and then forced him back into the house.
“Don’t be
selfish Justin,” he said. “Think, Justin”
“It’ll all work out,” Mike had
offered with a pat on his back as he threw up on his white carpeted living
room. “It’s not the end of the world.”
But it was.
And there was one thing that
terrified him more than her cheating and him having violent drinking spells and
his mother and best friend not understanding what he was going through.
But now, there was no one.
And he was scared.
Not even the figure of his
imagination, the one person or thing or whatever she was, was there. He had been glad to be rid of, but he wanted
her back now. He would be classified
insane, but at least he’d not be so lonely.
But that loneliness was half his
fault. People begged to keep him
company, his family, his friends, and people he only met once at the studio who
called him up, asking him if he was alright or if he wanted to hang out. He found it funny that now, now that Britney
was gone, they were so eager to be friends with him. He knew they were worried about him. He was worried about himself. But he didn’t want them around. He didn’t want anyone around. It was the type of loneliness only one person
could get rid of, and that was a girlfriend, or at least a female friend that
you had sexual relations with.
As crude as that sounded, it was
what he needed. He needed another body
there, someone he could physically react to, and then maybe if that worked
well, he could talk to her and mentally get out all the demons that were flying
around.
He wanted her back. But he couldn’t have her. He wouldn’t have her. He wouldn’t go down that road again.
But without a girlfriend-no, she
was more than that, she was (or at least he thought she was) his soul-without
Britney and without someone he could dream up, laying in bed at night was a
challenge and waking up each morning hurt.
And sitting alone, unmotivated to
move, with a disabled appetite and a volcano of a temper wore at him like a
cheaply made shoe that had been worn way too many times. It was literally depressing. He had pulled himself down into this hole,
this space where there was no light, no hope, nothing but misery and as much as
he hated it, as much as he wished he could get back out, or try and pull
himself out, that hole was strangely comforting and the more he wallered in it,
the more comfortable he felt.
But what was he going to do with
almost 8 months of time in his hole? He didn’t
want to wither away.
He told Trace everything and it
was probably the best thing he had done in the past three weeks, besides of
course, bashing Wade’s face in. Trace had called JC, which was kind of a big deal
because Trace was a different breed than Josh.
They got along fine on the surface, but they never got close and never
really seemed to have much to talk about.
JC had talked to the other guys and soon Johnny had called him and asked
him if he wanted to go back to work.
He was enthralled. It would be like therapy. It would get his mind off Britney. He could dive into song and get out his
aggression. Him and Lance would go get
drunk off their asses and go home with hot club girls. Chris and him would shit around and play
golf. C and him
would spend four days straight in the studio, getting less than three hours of
sleep a night working on music. And Joey
would have those long talks, those mature talks that only the family man of the
group would know. He needed them.
But he didn’t want to get out of
the car. He wanted to work with them and
get back to how things were, but things were different now. He knew they were going to have
questions. He knew they would want to
help, but he didn’t want their “lets be best friends and talk about it” help.
He was going to have to suck it up
and just go in there. If he was cool,
they wouldn’t bother him. Plus this was
a business meeting. Johnny would be
there, so they wouldn’t have time to play the sensitive friend role.
He got out and adjusted his
sunglasses. It wasn’t that bright of a
day, but he had grown accustomed to wearing them whenever he left the house. He didn’t want anyone commenting that he
needed more sleep, or whatever.
“Justin?”
He shook his head and locked his
car, bringing himself back into the conversation he had let his mind slip from
moments before, “Sorry. I just pulled
up, so I gotta go.”
“Look man, if you need me to come
up, I will.”
He rolled his tired eyes behind
his glasses and walked to the front door of the WEG offices in LA. They were much smaller than the ones in
“You know I’m game.”
“Later Trace.” He flipped his phone closed before getting a response,
slipped the phone back in his baggy wind pants and opened up the heavy
door. He bypassed the secretary with a
tight smile and went straight to the stairs, jogging up to the second floor and
down the hallway to the conference room, which looked more like a living room
than a place where they’d have meetings.
He put his hand on the doorknob,
debating whether he should really be there.
But it felt right. Well it didn’t
feel completely right, but he knew this would be the best thing for him. He flexed his arm and twisted the knob,
pushing it forward and strolling into the room.
“Hey fellas…”
He trailed off when each one of
their faces turned towards him. They
were all there, and they all looked like they had been there for a while. They looked worried and upset and he was
about to ask, “who died” when a too familiar figure
stood up from the corner chair in the room.
