And If
[N'sync/Eminem; BSB] [NC-17]
And also, new drabbles.
[N'sync] [JuLaC (implied)] [NC-17] [Death!fic]
And If
Author's Note: Written for Scott’s birthday - I’m sorry it’s so late, hon! And I hope all your wishes came true. Happy 18th! *huge hug* - because I adore him and he asked for a suicide!fic.
I know what to do to make mommy smile
I just don’t know if I like doing it
Justin fucking Timberlake.
He hated his title. He hated the fact that it had been his mom who’d come up with it - and it was right up her alley, wasn’t it? - and he hated that he couldn’t get rid of it, that his cocky smile - the one he’d had to practice night after night in front of his mirror - grew each time someone said it aloud. It was all so mechanical, so faked, and Justin didn’t want to live that kind of life anymore.
//“Mom. Ma, come on, don’t.” Justin shook his head, trying to pull his wrist out of Lynn’s grasp. But she wasn’t listening - it wasn’t anything unusual, not to the young boy. But he made another futile attempt at pulling himself out of his mother’s grip, anyway. “Ma, please.”
Lynn paused, her eyes flickering shut for one breathless moment. Justin squeezed her hand, tightly, his voice quiet, “don’t make me go in there.”
Lynn’s tone was clipped as she released her hold on her son, and her eyes were red-rimmed; Justin knew she’d been crying again. “You go in there, and tell that man it’s not my fault we couldn’t have a baby girl.”
Justin felt the familiar clench in his gut, the familiar wave of nausea, as his mother said the words, and then turned on her heel. He stood at the door for a long time, and then pushed it open slowly, breathing out a quiet, “dad?”
Randall was sitting on the bed, quietly, his body heaving, and Justin knew he was furious. Clenching his hands behind his back, he inched forward, knowing what was coming, wanting to stop it, not knowing how. “Your mother,” the words were bitten out, cold and angry, “is going to learn that it is not my fucking fault that you turned out to be such a fucking failure!”
Justin flinched, pausing in his tracks, his fingernails digging into his palms, hidden from Randall’s view.
“And she will learn that if she doesn’t start to fucking accept that you’re not a fucking girl, this is over. That’s it. I’ve had enough of her bullshit, and I want out. If she’s not going to fucking compromise, then fucking fine!”
Randall got up, turning to Justin, towering over him, eyes dark and murderous. “You go and fucking tell her that! Tell her that she’s letting a fucking kid fuck everything up!” He slammed Justin backwards, and the young boy bit back a cry of pain where it ripped through his body.
“*Go*!”
Justin swallowed thickly, a sob trying desperately to uncurl in his throat as he forced himself to move, walk out the door, go to Lynn, reach out and touch her knee.
“Don’t touch me!”
Justin flinched away, and his hands were still balled up tighttighttight by his side, as he ducked his head, mumbling words that didn’t belong to him, that left his mouth bitter and his heart hollow in its wake, ignoring the lash of Lynn’s hand against his cheek as he continued to whisper hatred through gritted teeth.//
Justin pulled the curtain to his bunk shut, shutting his eyes resolutely, determined not to do this. Not now. He wasn’t going to go back into the past now. Not when he’d been doing so well. Even if going solo hadn’t really been his idea at all.
He fisted the blanket around him in a white-knuckled grip, and took a deep breath.
//Lynn made Justin enter a lot of competitions. In between the yelling and the anger and the disbelief, she’d managed to realize his potential, and since she wasn’t about to stand around and watch his voice fade away into the background, she pushed. She made sure he was one of the first boys to sign up for the church choir, any and every ‘star-search’ type of program she heard about, all the local and interstate competitions he could possibly manage, and every open-talent audition she read about in the papers.
If not at home, Lynn vowed, her son *would* shine some place else. She’d make sure of it.
And there wasn’t any point in Justin telling her that really, he couldn’t cope with all of it - what about his actual schoolwork? - and he didn’t *want* to be in the spotlight all the time, and he was tired of having to use his big blue eyes and his famous thousand-watt grin to buy his way into concerts and contests he didn’t want to partake in.
So he pushed, as well.
And if after the competitions he sat, huddled in a corner of his dressing room, curled against the wall with his knees pressed to his chest, his arms wrapped securely around himself as he buried his face into his body, waiting for Lynn to rage over him ‘not winning *again*’, and telling him what a ‘completely useless boy’ he was, he didn’t say it. And if he came home from school everyday entirely worn out, ready to crawl into bed and beg off for a few hours, but went into the kitchen to practice singing do-re-mi while helping Lynn cut onions and listening to her criticizing him for going off-tune on every other note instead, he never complained. And if his teachers railed at him for never handing in his homework on time, if he had to burn the midnight oil ten times more often than any other boy his age, if he sometimes wanted to cry himself to sleep but couldn’t because he didn’t have any energy left in him to let the tears go, if he never wanted to see another stage again, if he thought he was on the verge of collapsing from over-exhaustion far more often than was anodyne, nobody knew but himself.
And when he’d managed to get into ‘Star Search’, Lynn’s venomous, “well, let’s see you get something *right* this time,” burned into his brain as he sang onstage, and when he realized he’d lost, he’d lost *again*, he nearly fell to the floor, broke down and cried right there and then. Lynn, he thought miserably, would never forgive him.//
A recognizable wave of nausea punched him in the stomach, and with a start, Justin realized tears had already began to spill from his eyes. He turned his face into his pillow, frustrated, and let out a loud, ear-piercing scream.
//The day Chris called him, Justin had been crying in a corner, again, because he just didn’t understand why it was so hard trying to live a normal life in a normal family like his own, and he was so, very tired, and he reigned in his tears and held his voice steady as he picked up the receiver.
They bonded, almost immediately, over the telephone, although Justin had never spoken to someone over 20 besides his parents till that moment. Especially not a stranger who knew his phone number.
