There were two major problems I had as I drove into my driveway. First of all, why are the trash cans out and second, why is the light on? I know I didn’t leave the light on and I sure as hell didn’t put out the trash. 

I sat in the driveway, going through all the possibilities of what could currently be going on in my house. I mean, the obvious explanation is that I’ve been robbed. Although I don’t know why they’d take out the trash. Another option is someone stopped over, but my lazy ass friends sure as fuck wouldn’t take out the trash. I swear to god if there’s a burglar serial killer in my house I’m going to lose my shit. 

That would make sense actually, if there is a serial killer in my house he’d have taken out the trash to get rid of the bodies of his previous victims. 

There better not be dead bodies in my fucking trash. 

No, there’s not dead bodies in my fucking trash. Obviously that’s not why the trash is out. Maybe my assistant stopped over to feed the dogs. 

The dogs.

That has to count out the burglar idea, doesn’t it? I’ve got two badass boxers. At least, they’d look like badass boxers to an outsider. They’re two of the wimpiest dogs I’ve ever seen. Come to think about it, I’m pretty sure my dogs would jump around excitedly and lick a masked serial killer. Benji would probably hump the guy a little, but nothing a couple dog treats couldn’t fix. 

The useless dogs.

I laughed at my paranoia, there has to be an easier explanation. Maybe I did leave the light on, and take the trash out in a half asleep daze. I was real tired when I left this morning. Who would take the trash out anyway? I doubt there’s some crazy guy running around the hills hoping private gates to take the trash out for celebrities. It wouldn’t be easy for someone to get in, and close to impossible to get a big trashcan over the fence. Possible, I suppose, but once again why would someone go through all that trouble to take out the trash? A very helpful criminal, that’s who.

I took a deep breath, maybe I need to chill with the weed for a little. It helps get the creative juices flowing when I’m in the studio but it’s not the best idea when I’m coming home to an empty house at 2am. 

I am a grown ass man I have nothing to be afraid of. There is not a monster hiding in my house. 

I grabbed a golf club from my trunk, just in case. 

I slowly made my way to the front door, quietly turning the knob before walking into the house holding the club like a baseball bat, ready to be a hero. The dogs didn’t come to meet me at the door. Fuck, did the serial killer kill my dogs? What kind of a monster kills dogs?

As I made my way through the hallway I stopped in the kitchen and chuckled when I saw Rebecca scrubbing the stove. 

She turned to me, her blond hair thrown up in a messy ponytail and looked at me like I was a mad man. I was holding a golf club ready to attack, so I’ll give that to her. “What the fuck are you doing?”

I shook my head and looked to the ground, “I thought I was being robbed. What are you doing here?”

“You’re being robbed?” she asked with an eye roll before returning her attention to the stove. 

“Well, you’re the only one that has a key and you’re supposed to be in, what, Denver?” I waited for a second, giving her time to connect the dots before I repeated, “What are you doing home?”

“This place is such a mess,” she ignored the question and continued scrubbing, “Like, how is it possibly this messy? I’m gone for a three game road trip and it’s like a fucking bomb went off in this place. and you’re not even home.”

I leaned against the refrigerator. I should have known better. I’ve been dating Rebecca Rose for three years now. I know the pattern. When she cleans like a crazy person it means only one thing, some serious shit has gone down. “I’m glad you’re here,” I made my way over and wrapped my arms around her, “I missed you.”

She moved out of my arms, “I mean, there was literally a piece of pepperoni stuck to the counter. I had to like, pry it off with a knife.”

“I’ve been at the studio,” I made an excuse. It isn’t a lie, although I do take advantage of the time Becca’s away by living like a slob. Every guy does. I usually have a warning and clean it up before she gets home though. Or at least get someone to clean up.

“Yeah, getting high and fucking around.”

I took a deep breath, not really ready to get into this fight, although when she’s in this mood there’s no getting away from it. “Fucking around? I’m working.”

“Right, with the hoes.”

I know better than to take the bait and start this argument again when she’s already in this mood, so I ignored it and focused on the real issue at hand, “Why are you home Bec? The Lakers are playing the Nuggets tomorrow.”