He looked around the room again, a
bad vibe coming over him as the room was scanned. It was nerves. His stomach knotted with anxiety, and it was
just like the feeling he had right before Britney told him the pleasant news. He licked his lips and took a deep
breath. “What the hell are you doin’
here?”
“Helping.” It was the only response and it was said in a
quiet voice.
“Bull shit. What is this?”
“Shit down, Justin.” He looked to Johnny who motioned to an empty
chair. The chair looked huge. The rest of the guys were perched on the
couches, half of them staring at him like he was a freak show in a circus, and JC
and Chris looking down at their shoes, seeming embarrassed by him.
This wasn’t a meeting about a damn
record.
He crossed his arms. He wasn’t going to break down now, not when
they were threatening him. He had a bad
feeling, a worse feeling. He new he
should have turned around in the parking lot.
He cut his eyes back to the figure that was now walking towards the rest
of the group, patting the back of the empty chair, motioning for him to sit. “No, what the fuck is going on? Why is Trace here?”
“He told us.” JC said, not looking up at him.
Justin wanted to charge. He wanted to go over there and beat the shit
out of his pussy of a friend. But he
held back. He wasn’t going to make
himself seem vulnerable. Not yet. He clenched his jaw and fists and gritted
out, realizing how calm Trace seemed, and how much that terrified him, “What’d
you tell them?”
Trace didn’t look him in the eyes
when he said, “Everything.”
That imaginary axe that Britney
had hurled at him was in the air and he could see it coming towards him, but he
couldn’t move, couldn’t dodge, and couldn’t get out of the way. “W- what?”
Chris looked up from where he had
been staring at the floor and looked at him dead on. “He told us about Wade,
about you getting in a fight, and Mike told us about the other night…”
“I…” Trace’s voice interrupted
Chris’s and the axe connected with his torso, slicing into him and ripping
through his back, making his body crumbled down onto his legs. “I told them about Darcy.”
He wanted to say something but all
of their eyes were on him, questioning, wondering, and trying to figure out
what the hell to do with him now. Trace wasn’t
looking at him, though. He knew what was
coming.
“Why?”
It was the only word he could come
up with.
“Cause we’re worried about-“
He didn’t give a shit what Joey
had to say. This was between him and his
supposed best friend, who couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Why Trace?
What’s that got to do with anything?”
Trace rubbed a hand over his face
and sighed out, “Everything.”
Justin nodded slowly, “Right.” A thought came through his mind. Should he do it? Was he crazy enough to go through with
it? He wasn’t going to run over there
like a mad man, but he was going to test it out. He tilted his head back and cracked his neck,
then looked into his best friends eyes dead on.
“Come here.”
Trace took a deep breath and
walked over so that he was feet away from Justin. He took the bait and Justin smiled. “What?”
He laughed and shook his head. “You’re
an idiot Trace.”
With a lick of his lips his right
arm went flying and then his left.
People were yelling at him, pulling at him but he couldn’t be stopped. Their voices sounded like a buzz and their
arms on him wouldn’t be able to stop him.
He kept swinging and swinging until he thought he heard another familiar
voice. He looked back over his shoulder
and his eyes widened at the sight of his mother in the doorway with tears on
her face.
A hook to his lower jaw knocked
him onto the floor and he felt two sets of arms pulling him up and back until
he was sitting on a couch. He wiped his
mouth and saw blood on his fist.
Trace was sitting in the big chair
that he was being coaxed to sit in with his head in his hands. Soon Lance rushed over and gave him a wad of
cloth and he put it against his face.
Justin just stared at his mom.
What was he to do now? There was no way out and he was sure men in
white scrubs were right behind his mother with a straightjacket.
“I’m not crazy.”
He felt someone move from the side
of him and saw Johnny get up so that his mother could sit beside him. “That’s debatable.”
“Momma…please…”
Comfort. It was what he had needed and he felt tears
stream down his face when his mother’s arm slid around his shoulders and
squeezed him. He knew he was a momma’s
boy, and he didn’t give a damn. He didn’t
expect people to understand his relationship with his mother, but she had been
there when others hadn’t. All his life
she had been right by his side and he realized when he curled against her that
she was the only person he had needed in this hell of a break up he was going
through. “It’s not just about these
dreams, Justin. Every since Britney you’ve
scared me. I’m not just worried,
baby. I’m scared.”
