Date: Thu, 07 Feb 2002 17:15:49 -0500 From: Writer Boy Subject: jc's hitchhiker - part 61 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. This season would not have happened if not for a discussion I had with Clive, who is generous enough to cohost this story on his site. Stop and tell him hello at www.authorclive.co.uk. That said, back to the show. ***Justin*** I knew Howie was upset, but I didn't see the punch coming. I should have thought of it, since I'd sucker punched Lance in anger that time and almost broken his nose, but somehow getting popped is always a surprise. Since Howie is shorter than me, it was more of an upward punch than a straight head on blow, and I felt it scrape painfully across my cheekbone as my head rocked back. I don't know where Howie learned to fight, but he put in a quick jab to my stomach, knocking the wind out of me as I doubled over in pain, trying to back away from him. "You son of a bitch!" Howie screamed, swinging again. I stepped back, and my feet tangled in my chair somehow, spilling me to the floor. Howie kicked me in the side, twice, as I tried to roll away. "Stop it!" Chris yelled, grabbing his arm. Lance stood frozen, watching, and I curled into a ball in pain, trying to protect myself, as I felt Howie kick me squarely in the back. Chris was trying to push him away, and Josh, who had been standing in the doorway, his mouth gaping open in shock, grabbed Howie from behind, pulling him back. Howie struggled against both of them, yelling obscenities, trying to get close enough to hit me again. I couldn't get any air back into my lungs, and couldn't seem to pull myself off the floor to try to defend myself, either. Howie elbowed Chris in the stomach, hard, and Chris let him go even as Howie somehow squirmed out of Josh's grip. He lunged for me as Josh lunged for him, catching a handful of his shirt, and then Lance stepped in front of me, blocking me. "Stop it," Lance said quietly. "I won't let you hit Justin again, Howie." "What are you doing?" Howie screamed at him, his face flushed, his hair wild. Chris and Josh stood on either side of him, ready to grab him again. "What are you doing, after what he did Lance, after what he did to you?" "Howie, I know how you feel," Chris began, as Lance fumbled for an answer. Howie spun toward him. "You don't know how I feel!" Howie screamed as I rolled over, staring up at them, one hand clutching my face. I felt blood on my fingers, but was afraid to move my hand and see how bad it was. "You don't know what he did!" Lance's eyes were filling with tears, and I saw Chris's jaw working soundlessly as he groped for an answer, for something to say to Howie that would make this all ok. Suddenly realization blossomed across Howie's face. "You knew," he said quietly. Chris looked away, and Howie glanced at Josh, who was also looking guiltily at the floor. "You all knew! You knew what he did, and no one said anything? No one did anything?" "It wasn't like that," Chris began. "We didn't find out until later," Josh said at the same time. "You knew what he did!" Howie screamed, and both of them flinched away. "You knew!" "Howie, I'm sorry," I said from the floor, starting to get up. My ribs and back were throbbing where he had kicked me, and my face was burning, radiating pain. Howie lunged toward me again, and Lance put his hands on Howie's chest and shoved him backwards. Howie stared at him in shock, and then looked back down at me. "Get out," he said. "This is my house, Howie," Lance said coldly. "I decide who leaves." "Lance, how can you, after what he did, how can you not hate him?" Howie asked, staring at him. "After what he did to you? After what he did to us? How can you even be in the same room as him?" "Howie, there are things you don't know," Lance said, shaking his head. He looked oddly calm, much calmer than I was. My heart was racing, and I realized that blood was oozing out between my fingers as I pressed my hand to my cheekbone. I glanced at Howie's hand, saw a ring glinting, and realized that he must have hit me with that. "Howie, I know you're upset, but you need to calm down, and we can talk about this." "What's to talk about?" Howie asked, stepping away from Lance. "He hurt you, and you never told me. You never told me it was him. Didn't you trust me?" "Howie, I trust you more than anyone," Lance said, stepping toward him, putting a hand on his arm. Howie twisted away, stepping back again, and I saw Lance's face crack. "Not as much as you trust these guys," Howie spat. He glanced down at me. "You don't even trust me as much as you do him. He fucked up your head, Lance. It's his fault, and what do you do? You hang out with him every day! You work with him! You invite him over to dinner, all of you, and you all pretend it didn't happen!" "Howie, please just listen to me," Lance said, his voice shaking. Chris and Josh had been standing at Howie's sides, watching everyone. "Howie, you don't know the whole story," Chris said sharply. Howie turned toward him. "I know enough!" Howie snapped, turning toward the door. Tears began to roll down Lance's face, and Chris grabbed Howie's arm. You didn't mess with Chris when he was going into full out protective mode. He didn't let any of us get hurt if he could help it, and he wasn't going to let Howie do this to