“Who are you?” he asked, trying to sound polite, because he was able to recognize the voices of every one of their family members, and every one of Lynn’s or Paul’s friends, by then, and he knew this wasn’t one of them. “How do you know my name?”
Chris sounded dimly anxious that day, like he had wonderful news to share, but wasn’t sure how to put it across. “Well, um. I’m Chris. Christopher Kirkpatrick. I don’t know if you remember me, but we’ve met a couple of times during singing auditions. At least, I’m hoping you’re the Justin I remember meeting, or I’m going to be putting my foot in my mouth by saying all this.”
Justin ran the name once, twice, through his memory banks, and when he drew a blank, he tried running it through another time. “Sorry, I don’t remember meeting you.”
“It’s no problem, I didn’t think you would.” Justin was able to pick out the faint disappointment in Chris’ voice, and he felt the familiar twinge of guilt in his gut. “But listen. I work at a music company, which has nothing to do with what I’m going to tell you, actually. Um, but this guy - you know the Backstreet Boys? Well, yeah, the guy’s their manager - he came up to me, and offered me a contract to start a recording band. But I’m saying no way am I going to do this alone, you know? So I remembered you from those auditions you don’t remember me from, and I figured I’d ask if you were interested, ‘cause you got great pipes on you, kid. And, yeah. I guess I’m asking. You in?”
And later, they would lie and say that Justin had to put down to ask-slash-beg-slash-plead with Lynn to let him join Chris’ wild venture, before phoning him back to say ‘yes’, but really, Justin knew the answer all along, only he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Yeah,” he heard himself respond, faintly, “yeah, I’m in.”
“You don’t have to ask your mom? Or your dad? Or whatever?”
Justin shrugged at thin air at the forced neutrality of Chris’ tone, and then glanced over his shoulder at where Lynn was glaring at him, hands on her hips, before saying softly, again, “I’m in.”
“Great,” Chris relented, at last, and then asked for Justin to put Lynn on the line.
“It’s for you, ma,” Justin handed the receiver to her, and then went over to slouch down into a chair. He knew Lynn would agree, mostly because it would get him out of her hair, possibly for good, if not for a couple of months at least.
There was a few minutes of hushed conversation, after the initial, ‘oh-my-god, you’re-fucking-kidding-me!’ passed. Then Lynn nodded at the phone, a smile finally breaking her stony expression, and she said, excitedly, “we’ll be there.”
And when Justin was put back on line to talk to Chris, he dropped JC’s name, because in between staring at Lynn on the phone, and staring out the window, he realized it’d be a big break for his once-best-friend, who’d wanted to continue in showbiz since forever.
Chris was completely up for the idea, so Justin called JC, and they met up in Orlando, about a week later, because Chris couldn’t stand the suspense. And the rest, as they say, is History.//
Justin ran a hand over his head distractedly, sitting up in bed. He pressed his palm to his face for a moment, licking his lips at the same time, and hoped he didn’t look as big a mess as he thought he did. Justin had never been able to look presentable when he broke down.
But then again, he thought, morosely, and with nothing bearing a hint of humor, no one ever noticed when he cried.
//Even though Lynn followed him, followed N’sync, throughout their entire span of time in Germany, it was clear that she was doing it only to stay as far away from Paul as she possibly could. Which wasn’t such a bad thing, Justin reflected, because she did it every time something went wrong at home, with her marriage, with her family, with her life. And after she went back, and resumed her chores as usual, the dust from everything blowing over would already be comfortably settled.
Just like the divorce.
And since it worked for her, Justin never said a word about the way they always slept on separate beds, or the way her hand would accidentally tighten on his shoulder just a little *too* hard when they took photographs together, or the way she made sure he knew that if he got too close, she’d probably stick her fingernails into his skin.
He simply smiled, and told the guys that Lynn was more than a mother to him, really. She was a friend, a confidante, and everything in between. And after they laughed and said they wished they knew how that kind of bond felt, Justin fought not to let the smile waver as they turned away.//
He stood, and went to the main compartment of the bus, staring out of the window, a growing feeling of emptiness gnawing its way through his body. The thought of sleep enticed him, but tonight he knew it would be impossible, just like all the other nights he spent at the very same window, wondering what the hell he was doing, a twenty-two year-old with a successful career and an image most men would kill for, sitting dazedly, staring unseeingly into the night.
//At first, Justin hated being made the ‘star’ of the group. JC’d started out as the lead singer; the one Lou thought had the most potential - what with him being tall, dark and handsome. Well, tall and handsome, anyway - but now, Justin was being pushed into the golden-boy persona again, and he hated it. He hated having to be blonde and gorgeous, and he hated being the heartthrob of N’sync. Hell, some days he felt as though he hated singing.
But then he learnt, he grew into it, just like before. And then it became second nature to pose and smile for the camera, to take the lead roles he knew he was supposed to, to be the Justin fucking Timberlake they all wanted him to be. And when Lynn called him at night to ask if he was still the favorite of the group, in no uncertain terms, Justin held his heartache in, and told her that yes, he was, and he was glad she was happy and would she tell Paul he loved him, please?
He hung up after she hung up, every night, and when he threw himself onto his bed, costume and all, he breathed in the scent of unfamiliarity, and wondered why it seemed to smell more and more like home these days.//
Justin thought that without Paul, he’d probably have given up on having any sort of family ties with Lynn at all by now. He loved the man with all his heart and soul, and if ever a day came when Justin would have to give Paul up, he’d already decided he’d rather die than face a fate like that.
//Paul stared at the closed door for a long time, and Justin held his breath as Paul turned back to face him, suddenly feeling as though coming home had maybe been a bad idea, and maybe he should get back to his own house already. “Daddy?” it felt, to Justin, as though his throat was suddenly blocked, “you think I did the wrong thing?”
