"This isn't right," Justin Timberlake said to his best friend. He rolled over on the bed and his eyes caught something white beside his pillow.
It was an envelope.
He picked it up and eyed it carefully.
For a second, Chris Kirkpatrick forgot about his important news. "What is that?" he asked, leaning in Justin's direction and trying to catch a better glimpse of what he held.
Written on the envelope, in big, block letters was Chris' name. Justin shrugged. "I guess it's for you." He held it out to Chris who took it, not taking his eyes away from Justin's sad face.
"Listen," he said, setting the envelope down on his bed. "I can tell you're not in the mood for talking right now, so why don't you take a nap and we can talk later?"
Justin nodded before he put his head back down on the pillow. "Thanks, Chris," he said as he closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."
Chris sighed, picked up the envelope and stood up. "It's okay. You need to rest before the concert anyway. I'm going to go grab a bite to eat downstairs." He looked for Justin's nod and then he walked quietly out the door.
Out in the hall, he opened the envelope with his fingers, being careful not to rip it into too many pieces. "Where's a letter opener when you need one?" he muttered out loud to himself.
Inside, was a single sheet of paper. His name was typed on the first line. Silently, he read.
'Chris,
'I don't know any other way to do this, so I'm doing it anonymously. There are things you need to know and it's not important who I am. Let's put it this way: I know everything you don't and you need to be informed. I won't tell you how I got this information, but here it is:
'Someone... let's call him Justin... has been going behind your back. Somehow (I don't know how) he got to your girlfriend and now she is pregnant. (I don't know if you know this) From what I've heard, the baby is probably not yours.'
Chris froze. His whole body lost strength and both letter and envelope went fluttering to the purple and red carpet.
For a second, he didn't believe it. He tried to convince himself that this was someone's idea of a sick joke... but NO ONE was that cruel.
The part of him that was sane told him to find out the facts before he did anything crazy, but the part of him that wasn't so sane told him to go and confront Justin.
Too bad he felt so sick that he could barely move to do either of those things. Slowly, he bent over and grasped for the letter. When his eyes met the words again, tears fell to his cheeks and down his chin. They landed on the letter, smearing the ink a little. He turned around and started back towards his room... but then remembered that Justin was in there.
He had no where to go.
Suddenly, it dawned on him.
The bus.
No one was on the bus.
Quickly, he walked to the back stairway, running down all twelve flights to the main level. He went out the back door and found the bus, sitting right there by the curb. He flew inside and threw himself through the curtain and into his bunk, the letter crumpling beneath him.
It was dark and cold and he reached for his pillow. How could Justin do it? How could he do it and then go around pretending that nothing was wrong? "No wonder he was so upset when I tried to tell him," he whispered to himself.
And what about Gracie? She claimed that she loved him... but if she did... if she did, then why...
He couldn't even THINK the words.
The darkness was overwhelming and because of it, it didn't matter if his eyes were open or closed, he still saw the images his mind didn't want to see.
It occurred to him that he never even finished reading the letter, but he didn't even want to. What he wanted to do was to tear the letter into shreds and forget he'd ever read it... but he could never do that.
How would he face Justin? How would he face Gracie? Why was the world he worked so hard to piece together perfectly falling apart?
He wanted answers. How? When? Where? WHY did you do it, Justin? "How could you do it?!" he almost yelled.
It wasn't fair. None of this was fair.
He figured that nothing would get any better if he stayed where he was, crying and moping around by himself in his bunk, so he sat up and wiped his eyes. He grabbed the letter and stuffed it in his shirt pocket.
He was done being sad... now he was angry.
Justin's mouth was so dry that he couldn't sleep until he got something to drink. When he went out into the hall to get a Coke from the machine, he saw a white paper on the floor. He walked closer and when he bent down to pick it up... he realized what it was.
It was an envelope and written on it was Chris' name. The same envelope he'd found on his bed earlier.
He picked it up and looked at it again. Chris had obviously torn it open; the contents were missing. Not thinking anything else about it, he shoved it into his pocket and continued his way to get his Coke.
The first person Chris saw when he stormed out of the bus and back up the twelve flights of stairs was Lance. In fact, he almost knocked him over.
"Whoa!" Lance cried. "Where are you going in such a hurry?" When he saw Chris' face, he wished he hadn't asked. The mixture of pain and anger that stirred around in his expression and was enough to scare anyone away.
