Date: Sat, 22 Apr 2000 21:10:07 EDT
From: Lauren2993@aol.com
Subject: Lucky Me Part Eleven

Hello again, all.  Thanks for waiting for yet another one.  Let me just
tell you, there will ALWAYS be another installment.  For a long long time
now.  Lucky Me isn't gonna be over for a long time.  So, always be aware
there IS another installment coming.  Okay, thanks where it's due.  This
has nothing to do with anyone mentioned herein.  If you don't want to read
this stuff, then leave.  I love you all.  And now, without further ado
. . .on with the show.

Lucky Me -11-

I took a step forward.  My voice was barely a hoarse whisper.  "You're
what?"

Lance's soft green eyes met mine.  "We're leaving tomorrow."

"I don't . . .but it's only Tuesday.  I thought--"

"Jerry said they had to change some tour dates around, so they need us in
Denver tomorrow instead of Sunday."

I wasn't absorbing this.  I didn't want to absorb this.  I turned around
and headed for the front door.  "No, I can't do this.  This . . .no, I
can't . . ."

"LUKE, WAIT!"  I heard Lance's footsteps running behind me, and his hand
was on my shoulder, stopping me from leaving, turning me around to look at
him.  "Luke, please don't run away from this.  I hate this as much as you
do.  It sucks; I *know*.  And I wish it wasn't happening, but *please*
don't run away from me.  I need you."  He seemed frantic.  In the week and
a half we'd known each other, he already understood me enough to know that
I'd want nothing more than to get out of this situation when it happened.
His eyes were rushing over my face, begging me not to leave him.

I sighed and knew I wouldn't go anywhere.  "Lance, it's . . .I . . ."  For
the first time in a long time, I couldn't verbalize what was going through
my head.  All I could do was look into those green pools and try to find
some sort of escape.

"It's gonna be okay," he reassured me.  "It's not gonna be so long until we
see each other again.  Yeah, we'll have to spend Christmas and New Year's
apart, and then we tour for a while, but we've got a two week break at the
end of February, or early March, and that's not too far away when you think
about it.  Besides, you have to get things settled here, and that'll take
some time."

I nodded, but it occurred to me that he was only talking to cover the
silence.  "Yeah," I agreed half-heartedly, "it's not so bad."  Maybe if I
kept telling myself that I'd believe it.  Then there it was, the silence.
For a few minutes, it overwhelmed us, and no one said anything.  I became
aware that they were all looking at us with sympathetic eyes.

"What time is our flight tomorrow, Lance?" JC asked gently.

"Nine in the morning," he answered.  "A limo's gonna pick y'all up here.
You too Joey.  I told Jare I had a ride to the airport."  He looked at me.
"I do, right?"

"Of course you do," I smiled weakly.  "You can't get rid of me that
easily."

We disbanded soon after that.  No one said much; even in the car Lance and
I just held hands--no words were exchanged at all.  We dragged ourselves in
the house and stood in his hallway.

There was a thick silence.  "God, this sucks," he whispered.

"That's the understatement of the year," I muttered as I took him into my
arms.

He took a deep breath.  "Do we really have to break up?  Couldn't we just
have . . .a long distance relationship."

I hugged him a little tighter.  "I think it might kill me to be with you
and without you at the same time."  At that moment the ring became heavier
on my finger.  "It's not like we'll never see each other again, Lance.
That's what the ring's for, sweetheart.  Remember?"  He nodded against my
chest.  "This is just a temporary thing.  Just for a few months, and then,
when I get things settled here, and when you've got a break, we'll figure
something out."

"But what?"  He sounded on the verge of crying.  "What will we figure out,
Luke, what?"

"Something.  *Anything*," I strained.  "I promise."  I looked straight into
his eyes.  "I promise I'll find a way for us to be together if it's the
last thing I *ever* do.  I promise."  We simultaneously leaned into a soft
kiss--unrelenting in its confession of love.  But through that kiss, I felt
something--something off-balance, and directly thereafter, I felt Lance's
hot tears drip onto my own cheeks.  I pulled away slowly, so I didn't
startle him, and whispered, "Sweetheart?  What is it?"

His tears became more forceful, and the noisy gasps that always came with
true crying escaped his throat.  "I'm so sorry, Luke," he sobbed.  "This is
all my fault."