Paul just looked at Justin, and it struck the man how haggard Justin really looked, as though he’d pushed too hard and hadn’t gotten anything to show for it. If becoming a famous millionaire didn’t count, of course. “I don’t know, J.”
“I’m sorry,” Justin sat on his bed, helplessly, “I just. I didn’t mean to spoil Christmas for you, I swear. It’s only that I wanted to.” Justin felt a shudder wrack his body as he pressed his face into his hands. “I don’t want to be her substitute anymore.”
Paul settled next to Justin, and the bed dipped under his weight, nudging step-dad and son closer together. He touched a comforting hand to Justin’s back, rubbing it softly. “I’m sure she’ll get over it,” his voice was quiet, and strong, and Justin looked up at him with a small, genuine smile of gratitude, even if they both knew it wasn’t true.
“I know she’s always wanted a girl,” Justin shook his head as Paul tried to interrupt, “and I know that now I’ve shaved my hair off, it’s clearer to her that I can’t be that. I can’t be what I’m not. I don’t want to live that way anymore.”
Paul wrapped Justin in a firm hug, nodding silently, and then he tilted his head towards the door, “come on, we’ll talk later. Right now you have two little boys who are very excited to see you.”
Justin managed a weak smile at the thought of Jon and Stephen. Letting his father lead the way, Justin studiously ignored Lynn’s murderous gaze, moving quickly towards his younger stepbrothers instead, saying a quiet, “hi Lisa. Hi dad, merry Christmas,” trying not to acknowledge the fact that Lisa was the one out of the two who responded.
And as he sat in a corner with the two boys, watching his birth parents converse in soft but obviously heated tones, he wondered why Randall didn’t seem to blame Lisa for not bearing any daughters, and then realized, with an unpleasant start, that he hadn’t been able, even after shaving his hair off in a ridiculously brazen move, to shake off the shadow of his past after all.
Then there was a warm hand on his shoulder, and as Justin turned to look at Paul, he felt a weak smile tug at his lips, and he watched as Paul’s broadened in reply.//
Justin clutched his cell tightly in his hand, his fingers itching to dial the familiar numbers. It was too much, he’d decided, and before he did what he had to, he wanted to give his dad a ring, just to touch base, to let him know how much he missed him. After a moment’s hesitation, he began to dial. There was one ring, two, and Justin’s heart clenched in fear when he realized Lynn might pick up, but then Paul’s voice was warm and rich over the phone.
“‘Lo?”
“Hey, daddy.” Justin let out a soft rush of breath, feeling himself smile.
“Who are you and what have you done with my son? The one who didn’t call in the middle of the night because he was too wrapped up in his own blanket?” Justin laughed softly at the obvious smile in Paul’s voice, feeling lingering warmth in his heart at the words ‘my son’.
“The blankets kicked me out of bed, so I thought I’d call to check up on you.”
Justin loved the way he couldn’t stop smiling when he was on the phone with Paul, “ah, so I’m a backup plan, eh? Well, at least you’ve got one.”
They were quiet for a moment, Justin memorizing everything about the way Paul’s voice resounded in his ears, the timbre, the quality, the tone. “I love you, daddy.”
“I love you too. Now get some sleep, and don’t think too much.”
Justin clicked the button to end the call, taking another deep breath. If he spent a second longer on the phone, he’d probably break down and tell Paul all about everything he’d planned. And then it would be over. And he couldn’t - *wouldn’t* - let that happen.
//Sometimes he thought he deserved it, as he sat in his room, alone, his head still spinning from the angry words he’d exchanged with Britney before she’d stormed out on him, using the patented, “if you would pull your fucking head out of your ass for a minute, maybe you’d see that the world doesn’t revolve solely around you,” to shut him up, effectively making sure he wouldn’t follow.
Lynn’s words came back to him, relentlessly flooding his mind. All the ‘you’re-not-good-enough’s and ‘why-can’t-you-do-anything-right?’s always re-surfaced, and Justin felt himself changing back into the young, helpless boy he’d once been, the one he always thought he’d managed to get rid of, but simply refused to go away and Justin wondered, albeit briefly, if he was schizophrenic.
And then he thought about how alone he was, and how, when JC had tried asking him what the problem was about two days ago, he’d snapped, and only managed a ‘fuck off, okay?’ before retreating into his own room because he’d felt his eyes beginning to water already.
Normally - because their quarreling and Britney leaving the room soon after they’d begun was becoming as routine as their weekly mini shopping sprees - Justin would get into bed after all his musing, closing his eyes as he felt the familiar bone-aching weariness overwhelm him, but tonight he was interrupted with a quiet knock on the door. “J?”
Justin nearly groaned as he stood to open the door. He peered through the crack of light filtering through the slightly-ajar door, “yeah?”
JC stood behind Lance, and there were identical expressions of confusion and concern on their faces. Justin took a deep breath, trying to steady his emotions, and then properly opened the door. “Yeah?” he said again, and he hadn’t meant for it to sound as brusque as it had come out, but he couldn’t take it back, so he plastered a friendly smile on his face and hoped they wouldn’t notice the difference.
“What’s wrong?” Justin could hear the real alarm in Lance’s voice now, and as the bass took a step forward, Justin retreated. “Justin.”
JC shut the door behind him as he studied Justin, quietly, and Lance walked right up to him to envelope Justin in a hug. Justin breathed in his scent, for a moment, and then went lax in his arms, curling himself around Lance, as they sank onto the bed. “I’m sorry,” the words were whispered, and JC knew who they were addressed to, so he gave Justin a reassuring smile, and went to sit by him, stroking his back, comfortingly.
“It’s just.” Justin stopped. He couldn’t tell them. There was so much to tell, and he didn’t know how he’d even get through half of it. Justin found he was vaguely annoyed by the way they always made spilling your guts to a friend look so easy in the movies. “I’m okay. It’s just crazy, you know? I mean. The hiatus coming so soon. Everything. You know I don’t work well under pressure.”
