I took a deep breath as my booties scuffed down the hallway, taking in the sound in hopes that it would drown out my thoughts.  I’d rather listen to annoying sound of my booties scraping against tile than to see my mother’s face when she looks at me.  Three years is a long time, particularly for the two of us--a pair that used to be unhealthily inseparable.

After rounding the corner, I found the door that read “Counseling,” and I stopped to stare for a moment.  This is it.  My heart was beating so loudly that I could hear its pale echo in my eardrums, and I could feel the lump forming in my throat.

Now or never, Timberlake.

Swallowing hard, I reached my hand out for the door, slowly turning the handle as this heaviness washed over me completely.  I realized I was holding my breathe, and I could feel every muscle in my body tense, not quite allowing my body to push the door open of it’s own accord.  Instead, I stood there like a jackass.

Never is good.

Unfortunately, never wasn’t a part of the plan.  As soon as my hand had touched the handle, it was being flung open and pulled me along with it. My unwilling body stumbled carelessly into the room, unknowingly looking at the doctor that had just opened the door I was pathetically holding onto.

“Uh.....hi....” I stuttered nervously, looking up at the doctor as I steadied my weight beneath me.  I didn’t look around yet, for fear of seeing my mother’s sad face, those eyes--the disappointment that I knew was there.  Instead, I laughed nervously.  “Didn’t know you were there.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Timberlake.  We’ve been waiting for you.  I was just about to go find you,” he finished.  “It’s time for your therapy session.  Your mother is here, but I’m going to step outside and let you have a moment alone with her--let you get reacquainted before we start.”

“Thanks,” I nodded.  I could feel the temperature rising inside of me, and I stared at my feet as the doctor left, the clicking of the door closing making my throat constrict. It felt like the room was closing in on me, and in this instant, all I wanted to do was run.  Or Fuck.  But that obviously wasn’t an option.  I may be addicted to sex and from the South, but I certainly would never cross that boundary with my mother, no batter how bad I could feel my veins itching.

We were alone.  She could see me.  I could feel her staring, her eyes boring into my soul.

“Justin?” she asked.

Her voice was faint, and much more mellow than I had remembered.  I finally turned my head to look in the direction the sound came from, and upon seeing her, I took a shallow breath.

She looked awful.  Her bright eyes were now dull, her body thin and emaciated, and her once buoyant blonde hair was now lifeless and a canary yellow.

“Mom!  Holy shit!  A-are you okay?” I asked nervously.

I instantly closed the distance between us, opting to take a seat on the couch next to her.  I just couldn’t believe how different she had become in three years.  This was not the mother that filled my memory.

“Yeah,” she laughed.  “I’m fine.  Just getting over cancer, you know,” she looked down.  I could tell by her face that she was scared and alone, probably because of me.  And that hurt more than anything had in a long time.

“What?  You had cancer?” I asked, my words almost breathless.  “Why?  Why didn’t I know?  Why didn’t you call me?  Why...just....why?”

She laughed a little, but there was a sadness to her tone that I had never heard before.  “Well, you said you never wanted to talk to me again...after I asked you to stop.  This.”  I watched her make the motion to the room around her, and I nodded in response, the guilt easing its way into my heart.  I watched her take a few shaky breaths as she went to pick at the scarf that was laying in her lap for a distraction.  I got that habit from her.

“I tried calling Trace to get to you, but you had him programmed to turn away my calls.  I figured you just didn’t want to be in my life anymore, even if I had cancer.”

Wow....that was like a punch straight to the gut.  

“Mom, I didn’t know.  God, I didn’t know.  I’m so sorry,” I whispered, gently touching her face, and I could feel the tears welling up.  

Something about my mother could always turn me into a little bitch.  I wrapped my arms around her instantly and held her close to me, just resting me cheek against her temple as she cried.

“I’m sorry I was such an asshole,” I mumbled.  

Had the fame really gotten to my head that badly, that I would disown my own mother and not be there when she had cancer?  Even after she gave up her entire life for me, to take me around the country and babysit me while I pursued this career that I now completely take for granted?

I’m such a fucking prick!

“It’s....it’s okay,” she whispered, reveling in the fact that my arms were around her.  

I could tell by the way her nails dug into the flesh of my arms that she was afraid to let me go.  And there was a part of me that was just as scared too.  But that fear was quickly turning into something that I couldn’t control--the other part of me that took over when the pressure got to be too much.  The part of me that was the reason my mother and I hadn’t talked in three years.

Ever since I was little, my mother has been my best friend.  Throughout all of the *N Sync days, for every tour, every album, every interview, every award show--she was there.  She was my sanity, the person I told everything to.  Everything.