She threw her sponge down and stormed into the living room, falling onto the couch. I followed and sat down next to her waiting patiently for some answers. 

My girlfriend, Rebecca Rose, is a sportscaster for the Los Angeles Lakers. She’s always court-side during the games, discussing the game, gossiping with the celebrities, and interviewing the players after the game. That’s how we met actually, she was talking to me on air and then wouldn’t stop talking to me off. That’s an exaggeration, obviously, I’m the one that wouldn’t let her get away.

She travels with the team all season so it doesn’t make sense that she’s home right now when she’s supposed to be gone for another three games. Also, an important backstory to understand why I didn’t automatically think my girlfriend, who lives with me, was the one who had the light on and took out the trash. I’m not an idiot. 

“Didn’t you watch the game?” she pouted.

“I’ve been in the studio,” I repeated slowly this time. 

Becca took a deep breath, playing with her Boston Celtics necklace nervously. She’s from Boston and moved out to LA three years ago when she got this job. She’s from a sports family, her older brother Elijah Rose is star point guard for the Celtics. He’s a real hometown hero, MVP and all that shit. Becca’s obviously a big Celtics fan, which obviously doesn’t go over very well working for the Lakers. And by the way she’s playing with her necklace, I’d bet that has something to do with her current mood.

“What happened?” I asked when I realized she wasn’t freely offering the information.  It’s fucking late, I’m tired, let’s get to it.

“I got fired Justin, fucking fired! Right on the air. They didn’t even let me finish the game.”

I pulled her onto my lap hoping to stop the crying before it even starts. She’s one of those girls that cries over the drop of a hat so I need to pull out the big guns here. “What? That’s bullshit. What happened?”

“They said I wasn’t being a good cheerleader. Like I’m supposed to be a cheerleader? I’m not a fucking Laker’s girl, I’m a professional journalist. I speak the truth, that’s my job,” she whined, “They said I was putting the team down.”

I leaned my forehead against her back to stop myself from laughing. “Well, were you?” Of course she was, she’s been putting the team down since her first fucking day. It’s a surprise she’s lasted this long, if I’m honest. Since the first day I saw her on TV, before I even met her, I thought it was hilarious, but also completely ridiculous, that she was standing there, working for the Lakers, wearing a Celtics necklace. It never made sense to me that they’d let her wear that, but as my buddy said, she’s hot and can do whatever the hell she wants. 

It was all for ratings, superstar Elijah Rose’s kid sister working for the Lakers. 

“No,” she answered in shock I would even ask such a question, “All I said was that the team always focused too much on Kobe and now that he’s not there to carry them they can’t stand on their own. It’s a fact, they’ve lost every single game this season that he didn’t start in. I’m not the first person to say that.”

“What else did you say?” there’s obviously more to the story than that, she says that shit every game. Hell she’s even said that to the face of just about every player on the team.

“I said they’re not playing like they want it. Which is also a fact.”

“And what did you say about the Cs?” I hugged her tightly to prepare for the outburst. She always manages to bring up the Celtics at least once each game. At first it made for good television. It was cute, the Lakers court-side reporter, the sister of Celtic’s MVP, mentioning her brother’s team. But that got old fast. They’ve warned her countless times but they need to learn what I learned a long time ago, this girl does what she wants.

“I just said they want it more,” she answered softly. 

I coughed back a laugh and held her even tighter, “Well, there you go.”

“It’s not funny!” she pulled away and punched my arm, “It’s bullshit. What do they expect? They knew Elijah’s my brother when they hired me. I stated a fact, the Lakers have been playing like shit and they don’t play like they want it. Kobe was always the only one on the team that wanted it and with him on the inactive list they’re screwed. And Kobe only wants it because he gets more money and sponsors if he brings the team to the finals. The C’s want it, all of them want it and they’re playing like they want it.”

“Well then you stated a fact. A true reporter. Don’t worry about it, move on.”

“Move on?” she shouted and I quickly wrapped my arms around her again to stop her from slapping me or throwing the couch at me. It wouldn’t surprise me with this girl. “Justin, I got fired from my dream job. I’ve never been fired in my life and I got fired from my dream job.”