JC exchanged a look with Lance, one that Justin was sure read: bullshit, or bullshit? He sighed, and pressed his hand to his forehead. “I’m tired,” he admitted, finally, when the silence had stretched a little too long for comfort. “That’s all.”
Justin wondered when he’d become so good at lying, till Lance pulled away, touching his hand gently to Justin’s cheek. “Do you want company?” he asked, his voice low and soft and soothing and god, Justin hadn’t realized how good he looked - how good they *both* looked - till he’d been pushed back into the pillows, and JC’s lips curved further upwards, and Lance’s low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and sent shudders of thrill down Justin’s spine.
Justin wasn’t sure if he was relieved that they didn’t realize how confused he was, or if he was completely pissed off. They’d had a motive in coming to seek him out, now he knew that for sure. And if their intentions in asking if he was all right hadn’t been genuine, had merely been a cover for the activities they were hoping he’d consent to performing with them later, Justin let his shoulders drop. With relief, or further burden, he couldn’t tell.
Then JC pressed a feather-light kiss to the corner of his mouth, and Justin threw caution to the wind, because he didn’t think he had the nerve to tell them what he should have told someone - anyone - years before now, and tonight wasn’t going to change anything. So, as he felt fatigue drain from his body at Lance’s light, provocative touches, he let the famous smile curl his lips, and forced a devilish spark into his eyes as he whispered, “I guess I can forgo sleep one night.”
The twinkle in Lance’s eyes promised Justin he hadn’t made the wrong decision.//
Justin let the phone slip through his fingers as he leant his head against the windowsill, listening to the sharp shatter of metal and plastic against the wooden floor. It didn’t matter now. Flashes of Lance and JC were running through his mind, and Justin let another bittersweet smile curve his lips. They had given him some of the best memories he’d ever have, Justin reflected, and he loved them as much as he possibly could, with all the pent up emotion he’d stashed carefully away inside.
But with the happy memories came those that hurt, that cut, the most. And Justin just couldn’t not think of the one that had ended it all.
//“I think it’s time,” Lance stated matter-of-factly, and his green eyes flashed around the room, three calm and one stricken face meeting his gaze. “We’ve been touring for seven years without too long a breather in between. And now that we are who we are, now that we’ve gotten all this recognition, it’s time. We can go out with a bang.”
It had always been about numbers and calculation for Lance.
Joey nodded his agreement, and Chris shrugged, running a hand through his hair. It couldn’t be that easy for them, any of them, but when JC leaned across the table to squeeze Lance’s hand, he knew that would be that. It was over.
N’sync was taking a break.
“But I-” he found himself saying, and when four pairs of eyes turned to look at him, he choked. “I love you guys.”
“We know, J,” Chris was wrapping an arm around Justin’s neck, “and this doesn’t mean we love you any less. But Lance is right. I need a break, and I think the rest of us do, as well. Especially you. You’ve been running yourself down. Just take a year or so off, to sit back and think about what you want. What you *really* want.”
Justin pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t believe this. “How about I start with things I don’t want, like Britney,” he said finally, and Chris grinned, slapping him on the shoulder. And that was that.//
“The bus’ll be fixed in about half an hour, Justin,” the head of his security team yelled from outside the bus, and Justin jerked himself out of reverie. This was it. He had to do it. Now.
“Right,” he called back, shrugging on a jacket, making sure he sounded as cheerful as ever - he was the golden boy, wasn’t he? He couldn’t be miserable. “I’m going out for a second, just to get a breather. I’ll be right back.”
And as if they sensed his need to be alone, no one made a move to follow him, and Justin walked further from the bus, towards the bridge overlooking the river a couple of feet away. There was no one else on the road, as was expected at 2am in the morning, and Justin walked to the furthest end, where he was sure he was alone, and climbed the railing.
It was the most exhilarating feeling he’d ever experienced, sitting up on the metal barrier, swinging his feet temptingly far out. His hands held the bar on which he sat very loosely, and Justin smiled bitterly at the thought that Lynn would probably have nothing to say to him, at that moment.
//“I can’t believe what a selfish bastard that guy was,” JC was staring at the screen in open-mouthed disbelief. “I mean, didn’t he think about how his lover would feel? Or his family? Or his fucking friends?”
Justin touched the man on the screen with a finger, outlining his mangled body, which was frozen on the tv set. “I think,” he said softly, “I think I would have done the same thing. He had a pretty tragic life.”
“But J!” Joey shook his head, “dude, suicide’s never the answer. There’s gotta be another way out.”
“Yeah, but maybe this way’s the best way for them all.”
“The easiest, you mean,” Chris cut in, sharply, eyeing Justin like a teacher would his worst student.
Justin just shrugged, and let Lance sidle up close to press a comforting kiss on his lips, his finger gradually slipping from the screen completely.//
Justin closed his eyes, letting the wind caress his face, thinking of Joey’s grin, and the way he wrapped his arms tight and secure around your body; thinking of Chris’ humor and the wild look he always got in his eyes when he was about to pull a prank, and the way he’d pat Justin on the head and call him ‘infant’ just to be annoying, and the way he was the older brother Justin had never had; thinking of Lance’s eyes and the way he did math faster than a calculator, and the way he was nearly always business, even in bed, which made him so good at what he did, and the way he cuddled after he was sated, and the way they always said he was an evil dictator in Southern Baptist disguise; thinking of JC’s crinkle-eyed smile, and the way he would tell JC-jokes that made nearly everyone roll their eyes, and the way he always tried to tell Justin that modesty was incredibly important when you were important, and the way he’d brush his thumb across Justin’s cheek and whisper that he loved him.
Justin smiled, and let the thought of Paul and Jon and Stephen filter briefly through his mind.
Then he released his grip on the railing, and jumped.
And if there were screams of ‘Justin! Justin, no!’ echoing loudly into the nighttime sky, he never heard.
