Justins eyes were fixated on the paper in his hands, as it trembled in his grasp.
She had been there. While they were gone, Trystan had been at the house. She had left this note. She had been on the property. And for all he knew, she was still there.
The thoughts were racing so quickly and furiously through his mind, that he hadn't heard Erin approach behind him.
"What's that?" her voice called from behind him, startling him back to reality.
Quickly spinning around to face her, Justin shoved the note in his pocket.
"Nothing." he snapped. "Nothing. Just a note that I forgot I felt in my pocket. Nothing."
Erin looked at him oddly for a moment, before grinning. "Okay." she said unsurely. "You gonna open the door, or do I have to do that too, since you're obviously all jacked up and all."
Breathing an inward sigh of relief at the playful expression still on Erins face, Justin turned back to the door. Reaching back into his pocket, he fumbled around for his key. He could feel the smooth paper against the side of his hand as he reached for the key, and just the feel of the surface of the page made him upset.
Quickly pulling the key from his pocket, Justin unlocked the door, and pushed it open to allow Erin to enter.
The entrance to the house was dark, lit only by the kitchen light to their left. Closing the door behind him, Justin reached to his side and turned on the foyer lights.
Erin quickly made her way to the kitchen, Justins food in her hands.
"Do you want any of this now, or do you want me to put it in the fridge?" she called as she entered the kitchen, disappearing from his sight.
"Nothing now." he said faintly, his eyes scanning around him.
Could she still be there? And if she was, was she waiting for Erin? Him?
He quickly made his way to the living room on his right, turning the lights on. It was empty.
Justin quickly made his way around to the other rooms on the main floor of the house, checking inside to make sure they were empty. They were.
Making his way over to the kitchen, he found Erin with her head in the fridge, obviously trying to make room for the enormous amount of food Landons mother had sent them home with.
Sitting down at the kitchen table, Justin placed his head in his hands.
He didn't know how much more of this he could take. He had to admit that he had been extremely lucky to be the one finding all the clues Trystan was leaving. If he hadn't forgotten his food in the car, Erin would have seen the note, and known that it wasn't from Justins pocket.
If he hadn't gone back upstairs the day Erin moved in, and been the one to find the photo from that night, who knows who would have been the one to find it.
Too many ifs, and too many chances.
But he wasn't ready. Not yet. He couldn't tell her yet. Maybe never.
He thought back to the feeling he had in the car on the way home. The safety he felt with her at his side. The way the wind moved her hair gently, and the graceful way she pushed it back behind her ear.
The comfort he felt laying in the grass with Landon, knowing full well that his friend would accept anything he had to tell him. But still, he hadn't been able to.
He knew he was a coward. No question or doubt in his mind. This wasn't so much about anyone else anymore. Not about the guys and what they would think. Not about his mother and the disappointment she would feel. Not even about Erin and the pain she would endure at the truth.
This was about him.
He was keeping it inside, holding onto this secret for all he was worth, for his own sake. For his own sanity, and his own happiness, he was keeping it inside. He didn't want to lose Erin. He didn't want to have to admit what he had done. He didn't want to have to see the looks of pain, anger and hatred on the faces of those he loved.
Him, him, him, him. It was all about him.
And he could admit that. To himself.
Suddenly, a gentle hand on his shoulder broke him from his self pity fest. Lifting his head from his hands, he turned to find Erin at his side. A soft smile playing on her lips.
"Listen," she said quietly, as if she had just woken him from a nap. "I'm going to take a bath. Do me a favor and check the messages on the machine?"
Justin nodded solemnly at her. "Sure."
Erin smiled at him before lowering her head to kiss him gently. Patting his shoulder, she turned and exited the kitchen. Seconds later, Justin could hear her faint footsteps jogging up the stairs.
Looking back across the table, Justin sighed deeply.
He didn't know how much more of this he could take, but he knew it wasn't going to end. He knew it was only going to get worse, and sooner or later, he was going to have to make a decision.
Either come clean with himself and do something about it. Or come clean with Erin.
Neither option sounded rather appealing to him at the moment, but he knew he was running out of time. Sooner rather than later, he was going to have to deal.
Rubbing his hands over his face, Justin pushed himself up from the chair, and slowly left the kitchen. Reaching out to his side, he lowered the light switch, leaving the room in darkness behind him.
Entering the living room, Justin flopped lazily on the couch, reaching over to the phone to press the button on the answering machine. Looking at the screen, he noticed he had three new messages.
Pressing the button, a loud beep sounded, before being followed by his outgoing message.
"Hey, you have reached Justin and Erin. We cant come to the phone right now, but if you leave a message, we might call you back. If you're cool."
Justin grinned at the sound of his own voice as he pulled his shirt over his head, leaning back on the couch with only a wife beater on his upper body.
Another beep sounded, followed by his mothers voice.
"Justin, its your mom. Paul wants to know if you can help him out with something tomorrow, so give me a call when you get a chance. Love you."
Another beep.
"Erin, its Mark. Give me a call. I got that movie you wanted. Talk to you later."
Beep.
