Justin is going on a business trip. He informed me of this a few days after the classic “puking incident“, as I have affectionately named the situation . He’s going for a week…and up until yesterday evening, I had been busy planning the whole week out for myself. It was going to be perfect…a dream come true. I was finally going to get a much deserved break from his greatness. Justin would leave Monday, and I would call up Jade, who I haven’t seen since I’ve been living here, and she would come stay with me until he returned from his trip to New York. I had it all planned…

“Did you pack my ties?”

We were going to raid the fridge together. “Yes Justin.”

“And all of my suits?”

And sunbathe topless. “Yes Justin.”

He strokes his chin in thought for a moment. “Can you think of anything I forgot to pack?”

“No,” I mutter.

“Then let’s go,” he says, motioning for me to follow.

I don’t move.

“What is it?” He asks, seeing my reaction to his command. “You forgot a suit didn’t you? “

No, I’m not getting a break. It’s really sinking in now. I’m not getting a break. No…because lucky me…I have the privilege of joining him on his little business trip. I should have figured as much, because he probably doesn‘t trust me enough to stay alone in his house for a week anyway. Besides, who would be there to unpack his suitcases, or satisfy his sexual desires if I don‘t go? This sucks. “I‘m coming,” I answer. “I didn’t forget anything.” Really…I could probably think about ten things that the guy forgot to pack…but I’m too angry to bother telling him. Christ, why can’t I just have a damn break?

“C‘mon then,” he says. “We‘re already behind schedule.” He walks out the front door, carrying the lightest of his suitcases along with him. I guess I’m supposed to get the rest. I want to scream.

“You ready?” Trace smiles at me, before picking up one of Justin’s suitcases to carry.

Trace is coming along as well. Aren’t I fortunate? I must be the luckiest woman in the entire world. “Mmmhmm.” I hum, picking up my single suitcase, as well as one of Justin’s. I drag both myself and the luggage out the door and over to Justin’s awaiting limo. Eric is there, along with another bulky looking man. I’m guessing this is simply just another one of Justin’s security people…and after a few moments I realized that I am correct. He takes the bags that I’m carrying, and motions me to go back to the house to get the rest of Justin’s belongings.

Boy, Justin really does train his people well doesn’t he? I steal a quick glance at the limo before I make my way back toward the house. Trace and Justin are leaning against the car. Justin of course, is in another world, talking into his cell phone. Trace however, is intently watching me…getting extreme pleasure out of watching me do Justin’s dirty work.

I hate Trace.

“Come on girl! Hurry up!” He chuckles. “You’re too slow. I hope you’re not this slow when…” He would have finished his sentence, if Justin hadn’t nudged him in the ribs. For a moment I’m a little surprised that Justin has stood up for me at all, but then I realize that the only reason he probably did it, was to ensure his security people won’t get any weird ideas about me.

“Deja…let’s go!” Justin grunts, before getting into the limo.

Sucking in a breath, I do as I’m told. The rest of the baggage is heavier than the rest. What the hell did he put in them? Weights? Who knows. I struggle with them…and neither Eric, nor the other man bothers to help me. Only when I reach the car, do they help me get the bags into the trunk.

I think the worst is over when I get inside the limo. But of course, I’m wrong again. The entire ride consists of Justin yakking on his phone and barking orders at me, Trace making snide remarks about me and anything else he can think of, and me pouring them both drinks and popping various CD’s of their choosing into the player.

I guess I got the maid act down pat.

***********************

It’s a good thing that there was a flight attendant available during the flight, or I probably would have been volunteered to make the drinks, and prepare the snacks. It’s a really good thing…because it was the only chance I’ve had to relax since we’ve started our little trip. We’ve only been in New York a little over twelve hours and I’m already set to call it quits. Apparently, Justin doesn’t trust me to stay by myself in the hotel room either. I’ve had to accompany him and his stupid friend to every single stupid thing on his agenda since we’ve landed, being introduced as Trace‘s cousin of all things.

What an insult.

I never knew how grueling a celebrities schedule could be…but I sure do now. We’ve been to countless offices, radio stations, and photographers…so many that I can’t remember the names of any of them. I really don’t know how Justin remembers everybody’s name…but he does. Everyplace that we’ve gone…he’s known everybody’s name. And everybody loves him…

It’s nauseating. It’s nauseating because he’s really not at all what these people make him out to be.

“This isn’t cold enough,” he hands his glass of water back to me, while keeping his gaze focused on the television. “You didn’t put enough ice in.”

On top of everything else, I didn’t get my own hotel room either. This has pissed me off more than anybody will ever know. All the money he has and he couldn’t even get me my own place to sleep? He couldn’t find it in his heart to let me be alone, so I could get a few hours away from him? No…no he couldn’t.

Arrogant son-of-a….