-fin-
And also, new drabbles.
[N'sync] [JuLaC (implied)] [NC-17] [Death!fic]
And If
Author's Note: Written for Scott’s birthday - I’m sorry it’s so late, hon! And I hope all your wishes came true. Happy 18th! *huge hug* - because I adore him and he asked for a suicide!fic.
I know what to do to make mommy smile
I just don’t know if I like doing it
Justin fucking Timberlake.
He hated his title. He hated the fact that it had been his mom who’d come up with it - and it was right up her alley, wasn’t it? - and he hated that he couldn’t get rid of it, that his cocky smile - the one he’d had to practice night after night in front of his mirror - grew each time someone said it aloud. It was all so mechanical, so faked, and Justin didn’t want to live that kind of life anymore.
//“Mom. Ma, come on, don’t.” Justin shook his head, trying to pull his wrist out of Lynn’s grasp. But she wasn’t listening - it wasn’t anything unusual, not to the young boy. But he made another futile attempt at pulling himself out of his mother’s grip, anyway. “Ma, please.”
Lynn paused, her eyes flickering shut for one breathless moment. Justin squeezed her hand, tightly, his voice quiet, “don’t make me go in there.”
Lynn’s tone was clipped as she released her hold on her son, and her eyes were red-rimmed; Justin knew she’d been crying again. “You go in there, and tell that man it’s not my fault we couldn’t have a baby girl.”
Justin felt the familiar clench in his gut, the familiar wave of nausea, as his mother said the words, and then turned on her heel. He stood at the door for a long time, and then pushed it open slowly, breathing out a quiet, “dad?”
Randall was sitting on the bed, quietly, his body heaving, and Justin knew he was furious. Clenching his hands behind his back, he inched forward, knowing what was coming, wanting to stop it, not knowing how. “Your mother,” the words were bitten out, cold and angry, “is going to learn that it is not my fucking fault that you turned out to be such a fucking failure!”
Justin flinched, pausing in his tracks, his fingernails digging into his palms, hidden from Randall’s view.
“And she will learn that if she doesn’t start to fucking accept that you’re not a fucking girl, this is over. That’s it. I’ve had enough of her bullshit, and I want out. If she’s not going to fucking compromise, then fucking fine!”
Randall got up, turning to Justin, towering over him, eyes dark and murderous. “You go and fucking tell her that! Tell her that she’s letting a fucking kid fuck everything up!” He slammed Justin backwards, and the young boy bit back a cry of pain where it ripped through his body.
“*Go*!”
Justin swallowed thickly, a sob trying desperately to uncurl in his throat as he forced himself to move, walk out the door, go to Lynn, reach out and touch her knee.
“Don’t touch me!”
Justin flinched away, and his hands were still balled up tighttighttight by his side, as he ducked his head, mumbling words that didn’t belong to him, that left his mouth bitter and his heart hollow in its wake, ignoring the lash of Lynn’s hand against his cheek as he continued to whisper hatred through gritted teeth.//
Justin pulled the curtain to his bunk shut, shutting his eyes resolutely, determined not to do this. Not now. He wasn’t going to go back into the past now. Not when he’d been doing so well. Even if going solo hadn’t really been his idea at all.
He fisted the blanket around him in a white-knuckled grip, and took a deep breath.
//Lynn made Justin enter a lot of competitions. In between the yelling and the anger and the disbelief, she’d managed to realize his potential, and since she wasn’t about to stand around and watch his voice fade away into the background, she pushed. She made sure he was one of the first boys to sign up for the church choir, any and every ‘star-search’ type of program she heard about, all the local and interstate competitions he could possibly manage, and every open-talent audition she read about in the papers.
If not at home, Lynn vowed, her son *would* shine some place else. She’d make sure of it.
And there wasn’t any point in Justin telling her that really, he couldn’t cope with all of it - what about his actual schoolwork? - and he didn’t *want* to be in the spotlight all the time, and he was tired of having to use his big blue eyes and his famous thousand-watt grin to buy his way into concerts and contests he didn’t want to partake in.
So he pushed, as well.
And if after the competitions he sat, huddled in a corner of his dressing room, curled against the wall with his knees pressed to his chest, his arms wrapped securely around himself as he buried his face into his body, waiting for Lynn to rage over him ‘not winning *again*’, and telling him what a ‘completely useless boy’ he was, he didn’t say it. And if he came home from school everyday entirely worn out, ready to crawl into bed and beg off for a few hours, but went into the kitchen to practice singing do-re-mi while helping Lynn cut onions and listening to her criticizing him for going off-tune on every other note instead, he never complained. And if his teachers railed at him for never handing in his homework on time, if he had to burn the midnight oil ten times more often than any other boy his age, if he sometimes wanted to cry himself to sleep but couldn’t because he didn’t have any energy left in him to let the tears go, if he never wanted to see another stage again, if he thought he was on the verge of collapsing from over-exhaustion far more often than was anodyne, nobody knew but himself.
And when he’d managed to get into ‘Star Search’, Lynn’s venomous, “well, let’s see you get something *right* this time,” burned into his brain as he sang onstage, and when he realized he’d lost, he’d lost *again*, he nearly fell to the floor, broke down and cried right there and then. Lynn, he thought miserably, would never forgive him.//
A recognizable wave of nausea punched him in the stomach, and with a start, Justin realized tears had already began to spill from his eyes. He turned his face into his pillow, frustrated, and let out a loud, ear-piercing scream.
//The day Chris called him, Justin had been crying in a corner, again, because he just didn’t understand why it was so hard trying to live a normal life in a normal family like his own, and he was so, very tired, and he reigned in his tears and held his voice steady as he picked up the receiver.
They bonded, almost immediately, over the telephone, although Justin had never spoken to someone over 20 besides his parents till that moment. Especially not a stranger who knew his phone number.