"Justin, its Joey. I needed you to settle a fight between me and Chris, and you aren't even freaking home! What the fuck is that? Now I may have to give him five bucks, and you know how I hate to have to give him money. So if you get this before the turn of the century, call me back! For the love of God, don't make me have to give Chris five bucks!"
Justin laughed out loud, as Joeys voice ended, and a final beep sounded in the room.
Looking at the answering machine, Justin couldn't help but breath a sigh of relief. No messages from Trystan. Nothing. Not even a silent message. No Unknown numbers.
Finally, something went right.
Pushing himself up from the couch, Justin slung his shirt over his arm as he made his way to the bottom of the stairs.
Slowly climbing upwards, Justin could faintly hear the sound of water splashing gently as Erin moved around in the bathtub.
Finding his nerves settled after the note he had found at the front door, Justin found himself returning to his playful nature as he had been before.
An evil grin pressed his lips, and he decided to join Erin in the bathtub. Jogging the rest of the way up the stairs, he made his way to his room.
Entering, he noticed the lights were still off. Erin must have gone directly to the bathroom, rather than entering through the bedroom. Flipping on the lights, Justin entered the room, tossing his shirt on the chair in the corner.
Pulling the wife beater over his head, Justin tossed it to the chair along with the other shirt. The wife beater didn't quite make it, falling to the floor in a silent descent. Unbuckling his belt, he slid it through the loops, and tossed it to the side. Justin undid his jeans and slid them down his long legs, stepping out and kicking them with one foot to join the rest of his strewn clothes.
That was one good thing about having Erin living with him now. She cleaned up his messes.
Still wearing his boxers, Justin turned towards the bathroom door in the far left corner of the room. He could still hear the water moving occasionally, and he couldn't help the evil smile from returning to his lips. It had been far too long since he had joined Erin in a bath. Not that he was overly concerned with the hygiene factor of the matter, but that was beside the point.
Taking a step towards the door, something caught Justins eye. Turning his gaze towards the bed, Justin noticed something laying on top of the white comforter.
Stepping closer, Justins forehead furrowed in confusion. What the fuck was that?
Approaching the corner of the bed, Justin looked closer. It looked like material. Like a shirt.
Reaching down, he picked up the shirt from the bed. Bringing it closer to his face, he noticed it was shredded. The white material of the tshirt was ripped and torn, mended together by only a few threads.
Justin shook his head. He couldn't understand why there was a shredded shirt on his bed.
Looking at the shirt again, his eyes widened. Again, that all too familiar feeling breached his stomach, and his heart almost jumped out of his chest.
He recognized the shirt. It was almost unrecognizable, considering there wasn't much left of it, but he knew it nevertheless. It was his.
It was the shirt Trystan had put on the morning in New York. The tshirt he found her wearing after exiting the bathroom.
He had told her to keep it, since she had nothing else to wear other than her clothes from the night before. She had kept it all this time.
And now, it was on his bed. It pieces.
Suddenly, the tshirt was forgotten, although still in his hands.
She was in the house. Trystan had gotten into the house, and left the shirt on his bed.
The note. The tshirt.
Justin felt himself panic, his eyes darting quickly around the room for any other sign of Trystan being there. Another note. Another memory from that night. Anything that would trigger any kind of fear or reaction from him that she could have left.
There was nothing.
Turning his eyes back to the shirt in his hands, Justin stared at it.
Her note had been angry.
'Youre calling me, but you run to her. I cant take it anymore. I'm tired of your shit.'
Justin knew she was angry, and her note only proved his assumptions. But now, there was even more proof than he would have ever needed or wanted. She had entered his house, and left a shirt, the shirt he had given her that morning, shredded on his bed.
Erin could have found it. If she had just gone into the bedroom first, she would have found it.
Looking up at the ceiling, Justin fought the urge to scream. To yell and rant and throw things. Break things the way his mind and heart were breaking. Anything to release some of the fear, anger, anxiety and hatred that was raging inside of him at that moment.
Gritting his teeth hard, Justin clenched his fists tightly. His knuckles turned white under the pressure, the torn shirt dangling from his shaking grasp. His eyes were bolted closed, his face scrunched as he screamed inwardly. All that sounded was a faint growl. Compressed deeply in his throat.
Breathing deeply and rapidly, Justin fought to control his anger and emotions.
She was there again. She was doing it again. She was controlling his thoughts, feelings and life and all it took was a fucking piece of paper and an old tshirt.
Opening his mouth, Justin mimicked the actions of a scream, his eyes still tightly closed.
Finally, he released the pressure in his body. His fists relaxed, his face returning to his usual state. His eyes slowly opened, to return to the empty room around him.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Justin slumped over, his shoulders deflated in what would seem like defeat. His head hung low, his eyes fixated on nothing.
She wouldn't stop. She would never stop doing this to him, and he was the only one would could make it stop.
Before he had the chance to think of anything else, his thoughts were interrupted by a horrific scream. A terrified, frantic sound that penetrated his body.
The scream came from the bathroom. And it was Erins voice.
