I woke up with something on my cheek. The last time this had happened to me, it was a cockroach. I lived on the ground floor of some archaic apartments, so it wasn't totally unusual to wake up with an oversized insect on my face, just horrifying. 

I immediately got up and slapped the critter off my face, which in turn made me slam my head into the headboard. That reminded me that I didn't have a headboard and what I assumed to be a cockroach was actually a bra, my bra. As I looked around I realized that other items of my clothing were scattered around the hardwood floor and none were on my body. I tried to piece the events of the night before together and all I got was a montage of different scenes that probably lasted a lot longer in real time. 

Him on top of me sliding in and out painfully slowly. 

Then me not liking how much control he had, and me on top of him grinding equally slowly. 

Then him, with his hands on my hips, saying he wasn't able to take watching my body move like that. That he wanted this to be able to last all night.

Then him behind me, hands on my hips again, with my face in a pillow. 

I took that same pillow and groaned into it for a different reason this time. 

I thought about last night before the one night stand and remembered the bar. And the gin and tonic. And the other gin and tonic. And then the other gin and tonic, but reasoned that I probably wouldn't remember the other ones so I let it go. But I remembered him. The douchebag at the bar trying to hit on me, running his fingers over my hand whenever he spoke to me and me wanting to throw up. Then I remembered Justin fucking Timberlake showing up. The two involved themselves in a showdown with Justin's face sober and stern, threatening the douchbag to leave me alone. 

If I'm really remembering things, I remember that I was quite a bit high as well as being quite a bit drunk and I just wanted everyone to get along. I thought it would help if I made a grand gesture just to show them that it was okay. That everyone should be having fun here and that there was love and respect and unicorns and that the world was a safe place. To prove this, I unsteadily grabbed Justin's waist and pulled him to me. He stumbled into my stool by the force I accidentally employed, knocking me two inches away from where I was, and grabbed the bar to steady himself. I couldn't actually see his face, but I reasoned it was probably shocked as I had only ever been rude to him. Justin's opponent walked away mumbling about how he didn't know the bitch had a husband.

That's the point where Justin assumed I was going to let go, but I had decided I wasn't. He just smelled so good, good, good and I felt like I was on a carousel with the room spinning so fast, fast, fast and Justin was the pink pony with the bar through his center and I had to hold on or I would fall off and splatter into the background with all the other bright colors.

I can't remember much about getting out of the bar, but I think he suggested we do it. And I would have done anything for him then because he saved me and I was so eternally grateful. I told him how I always thought he was a womanizing ass and completely arrogant and worthless, but I had it all wrong then. I was so stupid. Now I see the light. He was so sweet and selfless, like a Christmas elf, and he saved me from that bad man and I just appreciate it so, so, so much.

"Justin, I'm going to be honest, I think I love you."

"Belle, Im going to be honest, I think you're drunk. And possibly on 'shrooms." He eyed me suspiciously.

I then blabbered on about how much I used to hate, hate, hate that he called me Belle because my given name isn't that southern, but right now I like it and he can call me anything he wants, wants, wants.

I don't remember getting in the car, but I remember stopping in his driveway as he shut the car off. The glow from the dashboard highlighted his jawline and I thought he was so handsome, so I told him so.

"Fuck, Belle, give me whatever the hell you're on. I've never known you to be so damn nice to me." He ran his hands over his face, amused. 

I was still so grateful from earlier that I reached into my purse and pulled out my cigarette case. Inside was a small plastic, yet realistic looking cigarette. I packed it with enough for one hit and handed it to him. 

"Lucy May, I was kind of kidding."

I took my feet out of the floor board and pulled them closer to the rest of my body so that all of me was contained in the passenger seat of his small car. I leaned over the console, put the one hitter between his lips and lit it. He inhaled deeply and without coughing like a pro.

The next thing I remember is us laughing so hard with my legs in his lap and his hand on my jean clad thigh. I was thinking that that was the closest I had ever been to Justin and I didn't know why I hadn't tried it sooner. He was so warm, and comforting and reminded me of the color purple. 

Next we were going up the stairs to his house. I was ahead of him and he was holding my hips so that I didn't fall backwards, but instead he fell forwards, trapping me beneath him and we laughed, laughed, laughed together.

"We should do more things together, Belle." His eyes were wide and sincere, like he had just come up with the best idea he had ever had.

"Like have sex!" I leaned closer to him, excited about my own idea.

"Yeaaaa, like have sex." He spoke like someone who was truly stoned.

I shook my head thinking that it might somehow rid itself of these memories. I grabbed my bra from beside my head and tried to put it on, but my arms were too sore. I didn't even try to remember why that was. I abandoned my bra and went in search for my pants. 

"Belle," I heard his voice on the other side of his bedroom door. "I made coffee and eggs." 

His voice was soft and pleasant and it scared the shit out of me. I hurriedly put my black jeans on one leg at a time, jumping around until I had them fastened. 

"Belle, are you up?" He asked slightly louder through the door.

I knew it wouldn't be long until he deduced I was asleep and entered the room. I didn't want to see him after last night. I couldn't see him after last night. I wanted to remember him as the asshole from the bar who charmed and played every girl he had ever met. I wanted to remember myself laughing at the girls who were dumb enough to go home with him each night. I didn't want to remember myself as one of them. 

That smile, that arrogant fucking smile. I didn't want to see that either. 

He probably didn't even make coffee and eggs. He probably made a few banners and phone calls telling of how he finally slutted me up.

I heard the door knob turn and I did the only logical thing there was to do. I got on the floor and squeezed myself under his full sized bed. My first instinct was to cover my mouth so that I didn't make a sound, but instead chose to cover my chest as I had never actually found my shirt.

He took a few steps and stopped.

"I see your foot, Belle. You didn't make it completely under the bed."

I held my breath and my chest tighter. I was pretending I was a mannequin. Perhaps he had one of those laying around. I hated to admit it, but he was quite fashionable. Maybe a mannequin was necessary for him.

He grabbed my ankle gently and slid me slowly from underneath the bed. He had an amused smile on his face when he saw where my hands were and where my shirt wasn't.

"What are you doin' under there, pumpkin?"

There were a million excuses I had already come up with. I was looking for my contact. I heard a noise and got scared. I was cleaning. A screw fell out of his bed and I wanted to find it before the loss of it weakened the structure too much. I had all of these excuses and I told the one truth instead.

"I was hiding from you."

"Oh, are we playing these games now?" His eyes dropped to my chest, and for the billionth time that morning alone, I wanted to die.

It took me a week, but I finally decided to swallow my pride and go back to my bar. Just because I slept with Justin fucking Timberlake didn't mean that I couldn't reclaim my life at some point. This had been my bar before I made that horrible decision and it would be my bar after. I would go back to rolling my eyes at the poor, young girls he seduced nightly. I would go back to flipping him off when he winked at me suggesting I be the next girl to go home with him. I would go back to shit talking him with my friends. I would just never go back to his house.

Furthermore, I would never even talk to him again. And after I got the test results on the STD mega test back, I would never even think of him again. He would only exist to me as a form of birth control now. 

The bartender knowingly had a gin and tonic waiting for me when I claimed a stool. 

"It's been a minute, Lucy."

I smiled politely and stirred my drink. All of the energy I had at the start of my day had been spent at work and I didn't even know if I was able to move my lips at this point.  I wanted to literally lay my head down on the bar from exhaustion, but I stopped myself.  I felt like this a lot lately. Tired. I wasn't sure if it was my job or the drugs, but one seemed to be the catalyst for the other. I needed to take my drugs so that I had it in me to show up every day for work, but I needed to show up every day for work so I could afford the drugs.

It was a real bitch of a catch 22.

As I scanned the room, I realized I knew pretty much everyone in the room. I didn't feel comforted by this fact, I felt annoyed. This town needs some new people. Or I need to get out of it.

"Well, I'll be. Look everyone, It's Lucy May. She must be back from the dead."

I didn't even need to turn around to match the voice with the face. It was the voice I had been afraid to hear since the last time I heard it a week ago. When I woke up in his bed naked. When I refused to eat his scrambled eggs. When I left his house while his back was turned without so much as a goodbye. 

When he got no reaction from me, he went a step further and sat in the stool next to me. It was getting more difficult to ignore him, but not completely impossible. I tried to cover how anxious I felt by looking bored. I stirred my drink faster and hoped he'd spot some busty blonde across the room and decide to pay her his attention. He had more of a chance of sleeping with her tonight.

It wasn't that I hated him. It was just that I was embarrassed. Despite living in this town my whole life, the only reputation I had was being a bit of a bitch. I was not ready to add whore to that. I would like to have picked up something in the middle of the alphabet before I skipped right to the W's. I had only ever slept with serious boyfriends. I wasn't a prude, but I wasn't a dumbass either. Word travels fast in a small town and my name was going to be a hot topic when word got out about our sexcapade. Some would be envious, some would be jealous, and most would be severely confused, but either way everyone was going to have an opinion. I was hoping he was keeping quiet and it seemed that so far he had, but him sitting so close to me in a bar was definitely going to stir some curiosity. Maybe he was even taking this moment as a public opportunity to inform the town of last weeks events.  It was times like these I wished I was stronger, so that I could punch him and it might actually hurt.

"It's not polite to ignore someone, Belle. I know your mama taught you better than that."

