Date: Sat, 12 Jan 2002 17:08:29 -0500
From: Writer Boy <writerboy69@hotmail.com>
Subject: jc's hitchhiker - part 47

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1) If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or
you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You
shouldn't be here.

2) I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no
way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or
anything else.  This is a work of pure fiction.

Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I've
enjoyed hearing from all of you.

That said, on with the show, and back to the story in progress.

***

Lance lay curled on his side on his bed, staring at the wall. The wall
wasn't particularly exciting, mind you. It was actually blank, and
completely flat. Featureless.  There weren't any pictures, cracks, or
nails. You couldn't even see where the paint had been applied, no
brushstrokes, and the wall had no gloss, either. It was just flat, white,
and smooth, utterly flawless. The window was in the adjacent wall, and the
sunlight never fell on this wall.  Shadows never moved across it. The wall
was pristine, completely without mistakes.

The way Lance wished he was.

He didn't have to stare at the wall, of course, but it seemed like a really
good way to spend Saturday. Staring at it had kept him occupied for most of
Friday night, although Friday night his cell phone had kept ringing and
ringing and ringing, but then, finally, it had stopped, and Lance had shut
it off. He hadn't turned it back on this morning, hadn't listened to the
voicemail, because he knew who the messages would be from, and he didn't
want to hear that voice, didn't want to hear that confusion, that concern,
that hurt that he had caused.

Lance wouldn't answer the phone because he knew that it was Howie calling.

Howie had called before Lance was even home from the hotel on Thursday, but
Lance had shut the phone off then, too. Thursday night he had cried himself
to sleep, thinking about how badly he had treated Howie. He had hurt him,
not because he wanted to, but because he couldn't help it. Because he hurt
everything. Because he was a bad person, and there wasn't anything else he
could do but hurt people.

On Friday morning he had woken up and picked up the phone. Turning it on,
he was thankful that it didn't ring in his hand, which he had been morbidly
afraid that it would.  Instead, there had been a string of voice messages,
left well into the night.

"Lance. Lance, please call me back. Lance, I'm sorry. I know you're upset,
and I'm sorry. Please, please, just call me."

The next one was left twenty minutes later.

"Lance, I know that I, that, you know, what I did was wrong. I'm sorry if I
upset you, but, I don't know, I thought that you were, that maybe you might
be, I guess, interested. Look, Lance, I can't say this like this. Please,
Lance, please just call me."

Twenty minutes later there was another.

"Lance, please don't shut me out. Please just let me explain, please. At
least let me know you got home ok."

Barely ten minutes after Howie left the last message of the night.

"Lance, please, please just call me. I don't want to bother you any more
tonight, but I just, I wish you would let me explain. I'm just, I'm sorry,
Lance, ok? I'm sorry."

By the last message, Howie's voice had dropped almost to a whisper. Lance
wasn't sure, but he thought Howie might have been crying. He wasn't sure
because he'd been in tears at that point, holding the phone, rocking back
and forth on his bed as he listened to one message after another. How could
he have done such a thing? How could he have done that to Howie, just
shoved him away and run out of the room? What was wrong with him? What kind
of a person was he to do that to someone?

Wait, he knew the answer to that one. He was bad. He was dirty. He was
pathetic. He was a hypocrite. He didn't deserve someone like Howie. Howie
was good, and sweet, and kind. Howie was special, and deserved someone who
was special, someone who was pure.

Not someone like Lance.

After he had listened to the voice messages, Lance decided to go get in the
shower again, because he had to meet up with the other guys soon so that
they could leave for the studio. He turned on the water, waiting for it to
warm up, and then turned the dial further, making the shower even hotter,
watching as the bathroom filled with steam.  He flinched when he got in the
shower, feeling the water sting his skin, almost scalding him, but he
needed it that way, needed to be clean. He could feel that stain under his
skin again, that dirty part of him, that thing that was wrong inside of
him, and he just wanted to scrub it away, scrub and scrub and scrub at it
until it was gone. He grabbed the washcloth and began to rub it harshly
over his skin, wincing, realizing that he was still tender from last night,
but he didn't care. He just wanted to be clean, to wash everything inside
him away.

He didn't know how long he was in the shower, just scrubbing, soaping up
the washcloth, and scrubbing again. His skin, pale and white, had reddened
angrily, and it tingled and stung beneath the water. His fingers were
wrinkled, and he had washed his hair three times, pulling roughly at it,
feeling his scalp burn as he gouged it with his short fingernails. He could
barely breathe in the steam, but he just kept washing and washing, trying
to wash away the memory of Howie's wide eyes, or his voice, crying into
Lance's phone. He jerked his head up, hearing someone pounding on his
bathroom door.