Lance. "No, you don't," Chris said harshly, slamming Howie's back against the wall. He leaned in. "Listen carefully to me, Howie Dorough. Right now, you're pissed at Justin, because of what he did when he was fucked in the head and not dealing well with his own issues, much less anyone else's. You're pissed at the rest of us, because we all knew about it and none of us have told you because we didn't want to intrude on yours and Lance's relationship. And you're pissed at Lance, because he didn't trust you with something that he couldn't even tell us until weeks after it happened. Am I right so far?" "Yeah," Howie answered grudgingly, relaxing a little. Chris let him down off the wall, and I saw that he had actually lifted Howie off of the floor when he slammed him up there. "Good," Chris said. "Be pissed, be angry, but don't be stupid, Howie. You and Lance have gone through more to get where you are than anyone else I know. Whatever Lance didn't tell you, he had reasons for keeping to himself, and if you walk out of here right now, I don't think you're ever going to hear them. If you love Lance as much as you keep telling him you do, then you two need to go somewhere, right now, and talk this through. And when it's all done, if you're still pissed at us, fine. If you still hate Justin as much as you do right now, fine. Just do it with the whole story, and do it for the right reasons." There was a second when no one said anything. Chris and Howie's eyes were still locked together, sparks practically flying between them. Josh was still watching them, standing against the wall, his face almost as white as his t-shirt. Lance was still looking achingly at Howie, tears trickling down his cheeks as he waited to see what Howie would do next. I was still on the floor, pressed back against a cabinet with my legs out, holding my wounded face, feeling blood smear all of my fingers and my side and back still throbbing painfully where Howie had kicked me, and I was realizing that this was all my fault. Lance had told me that he forgave me, and maybe he really had, but what I had done was still hurting him, even now, months later. What I had done was still coming in between him and Howie, and if they broke up over this, that would be my fault, too. "Fine," Howie said, turning away from Chris. He stared at Lance, both of them looking like they wanted to reach out for the other, but neither seemed sure of what to do next, or what to say. "Why don't you two go upstairs or something, and the rest of us will clear out," Chris suggested. "OK," Lance said, and Howie nodded. The two of them walked quietly out of the kitchen, side by side but not touching, and I heard them treading heavily up the stairs. Josh and Chris turned back toward me, finally. Both their eyes widened, bulging comically out of their faces, and Chris dropped to his knees as Josh grabbed the countertop, going even whiter than he already was. "Oh, shit," Chris breathed, staring at my face. "JC, towel! Now!" Josh fumbled across the counter for a towel, his eyes wide. I pulled my hand away from my face to stare at my fingers, and saw that my entire palm was red. My fingers were coated with blood, and it was running down my wrist. On the edge of my vision little black dots began to dance, and Chris slapped the other side of my face, startling me back to reality. "No passing out!" Chris said sharply. He grabbed the towel away from Josh and pressed it to my cheek. Taking my hand, he pushed it onto the towel, and then grabbed my arm. "Hold that down, Justin, and get up. JC, here. Go start my Jeep." "Where are we going?" Josh asked, eyes wide, taking Chris's keys. "Oh my God, there's so much blood. Justin?" "We're going to the emergency room," Chris said, pulling me to my feet. He leaned in and whispered to me. "Talk to him, Justin." I realized that Josh was scared, that the reason he looked like that was that he was afraid for me. I needed to start talking him down again, no matter what I felt like, because he'd had enough trauma. It was going to be a chore, though, because I was in serious pain. My face was on fire, but that was just the start. I wasn't sure, but I felt kind of like Howie had broken one of my ribs when he kicked me in the side. Even if it wasn't broken, it hurt, and so did the middle of my back, where he'd landed that other kick. I'd kind of always thought that Howie, however nice and good for Lance, was a little bit on the fairy side of gay, but Jesus could he do some damage when he was pissed. I felt like I'd fallen under a truck. "I'm ok, Josh," I said weakly, trying to smile. Maybe I should try to keep my face from moving. "It's not as bad as it looks." "Yeah, head wounds always bleed a lot," Chris said reassuringly. "Are you sure, Justin?" Josh asked, following behind us fretfully instead of running ahead to start the car like Chris had told him to. He seemed very concerned with my welfare suddenly. Was it because we were best friends, because he was leaning on me so much lately and needed me to be ok for him, or was it something else? "Are you sure you're ok?" "I'll be fine," I said, hoping it was true. More or less, it was. We had to wait for almost two hours at the emergency room, as none of us really wanted to play the "I'm a celebrity" card. We wanted to keep this