“It was not your dream job,” I answered with a chuckle, she’s so fucking dramatic. “It was absolute hell for you to have to work for the Lakers and you know it. So what’s the big deal? You don’t have to deal with Kobe anymore.”

“I hate Kobe,” she whined.

“I know you do,” I kissed the back of her neck, “Take some time off. We’ll go to Hawaii or some shit and then you can come back and get another job. A better job. With ESPN or something.”

Becca turned around and straddled my waist, “I will get another job. Away from the most overrated team in NBA history.”

“Yeah, you will.”

“I will,” she allowed herself to smile and leaned down to press her lips against mine. She ran her hands through my hair and bit at my lip that way she knows drives me crazy. 

“Let’s go on a trip. Where do you want to go? Anywhere you want.”

“I thought you were in the studio.”

“Fuck the studio.”

She giggled and looked up to the ceiling as she thought about it, “Let’s go to Bora Bora.”

“Yeah, sure. The most expensive place in the world.”

“You said anywhere!”

“I did. Should have known better with you,” I answered, placing my hands in the back pockets of her jeans. 

“Fine, let’s go to Glendale. That’s more what you were thinking, isn’t it?” Becca asked with a smirk. 

“Oh yeah, you got me figured out, girl,” I moved my lips to her neck, “You know, now that you’re going to have some time off, maybe it’s about time to start thinking about, ya’know” I moved my hands to her stomach. 

“No, I don’t know. What?”

I lifted up her shirt and she looked at me as if I were crazy. I swear sometimes she needs things to be spelled out for her, “You know, having a baby.”

“We are not having a baby until there are at least three carats on my finger.”

“OK,” I don’t know why she acts like that’s a big deal, she knows damn well I’d get her a fucking ten carat ring if that’s what she wanted, “And then?”

Becca let out a sigh and threw her head back, “Do we really need to talk about this right now?”

“No, I just…”

“It’s just that it’s so easy for you. Yeah, let’s have a kid. All you have to do is have sex and you’re done. I have to fucking grown a human being in my uterus for nine months. And that’s just the beginning of it. I have to get fat and wobble around and my career, that doesn’t even exist at the moment, clearly relies on the way I look. A baby will fuck up my body forever and what if I can’t get back to my pre-baby weight? Then how am I supposed to find a job?”

I immediately regretted bringing it up, it’s gotta be at least three in the morning and I finally managed to get her into a semi decent mood just to bring us back to shit all over again. “Never mind. I just… want to seriously talk about it sometime.” 

“What do you mean seriously talk about it?”

“I just mean…” oh fuck it, “You do want kids, right?”

“Of course I want kids.”

“Soon?”

“I don’t know, soon. You’re older than me Justin, I get it, but I’m not 34, I’m only 28. I have time and I’m trying to focus on my career first. No one is going to hire me when I’m pregnant and even if I get a job and get pregnant they’ll stick me behind a desk somewhere or make me work fucking radio. I am not a radio girl.”

“I know but I don’t want to be fifty with a five year old.”

“You’re not going to be fifty. I’m not saying I need eleven years, but I need a couple more years.”

“Yeah, for the first kid, but then you wait a couple years for the second and then a couple more for the third.”

Her mouth dropped, “how many kids are you planning on me pushing through my vagina?”

“I dunno, four? five?”

She threw her head back and laughed as she crawled off my lap, “You are out of your fucking mind Timberlake. Out of your mind.I can’t talk about this right now, I’m going to bed.”

“Alright,” I answered softly and watched her walk away. 

She stopped at the foot of the stairs, “You coming?”

“Yeah, I’ll be up in a minute.”

Sometimes I wake up on days like this, where the sun is shining through the curtains, casting a glow on my boyfriend laying sound asleep next to me, and wonder how I got so lucky. I mean it. Really. How did I get so lucky?

Justin looks so cute as he lays beside me, cuddling up to my pillow. His curly dark blonde hair is sticking up all over the place. The way his arm rests above his head and he lays there, smiling in his sleep. God, he’s so adorable. 