"Lansten! Yo, Lance!" Chris yelled through the door. "Out of the shower!
It's time to go!"

"I, I'm sorry, Chris," Lance said quickly, rinsing the soap off again. He
shut the water off. "I'll be right out, ok?"

"I'll be out in the courtyard," Chris said. "The other guys left already,
but you can ride with me."

"Yeah, ok, I'll be right out," Lance said, grabbing a towel.

Lance winced as the towel scraped over his skin. The soft terrycloth felt
like it was made of sandpaper. It rasped over his skin like a brillo pad,
but Lance kept drying himself. He flinched a little, but didn't stop. He
deserved to be in pain, because he caused so much pain to others. No sin
ever went unpunished, even if he had to punish himself. Combing his hair
quickly, he went to the bedroom and began to get dressed. Noticing that all
of his skin was pink, he realized that he must have scalded himself in the
shower.  His entire body felt like he had a sunburn, and he realized that
if the guys saw that his arms were all red, they'd be sure to ask, so he
pulled on a long sleeved shirt, feeling it scrape against him like the
towel had.

What was he doing to himself?

It didn't matter.

Chris was waiting for him out in the courtyard, sitting on one of the
lounge chairs, tossing his keys up in the air and catching them. When he
saw Lance, he grinned, his eyes dancing behind his odd yellow sunglasses,
but then it seemed to slip a little.

"Finally!" he said, walking toward the parking lot. "You get a little sun
or something, bud? Your head's a little pink."

"Yeah, something like that," Lance said quietly, looking away, hoping that
Chris would just drop it, and not push like he sometimes did. Lance knew
that Chris meant well, but sometimes he just kept asking and pushing, even
if it was clear you didn't want him to.

They got in the car and began driving toward the studio.

"So, I was a little surprised to see Howie here last night," Chris began,
grinning. "What's up with that?"

Lance looked over, trying to read Chris's face. He didn't seem angry, or
nosy. He was just smiling, like a buddy, like a friend just making small
talk. Lance shook his head, wondering why he would think that Chris was
anything else. Chris wasn't Justin, and never had been. Chris was his
friend. Lance would probably hurt him someday, too.

"Nothing," Lance answered evasively. "We just went to a movie."

"Really?" Chris asked, not seeming to notice the way Lance looked away.
"Because, you know, I could have sworn that you and Mr. Howie D went out to
dinner the night before, too."

"Yeah, we did," Lance answered, not wanting to talk about this, feeling
like he might start crying right there in Chris's Jeep.

"You two looked kind of, you know, chummy," Chris said, grinning. "I mean,
Howie looked damn happy to see you, and you looked pretty excited,
too. There anything going on that you want to share with the rest of the
class, Lance?"

"No," Lance answered.

"Come on, Scoop, are you sure?" Chris asked, grinning. "Are you sure there
isn't anything going on with you and Howie D? Because it would be great if
there was."

"No!" Lance burst, wondering why Chris couldn't have just left this alone.
"No, there isn't anything going on, ok? Nothing!"

Chris was staring at Lance, his mouth hanging open in shock, as Lance
struggled not to cry. Chris steered the Jeep into the parking lot of the
studio, parked it, and shut it off, unsure of what else he should do.

"Lance?" he asked quietly, wondering if he should put a hand on Lance's
shoulder. JC and Jack had warned him not to touch Lance if he was upset,
because he might be thinking about Justin, and it might just upset him
more, so Chris just sat uncomfortably in his seat, wishing he could
help. "Lance, I didn't mean to push. Are you ok?"

"I'm fine!" Lance said, wiping at his eyes with his shirtsleeve. He reached
for the door handle, and heard Chris hit the power locks, sealing them in
the car.

"Lance, did something, did Howie do something?" Chris asked quietly. If he
had, he'd drop Lance off, and then go find Howie and kill him. Lance had
been hurt enough while none of them had been paying attention, and he was
damned if he was going to let that happen again.

"No," Lance answered, reaching out for Chris's hand as he began to cry. Hot
tears, tears he had fought not to shed, began to leak from his eyes. "Howie
didn't do anything. I, I don't want to talk about it, Chris. I can't."

Chris squeezed Lance's hand.

"Lance, you can't hold it all inside, either," Chris said. "Lance, I'm here
for you. We're all here for you. Don't push us away."

"I'm sorry," Lance said, swiping at his eyes again. "I just, I, something
happened."

"Between you and Howie?" Chris asked, trying to put all this together. One
minute he'd been asking a simple question, and now he had Lance crying all
over his seats. "Lance, do you, um, do you like Howie?"