Clever. He thought he was being clever. And by the tone of his voice, he was proud of himself for it. Well, I wasn't giving up. I was going to keep on ignoring him. He can keep using that stupid nickname all damn night long. Besides, he didn't know nothing about my mama. She wasn't from the south like I was, anyhow. She was born and raised in Wisconsin and she could have taught me to ignore people. That was totally possible. Justin had probably never even been to Wisconsin and I know he has never met my mama so he'd never know. Then I could just blame my rude habits on her and get off the hook. I am a product of my environment. 

Although, I suspect my mama would like to think she taught me better than to have sex with boys from bars. I have no excuse for that one. Other than the drugs, of course. I've been trying to and not trying to piece that night together since it happened. Somethings I remember very clearly, like Justin taking up for me at the bar and giving him a few hits of my stuff. Other things keep popping into my mind randomly and inconveniently, like the sex. I'm not sure which of us physically initiated it and that killed me. I would like to think it was him. I would like to think I was at least somewhat innocent in this.

But the things we did in that bed of his, well, they sure as hell weren't innocent. And if I'm going to be really honest, and since I'm not actually saying this out loud, I feel like I can be somewhat honest, the sex was really, really good. Better than good, even. I will let the drugs take credit for a good portion of that, but I have to admit that the boy had moves. And strong hands. Very strong, sturdy hands. Then again, with as much practice as he had, he better be good. Whenever I think about it (and believe me, I try not to think about it), I feel this tingling sensation all over. Like I'm a damn teenager who just had sex for the firs time. It's horrible. 

"Hey!" I yelled quickly in response to my drink slipping from my grasp and being drained by someone else's lips. So much for my silent treatment.

"I'm helping you out." He winked at me.

The bastard fucking winked at me.

"That was my first drink!" I yelled loudly and defensively. I knew I should be quiet so as not to cause anymore attention on the two of us, but I was upset. His arrogance was pissing me off. The fact that he was still sitting here was pissing me off. The fact that he got to me was pissing me off.

"Oh, come on Lucy May, that was not your first drink." He laughed dryly.

"At this bar," I mumbled. ". .You didn't let me finish." I looked away, defeated. He caught me. 

"Well, then I will definitely buy you another. Honesty should be rewarded." He motioned to the bartender for another gin and tonic and looked at me slyly from the corner of his eye. He was trying to get a reaction out of me and I was completely aware of it, but my temper was getting the best of me.

"Don't you have some sluts to fuck, Justin? Go away." I hissed under my breath. You should never sleep with people you hate. They will be around every corner trying to remind you of it. This is my own personal hell.

"Ouch, Lucy May, my heart. Besides, those sluts can wait. I'm trying to get to know my new friend here." He wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his chest for added emphasis. I could literally feel my cheeks go red. Everyone in this room knows we slept together now. I just know it. They know my knack for biting lips and that he prefers women on top. Well, to be fair, nearly everyone in this room had probably been on top of Justin at some point so they already knew that, but they knew nothing about me. Until now. 

"We've known each other for years, Justin. Get off of me." I whispered harshly. My eye darted quickly around the room praying no one saw.

"But now we really know each other." I didn't miss the fact that he emphasized the word 'really' a bit too much. He was reminding me that we had sex. As if I could ever fucking forget it.

I was refining a snarky comeback and a way to get Justin's arms off of my shoulder when somebody beat me to it. 

"Woah Timberlake, hands off. Lucy's a lady, you know?" Taylor, arguably my best friend in this town, swatted Justin's arms away from me while she wrapped her own around my shoulders. 

Justin picked up his beer and took a drink slowly, "Do I know that?" He was looking right into my eyes, challenging me. He was trying so hard to remind me of that night, but I won't be pulled into this game. I am playing dumb.  I have forgotten everything. I have amnesia. I am a soap opera character. 

Before I was only assuming people were listening because, well, we're in the south, but now I am absolutely sure someone is listening. I want to kick him off the stool he's sitting in, but I'm a few drinks in and would most likely end up missing. Instead, I'm going to sit here and pray he falls off on his own. And then I am going to find  a way to take credit for it.  

In the back of my mind, I know Taylor will never suspect anything would actually go down between Justin and me but that doesn't end the paranoia. It isn't that I hate the kid, I just think he's a joke. Taylor feels the same way and since we frequent bars more than we frequent most anywhere else, we have plenty of chances to talk about this subject. Taylor may be my best friend around here, but I still wouldn't tell her this. She wouldn't understand. Hell, I don't even understand. Sure, I was high, but even that's not a good enough excuse. She would tease me mercilessly, but then she would probably high five me. She's not fond of him, but she will admit to herself and out loud that she thinks he is attractive. That's something I wouldn't do.

Well.

That's something I wouldn't have done. Unless I was out of my mind high and in the passenger seat of his car right after he had threatened a man in the verge of feeling me up.

Damnit. I had almost blocked out that I had called him handsome. 

"Lucy, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Taylor ever so elegantly asks me as she gently punches my shoulder, "Use some of that frustrating sarcasm to call his ass out like usual. Oh, you know what, forget it. I have party favors!" She quickly waves a small plastic bag filled with white powder in front of my eyes.

My eyes light up quickly. It looks like salvation. It looks like a way out of this conversation. It looks like a way to actually be able to have fun for the rest of the night.

It looks like cheap cocaine.

Taylor never springs for the good stuff. I grab the bag and shove it into my pocket before anyone else could see it.  Although, I will admit, being caught with coke is far less embarrassing to me than being caught having sex with Justin Timberlake. I will just get more jail time for the former.

As I slip off the stool, Justin looks like he's going to say something to me. As quickly as the thought enters my head it's gone because he is now practically inhaling his beer. For the second time in a week, I walk away from him without saying bye. I also walked away from him by leaving him with the tab.

Whoops. 

I can definitely say I've never done that before.

We walk out of the bathroom, refreshed, energetic, and ready to dance. I instinctively wipe my nose as Taylor grabs my hand and pulls me towards the door and out of the bar. The outside air feels really cool against my bare arms and face and I am aware of every hair standing on end. Taylor is still holding my hand and I wish she would let go. All she wants to do is get to the dance club next door and let the pace of her body catch up with the pace of her heart, but I need to stand here for a minute. I'm afraid that if my body catches up with my heart, my entire being will explode.

Taylor keeps pulling and laughing and I keep being dragged because the club is so close now. I feel like I could lose her in there and finally sit down for a second.

The door guy asks for our ID's and I'm panicking because I don't know where my purse is. I'm still holding on to Taylor's hand as if it's the only thing left in this world. I want to sit down right here, but there are so many people behind me waiting to get in that I could just quit standing and I still wouldn't fall to the floor. 

Before I could actually put that idea to the test, I saw Taylor grab the door guy"s hand with her free one and put it on her breast. She whispered something in his ear and he let us pass with a big fucking smile on his face. I wanted to mouth 'help me' to him, but he was too busy staring at Tay's ass. The world is going to hell, I thought.

As we passed the bar, I forcefully disconnected our hands. She was too busy running to some mutual friends to notice the change. I watched her platinum blonde head mesh in with the crowd before leaning on the bar. My heart was beating so fast and I wondered exactly how cheap this shit had been. I wondered what it had been cut with and if I was actually going to die. Though this wasn't my first time doing coke, I could still go out like Len Bias. Well, I would need a much flashier career and there's no way I'd make the ten o'clock news around the world, but my heart could still plausibly explode. I could still end up a joke. 

It was seventies night tonight and I felt like Donna Summer was singing right to me. She was in my ear. She was sitting on my shoulder. She was my own personal form of entertainment tonight and I felt so special.

I wanted to dance so bad, but I felt like my heart wouldn't be able to take it. I could already feel it beating out of my chest and I wondered if anyone else could see. Perhaps I looked like a saturday morning cartoon character who was in love. I started laughing out loud because I thought that was funny, despite no one being remotely close to me.

I was starting to feel okay now. I didn't feel like I was going to die anymore. I appreciated that.

I couldn't find Tay because everyone had blonde hair at this place, but I went to the dance floor anyway. I didn't know the song, but it was dance-y and sexy, so I squeezed between some people and started moving. It wasn't long before someone had their hands on my hips and was moving in sync with me. Their hands were big and warm and I could feel their heart beating through their chest and into my back. Unless my heart was just beating that intensely. Songs passed and the dude completely kept up with me. He was smooth and had rhythm and gave me a run for my money. His hands were big on my hips and he was breathing on my neck in a very sexy way. I laid my head in the crook of his neck and moved with him until it felt like we were one person.

I was so caught up in my high that I didn't even notice when the DJ made the last call announcements. People were starting to clear out, but I wasn't finished yet. I wanted to keep dancing. I was hot, and sweaty, and completely fucking euphoric. This was the best night of my life. Everything was so right. The music, the dancing, the boy behind me.

The boy behind me suddenly became the boy in front of me when he whipped me around by my hips.

"Belle? What the Fuck?"

I grinned, "Justin, oh my god, Justin! You are such a good dancer! It's so crazy that I never knew that. I think I want to dance with you for the rest of my life. That was so-- that was just great!" I was touching his chest through his shirt and he was so warm that I just wanted to lay on him.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Belle. You're high as shit." He pulled my arms off of his chest and held my wrists at a distance. I laughed.

"Justin, I am and it's so good. Like, I finally feel like I really get it." I was talking so fast because I wanted him to understand. I wanted him to know this was the best night ever. I wanted him to feel it too.

"What you're going to get is raped, you idiot. Where's Taylor?" Justin looked around the club, "Is she your ride home?"

The club had cleared out pretty quickly and we were nearly the only ones left. There was no Taylor in sight.