Then I remember how quickly it can change when he wakes up and speaks and turns into the asshole. That’s not fair, he’s not always an asshole. Sometimes he’s perfect. Sometimes he’s not. But hell, watching him sleep makes me want to wake him up and hope that good mood he’s in in his dream will transfer into reality. 

I got my wish, to some extent, when the landline rang. Justin sighed and reached over to his bedside table, all without opening his eyes. He moved his hand around until he finally landed on the phone and groggily put it up to his ear, “hello?”

Justin didn’t say another word, but held the phone out to me. I grabbed it from him and slowly placed it to my ear, “Hello?”

“Oh, you’re alive. That’s good to know. I’ve been calling you since the game what’s going on? Why didn’t you answer your cell phone?” my mother’s aggravated voice boomed across the telephone line.

“Oh hey Mom, you know it’s 8 o’clock and I just got in at 2am this morning. Do you think maybe I could call you back in a couple hours?”

“It’s eleven o’clock, Rebecca. Why are you and Justin still sleeping?”

“You’re forgetting the time difference,” I answered calmly. I’ve lived out here for three years, you’d think she’d understand the concept by now. 

“Oh, I always forget about that. So what time is it? Well let’s see, if it’s eleven o’clock here, it must be… ten, nine, eight?”

“Yeah Ma it’s eight,” I closed my eyes and prayed for patience, “I’ll call you back in a couple hours.”

“Alright, fine. I’m just wondering what’s going on with your job. You know, it was all over the morning news that you’re not working with the Lakers anymore. Is that true? What happened?”

Justin sighed and turned closer to me, resting an arm across my stomach. 

“It’s not a big deal, really. It’s just—“

“Well it sounds like a big deal, Savannah and Matt were talking about it on Today.”

“Mom I really just woke up. I’ll tell you all about everything when I call you back in a couple hours.”

“Just hang up,” Justin whispered.

My mother continued talking, mostly about the anchors of The Today Show and their thoughts on my ass getting fired. I almost forgot about it, when I first woke up I thought about how lucky I am, completely ignoring the shit storm that is clearly going on all over the country. 

“Mom. Mom,” I repeated myself several times but she continued talking. Why bother calling me if she doesn’t want to hear me anyway?

“I swear to God Bec, hang up the fucking phone or go outside,” Justin spat. 

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, “Yeah, ok Mom. I’m going to call you back later. Bye.”

When I clicked the phone off Justin reached over, his eyes still shut, and tossed the phone to the ground. A little dramatic, but whatever. He never was a morning person. 

I looked up at the ceiling, wishing I could find the answers written up there somewhere. I’m up now, there’s no use in pretending I’ll ever go back to sleep. Now I can’t stop thinking about all the shit, about the fact that I’m currently unemployed and have no idea what I’m going to do with my life. 

Justin rustled next to me and I softly ran my hands through his short curly hair. He shuffled and rested his head on my boobs, smiling with his eyes closed like a fifteen year old boy.  I wish he’d shave his beard, I hate how he let’s it get so long and grubby.  It’s prickling my chest even through my nightgown.

Now my mom has me all worried about what they’re saying about me on The Today Show. I’ve been on the show a couple times and they were always nice to me. But then again, it’s all about backstabbing bitches in this business. I shouldn’t be surprised. 

I carefully grabbed the remote from the bedside table, being careful not to move Justin off my chest.  As soon as I turned the TV on Justin grabbed the remote from my hand, clicked it off, and threw it to the ground. 

“Come on J, I’m trying to—“

“Go downstairs. I’m trying to sleep,” he snapped as he placed a pillow over his head, that was still on my chest. So basically now I have a pillow in my face. 

I took another deep breath and reached for my iPhone. Dead. As I leaned over to plug it in Justin let out a moan, “Christ Bec, stop moving.”

“You’re on top of me! Are you serious?”

“Since when don’t you like when I’m on top of you?” he smirked, still keeping those damn eyes closed. 

“You know I like it better when you’re under me.”

He chuckled and pulled me on top of him, finally opening his eyes. That’s what it takes to get him to open his eyes, a very vague mention of sex.  “OK.”

I rolled my eyes and rolled off of him, “Not what I meant!”