Chris looked closely at Lance, trying to decide if he had been the one who had written the letter. He needed to find out more information before confronted either Gracie or Justin. "I don't know," he admitted, trying to get past Lance.
Lance kept stepping in front of him so he couldn't get by.
"Get out of my way!"
"Chris, you look like your best friend just stabbed you in the back," Lance said, grabbing Chris' shoulders. "What's wrong?"
Chris narrowed his teary eyes at Lance. "Why don't YOU tell ME."
Before Lance could say anything, Joey stepped between them. "What's going on here?" he asked, looking from one friend to the other. "Is there a problem?"
"Oh, come on, Bouncer Joey, give us some slack. We were only talking," Lance replied as he grabbed Chris' sleeve so he couldn't get away.
Joey made a gesture towards Chris, "What's with him?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Lance answered.
"You know what?" Chris forced himself to say. "I'm sick of everyone talking like I'm not here! It's getting REALLY annoying."
"Sorry," Joey and Lance said in unison.
"Seriously, Chris," Lance started. "What's bothering you?"
He felt the tears coming back again and he jerked his arm from Lance's hold so he could get away.
But to where?
"I'm fine," he lied, stumbling away from them. "I'm just gonna... gonna..."
Joey and Lance watched as Chris disappeared behind the corner. They exchanged glances, shrugged and then walked back to their room.
Chris had his back pressed against the wall. If he couldn't even talk to Lance and Joey, what made him think that he'd be able to talk with Justin?
He took a deep breath and tried to hold the tears in. Before he could make another move, he saw Justin at the end of the hallway holding a can of Coke.
Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. He thought of escaping, but Joey and Lance were in the other hallway. By the time he decided that he'd take Joey and Lance over Justin... it was too late. Justin saw him.
"Chris? Maybe you should lie down. You don't look so good."
He felt like lashing out. He felt like hitting Justin in the stomach... but he realized that if he took Justin's advice, then he wouldn't have to deal with it until later.
'Who're you kidding, Chris?' something inside him asked. 'Just because you ignore it, doesn't mean it will go away. Hit him.'
As Justin walked closer, Chris felt his anger building up higher and higher inside of himself.
'Hit him,' the voice repeated.
It happened so fast, that Chris' head spun. When he opened up his swollen eyes, he saw Justin on the ground, holding his jaw and looking up at him in confusion. His can of Coke had fallen to the ground and a brown stain was splattered on the carpet. It was obvious that Justin was in pain, but the first thing that ran through his mind was that his fist hurt. It was throbbing.
JC sat in his room. He was glad to get to be alone this time. It gave him a chance to write in his notebook.
He opened it up to the last page he'd written on and glanced at the words. It was a song. A ballad that he thought was really good. Only problem was that it was extremely personal. There was NO way he could ever put it on the album.
He flipped to the next blank page and frowned, thinking hard. At the top of the page he wrote a heading and started to write a journal type entry.
Justin didn't know what hit him. One minute he was walking towards Chris and the next he was on the ground. His first thought was that his rear end hurt... and then he realized that he had this awful shooting pain in his jaw.
He looked up at Chris... who looked like he was about to kill someone one and that's when he figured out what had happened.
Chris had hit him.
"Why?" was all he could get out before another shot of pain hit him in the jaw.
Chris fell back against the wall and wiped his eyes. "I didn't want to do that... I swear, Justin... but you deserved it," he said in a shaky voice.
Tears stung in Justin's eyes as he pulled himself up from the floor. As he looked at Chris' face and saw the pain was extremely apparent in his brown eyes, he backed away. Had Chris found out?
"You know that I know," Chris choked out when Justin's expression changed from confusion to fear and guilt. "Don't you, Justin?"
"You don't understand, Chris," he replied. "You don't know..."
"What's there to understand? And trust me... I DO know."
"No, you don't. I don't know how you found out, but there's no way you can possibly know the whole story without talking to me first. There's just no way."
"Don't you get it?!" Chris yelled, not even caring if anyone heard him. "I don't WANT to know the whole story! Would YOU want to know!?"
"That's not it, Chris. PLEASE! Listen to me!"
Chris was silent for a moment and then he held his hand out to Justin. "Give me your hotel key," he demanded.
Justin was confused, but he obeyed anyway.
When the card was placed in Chris' hand, he spun around and rushed back to his room. Justin heard the door slam.
Justin stood there alone in the hallway with his hand up to his mouth. When he moved his hand down, he saw blood on it. "Oh, shit."