"Shit. Belle," He snapped his fingers in my face trying to get my attention. He looked completely perplexed and I felt badly for him. I wanted him to being having as much fun as I was. "Belle, look at me. Do you have a roomate or someone who would watch over you tonight?"

I didn't understand why he was being so serious. This was such a fun night. Everyone in the world should be having the time of their lives. "Justin. Oh my god, Justin. We should go to Taylor's! Everyone is probably over there by now. We could keep dancing and she probably has some more coke left ov--"

"There is no way in hell I'm taking you to Taylor's." He mumbled under his breath, trying to find a solution to the problem. "Come on." He grabbed my hand and for the second time tonight I was being drug around a bar.

The air outside felt so cool and good and I started spinning in circles. My unnaturally black hair that I had pinned up before I did the coke was starting to fall free and whip around my face. I felt my purse fall off of my shoulder and to the concrete sidewalk with a quiet thud. Suddenly, I felt so free. I had nothing tying me down and nothing to hold on to. This is the meaning of  life, I thought. I could do this forever. I could feel this way forever. I will never get older and I will never die. I will always be young and pretty and free. 

Soon I became dizzy and fell to the floor. I suspect I I fell on my purse, but I couldn't be sure. I decided that spinning in circles forever may not be the best thing for me, but I could still be young and pretty. Gravity can't take those away from me. I started laughing. Cocaine was the fountain of youth.

"Oh, Belle."

I felt two strong hands lift me up and throw me over their shoulder. The white shirt, I realized, was Justin's. I started fisting at it, wishing he would walk slower. All of that spinning made me feel legitimately sick and I think I was coming down now. 

"Justin," I begged. "Please stop walking. I need a break. Please." I was afraid that feeling sick was going to lead to me actually getting sick.

"We haven't been walking for half an hour, Belle. You passed out. Please lay back down. I'm going to get you some water." His voice was soft and sweet and it was the best thing I had ever heard.

He was right, we were no longer walking. I had no concept of time. We were no longer outside of the club, but on a bed somewhere. It was the softest bed I had ever felt and I became obsessed with touching it.  When he left the room I tried to lean up, but my head hurt so bad that I immediately laid back down. I was glad to be on a bed, but there were so many blankets and I felt unbelievably hot.

The bed shifted under his weight and his hands were on the back of my neck trying to get me to take a drink. "Justin no, I don't want it. I'm so hot." The lights overhead were hurting my eyes so badly that I couldn't even open them, and time was moving at a pace I couldn't define.  I started pulling at my shirt because I felt so restricted.

"Come on," I was dead weight against Justin and he was moving me around slowly for some reason I couldn't figure out. "work with me here." he pleaded. I felt my black tank top being lifted off my body slowly and carefully.

"Justin, are we going to have sex?" I mumbled lazily. My mouth and tongue felt numb and I didn't understand it. I kept licking my lips, but they never felt wet enough.

"Seriously, Lucy May? No, we are not going to have sex." He was talking very low because I think he knew my head hurt. "You're burning up. I just want you to be comfortable. Plus, your clothes reek of cigarette smoke and I don't want my bed smelling like that."

"I like having sex with you." I admitted. My speech was getting more slurred the more tired I became. 

"Yea, yea, I like having sex with you too." Is what I thought I heard him say, but I couldn't be sure. "Belle, lift up your hips. We're almost done." I didn't so much as lift up my hips and just turn over, but he took the opportunity to slide my signature black jeans off my legs and replace them with something softer and shorter.

"Justin, you're not that bad." I was obsessed with saying his name. It was so masculine and strong, like his hands. "I don't know why I hate you so much."

"What? You hate m-"

"Will you just stay with me tonight?" I cut him off, but I didn't notice it. "My head hurts." I leaned into his chest and finally allowed my eyes to close. 

I was hearing less and less and my eyes were getting harder and harder to open. I didn't feel so hot any more. I just felt unnaturally tired. 

I woke up to him staring at me. 

Fucking. 

Staring at. 

Me.

"Get out of my face, Justin." I grunted.

"Well, that's no way to speak to the man who took care of you all night, princess." He was leaned against the footboard of the bed directly in front of me, one leg drawn up to his chest, the other splayed out in front of him. He looked arrogant, per usual. I wondered what it would take to wipe that smirk off his face.

"Why is it that every time I see you, I get a new nickname?" I tried to lean up, but my head felt like a brick. I groaned when I settled back into the pillow. It was a comfortable pillow. Although, it did smell slightly of cigarette smoke. Points off for that. 

"Yea, you smacked your head pretty hard against the sidewalk last night." He said upon noticing my discomfort. "Lucky for you I was there. I picked you up, put you in more comfortable clothes, hydrated you, tucked you in to bed, sang you to sleep. You know, the usual white knight stuff." 

"I hit my head?" I tried again to lean against the headboard. This time I was successful. I tried to mirror his stance to be funny, but my limbs didn't seem to work. Was it possible I had hit my had so hard that my arms were no longer useful? Had I rendered myself a quadriplegic? Probably not because quad meant four and I only had two arms. Why was I doing math so early in the morning?

He ignored me. "Okay, so I didn't really sing you to sleep. You passed out hard before that could happen, but all the other stuff is completely true."

". . .We slept in the same bed?" 

"Don't look at me like that, Belle. You asked for it."

". . I asked if we could sleep in the same bed?"

"You asked me to stay with you last night. Connect the dots. You really aren't that bright the morning after your drug binges."

Another thought crossed my mind. "Did we. . "

"Cuddle? You passed out pretty hard on me, so yea. But don't worry, I let you be the big spoon all night." He winked at me. Geez, even at 10 a.m. he was trying to charm my pants off. Besides, there was no way I was the big spoon all night. His shoulders are far too broad for my arms to wrap around. Assuming, of course, my arms even served a purpose anymore." 

I wanted to fight him and let him know that last night was definitely not a binge, but my head hurt so bad that I let it go. I wasn't skilled at small talk with Justin. I felt like I was in the twighlight zone. I would've tried to pinch myself to find out if this moment was real, but the throbbing in my head was enough to assure me. That and I was in the same bed as Justin Timberlake. My dreams would never include being in the same bed as Justin Timberlake. 

I didn't know what else to say, so I said nothing for a while. We just sat there looking at each other from opposite ends of his bed. His buzz cut was growing out awkwardly, round rather than square, and completely curly. He was about two weeks away from looking unbearably silly. I wanted to inform of this fact, but I was too dehydrated to talk. I also wanted to ask him for water, but there was a chance he would say no and I didn't want to risk what little saliva I could conjure up only to get shut down. I refused to add anymore negativities to my morning. I was already waking up, for the second time, in the bed of someone I fully despised.

I was trying to piece together the night before. Which is actually something I am growing quite accustomed to recently, especially involving Justin. His bed was seemingly becoming more of a home to me than my own. I was waiting for him to offer me coffee and eggs again. This time I wouldn't run away because, well, I didn't think I physically could. You try running with limp arms.  Also, food sounds really great.  Plus, I didn't mind the silence so much. It was becoming less and less awkward the more we tried it out. His nasally voice wasn't hurting my head, which was a huge positive, and it was actually beginning to feel like a game. A game that I was taking too much joy in participating in. I was just going to sit back, settle in, and wait for him to lose. And then I would tell him how I like my eggs.

"Soooo, do you need me to drive you home? Or there's a bus line a block away. . " He looked at me completely seriously and I tried very hard to keep my mouth from falling open. Perhaps, I shouldn't have gotten settled in so soon.

"Um, I. . . " I had gone from speaking full sentences to mere syllables. I wasn't aware you could start regressing at twenty-three.

"Actually, I have company coming over pretty soon and I still have to clean up." He jumped out of his own bed, "Uh, but I can pay your bus fare."

"Uh. ." I wasn't sure of the last time I exhaled. My face was probably red, and ironically enough, that wasn't even my main concern. 

What the hell does he mean he has company coming over? It's ten in the fucking morning. What a lame excuse to get someone out of his bed. Whatever happened to honesty? I wanted to yell at him, but I wasn't currently breathing enough for that to happen. He doesn't get to treat me like some obsessed fan girl. I didn't go home with him on purpose. He and I didn't sleep together, so he doesn't get to treat this like a one night stand. Unless he was lying and we did sleep together, which is a thought process I can't get into right now. In fact, I was treated better as a one night stand than I'm being treated as a guest. Rude. 

I mean, Im not saying I would like my own silk bathrobe here, but I would like to have the option of staying. I would like to have the option of staying so that I can have the option of turning it down. And right now, I would like to take that option and shove it up his ass. 

I swear, I am never letting Tay supply the party ever again. Somehow this is all her fault. Will I accept her money and go through my own dealer? Absolutely. But here on this asshole's bed I solemnly swear never to inhale, smoke, eat, freebase, or drink anything she has gotten without my help ever again. Okay, well, I suppose I could still drink some shit she gets on her own. After all, how much could she fuck that up? It's all pre-bottled. But I stand by everything else I mentioned.

"You look like shit."

"Thanks, asshole."

"Best friends don't lie."

"It isn't lying if I didn't ask for your opinion, cunt."  Taylor was always such a classy lady.

"I ordered you a water." I slid the condensation covered glass her way across the slick table. She had taken so long to get her that she'd probably be better off licking the outside of the glass.

She smiled appreciatively and removed her sunglasses from her eyes, "I take back the 'cunt'."

"And the 'asshole'?"