quiet, although I knew it would be impossible. There was always someone watching and waiting to report things to the newspapers, especially things about me. I loved being the center of attention, always throwing myself into the middle of every photo shoot, or at least I had before. I wasn't like that anymore, didn't think that way since I'd started realizing that the world didn't actually revolve around me and what I wanted, but the damage was already done. You couldn't think of Nsync without thinking of Justin Timberlake, and Justin Timberlake couldn't walk down the street to McDonald's without someone, somewhere, reporting it. When I finally did get in to see a doctor, who was probably just an intern if all the times I'd watched "ER" were correct, she cleaned out the cut, and told me that it needed a few stitches to close it up. Howie's ring, catching my cheekbone at just the right angle (or just the wrong one, depending on your point of view), had more or less sliced the side of my face open, although it wasn't as bad as it could have been. "It'll probably just leave a small scar, and even that might be able to come off with surgery after it heals up," she said, shrugging. "Let me go get something to numb that up a little before we stitch you up, ok? I'll be right back." "OK," I said. Josh and Chris were waiting in the little room with me, Chris leaning on the wall and Josh sitting quietly in a chair. The girl had checked out the kicks, too, but thought that I'd just be bruised for a while. Adding in my bruised shoulder, and my skinned knuckles, the week or so since Jack left had been pretty rough for me, at least physically. Looking over at Josh, seeing the dark circles under his eyes, and the way that he was staring at me with such concern and caring, noticing the way that his hard brown nipples pressed against his t-shirt in the chill of the air conditioning, I realized that the week had been pretty rough emotionally, too. Josh had been on a roller coaster, and so had I. His heart had been ripped out, thrown on the ground and trampled on, and mine? Mine was shifting. My heart was fluid, bubbling and churning, shifting like a lava lamp. I looked at Josh, and I saw my best friend, but I also saw something else, someone I was starting to see as more than a friend. I wasn't just turned on by Josh, wasn't just attracted to his body. I was feeling something else, too, something deeper. And I was realizing this in the emergency room, while I got treated for injuries inflicted by the boyfriend of the guy that I had psychologically and sexually abused and driven into a spiral of self-hate and abuse that had, honestly, almost killed him, and while my girlfriend, who was practically my fiancee, sat at home after probably spending the day in bed with another guy. Jesus. I had no business being anywhere near Josh. I was too fucked in the head to love anyone besides myself. "Look, Justin, you're gonna be a little while longer, and I really need a cigarette," Chris said, shrugging. "I'll be outside by the ambulance bay, ok?" "Sure," I said, handing him my phone. "Can you call Brit and let her know I'll be home soon?" "Sure, bro," Chris said, taking the phone. Josh looked at the floor, a strange expression crossing his face when I mentioned Brit. "What should I tell her?" "Make something up," I answered. Lie to her, Chris. It wouldn't be the first time. "Tell me later what it was." "OK," Chris said, walking away. He passed the doctor on his way out. She was carrying a little tray with a needle and thread and a bunch of other stuff all neatly laid out on it. "OK, Justin, I want you to sit right there, and try not to move, ok?" she said, pulling out some wipes. I don't know why she was cleaning it again, since it had already been washed out, but I guess it would keep me from getting infected. It stung a little, and I winced. "This might be easier if you hold onto something." "Here," Josh said, standing beside me and taking my hand. His hand was warm, and soft, and he squeezed mine tightly. I realized that I was a little afraid, actually, but it felt good to have Josh there with me, holding onto me. When the doctor pulled out the first needle, Josh closed his eyes, turning his head away, and I remembered that he was terrified of needles. That was why we all had tattoos, and he didn't. I squeezed his hand, comforting him as much as he was me, and I closed my eyes, too. When she finished up, the doctor wrote me a prescription for some painkillers, just in case my side and back bothered me, and Josh and I went outside to find Chris, so that we could all go home and get some sleep. "All set?" Chris asked, crushing out his cigarette with his foot. He glanced down at our hands, and I realized that Josh and I were still linked. We both let go at once, looking away from each other a little guiltily. "Yeah," I answered, running my hand over the little group of stitches, only three, and thinking about how odd they felt. "All fixed." Chris dropped us off at my house, figuring that one of us could scoot over to Lance's tomorrow to pick up the car. Josh and I started to climb out of the Jeep, and Chris put a hand on my arm. "Josh, can I talk to Justin for a second?" he asked. Josh nodded, and got out of the Jeep, walking over to the bench by my door and sitting