But somewhere along the line, it changed.  Maybe it was when we started touring heavily, maybe it was after the breakup with....her, or maybe it was just a normal evolution.  I mean, a guy can’t go his entire life having his mother know the intimate details of....well, everything?  Or was there more to it that I didn’t understand?

The thoughts running through my head were starting to consume me, and just as I moved to say something, I heard the familiar click of the door again, looking up to see the Doctor walk in with a clipboard.  The two of us slowly pulled away as he sat down, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose and getting out his pen.  Guess I’ll have to deal with this later.

“Sorry to break up the happy moment folks, but it’s time for the session to start,” he replied.  

“No, problem, Doctor Kramer,” my mother answered.  She was always so polite.

The doctor smiled in return as he crossed his legs.  I didn’t know much about Dr. Kramer, but I know that I didn’t like him.  His overly obese body hidden beneath his starch-white coat jacket that was just a little too tight.  But it wasn’t the coat that really bothered me.  It was the way that he smacked his lips and nibbled on his fingernails that really got to me.  It was like his fingers were twinkies, and it just made me want to vomit at the pure sight.

The itch was starting to get worse.  I could feel it moving from my toes and into my ankles.  I nervously pulled at my pant leg to try and curb it before it got out of control.

“So, why don’t we start with you, Mrs. Harless.  When did you first start noticing Justin’s behavior changing?” his eyes darted to hers.

“Oh, I don’t know.  It’s hard to say.  You know...all celebrities have a little bit of reckless abandon, and I always tried to let Justin explore that.  You know, as long as he was safe,” she replied.

“And when did it start getting bad?” he continued.

“Well, I guess I noticed it when he started missing shows.  First it was just not making radio interviews.  Then it was showing up late to media appearances.  And then he just stopped caring at all.  At some point...he just was so consumed in his pursuits that he was starting to ruin his career,” she explained.

I had to interject.  “Ma, it wasn’t that bad.  I didn’t miss appearances,” I replied, rolling my eyes a little.  Honestly, hearing this out of my mother’s mouth was a little uncomfortable for me, particularly her calling me out.

“And what were you doing, Mr. Timberlake, at the point of time your mother was referencing?” he stated simply as he continued to write on his little clipboard.  The sound his pencil made was deafening. Scribbly Sribble.  I wanted to throw it against the wall.

“What was I doing?  Fuck if I know.  I was living my life.  Have you ever been a celebrity, sir?” I finished, the itch creeping up my calves now, and making the threshold for losing my temper a lot lower.

“Sir, there’s no need for you to use profanity.  This is a calm environment.  There’s no judgement here,” he stated.  He didn’t even look up at me when he said it.

Asshole.

“I use ‘profanity,’ so get fucking used to it...” I hissed.

“Justin!” my mother replied.

“God, fuck.  I’m sorry Mom, but Jesus!” I looked at her.  She pulled her hand away from where it was resting slightly against my thigh.

“Don’t use that language.  Your Grandfather would be rolling around in his grave right now if he heard you,” she finished, her voice showing her exasperation.

“What?  Mom?  Seriously?” I laughed.  “We used to fucking smoke pot together on the tour bus, and I’m pretty sure you taught me a few swear words yourself.  It’s not like you were model mom of the year, or anything, as far as Mom standards go.”

I saw the whiteness creep up her face, and she just stared at me in awe.  It didn’t take long for the tears to start welling in her sad eyes.  

Shit.

“Ma....wait.  I didn’t....I didn’t mean it like that.  I mean...you were a great mother.  I’m just saying...it’s not like you haven’t heard me say things like this before...” I tried to counteract, but the look on her face told me that the damage had been done.

“I cannot believe you, Justin Randall.  I did not raise you to be this person.  To talk back to your mother?  To say the Good Lord’s name in vein?  To...to...even dare say that I was a bad mother to you when I gave up my entire life for you?  The audacity, you have!  Ooh, if you weren’t a grown man, I would throw you over my knee and slap you silly.  I do not know who you are, or where you got that lip...but I do not need to sit around and hear any more of it,” she finished as she moved to grab her purse.

The doctor gently sat up and put a hand up, as if it would stop her. “Mrs. Harless, please.  I know this is difficult, but this is the first session where he’s facing his past, and this is imperative to your son’s recovery.  Please, stay.  It will be better for the both of you in the long run.”

“Mom...please.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it.  I just...this is hard for me,” I offered.  “I mean, you got cancer.  I haven’t seen you in three years.  I didn’t even want to come here.  I just...this is a big adjustment for me to even be doing this.  I just....I’m sorry.  I thought I was in sex rehab, not church.”

She didn’t respond, except with a disapproving shake of her head and a sad huff.  But she did sit down, to my surprise.

“Thank you, Mrs. Harless,” the doctor smiled.  “So, why don’t we shift the discussion a little.  Justin...why don’t you tell me why you and your mother stopped talking?”