I furrowed my eyebrows and held him tighter.  "How, darling?  How is this
your fault?"

"Because of the group," he sniffed.  "Because it's my job, and I have no
choice but to go, and it's my fault I have to leave you."

"Oh god, Lance, no.  It's no more your fault that you have to leave, than
it is mine that I have to stay.  It's not my fault Jason kicked me out.
It's not my fault my mother died, or that I have to take care of all the
paper work.  It's not my fault I have to get my life back together again.
And it's not *your* fault that you have a life that takes you places.
You're doing what you love, and I would never ask you to give that up.
Ever.  Okay, sweetie?  It's not your fault--it's just . . .the way it
happened.  Alright?"

He nodded.  "I love you so much," he whispered.

"I love you, too," I whispered right back.  "Should you pack or something?"

"No," he replied softly.

"Why not?"

"I don't want to.  It will take me like fifteen minutes, and right now,
that would mean fifteen minutes when I wasn't in your arms, and I'm not
willing to let that happen tonight.  I'm spending as much time near you as
humanly possible.  And I'm not gonna let a stupid thing like packing stand
in the way of that."

I smiled.  "No argument from me."  We stood there for several minutes.  In
each other's arms.  Not moving--not feeling it necessary to.  We didn't
talk, nothing was said, but we both started crying again.  Not sobbing,
just tears methodically making their quiet ways down our faces and dripping
onto the other's shoulder.  No gasping for air.  No need to wipe the tears
away.  It was beautiful.

We made our way upstairs, but we managed not to let go of each other.  We
lay down on his bed.  We didn't turn down the covers.  We didn't even get
undressed.  Such small details seemed silly.  The unwiped tears were drying
on our faces and weren't joined by any others.  We held each other all
night.  No move to go further was made.  There were a million things that
could have been said, but not one that needed to be.  He understood me, and
I understood him, and we didn't need such things as words to convey
feelings that so clearly went beyond that insufficient form of
communication.

And I somehow felt contented.  And I knew he did to.  Not happy, mind you,
but contented--able to live with the situation as it was.  We both felt
like the most important thing was to move on with the next few months so
the day we could be together again would finally come.  I pulled him a
little closer to me, and he pulled me a little closer to him, and we fell
asleep on top of the covers with our clothes on.

When I woke, I knew he was awake as well.  We hadn't moved at all during
the night and were still exactly as we had fallen asleep.  "What time is
it?" I whispered.

"Seven," he replied.

"We should probably get goin', huh?" "Yeah, probably."  Neither of us
moved.

"Do you want me to help you pack?" I asked him.

"Nah," he yawned, "it won't take long, and besides, you've got to get your
stuff together, too.  I mean, I assume you do.  I mean . . .you--uh . . ."
He didn't really know how to ask it.

I chuckled.  "Yes, Lance, I do have somewhere to live, now.  I inherited
her house when she died."

He exhaled.  "Just makin' sure."

"You're adorable," I grinned.

He smiled.  "Yeah, I know."

There were a few seconds of silence.  "Come on," I relented.  "We can't
avoid this by staying in bed all day."

"We can try."

"No, no.  I will not be held responsible for kidnapping an NSync member.
I'm already responsible for breaking your ankle."

He looked at me sharply.  "My ankle's fine, and it was not your fault."

"Yes it was."

"No, it wasn't."

I grinned at him.  "You're a little bitch."

"You're a big bitch."

I shoved him off the bed with my feet.  "I'm gonna go pack."

"So am I," he mumbled from the floor.

"Fine."

"Fine."  He was giggling as I walked out of the room, and I made every
effort to emblazon that sound into my mind.  I walked into the guest room
and just stared at that damn leather suitcase lying on the floor next to
the bed.  No matter how much I knew I had to pack, not that I had unpacked
much to begin with, I just couldn't bring myself to pick that suitcase up,
put it on the bed, and start putting things in it.  I just couldn't do it.
So instead, I had a shower.  But when I got out, the packing still needed
to be done.  And even when I'd finished brushing my hair and my teeth, and
smoothing out my clothes, and just generally stalling, the packing still
needed to be done.  Damn packing.