"Nope, that stays." I wanted to strangle her but not in public, so I decided to wait for a better time. This restaurant was too classy. Besides, by the way she looked today, she wasn't going to be putting up any sort of fight. I needed her to fight back so that my victory would feel sweeter. She really did look like complete shit, though. I guess those extra hours of partying while I was falling asleep with douchebag really did her in.

"I called out of work today." She admitted while digging around in her purse. I think I was meant to act surprised and ask why. Then I think she was going to inform me of the rest of last night's events to me in deep detail. Then I suppose she would ask me where I went after the club and why I wasn't partying with her and the rest of her drug addled buddies. Then I guess I would lie. After all, it was only three hours ago that I had been rudely kicked out of douchebag's house. Okay, so it wasn't rude. It was actually as polite as far as one night stands go.  Except that I hadn't been a one night stand. Well, at least not that night. 

"Tay, you go in at 5pm. It's two and you're already up. Why not just go in?" I knew this was a losing battle and I had already lost before I opened my mouth. I'm not sure why I do these sorts of things. Perhaps I'm sadomasochistic. Besides, it didn't matter if Taylor went in to work or not. She waited tables at a restaurant in town and would always have a job because her manager was in love with her. Or he was in love with her chest. Or ass. Or the fact that she always had drugs on her. Whatever the case was, she didn't have to show up ever and she would still probably get paid. Plus, her appearance made her enough tips a night to be able to skip the rest of the week altogether.

I think it should be said that Tay and I look nothing alike. Taylor has curves for days with still managing to look really fit. She has fake boobs, naturally blonde hair, and an ass to die for. She also has the confidence to match it. I, on the other hand, have unnaturally black hair and pale skin that is sporadically covered in a few brightly colored tattoos. Besides the drugs we both take recreationally, I think it's fair to say that we have nothing in common other than the fact that we've been friends for a while. We're an odd match to see together. He blond hair, blue-eyed, tan skin covered in the shortest of in-style dresses clashes obnoxiously with my black hair, pale skin, and my affinity to wear the same black jeans and matching black tank top every day. I suspect she likes it, though. Us being so different, I mean. It gets her attention from a whole other type of people that wouldn't normally give her attention.

She scoffed, "I feel like shit, Luce." She emphasize 'shit' just in case I was unaware of the context. My best friend thinks I'm a dumbass, "And I don't know why you're sitting here acting like a positive Pam, ready to take on the day. You were just as fucked up as I was last night." She finally pulled out of her bag what she had been searching for: a bottle of Advil and some MAC powder. Taylor was always on some sort of chemical, even when she was sober.

"Well, I wouldn't say I was aaaas fucked up. . ." I let that sentence linger in the air for a while. After all, there's no way that's true. I stopped after two hits of that cheap coke she set up for me. Taylor, however, undoubtedly kept going after the bar closed.

She looked up from powdering her nose, "Oh okay, because you weren't there beside me taking hits off the mirror like everyone else. You might have a high tolerance, Lucy May, but don't act like you weren't just as fucked up." Apparently, she felt like she had proved her point, because she went right back to her make up. Which, in my opinion, is something you do at home or at least in the restroom, but Taylor played by her own rules.

"I wasn--" I almost corrected her until I realized that that was my cover. I would never have to bring up the fact that I went home with Justin Timberlake. Ever. And though, I was royally offended that she didn't even notice my non-presence at her own party, I was also completely relieved not to have to relive this morning's events over again. He did kick me out of his house, after all. That's really embarrassing.

"What I don't understand is how you managed to get your wits about you and leave so early." This time she didn't look up for her favorite hobby, "If you went home with Lip, I swear to god."

I had spent all morning trying to get my heart to stop racing from anxiety and I had finally succeeded, but this sent my heart right back into cocaine mode, "Lip was there?" 

"Yes, Lip was there. He's back in town and wanted to party. I told you were just as fucked up as I was!" She yelled triumphantly. She loves getting the best of me. Sometimes I wonder how we're even friends. Okay, that's a lie. I wonder all the time why we're friends. 

Lip was my one time boyfriend who had left six months ago to tour around the country in his shitty ass van with three other males just as idealistically dumb as he was. He did this right after he cheated on me with some blonde in a bar. He text messaged me this fact his second day on tour. They had driven through the night and were most likely in Arizona by then, so that kept me from finding and slitting his throat. There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't wake up hoping that awful Astro Van broke down and stranded him in the middle of nowhere. Away from bars and blondes. I never found out who the blonde was because I couldn't bare it. What if she was smarter than I was? Or prettier? Or more successful? I couldn't take it. 

"Oh." 

"Oh geez, Lucy May don't tell me you're still not over him!" Taylor was such a supportive friend.

"No, of course, I'm over him." I lied, "It's just. . .I didn't know he was back. .and stuff."  

"Of course he's back. He lives here."

I was actually hoping he had taken up residence elsewhere these past few months, but I couldn't say that out loud. I was remaining as neutral as possible, "Yea, totally." I'm so convincing.

We gave our orders to the waiter. Tay ordered some fruit filled salad while I ordered a hamburger. I was naturally thin whereas she had to work to keep weight off. It was the universe's way of balancing out the fact that she came out ahead in every other aspect of our lives.

"Oh, and before I completely forget, can we talk about how weird it was that you were sitting next to Justin Timberlake at the bar last night?"

Fuckfuckfuck, she knows. My breath caught in my throat and I was trying desperately to keep my eyes at their normal size, "Well, he sat next to me." Good. Stay neutral. Neutral is good.

"Still it was pretty weird." She shrugged, "Maybe he wants to sleep with you."

There was no controlling my eyeballs with that sentence, "WHAT?!" The level of my voice went up pretty high with that one, so I cleared my throat and brought it down, "I mean, that's absurd. There's no, I mean, no way Justin Timberlake would ever think of doing that. He's just, you know, like, not thinking. . .that. You know, maybe he was bored. The bar was pretty empty and maybe he gets bored. . " God, I was an idiot. 

Taylor was laughing hysterically. At least someone was enjoying this.

"Damn girl, I was kidding." Covering her mouth with her hand to calm herself she said, "I was kidding. I know Justin doesn't want to sleep with you."

"How do you know that? He wanted to sleep with everyone. Why not me?" I asked, my face red. Why the hell was I getting defensive? Was I trying to sell myself out?

"He wants to sleep with people who want to sleep with him. You hate him. He would never approach you."

"He's approached me before." I pointed out. I picked at my french fries to seem indifferent.

Taking a leafy bite of her salad she said simply, "Yea, but he's always kidding. He would never seriously want to sleep with you."

I was so pissed off by that comment that I had half a mind to tell her that there was a possibility that he wanted to sleep with me because he did it. I would never say that, though. The fact that I knew Justin and I knew we had sex was already two people too many. However, her comment got me thinking. We slept together when we were really high and he made sure to tell me that we didn't sleep together last night, so maybe he didn't want to sleep with me. He also kicked me out of his bed this morning which could mean he realized it was all a huge mistake. The thought made me feel sicker than I think I should have felt. After all, I think having sex with him was a huge mistake, so why shouldn't he feel the same, right?

I'll tell you why, he shouldn't feel the same because he wasn't living in fear of catching an STD from me. I haven't slept with this entire town, he has. People finding out about us sleeping together wasn't going to result in social suicide for him.  . . Unless ht thought it was. Was sleeping with me considered social suicide? Is that why he kicked me out of his place this morning? Oh, damnit. 

I spent most of the day on my head. 

I cleaned my room for no apparent reason, other than it was ridiculously messy, and when I was finished with that and couldn't find anything else to do, I laid in my bed upside down with my head on the floor. When I felt a little too sick from all the blood rushing to the other end of my body, I leaned up. When that got boring, I went back to laying on my head. I suppose you could say I was depressed. 

If I were being honest, I would say that there were a few elements of my conversation with Tay last week that sparked this change in mood for me. Luckily for me, I wasn't being honest. I was laying on my head and vaguely wondering if anyone has died from this. Willingly, I mean, and if they had how long it had taken them. I was also drinking beer. You know, when I wasn't laying on my head. I was wondering about other people's suicide attempts, not trying to commit my own.

I wish I could say that I was surprised when Tay showed up at my door, but I wasn't. She always interrupted me when I was trying to mourn my social life alone. When she came stumbling in high as hell and laughing, I just moved aside and opened the door wider. However, I will admit to being surprised to find Justin Timberlake behind her. He was smiling in a self-conscious way.

"They were falling down at the bar and got kicked out."

"They. . ?" I looked around him confused. Sure enough, already on the ground before I opened the door was Lip. Not only had I taken myself out of every social circle I've ever known this week, I had apparently taken myself completely out of reality as well. 

"Tay lives about four miles south."

"Well, she directed me here."

"Lucy, Don't be a party popper!" Taylor slurred, now in my kitchen undoubtedly searching for more booze. What a bitch. 

"Right." I contemplated my options. "Well, give me your phone. I'll put her address in it."

"I found it!" Taylor announced as she rejoined the rest of us carrying the fifth of vodka I had stashed in the freezer. Her black heels clacked harshly against the wooden floor and it was giving me a headache. I guess laying on my head all day had something to do with that as well, but I'd rather blame it on her. Lip tried to stand up quickly, but was unsuccessful. He fell right back down. Even though I had a decently sized buzz going on, I was definitely not drunk enough for this.