“Who are you?” he asked, trying to sound polite, because he was able to recognize the voices of every one of their family members, and every one of Lynn’s or Paul’s friends, by then, and he knew this wasn’t one of them. “How do you know my name?”
Chris sounded dimly anxious that day, like he had wonderful news to share, but wasn’t sure how to put it across. “Well, um. I’m Chris. Christopher Kirkpatrick. I don’t know if you remember me, but we’ve met a couple of times during singing auditions. At least, I’m hoping you’re the Justin I remember meeting, or I’m going to be putting my foot in my mouth by saying all this.”
Justin ran the name once, twice, through his memory banks, and when he drew a blank, he tried running it through another time. “Sorry, I don’t remember meeting you.”
“It’s no problem, I didn’t think you would.” Justin was able to pick out the faint disappointment in Chris’ voice, and he felt the familiar twinge of guilt in his gut. “But listen. I work at a music company, which has nothing to do with what I’m going to tell you, actually. Um, but this guy - you know the Backstreet Boys? Well, yeah, the guy’s their manager - he came up to me, and offered me a contract to start a recording band. But I’m saying no way am I going to do this alone, you know? So I remembered you from those auditions you don’t remember me from, and I figured I’d ask if you were interested, ‘cause you got great pipes on you, kid. And, yeah. I guess I’m asking. You in?”
And later, they would lie and say that Justin had to put down to ask-slash-beg-slash-plead with Lynn to let him join Chris’ wild venture, before phoning him back to say ‘yes’, but really, Justin knew the answer all along, only he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Yeah,” he heard himself respond, faintly, “yeah, I’m in.”
“You don’t have to ask your mom? Or your dad? Or whatever?”
Justin shrugged at thin air at the forced neutrality of Chris’ tone, and then glanced over his shoulder at where Lynn was glaring at him, hands on her hips, before saying softly, again, “I’m in.”
“Great,” Chris relented, at last, and then asked for Justin to put Lynn on the line.
“It’s for you, ma,” Justin handed the receiver to her, and then went over to slouch down into a chair. He knew Lynn would agree, mostly because it would get him out of her hair, possibly for good, if not for a couple of months at least.
There was a few minutes of hushed conversation, after the initial, ‘oh-my-god, you’re-fucking-kidding-me!’ passed. Then Lynn nodded at the phone, a smile finally breaking her stony expression, and she said, excitedly, “we’ll be there.”
And when Justin was put back on line to talk to Chris, he dropped JC’s name, because in between staring at Lynn on the phone, and staring out the window, he realized it’d be a big break for his once-best-friend, who’d wanted to continue in showbiz since forever.
Chris was completely up for the idea, so Justin called JC, and they met up in Orlando, about a week later, because Chris couldn’t stand the suspense. And the rest, as they say, is History.//
Justin ran a hand over his head distractedly, sitting up in bed. He pressed his palm to his face for a moment, licking his lips at the same time, and hoped he didn’t look as big a mess as he thought he did. Justin had never been able to look presentable when he broke down.
But then again, he thought, morosely, and with nothing bearing a hint of humor, no one ever noticed when he cried.
//Even though Lynn followed him, followed N’sync, throughout their entire span of time in Germany, it was clear that she was doing it only to stay as far away from Paul as she possibly could. Which wasn’t such a bad thing, Justin reflected, because she did it every time something went wrong at home, with her marriage, with her family, with her life. And after she went back, and resumed her chores as usual, the dust from everything blowing over would already be comfortably settled.
Just like the divorce.
And since it worked for her, Justin never said a word about the way they always slept on separate beds, or the way her hand would accidentally tighten on his shoulder just a little *too* hard when they took photographs together, or the way she made sure he knew that if he got too close, she’d probably stick her fingernails into his skin.
He simply smiled, and told the guys that Lynn was more than a mother to him, really. She was a friend, a confidante, and everything in between. And after they laughed and said they wished they knew how that kind of bond felt, Justin fought not to let the smile waver as they turned away.//
He stood, and went to the main compartment of the bus, staring out of the window, a growing feeling of emptiness gnawing its way through his body. The thought of sleep enticed him, but tonight he knew it would be impossible, just like all the other nights he spent at the very same window, wondering what the hell he was doing, a twenty-two year-old with a successful career and an image most men would kill for, sitting dazedly, staring unseeingly into the night.
//At first, Justin hated being made the ‘star’ of the group. JC’d started out as the lead singer; the one Lou thought had the most potential - what with him being tall, dark and handsome. Well, tall and handsome, anyway - but now, Justin was being pushed into the golden-boy persona again, and he hated it. He hated having to be blonde and gorgeous, and he hated being the heartthrob of N’sync. Hell, some days he felt as though he hated singing.
But then he learnt, he grew into it, just like before. And then it became second nature to pose and smile for the camera, to take the lead roles he knew he was supposed to, to be the Justin fucking Timberlake they all wanted him to be. And when Lynn called him at night to ask if he was still the favorite of the group, in no uncertain terms, Justin held his heartache in, and told her that yes, he was, and he was glad she was happy and would she tell Paul he loved him, please?
He hung up after she hung up, every night, and when he threw himself onto his bed, costume and all, he breathed in the scent of unfamiliarity, and wondered why it seemed to smell more and more like home these days.//
Justin thought that without Paul, he’d probably have given up on having any sort of family ties with Lynn at all by now. He loved the man with all his heart and soul, and if ever a day came when Justin would have to give Paul up, he’d already decided he’d rather die than face a fate like that.
//Paul stared at the closed door for a long time, and Justin held his breath as Paul turned back to face him, suddenly feeling as though coming home had maybe been a bad idea, and maybe he should get back to his own house already. “Daddy?” it felt, to Justin, as though his throat was suddenly blocked, “you think I did the wrong thing?”
Paul just looked at Justin, and it struck the man how haggard Justin really looked, as though he’d pushed too hard and hadn’t gotten anything to show for it. If becoming a famous millionaire didn’t count, of course. “I don’t know, J.”