Finally, I sighed and picked up the suitcase, putting it on the bed.  I
took everything I had in the bathroom and threw it in, then I picked up the
various clothes on the floor and tossed them in as well.  Doing a final
double check, I decided I had everything and zipped up the case.  I walked
to the open door, but turned around to face the room before I walked
through it.  "Bye," I whispered.  "I really hope I see you again some
time."

I closed the door to the guest room, and I had to keep reminding myself
that I wasn't closing the door to that part of my life along with it.  The
ring.  I had to remember the ring.  I set the case down and looked down at
it, shining on my left hand.  Lance had given it to me.  It meant we loved
each other.  It meant that he wanted to be with me, just like I wanted to
be with him.  I smiled to myself and looked up to see Lance hobbling down
the stairs with two huge suitcases.  I took them from him and set them
down.

"Thanks," he breathed.

"Got enough stuff there?"

"I'm not sure," he frowned.  "This part of the tour is a lot longer than
the last part, and I'm just not sure if I packed enough.  Management
doesn't like us to wear the same thing in a month span, and we don't get
much of a chance to do laundry."  He mulled it over while staring at his
suitcases.  "Ah well, I can always go shopping, right?"

I nodded, dazed.  I realized I had no idea what his life on the road was
like.  It seemed like a whole different world from the little I'd heard
about it.  I furrowed my eyebrows.  "They don't let you wear the same thing
in a month?  Isn't that kind of harsh?"

"Kinda, I guess.  But anything's better than BMG and Lou Pearlman.  God,
that man is one of the biggest shits I've ever known.  And what's worse, we
believed in him and trusted him and did everything he said for over four
years."  He shook his head in disgust.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not right now.  Later.  Right now, I . . .I . . ."  His chin began to
tremble.

I folded my arms around him.  "Shh, sweetheart, it's alright."  I heard him
gasp against my chest.  "Look," I said rather sternly, "crying's not gonna
fix anything."  I'm not sure if I was telling him or myself.  "We're both
strong people when you get right down to it, Lance.  You were strong for me
when I needed you to be, and I was strong for you when you needed me.  We
can do this, okay?  It's gonna be alright.  I promise."

He nodded as he wiped his eyes and pulled away from me.  "Sorry," he
whispered.

"Don't be sorry.  If I wasn't so busy being sad, I'd be crying myself."  I
actually had to bite my bottom lip to keep from doing just that.  "Come
on," I said as I picked up my suitcase and one of his, "let's get outta
here before we change our minds."

"Too late," he mumbled, locking the door.  He threw his second bag in the
back with mine and his other one, and we were on our way to the airport.
We didn't talk on the way, and even when we'd parked and were walking to
the "celebrity lounge" we didn't say anything.  Apparently, Jive Records
had bought out an entire first class section of a flight to Denver just for
the five of them--making their life even less understandable to me.  But, I
didn't bring it up.  From what I gathered, the guys waited in a lounge
until it was time for them to board, and then they took off running for
their gate--to avoid screaming fans who inevitably knew about their flight.

We got to the lounge without much difficulty, and once we got there, Lance
took my hand when we'd stepped inside the doorway.  Glancing around
quickly, I saw there were three men standing in the room that I didn't
know--two of whom looked particularly uninviting.  I looked to Lance with
hesitant eyes, but he whispered, "It's okay."

"But what about . . ." I whispered, gesturing to the three strangers.

"Who?  Jerry, Mike, and Tony?  They'll find out soon enough anyway."  He
held my hand tightly and led me further into the room.  We walked up to
where the guys were sitting, and I smiled when Justin moved so Lance and I
could sit together on the couch.  It was a nice gesture, but I couldn't
forget how cold he'd been to Lance, so I just smiled weakly at him in a
feeble signal of thanks.

The guys were talking about . . .oh, something.  I wasn't paying much
attention to tell you the truth.  I guess I was wrapped up in my little
dream world, as tends to happen when I'm somewhere I'd rather not be.  Not
that I didn't want to be with Lance, I did.  Just not with Lance at the
airport waiting to say goodbye to him for 3 months.

I was roused out of my stupor when Lance nudged me and guided my attention
towards the only stranger in the room who wasn't menacing.  "This is Jerry,
our manager," Lance said gesturing towards the middle-aged, fair-skinned
man standing beside the couch.  Lance and I stood up to greet him.  I stuck
out my hand to shake Jerry's, and I was just about to introduce myself when
Lance said, "Jare, this is my boyfriend, Luke."

