The tightness in Kayleigh’s ears made her quiver, hoping silently that her gum chewing would ease the pain of the high altitude. She hated flying. The annoying ding floated through the pressurized cabin as the shrewd, yet porcelain-looking flight attendant voiced the standard procedure for landing.
She stopped her portable discman and reluctantly shoved it into the pocket of her carry-on resting beneath the seat in front of her, along with the rest of her CDs. She slowly returned her tray table to it’s stowed position, like instructed, and moved her seat back into its normal position. She sighed as she looked to her right at the old lady who was slightly asleep against her shoulder; thank God this flight was over.
Her stomach audibly groaned from hunger, at least that’s what she thought it was. She was ruling out the possibility that the lining of her stomach was eating itself out of nervousness. Once she felt the bumpy landing, she breathed in a long sigh of relief before panic sunk in again. With the sight of the palm trees out of the adjacent window, the reality of her presence in the dreaded wasteland of California was suddenly fully realized.
She was here now, and there was no turning back.
After the plane was secured at the gate, she got up to compete in the rat race for her carry-on luggage, even though she already had it in her hands. Her small frame, dressed in a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt that said, “I poke badgers with spoons,” in white lettering, slowly made its way off the plane and through the airport to the baggage claim she was instructed to meet him at.
Her trademark beige Birkenstocks scuffed slightly against the dirty floor of the airport, her fists gripping the bottom of the shoulder straps of her pale blue backpack as she followed the massive exodus to the baggage claim. She proceeded with caution, unsure of her surroundings and the new people in it.
She didn’t trust a damn one of these fake ‘n bake, botox, cockmongers with their fake breasts and taught, perfect skin. Nor did she trust the perfectly shaped boys, with their hair all perfectly spiked and their muscle shirts so tight that she thought they would rip if they moved too much. Did she mention she hated Los Angeles? Why did she agree to this?
She finally made it to the baggage claim and pushed through the rungs of obnoxious people talking with their fake Valley accents to pull her bag from the belt. She silently rolled her eyes as she had to push back a young blonde with a teacup poodle in her purse to even get the bag off the belt. Thankfully, she got it off okay and pulled the handle to wheel it off.
“Where am I supposed to meet him,” she mumbled, looking at the back of her right hand for the black ink she had scribbled the baggage claim number where he was to meet her. She cursed silently to herself when she realized that it had worn off, probably while she was sleeping on the plane. Her aggravated groan escaped her taught, light pink lips before she sighed, closing her eyes as she mentally tried to picture what she had written on her hand that morning.
“Hey, what the fuck are you...” she heard a man’s voice spit out angrily, right after she had smacked into him. She looked up sharply, an apologetic look all over her face, until she saw who it was. It was him. Her eyes narrowed and her once apologetic look turned to a fiery glaze.
“Justin fucking Timberlake. Wow, what a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she visibly rolled her eyes superfluously for dramatic effect. Her eyes traveled up to the baggage claim number and immediately realized this was the area she was supposed to meet Trace. Then her eyes drifted to the bodyguards, one overly large man holding a sign that said “Kayleigh Baker.”
Oh, this wasn’t happening. Was it?
“Yeah, well, trust me. I didn’t really want to fucking come here to pick up your sorry ass, but Trace couldn’t make it. Are you ready to go, or are we going to sit here and pussy-fuck around?” he retorted in an angry quip.
All that she could do was roll her eyes. She hated him even more this second than she thought she had in the past. Trace knew better than to send this sorry-ass of a man to come pick her up, especially when he had to beg her to come out here in the first place. He sure as hell was going to get it the moment that she saw him.
She rarely swore, and the only time that she did, it always involved this punk-ass musician who thought he was black. First thing she was going to do when she got settled was to buy him a mirror. “Fine, dillhole. Let’s go. The less of you I have to see while I’m here, the happier I’ll be.”
“Likewise,” he retorted. Everything about her pissed him off, and she knew it. Maybe that’s why she was always extra sassy when she did see him. He needed to be repaid for every mean thing that he had done to her in their lifetime, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let up now. Besides, he pissed her off equally as much. He was the only person that she didn’t feel bad about being mean to. He deserved it. Every ounce.
They made their way out of the airport, but she felt extremely claustrophobic with all of the bodyguards surrounding her. She couldn’t see a damn thing. Justin was 6’2, and all of his bodyguards were much taller than him, leaving her 5’7 frame in a permanent shadow. She let one of them grab her bags and shove them into the back of one of the SUV’s carelessly. Her long legs climbed effortlessly into the backseat before buckling her seatbelt. She watched as Justin got situated in the driver’s seat before turning the ignition to the immaculately perfect Mercedes Benz. She turned her head to look out the window quietly, refusing to talk to him for the entire trip to wherever they were going.
As they were driving, the black Mercedes would swerve swiftly around corners, run through yellow traffic lights like they meant nothing, and barely stop at stop signs. She knew that he was doing it to piss her off, and she hated every minute of it. She felt as if she would puke any second. He knew that she hated it when he drove like this, which was exactly why he was doing it. Finally, he barely missed getting hit by another car due to his extremely reckless driving, and she felt the tires screech before he pulled the car calmly into the entranceway to the gate of his multi-million dollar bachelor pad.
“What the fuck, Justin!” she yelled from the back. She had been holding her breath the entire time, and she was ready to kill him. She hit the back of his seat roughly and shook her head. “You want Trace to have to bury two of his friends while his mother is dying, you ass? God, you’re such a prick!” she continued, getting out of the car the moment that it stopped, bending down to the ground to kiss the pavement. She never thought she would be so happy to be safe on the ground again. “Thank you God, for getting me here safely,” she mumbled as she sighed. She looked up and stared at the huge mansion and realized that this would be where she was staying. She just shook her head, knowing that this was going to be a long trip.
Her tiny fingers wrapped around the handle of the suitcase as she rolled it along the pavement to the door. Impatiently, her foot tapped while his body guards dispersed and she waited for him to punch in the code to let her into the house.
“Turn around,” he demanded.
“Why? Don’t want me to know the code so I can pass it on to all the girls you’ve fucked over in your life? Yeah, that would be a shame,” she stated sarcastically as she rolled her eyes. She was already sick of fighting.
“Shut the fuck up,” he mumbled bitterly. He stared her down with his deep cerulean eyes, obviously waiting for her to turn her body around or cover her eyes. He smirked when she finally complied. He could always make her do anything that he wanted. “You can take any of the guest rooms, except the one with safari theme. That’s not suitable for the likes of you.”
“You know, Justin. Every time I have another encounter with you, I hate you more and more,” she growled. “We’re not friends right now.” She grabbed her suitcase and huffed as she went to find a room that was “suitable,” finally settling on the pale yellow room that she stayed in when he first built the house, back when they were on speaking terms. She just curled up in bed and prayed that Trace would get their soon. If she saw any more of Justin today, she was going to puke.
Her eyelids closed over her pale blue eyes as she curled up on the queen sized bed, her body contorting into a near fetal position, unwilling to change out of her clothes. She just wanted to forget the day, and that--that was what she was going to do.
Story Tags: celebrityj justinandtrace college