There it was.  The bomb I had been waiting for.

“Um...I don’t know, really.  I just....I got wrapped up in my life,” I responded, picking at the lint on my scrubs.  I knew exactly why we had stopped talking, but I wasn’t about to let that out this early on in the game.  I wasn’t here for therapy.  I was here to get out of this hellish prison Trace and JC dumped me into.

“What were you wrapped up in, exactly?  Tell me about that time period,” he finished.  

He was so damn clinical with his stupid monotone responses.  It was like he just spewed words, void of emotion and real meaning.  Sometimes I wondered if he was just reading from a little script on his clipboard, instead of taking in what we were actually saying.

“Uh, well.  I guess...I don’t know,” I said as I turned to my mother.  “What was it...like...after the Grammy’s?”

“No.  It was for the golf course opening,” she offered quietly.

“OH, right.  Yeah, the golf course opening,” I started.  “I had come home for the opening ceremony of this golf course that I had built--the first eco-friendly golf course in the country.  We did it to save the old one in our town,” I smiled proudly.  I couldn’t help but be happy about my accomplishments.  It’s all I really had anymore.

“Tell him the rest of the story, Justin.” she whispered.

“...and, uh.  I brought a girl home,” I finally mumbled after what seemed like hours of stalling.

“You didn’t bring just any girl home.  You were supposed to bring your fiance home, but you didn’t.  You brought her instead,” my mother interjected, a hint of venom in her voice.

I rolled my eyes, and at the mention of my fiance, I felt the itch creep up twice as fast, working its way to my thighs.  “We broke up.  What did you want me to do?  Bring her home anyway?  ‘Cause that would have been fun...” my voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“You had a fiance,” the doctor asked curiously, starting to furiously flip through is records.  “You never mentioned that...”

I sighed.  “I try to forget that it happened.”

“You could have at least told us that you broke up!  And how do you even break up with someone you’re supposed to spend your life with?”  She turned to the doctor.  “Instead, he just showed up with this whorish little tart on our doorstep.  You know, his Grammy Sadie almost had a heart attack with that skirt she was wearing.  Or should I say strap of fabric?”

My mother always knew how to paint a picture.  All I could do was groan.

“Mom...” I trailed.

“What?  She was a whore.  What do you want me to say about it?” she finished defiantly.

This was a bad idea.  Three years of life altering events mixed with pent up anger and drama from two inseparables that became separable.

What were they thinking?

“You know, you didn’t have to judge her, Mother.  She may have been wearing skanky clothes, but she could have been a really nice person.  You didn’t even give her a chance,” I turned to her.  If we were going to argue, we might as well do this right.  

“Judge her?  JUDGE HER?  I didn’t need to.  She did all the judging for me,” she said.

“Oh, really.  How?  How exactly did she do the judging for you? Huh?  All she did was show up!?” I replied, our voices getting louder.

“Oh, I don’t know.  Maybe when she sat in our living room talking on the phone to her ‘bestie’ about how she slept with you 16 times since she met you two days before?  That’s probably what did it for me.”

“She did not say that,” I replied.

“Oh, so now you’re not going to believe your own mother.  You know that I gave birth to you, right?  When have I ever lied to you?” she finished.

“There have been plenty,” I whispered, looking up at her with a cool icy glaze, and by the look on her face I know that she knew exactly what I was talking about.  The itch had now made it’s way full to my groin, and I knew it was only a matter of minutes before the pulsing made it all the way to my brain.

“This is great.  We’re really getting somewhere,” Dr. Kramer offered, a hint of excitement in his drab mumble.

“I’m done.  I don’t want to do this anymore,” I stated.  I could feel my chest starting to constrict, and I needed to get out of there.  Right now.

I stood up and started for the door. Nothing else in my mind mattered at this moment other than getting the fuck out of here.

Need.

“You can’t leave, sir.  We’re not finished with your session,” he called.  I could hear him putting his clipboard down, and frankly, I didn’t give a shit.

To.

“Sir.  Sir...where are you going?” the doctor finished.

Get.  Find.

“Justin!” I heard my mom yell as I reached the door handle.

Out. Pussy.

As soon as I got to the hallway, everything seemed to move in slow motion.  I tried to move as quickly as I could towards the front desk, knowing Nurse Jackie was there.  She would make this go away.

One. Foot. In. Front. Of. The. Other.

“JUSTIN!!”

“Mr. Timberlake.  Stop!”

Nurse. Jackie.

Their voices seemed so distant.  As I rounded the corner, I watched as Nurse Jackie saw me.  At first it was a smile, and then it was shock as I lunged for her.

“We need a tranquilizer, stat!  Get security!”

“Oh my God!”