I almost fell over.  Had he actually said that?  Had those words just come
out of his mouth?  Yes, they had.  But I was still managing to keep my
composure, and I shook Jerry's hand without having a heart attack.  Jerry
didn't seem phased at all, though I couldn't help but see some glint of
disapproval in his eyes.  But it may have just been shoddy airport
lighting.

Still, the introduction went off without a very noticeable glitch, and my
attention turned towards the two scary men standing nearby.  Lance noticed
this.  "Luke, this is Mike," Lance said, pointing to another fair-skinned
man, only a little more built than me, "and this is Tony."  My gaze swung
over to this huge black man, and I gotta tell you, I was more than a little
intimidated.  I couldn't help but picture Tony squishing me like a little
bug.  Lance laughed at me.  "They're our body guards," he chuckled, "but
they're really nice guys.  They won't hurt you unless you try to hurt us."
He looked at me sincerely, "And I know you wouldn't do that."

There was a nice mushy moment between Lance and I then, and I'm sure it
made everyone else in the room uncomfortable because they all looked away.
But, frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.

A thought seemed to occur to Lance.  "Can I have your phone number?  To the
house, I mean." he whispered.  "I just realized I don't have a way to get
in touch with you."

I furrowed my eyebrows.  "I, uh . . .well . . ."

"What?" he asked, hurriedly.

"No, no, nothing.  It's just that . . .I'm not going to really be living at
the house very long."

"Why not?"

I sighed.  "I . . .I don't want to.  I can't live there.  I just know I
can't.  I'll probably get an apartment."  Though how in the world I'd pay
for it, I had no idea.  "But I have a laptop.  I mean, I have an e-mail
address.  My laptop's at Jason's.  I'm gonna have to go there and get the
rest of my stuff."  Lance did not look happy with this idea.  "Lance, I
have to go.  I can't just leave my stuff there, can I?"

He shook his head slowly.  "No, I guess you can't, but I just don't like
the idea of you in the same house with him.  I . . .it scares me."

It scared me too.  "I'll be okay, Lance.  It'll be fine.  I handled Jason
for a year, and I can do it for one more day."  But, god, I didn't want to.

"I know.  I just don't like it."

Neither did I.  "It'll be okay, Lance.  I promise."  I'd just made a
promise I wasn't sure I could keep, and it bothered me.

"Well, give me your e-mail address then, and I'll e-mail you every chance I
get."

I took a napkin off the snack table and picked up the pen that sat beside
the cross-word someone'd been doing, and I write down my address.  "Can I
have yours too?" I asked.

"Uhm . . ."  Lance glanced towards Jerry as he slipped the napkin into his
pocket.  "He doesn't like us doing that.  Our accounts are supposed to be
just for management and family.  But . . .look, I'll e-mail you first, and
then you can get it from that . . .okay?  I just don't want him finding out
I gave it to you."

I furrowed my eyebrows.  There it was again--that uncomfortable feeling
that he had a life completely separate from me.  And I knew he did, but
right in that second, I was terrified that I didn't belong in that life.
Right then, I became so scared that his tour life was something I couldn't
fit into.  Maybe even something he didn't want me to fit into.  But before
I could say anything, or even reassure myself that I was being stupid,
Jerry pulled Lance out of his seat and began dragging him towards the door.
"Come on, Lance," he said, "it's time to go."

I stood up in the whirlwind created by Lance's being yanked away from me.
"Just a second," Lance hissed sharply and jerked away from Jerry.  "Just a
goddamn second, okay?"  Lance's eyes were glowing with intensity as he
stared Jerry down and took the few steps needed to close the gap between
us.  "Sorry," he whispered, "Jerry can get a little overbearing at times."

"I'll say," I muttered.  "Lance, I . . .I'm scared."  My voice trembled.

He searched my eyes frantically.  "Of what?  Scared of what?"

I fought to control my tears.  "I'm scared I'll never see you again."

He immediately grabbed me into a tight hug.  "Don't say that.  Of course
you will.  Of course we'll see each other again.  Don't talk that way."  He
pulled away and looked me right in my eyes.  "I love you.  Do you
understand that?  I love you with everything I have.  I will always love
you.  And when we can't be together, every second of my life will be
consumed with wishing you were there with me."  He rested his forehead
against mine.  "I love you.  Please believe that."