“Oh, come on,” he whined as he wrapped his arms around my waist. 

“Justin, I have so much shit going on right now. I can’t even think straight,” I whined. 

“You don’t need to think straight,” he smiled. 

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply before slowly pressing my lips against his. I want to be a good girlfriend, I want to make him happy. I mean, I’ve been away, we haven’t had sex for days.  He needs to get laid but I can’t, every time I get close to him… I just can’t.

As Justin tugged at my panties I pulled away and rolled off him, “I can’t.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he shouted, sitting up and fuming.  This is how we work, we’ve been up for ten minutes and we’re already fighting. 

“I just,” I spoke softly, running my hands through my straight hair, “I can’t. I have so much going on, J. I can’t just like turn it on and be ready. I need to figure shit out first.”

He let out a dramatic sigh and fell to his back, “I swear to God Bec, you are so fucking crazy.”

“I’m crazy?” I went through my drawers to find a pair of sweats. That’s his solution to everything, I’m crazy. Like, he doesn’t even understand how disrespectful it is to call me crazy all the time. Whenever I have any concerns, I’m crazy. Whenever I try to tell him something he doesn’t want to hear, I’m crazy. According to him I should be in a mental hospital.

“You’re lucky you’re hot,” he continued with a chuckle. 

In what world is it ok to say that to a girl you’ve been dating for the past three years? And I’m the crazy one?!? I felt my whole body heating up. 

“You’re lucky you’re rich,” I answered as I pulled my nightgown off and pulled on a bra. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he jumped up.

“It means that you’re lucky. You. have. money.” I repeated slowly. Sometimes I need to spell it out for him, I swear.

` “And what, if I didn’t have money you wouldn’t be here?”

“If I wasn’t hot would you be with me?”

“Obviously not,” he answered simply. 

I shook my head and turned to my dresser to pull a tank top over my head. 

“Answer the question, Rebecca.”

“You honestly don’t think there’s anything wrong with telling me you’re only with me because of the way I look? You don’t think that’s so fucking messed up to say to me?”

“Calling you hot is a bad thing?”

“Saying you’re only with me because I’m hot is absolutely a bad thing! What is wrong with you? We’ve been together for three years and you’re honestly telling me the only reason why you’re with me is because of the way I look?”

He shook his head as he sat down at the foot of the bed, “It’s a fucking compliment, for fucks sake.”

“That’s not a compliment, Justin. Get a clue.”

Justin chuckled, I hate when he laughs when we’re in the middle of a fight. It’s like I’m so crazy he can’t even control himself because whatever it is I’m saying is just so ridiculous he has to laugh. He does it all the time. 

I don’t want to add fighting with him to my list of problems at this moment. I knew I should have gone home to Boston. Back home I’m a fucking hero for what I did at the game yesterday, here in this stupid city I’m a failure. I actually thought coming home to my boyfriend would make me feel better. As if he even gives a shit. I wound’t be surprised if he’s pissed I’m here in the first place, he can’t get with the hoes when I’m in town. 

“If I didn’t have money…”

“Of course I don’t give a shit about your money,” I shouted, throwing my arms up. I’m so fucking frustrated with him right now and all he wants to talk about is what affects him. God forbid we talk about something that doesn’t involve a problem he has. A tiny, minor problem compared to my life is currently crashing down. “I’ve got my own money, when have I ever cared about your money?”

“Then why would you say that? That’s low.”

He can’t seriously be upset about this when he flat on tells me he thinks I’m some idiot that he’s only keeping around cause I’m pretty. 

“Justin!” I want to strangle him, “You don’t even care about how hurtful what you said to me is! What am I supposed to think? What’s going to happen when I’m all old and wrinkly? Or after I have babies and can’t get that extra baby weight off?”

He chuckled again, I swear to god I’m going to strangle him. “You’re so dramatic. You blow everything out of proportion.”

I shook my head and took a deep breath, “I need to like, get out of here.”

“OK. Go ahead and like get out of here.”

“You treat me like I’m so fucking stupid! Is that what you think? You’re so condescending, do even know that?”