down. Chris turned to me. "Justin, what Howie did tonight wasn't right, and we know that. He only did it because he was upset, but I have to tell you that I know how he feels." "You hate me, too?" I asked, blinking quickly as I felt tears rising up in my eyes. How could Chris say that? He'd been finally warming up to me again, like all the guys had, finally treating me like I was part of the family, and like we were past all the other stuff. "Justin, you're my brother," Chris said. "I don't hate you. But I was ready to kick you out. When Lance told us what you did, how you made him feel, I was ready to wash my hands of you right then. When we said we wanted you out of the group, I think we all meant it, and when you begged us to let you stay, when you promised to go get therapy and get some help, I really just thought it was a ploy. I only went along with it because Lance and Josh did. I don't know if this is going to come out right, but, you know, what's going on with Lance and Howie right now, well, I don't think you're evil, Justin. You're not a bad person. You made some mistakes, but I wouldn't be sitting in this car with you if I didn't think you were genuinely sorry for what you'd done. Do you get what I'm saying, Justin?" "Yeah," I answered, wiping my eyes, clearing away those unshed tears. "Thanks, Chris." "You're welcome," he said. "Now get some rest, and get the hell out of my car. Vlada's flying in, and I need to pick her up at the airport." We both laughed, and then Chris gave me a quick hug and wished me goodnight. I walked up the driveway and met Josh at the door. I don't know what prompted it, but maybe we both looked like we needed a hug, because we reached out for each other, throwing our arms across each other's backs. Josh laid his head on my shoulder, and I traced my hands in little circles over the wings of his shoulder blades as his hands rested on my back. We pulled apart, staring into each other's eyes, our faces only inches apart, and I felt that stirring again, felt something inside me. What I couldn't tell, though, couldn't fathom, was whether Josh felt it, too. "It's been a really long day," he sighed, looking away finally, denying me those sky blue eyes. "Let's go to bed," I said, opening the door. Josh followed me inside, and we walked in the dark through my house to the stairs. Climbing them, we stood in the hallway. "Good night, Justin," Josh said, reaching out for my hand. He squeezed it, and then turned to his room. "Good night, Josh," I answered. "I'm right here across the hall if you need me." I think Josh nodded, but it was hard to tell in the dim light. I caught a little scent of his cologne as he drifted into his room, the air from his open window carrying it to me on a breeze, and then he closed his door. I opened mine, not really thinking about anything, well aware of how much my body hurt, how much pain I'd been in physically today, but I also just felt tired inside. I wanted to go back across the hall, to talk out my problems with Josh like I'd always been able to, before. I wanted to go back to the old days, the way things were before when we were so close, because I needed someone to talk to, needed someone to listen to me and tell me it would be ok, and I needed it to be someone that I would believe, someone I'd always been able to believe, but I couldn't do that now. Josh had enough of his own problems now, had enough of his own heartbreak to deal with, and didn't need me dumping my shit on him. He needed to be able to dump shit on me, so I needed to just put my own issues away for a while, for as long as Josh needed me to. When I flipped on the light, though, I found one of my own issues, stretched across the bed in a slutty scrap of lingerie. I wasn't sure, since she jumped up when I opened the door, but I think she might have been fingering herself. She flung herself off of the bed, threatening to spill out of the top of whatever it was she was almost wearing, and came running over to me, almost toppling in her stiletto heels. How anyone could keep believing Britney's continued claims to be saving herself for marriage was completely beyond me. She pressed herself against my chest, squashing her implants, which she denied (hey, I'd seen the scars, ok?), against my pecs as she ran her manicured fingers up to my shoulders. "Oh, baby, let me see your stitches," she whispered, turning my face to the side with her spade-shaped fingernails, painted to match her outfit. I almost choked on the acrid, overly floral perfume that flooded my nostrils. Her finger scraped lightly across my skin, just below the stitches. "Did it hurt, baby?" "A little," I admitted, stepping back. She was just too close, too much. I needed air. "I waited all night for you to get back," she purred, keeping herself against me. I realized I'd stepped back toward the bed, and she shoved, hard, pushing me into it. I lost my balance, and she landed on top of me, stretching herself out against me, grinding slowly against my body. "I waited right here, for you to get back, and I thought about you. I thought about all the things I'm gonna do to you to make you feel all better. Do you want me to make you feel better, baby?" Her hands dropped down to my belt, working at the buckle, fighting with my zipper. "Brit," I said, trying to get