"I do believe it.  I'll try."  I looked into his eyes.  "I love you too."
Now I knew that he wanted to see me again, that he wanted to be together
again, but I just couldn't get it out of my mind that it would never
happen.  I didn't cry.  I wanted to, but I didn't.  That would only have
made it harder for him.

JC's face appeared unobtrusively into our plane of vision.  "We really do
have to go," he whispered.  Lance and I nodded and muttered a weak `okay,'
and JC stepped away.

Lance and I broke from our embrace, and I walked to where the rest of the
guys were standing.  I hugged them one by one.  Each one said how glad he
was that they'd gotten a chance to know me, and how much they were looking
forward to seeing me again as soon as possible.  I smiled--I think it was
that moment that drove home the idea that I finally had friends.  Then I
got to Justin.  I didn't feel comfortable hugging him, not with what he
did, so I shook his hand.

He sighed.  "Luke, please don't be mad at me.  I screwed up.  I already
apologized."

"I know you did, Justin.  And I'm not mad.  Not really.  I haven't known
you for five years like Lance has.  I'm not mad," I reassuringly put my
hand on his shoulder.  "I just need some time.  You understand?"

He nodded and looked at the floor.  I almost felt compelled to hug him
then, but I fought that urge.  I wasn't going to forgive him right away--it
just wasn't going to happen.

Then came Lance.  I stood face to face with him--this was it.  Lance pulled
me into a kiss, which I returned whole-heartedly.  We rested in the silence
for mere seconds, and then Lance said, "I'll see you in a few months."

"Okay," I whispered.

"And I'll e-mail you."

"Okay.  And when I get a permanent place, I'll give you the number."

He nodded.  He didn't say goodbye, and to this day I love him for it.  He
didn't say goodbye.  "So long," he smiled.

I returned his smile.  "So long."  And he was gone.  They all ran out of
the lounge and darted for their gate.  I couldn't help myself--I ran after
them.  They didn't see me; I didn't want them to, and I put enough distance
between them and me that it didn't look like I was running after them.  It
just looked like I was running--like I was late for a flight.  I don't know
why I did it, I just did.  I watched them get on the plane, and I watched
the plane take off, and then there was nothing else to watch.

I sat in the now empty chairs next to the gate and engaged in a mental
conversation with myself.  `Do you have any idea what just happened here?
You just said goodbye to Lance Bass.  And you know what else?  He's your
boyfriend.  He *was* your boyfriend.  But he's going to be again.  Sure,
it's in a few months, but it's going to happen.'  I tried so hard to
reassure myself that he and I would be together again.  If we both wanted
it badly enough, it would happen, wouldn't it?  I looked down at the ring
adorning my left hand and smiled.  And that moment, frozen in time, I
scolded myself for doubting it.  Lance and I loved each other, and however
fantastic that seemed, it was real.  But he had a life that was calling him
back into his working world, and I had to accept that.  Deep down, really
deep down, past the doubt and past the hurt and past my whole concept of
reality--past all that, I knew that it would happen again.  I knew it would
because I knew it had to.  It seemed inevitable.  That moment melted, and I
realized I was sitting, alone, in an empty airport waiting room, and I
probably looked stupid, so I got up and started the walk back to my car.

My trudge back to the car was a bit . . .unreal.  I kept expecting to wake
up from this dream I'd been having.  My life had gone on hiatus for a week
and a half, and now I had to go back and live it again.  I almost didn't
believe it.  It was Wednesday--two days until my appointment with Ave, and
once that happened, I'd have a better handle on how much money I actually
possessed, so I'd know what kind of apartment I'd be able to afford, and
for how long I'd be able to afford it.

Once I got into my car, I realized I didn't really have anywhere to go
other than the house.  I was reluctant to call it my house.  It wasn't
going to be my house.  I didn't want it to be my house.  But, nonetheless,
that's where I had to go.  What other choice did I have?

The car was eerily silent.  There was no resonating bass voice in the next
seat.  There was no adorable, yet somehow masculine giggle.  There were no
long, slender fingers to intertwine themselves with mine.  I was alone.  I
was alone in that car.  And it didn't feel good at all.  I drove as fast as
I could to the house, but once I'd unlocked the door with the key under the
mat and stepped inside, I realized I was alone there, too.