“Deja…the water isn’t getting any colder,” he tells me, still holding out the glass for me to take.

I am about to burst, literally. I ponder the idea of taking the water and thrusting it in his face, and I’m starting to think it’s a great idea. Then his phone starts to ring. I hate that phone. Listening to his conversation for several moments, I figure out that he’s talking to one of his random girlfriends. It makes me cringe. He’s being so nice to her…telling her that he’ll see her tomorrow night and blah, blah, blah. Why don’t I just yak now? Frustrated both with his attitude, and that he’s seemed to have forgotten all about his need for colder water, I grab the glass out of his hand and make my way into the bathroom. I dump the water out in the sink and push the door closed, making sure to lock it.

Finally…alone…peace. I’m not coming out. I’ll sleep in here. He’s gonna have to bust down the damn door before I’ll come out. I guess he’ll have to find somebody else to sleep with tonight. Maybe he’ll take civil action. Screw him and his civil action.

I’m looking in the mirror. I’m a mess. I look tired…withdrawn. Who wouldn’t be with the kind of crap I put up with? I need to sleep…sleep is good…

BAMBAMBAM

“Deja!”

He’s pounding on the door. I guess his phone conversation has been cut short. Oh well…not my problem. I don’t answer him. No, I won’t. I’m getting some peace tonight.

“Open the damn door!”

I close my eyes and sink down to the floor. The banging continues. I really don’t care. I don’t…I don’t…I don’t…

“I’m gonna kick in this fucking door Deja!”

He’s angry, no, he’s enraged. He probably will kick in the door. He’s crazy when he gets angry. He’s like a monster. God…I wish he would just grow up. I’m supposed to be here to be his mistress…not his ever reliable servant. That’s Trace’s job. Why can’t Justin go bother him? Why is it always me? I should have listened to Jade…I should have just taken the ten grand and stood him up the following night. “Go away,” I tell him after several more moments of listening to him bang on the door. “You’re giving me a headache, Justin.”

The pounding only grows louder, and more rapid. “You don’t tell me what to fucking do!” He screams.

I stick my fingers in my ears. I’m sure I’m safe. I’ve convinced myself that if he was going to kick the door in he would have done…

I thought too soon. The door has just been kicked wide open. Justin is standing before me now. He looks so angry…like he might kill somebody. I’m shaking. I need to calm down. This is Justin…he couldn’t hurt me that badly…he couldn’t.

“Get up,” he seethes. He storms over to me and pulls me up off the ground by my hair. I yelp in pain. It doesn’t phase him. “What were you thinking?” he asks, gripping my hair tighter in his fist.

“I…I…” I stutter. No…I can’t be afraid…I can’t act like this in front of him. I can’t let him think he has total control…even though I know he does. I suck in a breath. “I was tired,” I manage.

He lets out a small laugh. “Wrong answer,” he tells me. He slaps me across the face with the back of his free hand.

I scream. The entire left side of my face is throbbing. It hurts…it hurts so bad…

He’s never done that before. He’s come close…but he never actually put a hand on me before. I’m scared now. More scared of him than I’ve ever been. I look into his eyes, and the instant he lets his eyes meet mine, he lets go of me. He’s trembling. I understand. I back up against the wall. For several moments, neither of us say a word.

“Deja,” he says finally. He won’t look at me.

I don’t respond. I’m too scared. Too scared of what he might do if I say the wrong thing.

He begins to chew on his bottom lip. “Wash your face,” he whispers.

I do. The cool water feels good against the throbbing portion of my face. When I finally bring myself to turn off the water and turn around to face him again though, he’s not there. I exit the bathroom. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed. I don’t have to question how sorry he feels about what he’s done. The sorrowful look on his face tells me all I need to know. No, hitting me was never his intention. If he could control his damn temper, it probably wouldn’t have happened.

“I shouldn’t have ever gotten you into this whole thing,” he tells me.

I’m shocked. Justin has never been this personal with me before…but I guess the occasion might call for it. You know, it’s not everyday that a girl gets lucky enough to be slapped across the face by Justin Timberlake. “I got myself into it,” I shrug. “Let’s go to bed.”

He’s silent for a moment. “Don’t act like nothing happened,” he grumbles.

I get into bed with him. I don’t want to talk anymore. I’ve been through enough today…I need to save the rest of my sanity for tomorrow…for the rest of this fucking week. I pull the covers over my head, slipping into my own world. The one where there is nobody but me…the perfect world.

“Deja.”

I wish he would leave well enough alone. “What,” I mumble. The covers are tugged off of me. Justin is all I can see. He kisses me. Not now…please not now.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispers in my ear.

“Yes you did,” I say. I probably shouldn’t have, but right now I’m so tired…and so angry…my emotions are speaking for themselves. He gets off of me. I feel my body tense up again…waiting for the next slap to come.

“Night,” he mutters.