“How am I being condescending? You’re acting like an idiot. You need to relax. I get that you’re stressed and you have a lot of shit going on but calm the fuck down. You don’t have to take it all out on me. I didn’t fire you, Bec. Stop being so stupid.”

“I’m stupid? Justin, I’m not stupid. I know you enjoy passing everything off I say as being dumb or maybe you’re just so used to dating stupid girls that you don’t know how to handle dating someone that actually has a brain for once. Don’t you ever call me stupid again. I got my master’s degree from Harvard. I’m not an idiot.”

“Yeah, in Journalism,” he answered under his breath. 

I swear to god I’m going to strangle him. 

“Right, and what was your master’s in? Or your bachelor’s? Or hey, what was the name of your fucking high school?”

“That makes you better than me, huh? Because you went to Harvard? That’s how we measure success in life, what college you went to?”

I couldn’t hold it back any longer, before I knew it I was straddling his waist with my hands on his neck, “I’m going to fucking strangle you.”

Justin reached his hands on my shoulders and pushed me away, “I swear to god Bec, I’d never hit a girl but I’ll shake the shit out of you.”

“Please,” I laughed as I pulled away from his grip, “Go ahead and try and see what happens to you.”

I closed my eyes and let out a sigh. He blows everything out of proportion. See how he turns everything around? He’s the one calling me stupid and I stand up for myself and now I’m trying to put him down. He doesn’t even understand how disrespectful it is to call me stupid, how many times I’ve had to deal with being considered stupid just because I have blonde hair and big tits. 

“I didn’t say I think I’m better than you, of course I don’t feel that way. ” Why do I always feel the need to clear up his warped reality to make him feel better when he doesn’t give a shit about the way I feel? “I’m saying I’m not stupid and I really hate when you infer that I am. You know that, and that’s what makes it so worse! You know how I feel when people infer that I’m a dumb blonde and you’re my fucking boyfriend and it’s like whenever we’re in a fight you just hit me where it hurts.” 

My eyes started to water, and I quickly wiped away the tears, hoping Justin wouldn’t see. He always gives me shit for crying. I’m a girl, I’m emotional, I cry. Get over it. Maybe I wouldn’t have to cry so much if he wasn’t such a douchebag.

A normal boyfriend would probably grab the girl he claims to be in love with right now. After a girl has been that vulnerable, that honest, you’d think most guys would try to calm their girlfriend down. He’d tell her how sorry he is, how he never met to hurt her. She’s the smartest girl he’s ever met. 

Not my boyfriend.

Instead my boyfriend, Justin Timberlake, charming superstar, pulled a hoodie over his head and went downstairs to escape me and my emotions.

I would rather him leave me alone to deal with my emotions than have him sit here and belittle me, so I’m happy he went downstairs. It’s probably best for us each to cool off. 

It felt good cry, especially because I haven’t really cried since I found out I was fired. Not even when my boss called me into his office and told me. God, I really wanted to cry then. Sometimes when I start crying about one thing I just keep remembering other things and end up crying about little things that don’t even matter. Like, I stood up and stubbed my toe so I cried because my toe hurt. 

When I got myself together I grabbed my iPhone and made my way downstairs. Justin was in the kitchen so I sat down at the kitchen bar, looking through my missed text messages, not quite ready to talk to him. 

Justin continued what he was doing, but I could see him glance over at me in my peripheral vision. “I need a drink. It’s nine o’clock in the morning, you’ve been home for, what? six hours and I need a drink already.”

“Well make me one too,” I answered softly, turing my attention back to my phone. 

I made the mistake of checking my Twitter. My heart stopped beating as I read my mentions. 

Rebecca Rose is such an idiot. Can’t believe she lasted so long. 

#Lakers should have fired @RebeccaRose after her first game. What a dumbass

I looked up when Justin placed a tall Bloody Mary in front of me. A truce.  “You shouldn’t read that shit.”

“I shouldn’t  do a lot of things, but I still do,” I took a sip of the drink and turned back to my phone.

“I mean it, Bec. It’s only going to make everything worse,” he answered sincerely.

He sat down next to me and grabbed my phone. He has a point, of course he has a point. But how am I supposed to ignore it when it’s right there, on my phone. 