"Yes," Lance whispered.

"Does Howie not like you?" Chris asked, still holding Lance's hand. Chris
had only talked to Howie a few times, but he got a definite gay vibe off of
him.  Granted, he'd also heard Howie was into guys, but you heard things
about everyone. "Did he say something, or did you?"

"Chris, I just, I don't want to talk about it," Lance said, but then
started talking about it anyway. "He didn't say anything, but I, um, I hurt
him."

"And he's mad?" Chris asked. "He doesn't understand?"

"No, he's not mad," Lance answered, shaking his head. "But he doesn't
understand, and I don't want to hurt him any more."

Chris wasn't sure what he should say. He looked around the parking lot, and
saw Justin's Mercedes and Joey's Beamer, which Joey and Josh had ridden
over in. Checking the dashboard clock, he realized they only had a couple
more minutes before someone came out to look for them.

"Lance," Chris began, but then Lance looked up at him, his green eyes huge
suddenly.

"Chris, I, I need to tell you something," Lance whispered. "Chris, I'm
gay."

It was on the tip of Chris's tongue to say, "Yes, we know," but he realized
that they didn't know. They knew that Justin had humiliated and abused him,
and they knew exactly how, but never once had Lance actually said that he
was gay. They all just kind of assumed that he must be. Chris realized that
Lance must still be coming to terms with it, and that he might very well be
the first person Lance had told.

"Gay, Chris, I'm gay," Lance said, not pausing. "I'm a homosexual. I'm a
fairy. I'm, I'm bad."

"Whoa," Chris said, holding up his hands. "Whoa, Lance, you're not a fairy,
and there's nothing wrong with you. You're not bad, Lance."

"I am," Lance said, shaking his head. "I hurt people."

"What?" Chris asked. Lance wasn't capable of hurting a bug. He didn't even
step on spiders. "Lance, whatever you think you did, I'm sure it wasn't on
purpose, was it?"

"I hurt Jack and JC," Lance said, shaking his head.

"Lance, Jack and JC aren't mad at you for that," Chris said, shaking his
head as well.  "You know that. And you only did that because you were
confused, and because you were scared. You wouldn't go and hurt them now,
would you?"

"Not on purpose," Lance said, shaking his head.

"Exactly," Chris agreed. "And whatever happened between you and Howie, you
didn't do that on purpose either, did you?"

"No," Lance said, his tears finally leveling off.

"Maybe you should talk to him," Chris suggested, glad that Lance seemed to
be settling down.

"No, I can't!" Lance yelped, panicky. He couldn't talk to Howie, not now,
not after what he'd done. Why would Howie even want to talk to him?

"OK, ok, calm down!" Chris said quickly. "Lance, don't you have an
appointment with your doctor this afternoon?"

"Yes," Lance answered.

"Why don't you ask him what he thinks?" Chris suggested. The doctor was
much less likely to cause Lance permanent psychological harm than he
was. "Maybe, you know, maybe he'll even have a better idea."

"Yeah, maybe," Lance agreed, shrugging. "I, thank you, Chris. Thank you for
not hating me."

"Lance, I wouldn't ever hate you, not for anything," Chris said, shaking
his head. "I don't care if you're gay. It gives me a better shot at
groupies."

He grinned, but the best Lance could do was a weak chuckle. Hey, it was
better than nothing.

Lance followed Chris inside, where the other guys were already waiting.
Justin was standing off to the side, and barely looked up as they walked
in. Joey and Josh turned toward them.

"Geez, where were you guys?" Joey asked.

"Car trouble," Chris answered firmly, his tone daring any of them to
question him. They looked at Lance's face, obviously realizing that he had
been crying, and wisely let it drop.

They worked all morning, laying down vocals, singing the same lines over
and over, sometimes with the music, sometimes without. Sometimes all five
of them were in the room, and sometimes they were all in individual
rooms. They worked on the same song for the entire morning. It was one of
the ones that Josh was acting as producer for, and he was a notorious
perfectionist. Lance shook his head, smiling, thinking about it.
Everything in Josh's apartment was always just so, in its proper place, and
Lance wondered how Jack could possibly put up with it. Then again, that
must be what love is all about. It didn't help the guys any, though, when
Josh wanted them to sing this part again, or to hit this note a little
differently, or try it with just Chris and Joey singing it, or just Joey
and Lance this time.

They knew it would all be worth it, because he had done a damn good job on
the last album, but sometimes they just wanted to grab him and shake
him. Lance had never been so happy to break for lunch in his life when Josh
told them to grab their stuff and meet in the lobby. He started to walk
toward his dressing room, but Josh grabbed his sleeve.