"I don't think they're going anywhere." Justin spoke with a lopsided grin. He had moved to help Lip into the house, but Lip had swatted him away haphazardly and was now crawling through my doorway. This can't be right. I was in love with that mess? The one currently crawling hands and knees style into my apartment?

Tay and Lip took up residence on my couch and were beginning to take shots directly from the bottle of vodka. Shot glasses be damned. At least there will be less dishes to do in the morning. 

"Alright, well, see you, Belle." Justin turned to leave. 

"Oh, no." I grabbed him by the collar. "You do not bring two beyond fucked up people to my house and leave me alone with them, buddy. You're staying."

"They're you're friends." He shrugged, but he walked inside anyway. I swear, nothing ever fazes this kid. Perhaps he gets off on babysitting drunk people. It seems to be a specialty of his. 

As we all took seats around my pitiful looking coffee table, I wondered if this was the most bizarre situation someone else had ever gotten me into. It probably wasn't but it surely ranked high up there. It was certainly the most bizarre situation I had ever been in while not on drugs. 

Across from me was the ex boyfriend who I haven't seen since he broke up with me via text message. Beside me was a long time friend I couldn't decide if I loved or hated. Sure, she kept me from being completely alone in this town, but sometimes I wondered if being alone would be better for me. On the other side, was my one night stand who just last week had rather suddenly kicked me out of his bed. I'm never spending another day laying upside down again. This was ridiculous. 

"The bar kicked us out." Tay was the first to speak, per usual.

"I wish I could kick you out." I mumbled. I purposeful said it so low that I didn't really expect her to hear me, but I was somewhat disappointed when she didn't. 

"Okay, Lucy, " Taylor waved the vodka bottle in the air which made me really nervous about getting my deposit back. "You haven't been out in a while, so we brought the party to you!"

If the party consisted of my cheating ex boyfriend, my sometimes best friend, and the town man whore I was absolutely disgusted by, then I wish I would have been allowed to stay in hibernation. 

When I stayed silent, Tay took it as an opportunity to talk more. "I told you she'd be a party pooper, guys!" She groaned as she fell back against the cushioning.

"She did say that." Justin confirmed as he leaned over to speak in my ear. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He had that stupid smirk on his face. asshole. 

"Well, then why did you come?" I spoke through gritted teeth.

'"That one wanted to." He pointed to Lip, who had stayed surprisingly silent so far. This night just kept getting more strange. 

"Oh, Justin!" Tay leaned up, suddenly not quite as depressed about my new party popper status. "Maybe you could settle this for us. You'd never sleep with Lucy, right? Because she thinks you would, but I assured her you wouldn't." 

Everyone seemed to have a strong reaction to this. My face turned as red as my lipstick, Lip spit out the mouthful of vodka he was trying to pump into his already alcohol filled stomach, and Justin laughed. Loudly.

Tay took this as assurance than Justin Timberlake would never, ever have sex with me. In fact, if I didn't know that we had already slept together, I would have taken it as concrete evidence of the same thing. Which I guess proves that he only did it under the influence. So did I, but I was offended regardless. 

"Is that so?" Justin leaned back arrogantly.

"No! No, that is not so! Taylor you tell him I didn't say that right now!"

"Yea, there's no way Lucy would ever sleep with that dude. it took her months to even sleep with me and I was her boyfriend. " Lip spoke up. He seemed proud of this fact. Proud of himself for laying the ground work to steal my virginity only to break up with me by sleeping with someone else.

"She was a virgin before you. She was scared." Taylor winked at me to let me know she thought she was helping. This is a really inconvenient time to try to help me out when she had just put me on blast. 

"But that's not how the conversa--" I tried to shout out quickly, but I was ignored by Lip.

"Exactly. That's why I'm still the only guy Lucy's ever slept with." He crossed his arms over his chest indignantly. 

"Wait, you had only ever slept with one person?" The smirk was gone off of Justin's face and he seemed genuinely surprised. Or maybe he was genuinely concerned.

"Why did he say 'had?" Taylor looked between the two of us. "Why did you say 'had?!"

There was too much going on here and anything I could say seemed like a step in the wrong direction. I could lie and cover up that I slept with Justin, which would let Taylor win an argument we didn't even really have, keep Lip's stupid pride in tact, and get Justin off the hook for committing an act that he obviously regretted anyway. Or I could tell the truth and shut Tay up, shock the hell out of Lip and proverbially slap him in the face, and out Justin just out of spite. This was all too much. The responsibilities of growing up were tremendous. 

"That's not how the conversation went!" I didn't know which route to took, so I decided to buy some time. 

"Well, then how did the conversation go?" Justin leaned forward in his chair again. All of this backward and forward motion that kid was doing was making me dizzy. 

"Oh, who cares," Tay swatted the conversation she didn't want to have out of the room. "Would you sleep with Lucy or not?" Lip laughed audibly.

"And what is your problem?" It was really unnerving me that he thinks I wouldn't sleep with anyone but him, especially because we aren't together because he slept with someone other than me.

"It's just, come on, Lucy,"  Lip started his argument. "That dude? Really?" He emphasized his point by pointing at Justin.

"And what the fuck does that mean?" Was I really sticking up for Justin? I snuck a quick glance at him. He was leaning back in the chair again with an amused look on his face. He was no doubt going to let this play out in front him and then tell the rest of this town how crazy we are. 

"You're just not like that." Lip reasoned. "No offense, man."

I waited for Justin to defend himself, but he only shrugged in response. 

"I must be. I slept with you!" Wait. Was I now insulting myself?

There was am extremely uncomfortable silence before Taylor shouted, "Who wants to get high?!" There wasn't a single one of us that didn't raise our hands.

After a few minutes of passing the bong around, all the uncomfortable tension before had dissipated with a silence so welcomed that it would blow my mind if I weren't currently numb.

Justin nudged my shoulder with his foot, so I mustered up all the energy I could afford to roll my head and look at him through heavy eye lids. He looked as content as I felt with both of his legs thrown over the arm of the small chair. He nodded at the other side of the room showing me that Tay and Lip were now passed out with Tay using Lip as a pillow. Normally the scene before would have made me rage with jealously, but at this moment I just thought it was sweet and a rather smart use of limited couch space.

Justin had somehow managed to get off his ass and was now standing in front of me. He nodded his head in the direction of my bedroom, but i just shook mine. He rolled his eyes as he effortlessly lifted me out of the chair and over his shoulders. I somehow found this funny, so I started laughing.

And laughing.

And laughing. 

I want to say that I was laughing for a long time, but that was possibly entirely incorrect. At any rate, I laughed until my body hit the mattress. I laughed again when Justin kicked over one of the empty beer bottles I had drank earlier. Apparently, my laughing was contagious because he was now laughing too. 

And laughing.

And laughing.

"Your friends are. . "

"Stupid?" I answered for him.

"Intense."

And then we laughed some more.

"This is some good stuff." He sat on the floor and leaned back against the bed.

"Yea. . " I decided my body weight was just too much for me to deal with at the moment and laid across my well made bed. Our heads were inches from each other. Which meant our lips were inches from each other. Which meant his penis was inches from my, well, you know.

"Your room is impeccably clean."

"That's a really great word."

"Impecably?"

"Clean."

"I think you've had too much." 

Both of us were speaking slower and with less enthusiasm than normal. It was almost a chore to even get the words to leave our mouths, but it felt really nice laying here like this. It even felt okay that it was Justin laying beside me. After all, he was as warm and pretty as anyone else. He also smelled really great.

Speaking of how great he smelled, I must've been really into exploring that fact because when he turned his head slightly to his right, our lips met. Slowly, but surely he deepened the kiss. His hands found a way to tangle themselves in my hair and his tongue parted my lips. I can't be sure if it was the drugs or his skills, but was the most sensual kiss I've ever experienced. We were moving dangerously slow and the drugs from earlier put me somewhere in-between a dream and complete fucked up-ness, but it felt so good. Justin was applying more pressure now. His hands on either side of my face were currently the only things holding my head up and he pressed his lips into mine with dominance. I felt like I was floating.

No.

I was definitely floating. At some point during Justin kissing my senses out of my head, he had moved from his position on the floor and scooped me up with him as he turned the covers down on my bed. I vow to never make up my bed again. It was such an inconvenience. Actually, maybe it wasn't really inconveniencing anyone. Justin managed to do all of this without breaking our make out session. I wrapped my legs around his waist and squeezed as he moaned into my mouth. My arms wrapped around his neck. I wanted every cell in my body to be touching his at this moment.

He kicked over another beer bottle, or possibly the same one, and stumbled into the wall. His hands jerked themselves away from my neck as his hips pinned me between him and the wall to keep us from falling. A loud noise echoed around the house from my head coming into contact with something so solid, but I was just grateful that the kiss never stopped and I still didn't have to employ my own energy to hold my head up myself. 

"Belle, " Justin said breathlessly "What are you--?"

"I just want to feel you." My head was leaned against the wall and I was tugging on his shirt. He used his hips to pin me tighter as he pulled his shirt over his head. My hands went to his chest immediately as he started to plant kisses on my neck. My eyes weren't even open anymore. I don't think they would if I tried. 

"Please." I whispered. I fumbled with his belt buckle.

"You sure?"

But I already had his pants around his ankles. 

------------------------------------------------------

I woke up naked with a headache and surrounded by beer bottles. This has got to quit happening to me.

As I searched around for any article of clothing I could find, something heavy rolled on top of me. Something heavy and alive.

"What the fuck?"

"Sorry." It mumbled.

Heavy, alive, and naked. I had sex with Justin Timberlake. 