“Don’t you want to like, make pancakes or something?”

Justin chuckled and stood up, kissing my forehead before turning and making his way to the fridge, “Yeah, I’ll make you pancakes.”

I reached back to my phone and opened up Twitter, scrolling through all the strangers talking shit about me. I’ll never understand how people think it’s ok. I would never do that.

I froze when I came across a tweet:

.@RebeccaRose is such an idiot. No wonder @jtimberlake is cheating on her!

Below was a picture of Justin, my boyfriend of three years, and this girl who was all over him. Justin just has this cocky smile covering his face like he’s in paradise. 

I felt my heart beating in my throat and threw my phone to the counter. I studied Justin, the way he cracked the eggs, then poured the flour into the bowl. 

I took a long swig of my drink, closed my eyes and silently counted to three before speaking up, “Are you cheating on me?”

Justin froze, his back towards me, and slowly turned around, “What?”

“I said, are you cheating on me?” I answered calmly. 

“What are you—? Why would you even say that?”

Every time I bring it up he acts surprised, insulted that I would even suggest such a thing. Yet he never denies it.  It doesn’t matter how many times I bring it up because I have a feeling he is. He just always dismisses it, because I’m just being crazy.

“You just never deny it. You always change the subject or say I’m overreacting. I mean if you’re not, why don’t you just say you’re not?”

“I’m not. Are you kidding? I’ve told you I’m not a million times. Why do you ask me so much?”

“Oh, I don’t know Justin. Why would I possibly ask you so much?” I held my phone out and waited to see his reaction. 

He didn’t have much of one, he just looked at it then looked at me. 

“OK, that’s some girl at a club that wanted to take a picture. I’m not cheating on you because some girl took her picture with me.”

“She’s all over you.”

“OK. I’m not all over her, am I? I’m just standing there.”

“I just, I mean I don’t understand why you go to clubs so much. You’re thirty-four.”

“It’s for work, Becca. You know this.”

“You’re a Grammy Award Winning Artist. Aren’t you above the level of having to do club appearances?”

Justin threw his head back and let out another obnoxious sigh, “You want me to stop doing club appearances, I’ll fucking stop. If that will make you feel better then great. I don’t like doing them anyway, but the money is good.”

“I want you to stop hanging out with all the hoes.”

“Great,” he threw his hands up, “Done.”

As if it’s that easy. As if that’s not something we’ve been talking about for the past three years. I get that it’s part of his job, of course I do, but at a certain point it’s disrespectful. 

Justin continued beating the pancake batter, probably a little harder than necessary. Then he turned back to me,“Your family is fucking deranged, you know that, right?”

“My family?” where the hell did that come from? “Please, every time you see my brother you go all fangirl on him.”

“Not your brother, your aunts and shit. Always putting this shit in your mind that I’m cheating on you. It’s such bullshit. They read all the shit magazines and check out fucking Perez Hilton and think they got everything figured out.”

“They’re worried about me because my boyfriend spends the nights I’m away working at the club with a bunch of hoes.”

“They’re demented. They don’t understand what it’s like out here. If you were in the club with me you would see nothing wrong with it but people start shit to sell magazines. You know how it works, you’re living it, but when your aunts call you you start to question everything like you’ve never even been to this damn city. They call my house, they call MY fucking house to tell you I’m cheating on you because they read it in the fucking National Enquirer.”

“Right, my family is so horrible. Like your family is so great.”

“They are.”

“Please, your mother alone—“

“What’s wrong with my mother?”

“She’s a bitch! Are you kidding? Your mother is such bitch!”

“Careful Bec,” he warned because he can talk all the shit about my family that he wants but god forbid I even suggest his mother is a bitch. Which she is.

“She is. How do you not see what a bitch she is to me?”

“What are you talking about? She’s treated you like family since the first time you met.”

“Are you kidding? She hates me, and makes it pretty damn clear. She doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.”

He chuckled, “Of course she doesn’t, she’s my mother. No mother thinks anyone is good enough for her kid.”

“That’s bullshit, my mom likes you.”