"Lance, can I see you for a second before lunch?" Josh asked.

"Sure," Lance said, wondering what he'd done now. He knew he'd been a
little off today, but he had tried really hard not to let it get in the
way, and he didn't think anyone had noticed.

"Lance, I wanted to ask you something about lunch," Josh began, looking
down, shifting from foot to foot as if uncomfortable. Lance wondered what
was wrong. If they were all going to lunch together, why would he need to
see Lance separately? "I've been thinking about, um, about something that
Jack and I talked about, and I didn't want to do this without asking you
first, but I want to, you know, I want to ask Justin to come to lunch with
us."

Lance didn't say anything. He was too surprised to say anything, actually,
but Josh just kept babbling away, not sure how to interpret his silence.

"I mean, we did agree to let him stay in the band, and I know you don't
trust him, and I don't either, but we do have to be around him," Josh said
quickly. "I mean, we're gonna tour again, and we'll have to see him every
day, and if we're going to let him be in the group we're going to have to
be around him."

"I don't know," Lance began, looking away.

"And we're never going to be able to forgive him otherwise," Josh said
quietly. Lance jerked his head up in surprise. "I know that he hurt you,
and he hurt me, too, but Lance, once Justin was our friend. And if, you
know, if he really is sorry, if he really does regret what he's done, and
wants to make it right, we'll never know if we keep pushing him
away. Lance, you and I were both raised to forgive other people, and I know
it's hard, especially if someone hurts you, but I think we have to try. If
we don't, then we've not only let him hurt us, we've let him take away part
of who we are, and I don't want to give him that, too. He's taken too much
already."

Lance thought about this, and he knew that Josh was right, but it was still
hard for him to see Justin. He wanted to say yes, but the words wouldn't
seem to come out.

"Lance, I won't ask him if you don't want me to," Josh said quietly,
waiting. "I know Joey and Chris will go along with it if you and I are ok
with it, but I don't want to force you into anything you're not comfortable
with."

"OK," Lance answered quietly. "OK, you can ask him."

Justin agreed to go, visibly surprised that he'd been invited, and the five
of them had a quiet meal at a pizza place near the studio. The others
didn't really talk to him, but at least he was there. Lance found himself
from time to time glancing at Justin, but every time he looked at him he
just saw him in other ways. Justin's face might be neutral now, but Lance
only saw it as he had before, leering down from above him, smiling cruelly,
pushing his head down. Each time he thought of it he felt his lunch rising
up in him, and had to fight to keep it down. After lunch they all split up,
Joey leaving to take Josh to the airport, Justin going by himself to his
own car, and Chris driving Lance back to the apartments, so that he could
pick up his car and go to his appointment.

"Lance, are you ok?" Chris asked as they pulled in. "I mean, with Justin
being at lunch?"

"I think so," Lance said. "No one talks to him, Chris."

"To Justin?" Chris asked, surprised that Lance even cared. "I don't think
any of us know what to say."

"I know, but no one talks to him, and he doesn't talk to us, either," Lance
said, surprised himself that he cared. Did he still want to be Justin's
friend? Is that what he felt? "When he leaves, nobody says goodbye. No one
asks where he's going. It's like he's not even there."

"I guess that's good for you, though, right?" Chris asked uncertainly.

"I guess," Lance answered, getting out of the car.

"Call me if you need me, ok?" Chris called.

"Sure, thanks," Lance said, climbing into his own car.

As always, he felt better after his appointment, but also more confused.
They talked about the showers he had taken, and how it had made him feel to
hurt himself, and Lance agreed that he shouldn't do that. They talked for a
long time about what he had told Chris, and how he had felt about it. Lance
felt good knowing that his friends would accept him, and agreed that he
should tell the rest of them, but that he should do it when he felt
comfortable. Like everything else, it could wait. They also talked about
Howie, and what had happened, and how it was all tangled up with what had
happened with Justin. Dr. Centano had a way of dragging ideas out of Lance,
of making him come up with his own solutions, but Lance didn't want to act
on either one he thought up, even if he did agree that they were good
ideas.

The first was that he try to explain to Howie what had happened, and why he
had pushed him away. Lance realized while he was talking that he did care
about Howie, and that he could even be attracted to him. He knew that he
couldn't leave Howie thinking it had been his own fault somehow, but he was
afraid to tell him the rest. He was afraid that Howie would push him away
if he knew what Lance had let Justin do to him.  How could Howie want
someone who had been used like that? Why would Howie want someone who would
let that happen to him?

