Chris absent-mindedly scratched his left wrist. Suddenly, his skin stung and a drop of red oozed out of his scabbed-over gash. He wiped his arm on his shirt, the blood transferring to the fabric, a crimson streak near the seam. The pain reminded him of the reason he was there in the first place. Anger flowed through his veins now, sharing the space with blood cells. Anger directed at one person. A person that he used to consider his brother and best friend. His thoughts were briefly interrupted by a lanky man calling for someone named Janice. As a nurse helped the man back to his room, Chris' mind drifted back to his previous thoughts.
"He fucking knew it. He knew I'd walk in and trip over the chair. He knew I'd put my hand on the counter to regain my balance. He knew I wouldn't see any that fucking knife. He knew I'd slit my wrist on the blade. He knew I'd pass out from the blood loss. And he knew he could "find me" on the floor just in time to rush me to the hospital. He knew they'd think I was crazy when I told them my side. He knew they'd bring me here. He knew the guys would never move on in the group without the founding member. He had it all fucking
planned."
To some extent, Chris' assumptions were correct. He had explained his theories to the doctors, and they had sent him to Oak Wood Mental Facility. But was Chris completely right? Had one of his bandmates really almost killed him simply so *NSYNC could never reunite? He didn't want to believe it. Chris had known him since he'd moved to Florida. He had watched him grow up. But really, how many people would want to hurt Chris? Then again, how many people tape kinves to their counter so that someone would accidentally slit their wrist on it? And then when Chris had been checked in, the guys announced it on MTV and who did all of the talking? Yeah, him. While the other three stood there looking upset and depressed, he had no problem taking over. He pretended to be upset, and damn, he did a good job. But Chris had always been able so see through all of his bullshit, and he saw through it on the t.v. as well.
Chris knew what he had to do. All he had to do was make a call. One fucking call, to one person. There was one person Chris could call, and he'd fix everything. Chris knew this person would believe him. He always had. He picked up the phone and tapped out the numbers. The person answered on the third ring.
"Lance?" Chris said, relieved that he'd answered. "I've got something I have to tell you... about Justin."
Story Notes:
This story is also posted on the original site, but I want to make sure that everyone can see it, old and new... so I'm gonna update on both sites. Enjoy!
Story Tags: chris