Again.

"Stupid!" I yelled as I tried to shove him off of me. This woke him up but he didn't seem near as startled as I was.

"Go to sleep." He looked at me through half open eyes.

"Get out of my bed."

"We're on the floor." 

He's right. We were. 

"Get out of my floor."

"You're insane." He turned over taking the blankets with him. I jerked them right back.

"FINE!" He yelled and sat up. He was definitely not a morning person. 

"You're naked." 

"Good morning to you to."

"Oh no, this is not a good morning." I loathed how casual he was being about this. As if it were normal to wake up naked to someone else for him. Actually, it was normal for him, and thanks to him, it was becoming normal to me as well.

"Why? You sore?" He grinned.

"You have to leave." I pointed to the door.

"But you haven't made me breakfast yet."

"I'm not going to make you breakfast."

"I made you breakfast." He pointed out. 

He did.

I'm sure he made breakfast for all of his overnight guests. Bastard.

"I'm not going to make you breakfast!" I thought my attitude would make him run for the door, but he just sat there expectantly.  "What?"

"I took a cab here. . "

"Great, then you can take one back." I pulled the blankets tighter around my chest. I can't quite say why I was being such a bitch to him this morning, but I felt like he deserved it."Or better yet, there's a bus line around the corner." I was proud of myself for that one. I wanted to see him sweat.

"You aren't going to offer to pay my fare? I totally offered to pay your fare." As he stood up, the blankets fell off of him exposing him completely. I rushed to cover my eyes with the blanket because I am apparently a toddler. I hadn't seen him naked in the daylight yet and I don't think that I wanted to.

"After you kicked me out of your house." I reminded him. "Put some clothes on!"

"I didn't kick you out of my house, Belle, I . . . just had things to do." He wiped the sleep out of his eyes, but made no move to get his penis out of my face.

"Yea, people to do." Since I couldn't look him in the eyes as I said this, I searched around for his boxers. " Justin, clothes!"

"Lucy, I. . ." He looked like he wanted to say more, but couldn't find the words. Or he was so brain dead that that was actually the end of his sentence. 

We both started awkwardly putting on our clothes the way you do after a one night stand. Except that this has happened multiple nights now so it probably no longer counts as a one night stand. Fuck me. 

Well. Actually. Don't.

That happens to be the problem.

After he had put back on what I had taken off hours before, he walked the opposite way from my bedroom door.

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving through the window. Do you really want Taylor and Lip to find out about this?" And then he was gone. The exact way you should leave after you sleep with someone you were ashamed of. 

If you time it correctly, you can hit up about three and a half happy hours before the bars and restaurants return to the regularly priced menu items. It's really an exercise in time management, which is no easy feat, mind you. Sure, it starts out easy enough. Soberly, you plan out all of your happy hour destinations. This s really easy to do on paper.

Step one: Pick a specific part of town. Be sure that the part of town you so desire has multiple bars within walking distance of each other. Otherwise, you're losing valuable half-priced drinking time. 

Step two: research hours of said part of town. Earliest hours first, latest hours last.

Step three: Arrive at earliest happy hour first. 

Now, step four is where things begin to get tricky, because step four involves drinking. Also, even if you happened to be overly ambitious and didn't stop planning at step three, say you planned all the way to step 17, well, it doesn't fucking matter. Step three is where you start drinking, therefore your plan is always going to be suspended there. It's always nice to think that you'll spend only thirty minutes at bar one before moving on to the next one, but this rarely happens. As long as you planned step two accurately and efficiently, the rest can all just be filler. 

Anyway, by nine pm happy hours are mostly extinct anyway, so it's time to hit different bars. Of course, by this time you'll be far too intoxicated to drive. My advice is to just keep walking. However, stay away from any previously visited bars. They'll most likely remember you and have some sort of mental tab on how much you drank. It's possible they'll feel the need to cut you off. Don't even risk it. It's best to keep a low profile while shit-faced.

Another thing to keep in mind is that nine is far too early for bars to be even remotely occupied, so you will probably be drinking by yourself for a while. If you are not the sort of person who can happily, or at  least steadily, drink by yourself then it's possible this plan is not for you.

This is, however, the plan for me. I am great at drinking by myself. I have been doing it for hours now. It feels as if I invented this. Go me. 

I am currently having a drinking contest with myself. I lost track of what the rules were hours ago, but I suspect I am winning.

I am winning.

I am infinite, I think.

And for however long this lasts, I am indestructible. 

I am. . . .

. . . . crying?

Yes, I am crying. Perhaps this isn't the plan for me. Or at least not the perfect plan. I apparently have a few kinks to work out, but I can't get to them right now for I am busy crying.

Why am I crying, you ask? Well, I shall tell you. I am crying because I am drunk. I am also crying because the boy I slept with around twelve hours ago is on a very obvious date at the other end of this very bar. I am also crying because I am drunk. 

I will have you know that while I am by no means an ugly crier, it is still pretty damn embarrassing to cry at a bar. However, I don't seem to care very much right now. I blame all of the happy hours. I planned this out far too well. I am cursed by my talents. 

My bar tender looks only slightly uncomfortable as he pours me another whiskey sour. I'm sure he sees this sort of thing a lot. I almost begin to hate myself for being such a cliche, which only serves to make me cry more, so I stop. Instead, I decide to hate Justin fucking Timberlake. And his brunette date.

"He's not worth it, hunny." The sympathetic bartender imparts some of his worldly wisdom on me as if he can read my thoughts. "No one is."

This makes me stop crying as I realize he's right. I noisily choke back the last of my tears and wipe my nose on my sleeves. I may be a mess, but I'm going to be a prideful one. I'm going to tell Justin Timberlake exactly the sort of asshole I think he is.

I am rejuvenated.

I have been resurrected. 

I wipe my face with my fingertips, smearing what's left of my make up into places it previously wasn't, but I don't care. 

I am an animal.

I am a force to be reckoned with.

I am. . . .

. . .walking towards Justin Timberlake. 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The light hurts my eyes. I would like to voice this out loud, but my mouth seems to be too dry to come up with the words. I keep my eyelids closed and squeeze them as tightly shut as I can. I pretend there is no light. Just darkness. An infinite amount of darkness.

"Get the fuck up, bitch." 

I cannot, however, pretend there is no Taylor.

I don't move. I don't know why I don't move, but there seems to be a disconnect between my brain and my motor functions.

"I swear to fuck, Lucy May. If you think that I won't throw you off of this bed just because of the night you had last night then just keep on laying there. Try me."

He tone is threatening, and even though I would really like to what the hell she is referring to, I don't move. I'm being honest when I say that moving or not isn't my choice. I am wondering if I'm even awake. It's possible that I'm not even really alive. I don't feel very alive.

My entire world begins to shake violently and turns completely upside down. My eyes open out of shock and light comes pouring in. My pupils painfully dilate to accommodate. I am certain I'm awake now. I am certain I wish I weren't. Words still aren't working, so I groan instead. 

"You have make up all over your face." She is standing above me peering down. I wonder how much effort it would take to kick her, but I have that disconnection thing going one. Instead, I try to will the ceiling fan to collapse on her. If that kid from Seventh Heaven can bend spoons with his mind in that John Travolta movie, then maybe I can make ceiling fans attack people. 

"You were supposed to be at work hours ago. They've been blowing up your phone." She is speaking again. I am still working on the fan thing. "Justin Timberlake has also been blowing up your phone."

Suddenly, my brain is in over-drive. No, it's in hyper-drive. No, it's in plaid. Last night. The bar, the crying, the date, the confrontation, the shamelessness, the mortification. It's coming to be in bits and pieces rather than a flowing stream, but it's enough to know that I made a horrible mistake last night. I feel the bile rising up from the pit of my stomach, making it's way up to my throat, crawling out of my esophagus. My brain seems to have found the connection and I lean over and throw up what I managed to hold on to last night. 

I remember tapping him on the shoulder and him straightening up a bit as he realizes it's me. I remember introducing myself to his date and referring to her as slut for the rest of the night. I remember a lot of interactions last night between the three of us, but I know I'm not remembering everything. I'm positive I don't want to remember everything. 

Taylor walks out of her own bedroom without saying goodbye. She seems to be fairly upset with me, but it can't be anywhere near how upset I am with myself.

It's been three days. Three days of what, you ask? Three days of complete and total isolation. I shut my phone off, I took vacation from work, and I got a hotel in the next town over. I needed a break. I needed to have time to think about how I can take a normal situation and fuck it up beyond understanding. I needed to come to terms with myself.

I would like to say that my voyage back into town and into my real life was because I came to some sort of answer and am going to work on the problem that is me, but really it was just because I ran out of weed. How the hell are you supposed to take a vacation by yourself about fixing yourself without weed? Then you'd actually have to face yourself, right? I'm just not into that. I'm all about half assing things.

I thought my vacation away from everyone was voluntary. It wasn't until I got back to my apartment and turned on my phone that I realized it wasn't my choice at all. I did not have a single voicemail or text message from anyone while I was gone. It seemed more like people were taking a vacation away from me. 

I'm not sure what Taylor was upset with me about exactly, but it seems she was sticking to it. Although, and I really hate to admit it, I was honestly expecting some sort of contact from Justin. I wasn't looking forward to it, but I was definitely expecting it.

I stared at my phone until it no longer looked like a phone. I felt like poking it with a stick. It seemed purely mystical. Who has a phone that doesn't ring? Can you technically call it a phone at this point?

