Date: Sat, 8 Jul 2000 23:10:54 EDT From: FishofHappiness@aol.com Subject: Remembering Petticoat Lane, Part 11 Hi, everyone. I want to apologize to everyone for how long it is taking me to get the chapters out now. It isn't flowing right now, not easily. It's more of doing that clunk-clunk-sputter-die thing that really really old cars do. It's no one's fault on here, it's just my own. Too many distractions in life. Once again, I know nothing. I just spread evil ugly rumors about the angels in Hollywood to people who shouldn't be under 18 or homophobic. All the poetry in here is actually mine. Blame Justin for the inclusion of it ;o). I gender-bent the last poem. In other words, all 'he's were once 'she's, etc. Hope you enjoy! Remembering Petticoat Lane Chapter 11: "I still see those scary guys when I am all alone at night." --The scene was disjointed, and looked almost sky blue, and soothing. It was early evening, maybe a little later. He wasn't alone, he could tell that much at least. He was himself, though, and he was safe now. He had to be safe, it had to be JC with him. Had to. As he turned around, though, he could feel the atmosphere shift. It turned sick, to a deep, dark grey-blue that sent shivers through him. He couldn't see the face, couldn't turn fast enough to see who it was, but he could feel hot breath on his neck, and the same big, sweaty hand on his waist that had been there, always, to push and force him. The voice was the clincher, and the words the truth. "Did you think you could escape me, James? I made you. I own you." With the last of his sketchy, gasped breath, Lance opened his mouth. He screamed.-- *** JC had had trouble sleeping that night. Tension and fear were flowing through him. If things were that bad, why hadn't Lance come to him? Perhaps it was because the two times Lance had shown the depth and power of his pain, JC had abandoned him. God, he owed Lance an apology. This was the first time they had slept apart since Lance's confession. It wasn't until a hoarse, pained scream rang through the house that JC remembered exactly -why- that was. "Shit." It only took a couple of second for JC to make it up to Lance's bedroom, and less for him to get by his lover's side. Lance wasn't awake, but he was whimpering in his sleep. JC had never asked, but he suspected that Lance relived the abuse in full detail inside of his horrific nightmares. JC put his hands on Lance's shoulders, and shook him hard. Lance jumped awake, and when he recognized JC, he grabbed onto him, burying his head in JC's neck. "Don't leave me, please, I'm sorry. I can't live like this anymore, I need you so much, JC. I love you." JC held him tight, and soothed him as much as he could, until Lance was calm enough to hear him. "I never left you, baby, I was just downstairs. I will never leave you." "You said.. that it was over, that what we had was gone." A cold streak ran through JC. Lance had thought -that-? Never. Never would he do that. He -couldn't- do that, it would be like a slow suicide. He held Lance tighter, even as he emphasized his next words. "No. -No-, Lance. I meant that you cutting and.. getting wasted, and trying to destroy yourself is over. I'm so.. tired of trying to help people and have them throw it back at me, Lance. I love you so much, and I want to be here for you, but it hurts me when you hurt yourself instead of coming to me. I would die for you, James." Lance responded by curling tighter into JC's arms. "'Oh what a tangled web...'" "What, Lance?" Lance just half-laughed, and shook his head. "Nothing, Josh." "No, you quoted Sir Walter Scott, right?" Lance just nodded into the crook of JC's neck. JC grinned, and started to stroke the top of Lance's head. "You can't remember a bakers dozen, but you can quote a Scottish novelist and poet. That's my Lance, alright." Lance half-chuckled, half-snorted, and then just kind of nuzzled him. "Seriously, baby, we need to talk." "I know. I -know-. God, JC. We screwed this up so badly. I love you. You love me. Why couldn't we get this right?" "It.. didn't work, because we stopped communicating, Lance. You fell into this little hole of depression and self-destruction. I stopped listening to you when you needed me, I ran out on you the last two times you've come to me for help. We've been shutting each other out, baby, and we can't do that if we're going to work out. Now.. I really want us to work out, Lance, but I have a couple things to ask of you. Without these, I don't see how it can possibly go on, despite our love." Lance cringed at that, but he nodded. "For one.. no more of this self destruction. If you need escape, If you feel like everything is falling apart around you, or like nothing is ever going to be good again, you come to me. Day or night. At home, at the studio, anywhere. I will leave the guys at a club, I will walk off the stage of a concert with you, if you need me. I don't care. You being healthy is top priority in my life now, Lance. Not 'Nsync. Not family. You." JC paused for a second to let his words sink in before he continued. "Secondly, I want you to talk to Dr. Johnson. I know.. that you didn't want therapy, but I think you've just proven that you need it." Lance paused, but conceded the point. He nodded into JC's shoulder, almost stubbornly refusing to let him go even for this. "I can't control my emotions anymore, JC. I feel like I can't control my life. It's so.. scary. Everything is out of control." JC kissed the top of Lance's head, and spoke to him in a voice as soft and clear as the sound of a blue heron on take-off. "That's why you need a professional, baby. I love you, but.. I can't help with all of this. Like the cutting.. I'm clueless on how to stop it. I wish I knew, I wish I could help you. These last few days, and tonight in particular, I've been so scared around you. I feel like I'm living with a time bomb, Lance. I'm terrified that you're going to try to kill yourself, and I won't be around to stop you." Something occured to Lance then. Not once since they had been home had JC spent more then five minutes at his own place. "Which is why you've been sticking around here -- to be close to