The other idea he had thought of was confronting Justin, telling Justin how
much he had hurt him, and demanding finally just to know why. Justin had
explained in front of everyone that he had been mad, and had wanted to hurt
Lance, and that it had just gone too far, but that wasn't what Lance wanted
to know. He wanted to know why Justin had picked that way to do it. Justin
could have gotten back at him in a thousand other ways, but why had he
picked that one? How had he known? Lance was too afraid to ask him,
though. He wasn't afraid of Justin's answer, whatever it might be. He was
more afraid that once he was in a room with Justin, alone with Justin, that
this pretense of being sorry, that this whole act that Justin was putting
on, would all just fall away. He was afraid that if he was alone with
Justin, Justin would do it again.

And Lance was most afraid that he would still like it.

That was how he had ended his day on Friday. He had come home from his
appointment, eaten dinner, and then curled up on his bed, wishing it would
all go away.  The phone had rung a few times, but he switched it off,
refusing to listen. He just lay on his bed, staring at the wall, trying not
to think about anything while thoughts of everything ran through his brain
like a freight train. Every time he shut them out, they just kept barreling
through, playing behind his eyes like a movie. When he opened his eyes,
they went away, and he was left staring at the bedroom wall.

When he woke up on Saturday morning, he was still watching the wall. He got
up at midday, took a shower, and ate lunch, but then went back to the bed,
to curl up again, and try not to think anymore. It began to get dark out,
and finally he rolled over and looked at the nightstand. Still lying where
he left them was the strip of pictures, of him and Howie.  He thought again
about how happy they looked, how excited, how together.  Even if he had
nothing else when this was over, he'd still have that, still have that one
night when everything was ok. Next to the pictures was his phone, and Lance
reached over and picked it up. Switching it on, he saw that there were two
messages.

The first message was from Jack and Josh.

"Hey Lance, it's Jack, and that's Josh you hear yelling behind me. It's
lunchtime here, so I'm betting you're not even up yet, or else you're
watching cartoons or something.  Anyway, Josh said you looked kind of down
yesterday, and I just wanted to call and make sure you were ok, and let you
know that you can call me if you need anything. Josh is gonna be back
tomorrow, but I won't be back until Wednesday. Please call either one of us
if you need us, and, I guess I hope you were just having an off day or
something, ok? I miss you. Bye!"

Lance smiled. He missed them, too, even if they were being excessively
concerned and overprotective. He should have asked Dr. Centano how to get
his friends to back off, but he didn't want to appear ungrateful for all
the help they'd given him.

The second message was from Howie. His voice was very low, and quiet, but
at least he didn't sound like he was crying.

"Lance, it's Howie again. I know you didn't call me back, and you probably
don't want to talk to me, but I hope you can at least listen to this
message before you hang up or erase it. I wanted to call again and say that
I'm sorry I tried to kiss you the other night.  I'm sorry I misread you,
and that I let myself hope that I saw something that wasn't really there. I
just wanted to say, too, though, that I really have enjoyed spending time
with you, and I would really enjoy being your friend, if you'd still let
me. I understand if you don't want to, or if that would make you feel
weird, or if you don't feel comfortable around me anymore. I just really
felt like we had this, like, bond, like we were close, and I'm sorry that I
made a mistake and got in the way of that. If you want to call me back,
please do. If not, I at least want to thank you for listening to all of
this, and for being my friend, even if it only was for a little while. I'm
sorry, again, and good bye."

Lance didn't realize that he was crying until he took the phone away from
his ear. The message had only been sent a half hour ago, and Lance wondered
if Howie had stayed up rehearsing it, trying to figure out what to
say. Lance felt something inside himself breaking, felt something letting
go, as he realized that Howie thought it was something he had done, and was
blaming himself. Not only that, but Howie felt something.  Howie felt
something with him, and had hoped that Lance felt it, too. His fingers
trembling, Lance dialed Howie's number, and waited, his heart pounding.

"Hello? This is Howie."

"Howie, it's Lance," he said quickly, pushing the words out. "I need to
talk to you."

"Lance, I've been waiting, I've been hoping you'd call," Howie said. "I'm
sorry, Lance, I'm so, so sorry. I just."

Lance cut him off. If Howie kept talking, he'd never be able to say
anything.

"Howie, I need to talk to you in person," Lance said. "I want to, um, I
want to see you. Is there someplace we can meet?"

Howie sighed.

"Do you want to come over here?" Howie asked. "If you don't, we could meet
at the restaurant downstairs, or anywhere else. It doesn't matter to me."

"No, I'll," Lance began, and something caught in his throat. "I'll come
over there. Right now."

"OK," Howie said.

Lance hung up the phone and grabbed his car keys.

***

More to come soon. Like tomorrow, actually.