her attention. "I've been waiting all night, Justin," she continued, tossing my belt aside. She began to tug at my pants, trying to fight them down over my throbbing dick. I didn't want her, but like I said before, if you play with it, it gets hard. "I want you to fuck me, Justin. I want you to throw me down on the bed, and tear this off of me, and I want you to slam your big, hard cock up inside me. I want you to make me cum, Justin, and I want to scratch my hands down your back. Fuck me, Justin." I lay beneath her, motionless. "Fuck me," she panted again, looking up at me. "No," I said quietly. She blinked at me. "Brit, we talked about this last night. I don't want Josh to hear us." She leaned up on her hands, breasts spilling down at me, as she stared into my face. "You don't want Josh to hear?" she repeated flatly, her eyes flashing beneath the mascara and heavy strokes of eyeshadow. "You won't fuck me, because you don't want Josh to hear us?" "Yes," I said, scooting to the side to get out from under her. I sat up and began untying my shoes. "What the fuck is your problem?" she snapped from behind me. "Who are you fucking, Justin?" "I'm not fucking anyone," I answered honestly, pulling off my socks. "Oddly enough, Brit, there's more to life than sex." "Don't pretend to be philosophical with me, asshole," she sneered, pacing the room in front of me as I kicked my pants off. She stopped in front of me. "Do you still love me?" "Brit, of course I love you," I answered, shaking my head. "You won't prove it," she said, hands on her hips. "Brit, I told you, I don't want Josh to," I began, but she cut me off. "Fuck Josh!" she snapped. "I'm tired of hearing about Josh! Every day, it's Josh this and Josh that. I'm tired of hearing about fucking Josh, Justin. I'm your girlfriend, not Josh. Me!" "Brit, you're being unfair," I began. "Josh needs me right now." "Josh needs you," she sneered again. "What about what I need? What the fuck, Justin? You act like you're in love with him." I stared at her, and before I could say anything I saw her face shift as she saw something, some little slip, in mine. "Justin? What the fuck?" she snapped, grabbing my shoulders. I stood, and she shook me. "Are you, do you like Josh? Are you into guys, Justin?" "Brit, I don't want to talk about this with you, not when you're like this," I began, too tired to think of a good lie. She slapped me. "You fucking are!" she said, shoving me away. "You like guys! You've been playing me!" "Brit, I love you," I began, not sure of even how to begin to explain. "You love dick," she hissed. She looked around, and began picking up her clothes from off the floor. "I'm not going to be your fag hag, Justin. I'm not going to have people talk about me like that, make jokes behind my back." "Brit, it isn't like that," I tried to explain, feeling my heart twisting again. I didn't want it to be like this, didn't want to have to explain it to her this way. Brit and I played around on each other, we did all the time, but we kept it within limits. We never developed feelings for anyone else, and I'd never told Brit that I was bi. Hell, at the beginning of the summer, I hadn't even known I was. And the way I felt about Josh was different. I didn't just want to sleep with him, didn't just want to touch him. I felt something else for Josh, something deeper, something I hadn't ever felt with Brit. I didn't want to hurt her, though. "Oh, it isn't like that?" she sneered, stuffing things into her suitcase now that she'd thrown some clothes on. "Have you fucked him?" "What?" I asked, blinking at her in surprise. "Have you had sex with Josh?" she asked quietly. "Only once," I answered, looking away, thinking that it might help to be honest. It was exactly the wrong answer. Wiping at her black tears with the back of her hand, Britney grabbed her bags and ran out of the room, charging down the stairs as I ran after her. "Brit, wait!" I yelled. "Don't go like this!" "Fuck you, Justin!" she snapped back, not even slowing down as she went out the front door, pulling out her phone to call for a car. "Fuck you, and goodbye." I stood in the doorway and watched her walk down the driveway, my vision blurred by the sudden flood of hot tears that sprang into my eyes. "Shit," I sighed. "Shit, shit, shit." I'd really fucked up on this one. I punched the doorframe, and punched it again. Slamming the door, I stumbled into the kitchen, sobbing now. I did love Brit, I really did, and she was my friend. It always hurt me when my friends were mad at me, and I'd never intended to hurt her, not this way. I tried to think about how she felt, what she would do, and decided I didn't want to think about anything. Reaching into the cabinet under the sink, where I kept all my liquor, I grabbed the first bottle I found, and unscrewed the top. I felt the vodka burn its way down my throat, and I took another long pull off the bottle. Carrying it out of the kitchen, I climbed the stairs, and saw Josh standing in the partially opened doorway to his room, light spilling over his bare torso as he stood in his boxer briefs. "Justin?" he asked, reaching toward me uncertainly. "Are you, are you ok?" "No," I answered simply, raising the bottle to my lips again as I walked into my bedroom. I shut my door behind me. *** Stay tuned for more.