me?" "Yeah, Lance." Determination spiked in Lance then, and he sat up and pulled away from JC. He had an idea, that would bring JC closer to him, give him a glimpse to the inside of his mind without having to be too painful for either of them. Lance's thoughts were painful sometimes, even to himself. "Josh.. I want you to read something." JC sat up, and perked up in interest. Lance reached down to his secret little hiding spot, and pulled the black book into the light. "Being the resident shy-and-quiet type.. I sort of picked up the habit of writing poetry. This is like, my third or fourth book of it, and it's pretty new. Just from about the time I told you guys. It's all dated, right on the page. I.. want you to read it, but I can't be in the room whn you do. I'll be downstairs, come and find me after you read." Lance didn't wait for a reaction, he just left the room. JC was wary of the book for a couple of seconds, wary of what he would find there. It dawned on hinm, though, that if he didn't read the book, that would be just one more way that he was running out on Lance, ignoring his needs in favor of his own, so JC picked up the book and started reading. On the first page, which was dated a little before Lance's initial confession, was a soft poem. The lyrical style of it called to the musician in him, and JC smiled. Lance was really pretty decent. Echo of a Kiss I think I'm tired of Listening, I know I'm tired of pain, and the darkness that surrounds me is flowing in my brain I feel you close to me like an echo of a kiss, and Inside I know that this love is something that I'll miss I see the bright sun shining, I see the fresh green trees, and the pain that I have witnessed has brought me to my knees I know you're close to me like an echo of a kiss, and Inside I know that this love is something that I'll miss I hear the white birds singing, it's ringing in the sky, and the hatred that I have for you is weighing in my mind I had you close to me with your echo of a kiss, and Inside I know that this love is nothing I should miss. JC read through it a couple of times, still caught up in the rhythms. Eventually, though, he moved on. The poetry got progressively more violent, the images became darker and often revolved around blood or violence. They still had an almost morbid beauty to them. JC hadn't known until now just what the depths of Lance's self-destruction were, now it was written out for him in small, structured print. Scissors Snip, Snip, Snip Little strands of hair, little chunks of flesh Does it matter in the end? Snip, Snip, Snip Oh, woebegotten heart, broken all apart What happened to the love you'd sent? Snip, Snip, Snip Little broken one, little poorly mended soul Why does fate throw you to the fire? Snip, Snip, Snip Always so offended by yourself What did you think you could inspire? Snip, Snip, Snip Fragile fading, little world You wave goodbye to your last friend? Snip, Snip, Snip Finally fading, dead at last Why do good things always end? The images on that one were nearly enough to make JC shudder. Something in them desturbed him. The graphic thoughts of blood, and death... no wonder Lance had been so volatile the past few days. The final one was the clencher, though. It was easily the angriest of the three, and it was dated that very night. Lance had undoubtedly had some not-so-healthy thoughts after JC had gone downstairs. The idea that Lance had turned to writing, and not to what was covered in the poem was a comfort to JC. Maybe things weren't quite as bad as he'd thought, after all. White Chalk Battlelines Blood red dripping to cover the floor, settle the score let them know this punishment won't be taken into the heart, tear it apart he thought he'd get away, let him know she's mistaken Twenty white pills covered in powder, dripping red shower how dare they think it could be this frickin' easy teen filled with strife, end of a life stupid and selfish, anger burns them completely Don't they realize not quite the same, always to blame his world is the word of a scapegoat empowered blameless and brazenly, doubtless and decievingly his plan it was flawless and knowingly scoured Stupid and selfishly always the same, stories and games praise for the perfect and fear for the flawed wishing and wondering, finding and floundering he isn't the same, by the world he's deflowered Not an answer nor an end, an animal pinned tied to the world that needed escape mess with a child, ends up defiled who is it behind the yellow tape? White chalk lines ruin the carpeting, dust up the crown molding fight with the underdogs find yourself mourning dank, rusty dark, death of the spark he died in the fight that he found herself scourning. JC took another deep breath, and set the book back on the bed. He found Lance standing in front of the screen porch door, looking out at the back lawn. The grass was brown, and dead. St. Augustine grass was a drought-proof variety -- during the winter, when it was used to being rain free. The whole idea of getting no rain during summer was almost rediculous, though. Many people characterized Florida by its hot days with rain in the afternoon. The pool was a shining beacon. Designed with a waterfall that ran into and past the jacuzzi, and ended in a lagon-looking pool, the water looked very much like a desert mirage when it was surrpunded by the dead and dying foliage. Josh took in the site for a second, and then wrapped his arms around Lance. He would have spoken to him, but JC knew that his reflection shone in the glass door, and Lance had just choosen not to break the moment. "I love you. Your writing is beautiful, baby. Thank you for sharing it. I.. think I know what we're fighting now, and I appreciate that." *** It was a bright, summer morning. It was one outside of the little room Lance had spent so much of his recent time, at least. It was going to be different this time, though. It was going to be better. Dr. Johnson entered the room then. "Good morning, Lance. How are you?" He paused, and then motioned for her to sit down. He was only going to go through this once. "I think I'm ready." "Ready for what?" "I'm ready to tell you what happened."