I couldn't escape it this time.  I couldn't run away from what was
troubling me.  I couldn't get out.  It terrified me, but I caught myself
before I had the panic attack.  "Luke, get out of here," I told myself.
"Turn around right now and get the fuck out of here."  And that's exactly
what I attempted to do.  I turned a sharp about face and began to head for
my car, but I caught myself in the doorway.

`You can't do this,' I thought to myself.  `You can't just run away from
everything that upsets you.'  But I've been doing it my whole life.  `Well,
it's time to stop.  You had a life before Lance, and you'll have a life now
that he's gone for a little while.'  But it's so different now.  `Different
isn't necessarily bad.'  But it's scary.  `You've dealt with scary things
before.'  I know. I know.  `And you can do it again.'  But I don't want to.
`That doesn't matter.'  I know.

So I turned around.  I walked back into the house, and I shut the door
behind me.  I was here.  I was here, and however much I didn't want to be,
or didn't like it, I was.  And I didn't have another choice at the moment.
So, I picked up my suitcase and headed up the stairs towards my old room.
I stopped right outside the door and took a breath, but I wasn't going to
stop myself.  Not this time.  This time I was going to be strong.  This
time I was going to overcome what was hard for me.  This time I'd beat it.
So I practically threw open the door to my old room and stepped inside.

It was like stepping into the past.  Everything was exactly the way it'd
been left.  And I'm not talking about the same colors or anything, I mean
exactly the same.  That day she'd kicked me out, my bed had been unmade.
It was unmade now.  The closet door had been standing open when I left.  It
was standing open now.  Jason's picture was even still lying on the bed,
where I'd forgotten it in my frenzy to leave.  The air was musty, stale,
and I realized she must have never come back into my room after I left.
Not once did she come in here.  She'd cleaned out my father's study, but
she hadn't even set foot in here.  And I wondered why.  I wondered what
made it different in her mind.  But I decided I was better off not knowing.

I went into the closet first.  I was in such a hurry to get out that day,
when I'd packed I just grabbed things from the closet.  I'd left a few
clothes still hanging there, and there they still hung--in the exact same
way as when I'd left.  I tore them from their hangers and threw them onto
the chair, just outside the closet.  I shut the closet door firmly behind
me, making sure it wasn't going to reopen.

I went to the bed next.  I picked up Jason's picture and ripped it into
four equal pieces, depositing it in the trash can.  I smoothed out the
sheets, tucked them in harder at the corners, and put the pillows on top of
the comforter.  I looked at the new bed, satisfied, but I could feel
Jason's ripped picture staring at me from the trash can, so I took it out
and took it into the bathroom where I flushed him down the toilet.

I looked around the bathroom.  Rather unoffending, but I rearranged the
things on the counter, and pushed the shower curtain to the other side of
the shower just to make it different.  Now everything was alright.  Now
everything was just different enough so that I didn't feel intimidated by
it anymore.  Now I could live here, not long term, mind you, but just long
enough.  Long enough to find an apartment.  That's all I'd need.

I went into every room and rearranged things.  Not as hardcore as I had in
my room, but just enough to make everything different.  Just enough to make
everything livable.  After I'd fixed everything, it was late
afternoon--it's a big house, and I took my time with it.  I realized, then,
that I hadn't eaten all day, and I hoped there was some food in the
refrigerator--partly because I was so hungry, and partly because I had no
cash at the moment, and if there wasn't any food, then I'd have to stay
hungry.  I'd have to go to the bank soon, I was running low on gas.

Thankfully, though, there was food.  And I spent the rest of the night in
front of the TV until I got too tired to keep my eyes open.  I then made my
way up to my old, but livable, room.  And I slipped into my former, but
remade, bed.  And I slept in that house for the first time in over a
year--the same, but reformed.

To Be Continued . . .

It's short, I know, and I intended to make it longer, but it just seemed
like a good stopping place.  I was having trouble deciding where to end it
anyway, and when I typed those last lines, I just knew it had to be there.
Well anyway . . .as always, comments are always enjoyed and STRONGLY
encouraged at Lauren2993@aol.com.  I love you all -Lauren