“I’m sorry,” Justin sat on his bed, helplessly, “I just. I didn’t mean to spoil Christmas for you, I swear. It’s only that I wanted to.” Justin felt a shudder wrack his body as he pressed his face into his hands. “I don’t want to be her substitute anymore.”
Paul settled next to Justin, and the bed dipped under his weight, nudging step-dad and son closer together. He touched a comforting hand to Justin’s back, rubbing it softly. “I’m sure she’ll get over it,” his voice was quiet, and strong, and Justin looked up at him with a small, genuine smile of gratitude, even if they both knew it wasn’t true.
“I know she’s always wanted a girl,” Justin shook his head as Paul tried to interrupt, “and I know that now I’ve shaved my hair off, it’s clearer to her that I can’t be that. I can’t be what I’m not. I don’t want to live that way anymore.”
Paul wrapped Justin in a firm hug, nodding silently, and then he tilted his head towards the door, “come on, we’ll talk later. Right now you have two little boys who are very excited to see you.”
Justin managed a weak smile at the thought of Jon and Stephen. Letting his father lead the way, Justin studiously ignored Lynn’s murderous gaze, moving quickly towards his younger stepbrothers instead, saying a quiet, “hi Lisa. Hi dad, merry Christmas,” trying not to acknowledge the fact that Lisa was the one out of the two who responded.
And as he sat in a corner with the two boys, watching his birth parents converse in soft but obviously heated tones, he wondered why Randall didn’t seem to blame Lisa for not bearing any daughters, and then realized, with an unpleasant start, that he hadn’t been able, even after shaving his hair off in a ridiculously brazen move, to shake off the shadow of his past after all.
Then there was a warm hand on his shoulder, and as Justin turned to look at Paul, he felt a weak smile tug at his lips, and he watched as Paul’s broadened in reply.//
Justin clutched his cell tightly in his hand, his fingers itching to dial the familiar numbers. It was too much, he’d decided, and before he did what he had to, he wanted to give his dad a ring, just to touch base, to let him know how much he missed him. After a moment’s hesitation, he began to dial. There was one ring, two, and Justin’s heart clenched in fear when he realized Lynn might pick up, but then Paul’s voice was warm and rich over the phone.
“‘Lo?”
“Hey, daddy.” Justin let out a soft rush of breath, feeling himself smile.
“Who are you and what have you done with my son? The one who didn’t call in the middle of the night because he was too wrapped up in his own blanket?” Justin laughed softly at the obvious smile in Paul’s voice, feeling lingering warmth in his heart at the words ‘my son’.
“The blankets kicked me out of bed, so I thought I’d call to check up on you.”
Justin loved the way he couldn’t stop smiling when he was on the phone with Paul, “ah, so I’m a backup plan, eh? Well, at least you’ve got one.”
They were quiet for a moment, Justin memorizing everything about the way Paul’s voice resounded in his ears, the timbre, the quality, the tone. “I love you, daddy.”
“I love you too. Now get some sleep, and don’t think too much.”
Justin clicked the button to end the call, taking another deep breath. If he spent a second longer on the phone, he’d probably break down and tell Paul all about everything he’d planned. And then it would be over. And he couldn’t - *wouldn’t* - let that happen.
//Sometimes he thought he deserved it, as he sat in his room, alone, his head still spinning from the angry words he’d exchanged with Britney before she’d stormed out on him, using the patented, “if you would pull your fucking head out of your ass for a minute, maybe you’d see that the world doesn’t revolve solely around you,” to shut him up, effectively making sure he wouldn’t follow.
Lynn’s words came back to him, relentlessly flooding his mind. All the ‘you’re-not-good-enough’s and ‘why-can’t-you-do-anything-right?’s always re-surfaced, and Justin felt himself changing back into the young, helpless boy he’d once been, the one he always thought he’d managed to get rid of, but simply refused to go away and Justin wondered, albeit briefly, if he was schizophrenic.
And then he thought about how alone he was, and how, when JC had tried asking him what the problem was about two days ago, he’d snapped, and only managed a ‘fuck off, okay?’ before retreating into his own room because he’d felt his eyes beginning to water already.
Normally - because their quarreling and Britney leaving the room soon after they’d begun was becoming as routine as their weekly mini shopping sprees - Justin would get into bed after all his musing, closing his eyes as he felt the familiar bone-aching weariness overwhelm him, but tonight he was interrupted with a quiet knock on the door. “J?”
Justin nearly groaned as he stood to open the door. He peered through the crack of light filtering through the slightly-ajar door, “yeah?”
JC stood behind Lance, and there were identical expressions of confusion and concern on their faces. Justin took a deep breath, trying to steady his emotions, and then properly opened the door. “Yeah?” he said again, and he hadn’t meant for it to sound as brusque as it had come out, but he couldn’t take it back, so he plastered a friendly smile on his face and hoped they wouldn’t notice the difference.
“What’s wrong?” Justin could hear the real alarm in Lance’s voice now, and as the bass took a step forward, Justin retreated. “Justin.”
JC shut the door behind him as he studied Justin, quietly, and Lance walked right up to him to envelope Justin in a hug. Justin breathed in his scent, for a moment, and then went lax in his arms, curling himself around Lance, as they sank onto the bed. “I’m sorry,” the words were whispered, and JC knew who they were addressed to, so he gave Justin a reassuring smile, and went to sit by him, stroking his back, comfortingly.
“It’s just.” Justin stopped. He couldn’t tell them. There was so much to tell, and he didn’t know how he’d even get through half of it. Justin found he was vaguely annoyed by the way they always made spilling your guts to a friend look so easy in the movies. “I’m okay. It’s just crazy, you know? I mean. The hiatus coming so soon. Everything. You know I don’t work well under pressure.”