I wanted to vomit the entire bus ride to Taylor's work, but I went anyway. I feel like that's important. The only good thing about this was that people discharge body fluids on public transportation all the time, so in the event something other than words came out my mouth on this ride, I doubt anyone would notice much.

She was doing her version of bar tending when I walked in, which involved leaning over the counter showing as much cleavage as possible to her male patrons. She rolled her eyes when she saw me. This was going to be a good time.

"Can we talk?" I took a seat at the bar.

"How about you talk and I'll ignore you." She said as she walked to the other end of the bar. My head landed on the counter with a thud, but that wasn't loud enough to miss the whispers of the guys beside me who had previously been ogling Tay's chest. I obviously needed a way to make this up to her. I just wasn't sure what 'this' was. I don't even remember her being there that night, so I can't possibly understand how I offended her. All I know is that if I offended her this badly with no knowledge of it, I can only imagine how I treated Justin. And his date. Oh. My. God. His date. My life is a disaster. 

"My manager says if you're not going to order anything, then you have to leave." Taylor said snottily. She was standing in front of me again. 

"Your manager did not say that."

"You're right. I did." We were apparently locked in a staring contest.

"Fine. Give me whatever's on tap." I stared harder.

"I don't really think you need the calories." Her hands were on her hips. Her eyes were locked on mine. She was insulting my figure. This was apparently serious.

"I'll risk it."

"You really think you should be drinking after the other night?" I had to stifle a laugh. It was too ironic. Taylor Wyatt was really giving me a lecture about substance consumption? I bit the inside of my cheek, but refused to look away. I was going to win this. 

"Calories end at the end of the night. After that, you're allowed to have more."

"I meant because you acted like a fucking idiot."

"For fuck's sake, please just tell me what I did to you." I begged.

"Are you fucking serious?" She wasn't yelling yet, but I felt it coming on.

"I am."

"You had sex with Justin Timberlake and you didn't even tell me!" Now she was yelling. "Twice!" This was about her ego more than anything else, I realized, but egos are powerful things. It was starting to make a little bit of sense after being in the dark for so long.

"Taylor, I. . ."

"No! Fuck you, Lucy. Fuck. You." She says this from the other end of the bar. I was actually sort of relieved she interrupted me. Beyond her name, I had no idea what I was going to say. I'm not very good at apologies. I am especially not very good at apologies that I'm not sorry for.

However, this knowledge unveils a great point. Taylor knowing I slept with Justin must have meant I shared that with her. Knowing me intoxicated, I probably shared it with the entire bar that night, which mean the entire town should know by now. Which means that I have been fucked. And not only by Justin.

I wanted to be surprised that Taylor didn't notice I was gone for three days, but I could only process depression. I turned away from the bar to go home. Or maybe back to the hotel. I would most certainly need weed first with any option.

"Oh. Hi." I ran into a brunette girl who didn't look too familiar, but was staring at me regardless. 

"Hey." I tried to squeeze past her. I wanted to be alone in my misery. I wanted to be high.

"I didn't know about you and Justin." She spoke timidly. "He didn't tell me."

Fuck. 

The date. 

I froze mid step and turned back towards her. She looked truly apologetic, though I couldn't be sure for what. I assume if anyone needed to look scared out of her fucking mind, it was me.

"I just. . wanted you to know that." She cautiously and insecurely tucked her hair behind her ear. A good person would have told her that there was no me and Justin, but I couldn't get the words past my lips.

"Um. . Thanks." That's it. I fucking sucked. She nodded and turned to walk away. 

My life is an inside joke.

____________________________________________________________________

I feel low. I feel lower than low. But I also feel pretty damn high. I feel like jumping off of a building, but only because I'm sure that in this moment I could fly. Everything is a paradox right now. 

For the second time today, I am at a bar. Which means that, also for the second time today, I am in a place I shouldn't be. However, this time is different. This time is different because I came prepared. I did about six lines before I sat on this stool tonight, and for however long this lasts, I feel that this is a great decision. 

So what if I have alienated everyone I know in the world. I am alive. Life is great. And so what everyone I have alienated in the world is now contained in this mediocre, small bar currently alienating me. So. Fucking. What. I am still alive. Life is still great. 

Taylor is in the back surrounded by people who appear to be worshipping her. Typical. Justin is in the opposite corner looking aloof and unbothered. Obviously nothing changed while I was gone. I feel comforted by this fact. I feel like I can make everything okay. There is still hope. I can have my old life back. And when I get my old life back, I will not complain about it again. I will just be grateful to have a life again. And friends. Friends were nice.

I don't know how many shots I've had. The one thing everyone seems to know about cocaine is that when you're on it you can drink forever. You can also fuck forever, and more often then not, you feel like you can live forever.  After no less than five shots and no more than twelve, I decide to go to the bathroom to get one more line of courage before I approach any of my so-called friends who need approaching.

The bathroom is more crowded than the bar. There's no telling how long it will take to get a stall to myself. I may have to do this in my car. 

"You're a bitch, Lucy." I turn my head towards the feminine voice. It's a blonde girl who takes her eyeliner very, very seriously. She looks unfamiliar, but she knows my name. I don't respond.

"Leave her alone, girl." A brunette mumbles. This bathroom suddenly feels very big and I feel very small. A stall still hasn't opened and I feel very vulnerable with an eight-ball jammed recklessly in my pocket. I feel like they can see it and I feel like they're going to take it from me and I will never get to do my final line of the night. My hope is dwindling.

"Don't stick up for her. She ruined your date with Justin Timberlake." The blonde returned her attention to me, narrowing her eyes, "Then again, maybe I'd be a complete bitch too if my boyfriend cheated on me with my best friend."

Her smile had detached itself from her face and was now floating around my head. I heard laughing from all angles. 

I can't tell you the color of those bathroom walls before I heard this news, but all I see now is red.

The laughing never stopped. It followed me out of the bathroom. It followed me to the back of the bar. It followed me as I stood in front of Taylor. It overpowered my screams. I screamed harder and the laughing grew louder. This was all wrong. Everything was wrong.

I was on the floor. Taylor was on top of me, her hair balled in my fist. There was more than one pair of lips encircling me now. More people were laughing. The whole bar. The whole world. The red I was seeing might be blood now, but it was too difficult to tell.

I'm packing a bowl on my bed when my window abruptly opens. This surprises me because, well, I'm used to windows closing. Much like I'm used to bridges burning. 

Justin Timberlake stumbles, and I mean literally, through my window and tumbles on to my hardwood floor. The shock of it all causes me to inhale so deeply that I am now coughing like I'm choking. My eyes are watering, my throat is burning, my lungs are deflating, and I suspect I may be dying. I also suspect I should start locking my windows. This is how horror films start out. However, this is also how pornography films start out. I'm currently unsure of which of those two directions this could go right now. I assume, considering our last run in, that I should leave it up to him. 

After my coughing fit subsides, I realize Justin is towering over me. His eyes are glazed over as if he's drunk.

"We have to talk." He says.

"Yea." I say.

"You're fucking nuts."

"Yea." Looks like we were getting straight to the point.

"No," He tries to stand, but is too drunk and falls back on his ass. "You're the most insane person I have ever met. There are soap operas that would use you for character inspiration."

I smiled at him, a condescending sort of smirk, and brought the bowl up to my lips. He removed it from my lips as I was lighting it and put it against his own. He sighed contentedly and accepted his spot against the wall underneath the window.

"You need therapy. You're probably the most unhappy person I've ever met." He continued. "And it's all self-inflicted!" He laughed a little at this.

It's funny, really. Having someone notice all the things you hate about yourself and voicing them out loud. Goddamn hilarious.  I grabbed my bowl back from him harshly. I inhaled deeply, taking comfort in hearing the embers crackle.  We continued passing the pipe back and forth until there was nothing left but ashes.                                            

My head felt like a hot air balloon. I was half afraid it was going to drag me up to the ceiling as if filled with helium. I wrapped both of my wrists in my comforter in an attempt to prevent my potential floating. I looked at Justin wondering if he noticed any levitating. He didn't seem to, but it also looked like his eyes might have been closed, so he wasn't much help. 

"Is it normal for me to want to strangle you so often?" Justin broke the silence.

"I think so." I answered honestly, burying my arms deeper within the blankets. 

"You're impossible."

"Probably."

"You ruined my date." He spoke lazily. The weed had calmed his fight from earlier and replaced it with something much more muted.

"What does that even mean? That she refused to fuck you afterwards?" 

"Figures." He scoffed. "What the fuck is your problem? I tried to be your friend, which is more than I can say for anyone else in this town. Are you aware that no one likes you here?"

I could only nod before I felt the tears coming. I tried to stop them, but it was like a damn levy broke behind my eyes. Soon my whole face was flooded with something warm, wet, and salty. It was like I had absolutely no control over my body. I dropped my head into my cloth laden hands as the sobs racked my body.

"Oh, fuck. Lucy. . ."

The bed shifted under his weight as he insecurely pulled me into his lap. His arms were strong and warm as I let them envelop me. I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders and hid my wet face in the curve of his neck. The harder I cried, the tighter he squeezed. Honestly, I don't even know exactly why I was crying or why I was letting him comfort me. This person who I've seen as an enemy for as long as I could remember, but this emotion felt bigger than myself. It all felt too much, too heavy, and for right now I was too tired of lugging it around to care that I was embarrassing myself in front of yet another person. 

o

"I can't do this anymore." My voice was muffled as it was fighting to radiate past my comfortable position in Justin's neck. I was sure that after this I was going to have to replace his shirt as I was sure my mascara and lipstick had already ruined it. 