“My mom loves you Becca, of course she does. What is wrong with you? You think I’d still be with you if my mother hated you?”

“Not if I wasn’t so hot.” I whined. 

Justin took a deep breath as he made his way over to me, wrapping his arms around me from behind, “Stop saying that, I didn’t mean it. We were just talking last night about how I want to get married to you and I want you to have my babies. You really think we’d be talking about that if I just thought you were hot and didn’t care about anything else? You’re a piece of work. You’re a pain in the ass. But I love you,” he kissed under my ear, “Go pack your bags so we can go to Bora Bora.”

“I want to go home for a little bit.”

“You are home,” he answered quickly. 

I turned around and rested my arms on his shoulders, “I want to go back to Boston. I need to go back to Boston for a little while. I need to clear my head and see my brother and rethink everything.”

“Rethink everything like what?” his voice raised an octave when he spoke, he cleared his throat and tried again, “What do you mean rethink everything?”

“My job and what I’m doing with my life.”

“Me? Do you need to rethink me?”

I opened my mouth but no words came out, Justin watched me carefully and spoke up before I could. 

“I’ll come with you,” he spoke as he nervously cleaned up the kitchen. 

“No, I…”

“Yeah, I’ll come with you. I’ll call and get the jet.”

“I don’t… I don’t want you to come with me.”

He leaned against the counter and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he exhaled, “You can’t I’m… I didn’t mean to…”

“Justin, I’m just going home for a little while.”

“Then why can’t I come?” he panicked.

Once again I opened my mouth but no words came out. 

“Why, because I called you stupid?” he began to speak quickly, “Of course I don’t think you’re stupid. You’re the smartest person I know. I mean it. Girl or guy, the smartest.”

“Relax, I’m not…”

“I know you don’t like it out here, but hell neither do I. I could move, we could move. You want to go back to Boston? Sure! Let’s go.”

“Justin—“

“We could talk about having kids there, or we don’t have to talk about it for awhile. We’ll focus on you first, on finding you a job you love.”

I’ve never seen him act like this. Not even when we first started dating. He was really smitten with me at the beginning, he did anything I wanted. I don’t even remember when that changed. Probably when he started touring and I started traveling with the team. We hardly ever see each other. And now I’m going to be around all the time since I don’t have a job an he’s going to be home all the time because he just finished his tour. 

I really need to go to Boston.

I made my way to the other side of the kitchen bar where Justin was pacing and wrapped my arms around his waist. “I just need to go back to Boston for a few days and figure out my options. Career wise, life wise, but not about you. We’ll figure all that out when I get back in a few days.”

“I don’t want to… what do we have to figure out in a few days?” he squeezed me into himself tightly. 

“What our next step is.”

“Like we’re going to get married or we’re going to break up?”

He says I’m the dramatic one. He says I’m the one that blows everything out of proportion. 

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

I watched him carefully, not ready to start fighting with him again. Instead, I took a deep breath and answered honestly, “You know, I never let anyone get as close to me as I’ve let you. You know how hard that was for me at the beginning of our relationship. But you kept pushing and it was great at the beginning but something changed. We fight so much and that’s not ok. That’s not what I want. I don’t even know what to believe anymore. It’s like half the things you say to me are lies. You don’t see how your lies affect me. You say things just to hurt me. You’re just… not what you were cracked up to be.”

Justin looked at me, his face showed no reaction. I wanted him to say something, anything, instead he just looked at me in shock. 

“I don’t want to break up with you but I need some time to think and you need some time to think. If we’re going to work we need to make some changes and we both need to figure out what they are. And then we’ll talk and see if it’s worth it.”

“Of course it’s worth it,” Justin answered in a whisper.

“I hope it is,” now my eyes are watering again. I turned away from him to hide the tears but for the first time in years, he placed his hands on my cheeks and turned me back to him. 

“Don’t cry,” he whispered and wiped my tears before kissing me gently, “It’s worth it. We’ll figure it out but we’re worth it.”

I nodded my head, unable to speak and fell into his arms crying. He didn’t call me emotional or crazy or even laugh at my dramatic ways. Instead, he held me tightly and let me get it all out.