JC exchanged a look with Lance, one that Justin was sure read: bullshit, or bullshit? He sighed, and pressed his hand to his forehead. “I’m tired,” he admitted, finally, when the silence had stretched a little too long for comfort. “That’s all.”
Justin wondered when he’d become so good at lying, till Lance pulled away, touching his hand gently to Justin’s cheek. “Do you want company?” he asked, his voice low and soft and soothing and god, Justin hadn’t realized how good he looked - how good they *both* looked - till he’d been pushed back into the pillows, and JC’s lips curved further upwards, and Lance’s low chuckle rumbled in his chest, and sent shudders of thrill down Justin’s spine.
Justin wasn’t sure if he was relieved that they didn’t realize how confused he was, or if he was completely pissed off. They’d had a motive in coming to seek him out, now he knew that for sure. And if their intentions in asking if he was all right hadn’t been genuine, had merely been a cover for the activities they were hoping he’d consent to performing with them later, Justin let his shoulders drop. With relief, or further burden, he couldn’t tell.
Then JC pressed a feather-light kiss to the corner of his mouth, and Justin threw caution to the wind, because he didn’t think he had the nerve to tell them what he should have told someone - anyone - years before now, and tonight wasn’t going to change anything. So, as he felt fatigue drain from his body at Lance’s light, provocative touches, he let the famous smile curl his lips, and forced a devilish spark into his eyes as he whispered, “I guess I can forgo sleep one night.”
The twinkle in Lance’s eyes promised Justin he hadn’t made the wrong decision.//
Justin let the phone slip through his fingers as he leant his head against the windowsill, listening to the sharp shatter of metal and plastic against the wooden floor. It didn’t matter now. Flashes of Lance and JC were running through his mind, and Justin let another bittersweet smile curve his lips. They had given him some of the best memories he’d ever have, Justin reflected, and he loved them as much as he possibly could, with all the pent up emotion he’d stashed carefully away inside.
But with the happy memories came those that hurt, that cut, the most. And Justin just couldn’t not think of the one that had ended it all.
//“I think it’s time,” Lance stated matter-of-factly, and his green eyes flashed around the room, three calm and one stricken face meeting his gaze. “We’ve been touring for seven years without too long a breather in between. And now that we are who we are, now that we’ve gotten all this recognition, it’s time. We can go out with a bang.”
It had always been about numbers and calculation for Lance.
Joey nodded his agreement, and Chris shrugged, running a hand through his hair. It couldn’t be that easy for them, any of them, but when JC leaned across the table to squeeze Lance’s hand, he knew that would be that. It was over.
N’sync was taking a break.
“But I-” he found himself saying, and when four pairs of eyes turned to look at him, he choked. “I love you guys.”
“We know, J,” Chris was wrapping an arm around Justin’s neck, “and this doesn’t mean we love you any less. But Lance is right. I need a break, and I think the rest of us do, as well. Especially you. You’ve been running yourself down. Just take a year or so off, to sit back and think about what you want. What you *really* want.”
Justin pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t believe this. “How about I start with things I don’t want, like Britney,” he said finally, and Chris grinned, slapping him on the shoulder. And that was that.//
“The bus’ll be fixed in about half an hour, Justin,” the head of his security team yelled from outside the bus, and Justin jerked himself out of reverie. This was it. He had to do it. Now.
“Right,” he called back, shrugging on a jacket, making sure he sounded as cheerful as ever - he was the golden boy, wasn’t he? He couldn’t be miserable. “I’m going out for a second, just to get a breather. I’ll be right back.”
And as if they sensed his need to be alone, no one made a move to follow him, and Justin walked further from the bus, towards the bridge overlooking the river a couple of feet away. There was no one else on the road, as was expected at 2am in the morning, and Justin walked to the furthest end, where he was sure he was alone, and climbed the railing.
It was the most exhilarating feeling he’d ever experienced, sitting up on the metal barrier, swinging his feet temptingly far out. His hands held the bar on which he sat very loosely, and Justin smiled bitterly at the thought that Lynn would probably have nothing to say to him, at that moment.
//“I can’t believe what a selfish bastard that guy was,” JC was staring at the screen in open-mouthed disbelief. “I mean, didn’t he think about how his lover would feel? Or his family? Or his fucking friends?”
Justin touched the man on the screen with a finger, outlining his mangled body, which was frozen on the tv set. “I think,” he said softly, “I think I would have done the same thing. He had a pretty tragic life.”
“But J!” Joey shook his head, “dude, suicide’s never the answer. There’s gotta be another way out.”
“Yeah, but maybe this way’s the best way for them all.”
“The easiest, you mean,” Chris cut in, sharply, eyeing Justin like a teacher would his worst student.
Justin just shrugged, and let Lance sidle up close to press a comforting kiss on his lips, his finger gradually slipping from the screen completely.//
Justin closed his eyes, letting the wind caress his face, thinking of Joey’s grin, and the way he wrapped his arms tight and secure around your body; thinking of Chris’ humor and the wild look he always got in his eyes when he was about to pull a prank, and the way he’d pat Justin on the head and call him ‘infant’ just to be annoying, and the way he was the older brother Justin had never had; thinking of Lance’s eyes and the way he did math faster than a calculator, and the way he was nearly always business, even in bed, which made him so good at what he did, and the way he cuddled after he was sated, and the way they always said he was an evil dictator in Southern Baptist disguise; thinking of JC’s crinkle-eyed smile, and the way he would tell JC-jokes that made nearly everyone roll their eyes, and the way he always tried to tell Justin that modesty was incredibly important when you were important, and the way he’d brush his thumb across Justin’s cheek and whisper that he loved him.
Justin smiled, and let the thought of Paul and Jon and Stephen filter briefly through his mind.
Then he released his grip on the railing, and jumped.
And if there were screams of ‘Justin! Justin, no!’ echoing loudly into the nighttime sky, he never heard.
-fin-