He figured that he better find a bathroom to clean up in, so he knocked on JC's door. "JC! It's me... open up."
"One second!" he heard JC yell.
The door opened and Justin immediately entered. He pushed past JC and towards the bathroom. Even though he was going pretty fast, JC caught a glimpse of blood. "What happened?" he cried.
"I don't want to talk about it," Justin said, his voice echoing from the bathroom. "I need to clean up and then I need to borrow your cell phone."
"Why can't you just use yours?" JC wondered as he followed Justin's trail. He saw him holding up a white washcloth to his lip. The washcloth was already tinted red.
"Because I don't have access to mine right now," Justin answered.
JC frowned. "Um... Justin,"
"Yeah?"
"Are you okay?"
"Yes," he lied. "Just give me your phone and shut the door behind you."
JC narrowed his eyes at Justin. "Why should I listen to you?"
Justin turned away from the mirror and glared at him. "Because I said so! Now, give me your phone!"
"Fine!" JC huffed, spinning around and reaching for his backpack. He pulled out his phone and walked back to the bathroom.
Justin swiped the phone from his hands and grabbed the doorknob. "Can you please go out in to the hall for a while? This is going to be a really private conversation."
JC, still upset at Justin's bossiness, grumbled on his way out. He slammed the door behind himself.
Justin wiped his bloody lip once more and then leaned against the bathroom wall. He threw the washcloth into the sink, looking JC's phone. He entered in a number and waited.
"Hello?"
"Gracie! We've got a problem. A BIG problem..."
Chris sat on his bed glaring over at Justin's suitcase. He felt like tossing it out the window. Or maybe he could sell it on eBay. That might be fun. Or he could cut his clothes into shreds. That would be fun too. It might even take his mind off of present matters. But where would he get a pair of scissors?
He was pretty sure that Lance had some. Lance had everything.
With two hotel keys in his hand, he got up and went out the door. When he got to Lance and Joey's room, he knocked.
Lance answered.
"Hey, Lance. Do you have some scissors that I can borrow?"
Lance gave him a confused look. "Um... sure. Come inside while I look through my things."
JC gave up on trying to listen through the door and walked over to Justin and Chris' room to see what was going on. He knocked on the door, but no one answered.
"Chris? Are you in there?"
Still, no answer.
JC shrugged and went down to the cafe for another cup of coffee even though it was already two PM.
Chris held the scissors up in his right hand, looking through the blades at Justin's suitcase. Slowly, he squeezed the handles and the blades made a sharp clipping sound. As he walked to the suitcase, he lowered the scissors and set them down on Justin's bed so he could open it.
The metal zipper was cold, and when he grasped it between his index finger and thumb, he pulled and listened to the click-click sound as it opened.
Sitting right there, on the top of all his things, was his favorite shirt... the one he wore to bed every night without fail. As he picked up both the shirt and scissors, he stood still, looking from one hand to the other.
'Are you crazy? This isn't sane.'
"So? So what if it's not?" he mumbled. "Do you think Justin was sane when he..." He never finished the question and he never got an answer.
His eyes focused on a glare coming from the scissors and he forgot about caring whether he acted sane or not.
He held the scissors to the shirt. Right when he was about to close the blades, he changed his mind.
'How will Justin feel when he sees that you've destroyed his favorite shirt?'
Tears welled up in Chris' eyes. "Who cares?"
'You do. YOU care. Admit it. No matter how much he hurts you, you still care. Do you think anything will ever change that?'
"Maybe I'll ruin a different shirt..."
'You do that... but realize this: it's going to hurt you more than it hurts him. Don't you get it? Every time you hurt him, you hurt yourself even more.'
"Yeah, my fist does hurt an awful lot..." Chris agreed.
'Not that kind of hurt, you moron.'
He stuffed the shirt back into the suitcase and zippered it back up. Without even thinking about it, he threw the scissors down, watching them clatter on the floor.
"This is insane!" he exclaimed. "This whole situation is insane!"
He didn't know what to do. His head was twirling around so quickly, that he fell to his knees and against the bed. This had to be the end of his happiness. No matter what he did, his heart would still ache.
"Everything is out of my hands..." he whispered as more tears streamed down his cheeks.
Chapter 2
Identities
Chris {Fiction}
Justin {Fiction}
My Fiction
I'll Never Stop {Fiction}
Email me: irishgirl982@yahoo.com