“We all are,” Johnny said.
His mother’s soft country voice
spoke into his ear. “I…I don’t want you
becoming any worse.”
But as he looked around the room, with
everyone looking at him except for Trace, and now noticing that Mike and Drew
were standing by the doorway but this time guarding the way out and not him, he
felt trapped. And he knew that in his
mind they were in the wrong. This was
not the way they needed to do whatever they were trying to do. “So what are you doing here? What’s this huge intervention? Was all this really needed? What are you gonna do now, call fucking MTV?”
“Stop being a drama queen.”
He tried to stand up by Joey’s
grip on his arm and his mother’s manicured nails biting into the skin of his
wrist kept him from going too far. He
glared at Trace who was now looking at him through bruising eyes. “Shut the
fuck up asshole or I’ll come over there and kick your-“
He felt the sting after the slap
on his face had landed. He turned and looked
at his mother in shock. “Watch your
mouth! You have a hell of a lot of nerve
beating up on Trace like that. He’s
trying to help you, Justin.”
“By telling everyone shit that he wasn’t
supposed to? Yeah, great friend.”
She rolled her eyes at him, a
habit she didn’t often whenever he knew he was annoying her. He thought it was pretty pathetic that his
mom was rolling her eyes at him now. It wasn’t
the time to be annoyed. It was the time
to be sympathetic towards him, pity him even.
It wasn’t time to make him feel more like shit. “You’re going Monday afternoon to see Dr.
Baitman.”
“Wh-what?”
“He’s a psychologist.”
His ears started to ring. And he knew it: The men with scrubs were
about to come through that door. He didn’t
think they’d take it that far. They were
just dreams and his girlfriend had just cheated on him, what did they expect? “Great
mom! You’re gonna
dope me up on happy pills and put me in a straight jacket.”
She patted his knee and smiled a
smug smile. “A psychologist does not prescribe medicine, dear. You’re gonna go,
you’re gonna talk about anything you need to talk about and he’s gonna get to the bottom of these…dreams. If he thinks you need medicine he’ll send you
to a psychiatrist.”
He pulled out his whine tone,
hoping it’d make her give into him or at least annoy her a little more. “Momma…but…”
Chris interrupted him and looked a
little embarrassed at he spoke, “It’s not that bad. I went to a psychologist a couple times right
after I graduated.”
“You did?” Lance asked.
He nodded; avoiding everyone else’s
questioning gazes and looking straight at his younger friend. “Yeah.
Therapy isn’t that bad, Justin.
You go, you sit there and you just talk about whatever you wanna talk
about. You get to the root of your
problems and they tell you stuff that can help you get over that. Sometimes I feel like it’d be nice to go
back. Just to have someone to talk
to. It really clears your head.”
Justin ran his hands over his
shaven scalp, which was starting to grow back and looked a little awkward. He pressed his palms into his eyes and
breathed out, saying what he knew they were thinking. “I’m not a freak.”
“No one said you were.” Joey
offered.
He turned forcefully in his seat
and felt his mothers small hand grab his wrist again, her nails ready to work
if they had to. “Then why are you all
looking at me like that? Why did you
have to fake this stupid bull shit record meeting just to try and bully me into
going to a damn shrink?”
JC, who normally was quiet in
awkward situations, who was normally soft spoken all the time, broke through
with a loud, deep voice that Justin didn’t know his friend was capable of. “Because you weren’t gonna go any other
way! You didn’t want to talk to anyone
or do anything, Justin! When I mentioned
that we should get back in the studio you lit up. It was the only way we knew we were gonna get
you out of the damn house.”
He sighed and JC’s defensive
posture relaxed from where he was sitting beside Chris. Lance had been standing awkwardly to the side
and made a move to hand Justin a paper towel for his mouth which now had a
bitter metallic taste swelling around his tongue. He blotted his mouth and looked down at the stain
it made on the white paper. He wondered
if they’d make him analyze ink blots at the crazy doctor they were going to
send him to. “I’m not…I’m not crazy.”
Trace sighed, rolled out of the
chair and wiped the towel over his mouth once more. He limped twice while holding his side,
recovered, and then walked until he was right in front of his friend. Justin looked up at him half excepting Trace
to knock one on him, but instead Trace took in a deep breath and sincerely
said, through a locked jaw and a swollen eye, “We know that Justin. But you
need to realize it.”