"Can't do what?" He spoke softly.

My response came fast and without mental revision. They were the thoughts that haunted my mind for the past few years, but became especially prominent within the past few months. They were thoughts I hadn't voiced outloud to anyone, but had admitted many times to myself. I was surprised at how easily they came racing to my vocal chords as if they were body checking each other to be the first past my lips, to float around the room only to drop to the floor like anvils. These things were too heavy to let another person in on, but they were also too heavy to keep to yourself for too long without going absolutely mental. 

To his credit, Justin stayed incredibly calm while my admissions of potential mental illnesses and thoughts of suicide bombarded him.  He didn't try to tell me I was wrong, or crazy, or just too high and non sensical. He just listened and rubbed my back rhythmically.  I had fallen into a comfortable dream like state of being too high and exhausted when I felt him try to maneuver us to a more comfortable position of laying down. 

"I ruined your shirt." I mumbled.

"I have another." His voice and movements gave away that he was still high. Even though we were now laying down, I kept close to him only moving away when he pulled his now wet shirt over his head. I moved back instinctively, my head finding his shoulder again. His arms stayed wrapped around me, warm and now bare. Our legs were tangled together with me nearly on top of him, trying to hold onto this moment that would surely be over with the sunrise. 

`

"I'm sorry." I whispered. Even though I thought I was finished crying, a few more tears escaped with my apology.

"Shhh, baby." His voice was as soft and sincere as mine felt.  I didn't even care if it was the weed talking or not. It just felt really nice to be called that.

Before I let sleep overtake me completely, I moved to take my shirt off. It felt restrictive and damp and uncomfortable. Plus, there was something about skin on skin, especially after a few hits, that felt incredibly wonderful. I turned over, taking Justin's arm with me and tucking it close to my chest. He complied graciously, contorting his body to fit the curves I created. He wrapped around me tighter than he ever had and as I was finally drifting off, I felt him kiss the back of my head.

"I love you." I heard myself whisper as I passed out.

The lights were harsh and they hurt my eyes. They were flashing and moving from one obnoxious florescent color to the next. Instantly, I regretted my one moment of social neediness and longed to be back in the comfort of my bedroom. Alone.  It was good that I prepared with a few hits before I walked in to this mess of a party.

I walked to the bartender and ordered my usual gin and tonic. He served me immediately, which was possibly the only plus of being myself and a female right now. I sat at the bar and watched people laugh, and hit on each other, and get sloppy and it all seemed so trivial. I wondered why I was even here and why I hadn't left yet. I was signaling the bartender for my tab when an extremely drunk bro bumped into me while trying to order. My drink went all down the front of my shirt. I jumped back in surprise. 

"Oh, man. Wow." The drunken idiot spoke. "I'm sorry." It wasn't until we made eye contact that I fully saw how incredibly fucked up this kid was. His eyes were brimmed with red and glazed over and his speech was slurred as all hell. He grabbed a cocktail napkin and began dabbing at my alcohol covered chest.

"As much as I love a stranger touching my tits, I think I'll pass." I grabbed the napkins away and tried to finish the job myself. 

Another gin and tonic was placed in front of us with a wink from the bartender. "Six even." He said as he looked at the man obviously incapable of drinking anymore. When he was digging around in his pockets pulling out a wad of cash, I noticed something fall to the floor. I considered letting it go, but it caught the light at the right angle and was now glowing underneath the bar stool. As high as I was, I was not in a position to let magical, glowing things pass. I bent down unnoticed and picked it up. I felt the plastic between my fingertips and rejoiced silently. Ever since Taylor and I had a falling out, no drug dealer in town was speaking to me. It was her doing, I'm sure, but either way I had been cut off from this very substance. 

I needed to celebrate.

I grabbed my drink from the bar, patted drunky on the back, and continued toward the nearest bathroom. I wanted to do the polite thing and thank him, but I wasn't sure how to without giving myself away. I would thank him later, I decided. Right now isn't a good time for either of us.

If I haven't said it before, let me say it now: Public bathrooms are the worst. It was so crowded in the women's that I could only get a foot in before getting squeezed out. I don't know girls needed to always visit the bathroom in packs. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the back of a guy enter the men's restroom. While the door was still open, I managed to squeeze through before he had time to lock it behind him. And before I had the sense not to. This was a potentially dangerous move. I could be killed in here. Or raped. Or worse, I could get involved in a lengthy conversation of small talk that could further prevent me from continuing into my drug induced downward spiral for the night.

"Don't worry, this will only take a second." I assured the man while locking the door behind us. Which was no easy feat with a drink in my hand and a high affecting my brain cells, mind you. There was some intense balancing that needed to happen that I wasn't sure I was capable of doing.  "Feel free to piss or whatever it is you came to do. I won't look. I'm just going to stand here in the corner, dry my shirt, and live my life." After I successfully locked the door, I walked to the hand dryer, slamming it obnoxiously to turn it on. This night had become a damn obstacle course ever since I found this bag. Usually the prize would be at the end of said obstacle course, but I never was good at doing things in order. I pulled my sticky shirt over my head and hung it on the dryer to dry. Once I was certain it wasn't going to blow off,  I opened the bag and fingered the pill not understanding how I could have gotten so lucky. My heart beat quickly in anticipation as I pulled it out. I couldn't be sure if I was shivering from excitement or the lack of my shirt, but I was shivering nonetheless. I gently put it on the tip of my tongue and was in the process of bringing the gin to my lips to help me swallow when I was roughly forced to turn around. 

In front of me, of course, stood Justin Timberlake with a fire in his eyes like I had never seen before. Before my substance abused brain could understand what was happening, his hand was on the back of my neck and tangled up in my hair. My warm back was suddenly against the cold bathroom wall and his tongue was in my mouth. This kiss was a bit different from other kisses we had shared. Usually Justin started out slow, applying pressure when things got a little more intense, but this kiss started out intense. I ran my hand that wasn't holding the glass over his buzzcut and noted how it felt like velvet and how I thought it a disservice that other parts of my body couldn't feel it as well. He reached down, grabbed my ass, and pulled me onto his hips without warning. My spine was digging into the cheap tile with a vengeance and I had to lock my legs around his waist to keep from sliding down. I tore myself form his lips to pay attention to his neck and collarbone. He moaned and pushed me further into the wall. I had the urge to scream, but I wasn't sure if it was from pain or pleasure. Maybe both. When he pulled away, he quickly took my drink from my hand and took a drink ignoring the straw. It wasn't until then that I noticed the pill was no longer in my mouth. When Justin swallowed, he opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue to show that there was nothing left. He had swallowed it.

I was so shocked that my legs released his waist and I slid limp down the wall, probably picking up every disease known to man on the way down. The haziness of my brain wouldn't allow me to fully comprehend what just happened. We were at a standstill. Both staring at each other from our respective positions. The calm before the inevitable shit storm.

I was filled with a bout of rage. "You bastard!" I screamed. "That was my only one!"

"Serves you right for following me into the bathroom." He smirked.

"Don't flatter yourself. I wasn't aware it was you." My eyes rolled without my permission. "The woman's was full."

"You expect me to believe you just followed an anonymous guy into the bathroom with the intentions of removing your shirt and taking drugs?"

"My shirt was wet!" I yelled, exasperated. Before I knew what I was doing, I was back on my feet knocking the glass out of his hands. It shattered noisily on the floor without so much as either of us breaking our staring contest.

There was no where else to go with my back already up against the wall when he closed the distance between us again. I expected him a repeat of the earlier makeup session, but instead he dodged my lips and went for my ear, "Is that all that's wet?"

I didn't know what else to do, so I hit him, and once I started it felt so good that I couldn't stop. "I hate you! I fucking hate you!" I spat. My chest was heaving. My black bra was now barely keeping me from being naked from the waist up, but I didn't care. This is what hatred will do to you. It will make you not care that you're half naked. In all of my commotion, the fact that Justin was sneaking glances at my chest did not go unnoticed. He broke the staring context. I win.

He skillfully dodged my arms, grabbing them and pinning them at my sides. "No, you don't." He laughed. " You love me, remember?"

I did remember. A few nights ago, the last time we had seen each other, that's what I mumbled right before I passed out. Surely, he couldn't believe I had meant that. I was stoned. I was emotional. I was a wreck. I was lying. 

I was an idiot.

This proved that he was going to use something I said while completely out of my mind against me for the rest of my life. At this point, I could only hope that he was too stoned to remember other things I had admitted that night. 

I fought against his arms, but he was too strong for me to break loose. "Promise me you won't try to hit me again." He spoke sincerely. I said nothing, only glaring at him. "I can stay like this all night." He shrugged. 

Our attention turned away from each other when we heard someone beat against the door trying to get in. "You can keep me in here all night, but can you keep him out?"

Justin only shrugged, "Guess you're trying to find out."

"I'll scream." I threatened.

"He'll just think we're having sex." He reasoned. I huffed. This was unbelievable. Yet, as I stood here topless with razor burn all over my face, it was totally believable. Damnit. 

"Promise me." He urged.

"I promise you that I will break your nose the second I have a chance." I spat at him.

"Jesus Christ," He sighed as he gathered my both of my wrists in one of his monstrous hands and grabbed my shirt off the dryer. In one swift motion, he threw me, still shirtless, over his shoulder and opened the door. "All yours, man." He said to the agitated gentleman on the other side., "And, uh, watch out for the glass."