The light goes out.

I am still awake. No, I won’t sleep tonight.

I wonder what joys tomorrow will bring?

***********************

“Deja.”

I open my eyes.

The lights are flipped on. I groan. The side of my face that got slapped still hurts. There’s probably a nice big bruise there by now. Great. He’ll probably yell at me for that too. Once my eyes become accustomed to the light…I see him. He’s standing in front of the wall mirror, straightening out his jacket. I look at the clock. What?

It’s four o’clock in the morning.

“Get up, get dressed,” he grumbles. “Gotta eat before the cavalry rises.”

Cavalry? He’s not making any sense. It’s too early…maybe I’m dreaming. I shake my head vigorously, trying to snap out of whatever dream it is that I’m in. Nothing happens. Yes, this is real… “Cavalry,” I get out, in a hoarse whisper. “It’s four in the…”

“I know what time it is Deja,” he sneers. “Get up now.” He walks out of the bedroom. Moments later I hear the television blaring. He’s waiting for me.

Christ, I don’t want to get up now…but I know I don’t have a choice in the matter. Slowly, reluctantly, I roll out of the comfort of the bed and stumble into the bathroom. I look in the mirror…it’s as I feared. I have a huge bruise next to my left eye. I mean…it’s horrible. I don’t know how I’m supposed to cover it up. Sunglasses? Maybe. I wonder if Justin will know what to do?

Great. Now I’m going to rely on Mr. Personality to help me cover up the bruise he gave me.

I don’t want to keep him waiting too long, so I quickly shower and get dressed. I look in the mirror again. It’s still just as bad. I put on some foundation…no, that doesn’t help. I guess it’ll have to be the sunglasses.

I go into the next room to meet Master, and get my daily list of commands rambled off to me. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares. It’s the bruise…I know it is. I act like I don’t know what his problem is. I sit down on the couch with him and take the remote, starting to channel surf. Infomercial…weather channel…infomercial…ooo Toss and Chop.

“You gonna cover that up?” he asks me after several minutes.

I look at him. “I don’t know what you expect me to do,” I say.

“Well…you can’t just walk around like that,” he grumbles, snatching the remote from me. “What will people think?”

“I’ll say I walked into the wall,” I say. Lord, what an asshole he is. Last night…I thought he felt bad, but now all he seems to feel bad about, is the fact that somebody might blame him for this. I hate him…I hate him…

“Idiot,” he snaps. “Nobody is going to believe that you walked into the wall.”

Thanks Justin. “Well then what do you suggest?” I huff, crossing my arms. I let out a long yawn. I’m too tired for this. Breakfast at four AM? Who does this?

“Well…I guess you’ll need to get a pair of sunglasses,” he decides. “But for now, just wear your hair down.”

“I’m not comfortable with my hair down,” I say. He doesn’t like my answer.

“You’re just saying that to piss me off,” he grunts. “You’re a little bitch.”

He’s going back to his specialty…emotional abuse. I guess he figures he can get more enjoyment for himself by tormenting me this way. I guess he figures if he sticks to emotional abuse…he doesn’t have to worry about leaving a visible mark on me…he doesn’t have to worry about somebody finding out what a big prick he is. I feel like slapping him now...I want him to know how it feels. “Thank you,” I state. It was bold. I don’t care. It’s four in the damn morning.

“Don’t be smart,” he says, rising from the couch. “Take your hair out of that stupid bun, and put it down…before you have a bruise on the other side of your face.”

I hate him. I take my hair down. He smiles. I feel the tears begin to well up behind my eyes. They want him to know how much he’s hurt me. I won’t let them. I suck in a deep breath, choking back a sob as I do so.

“C’mon,” he says. He leads the way out of the hotel room. He walks briskly, making certain that I am lagging behind him at all times. Only when we stop in front of another room halfway down the corridor, does he let me have the honor of standing next to him. He knocks. The door opens. It’s Trace. He looks just as groggy as I feel. He mumbles what sounds like a good morning, and then we continue on our way.

The three of us ride the elevator in complete silence. Finally, the doors part and we step out into civilization again. I’m thankful…

Almost thankful.

“Oh m’God.”

There are girls. At least a dozen of them. Eric is standing a few feet away from them, making sure they don’t get too close to us. Funny, I don’t think Justin even called him down here…maybe it was Trace? Yes, that’s probably it. The girls all look like they’ve just rolled out of bed. They sport heavy looking winter jackets, and bulky looking knapsacks. They’re here to see him….they’ve probably been hanging around here for hours now. They know his schedule…they’re fans. It’s sweet, but at the same time it’s kind of repulsive. These girls idolize him…worship the ground he walks on…would give anything for one night with him. He’s not worth it…I wish I could tell them that. I wish I could tell them that Justin Timberlake isn’t worth lusting after. I wish I could tell them how he treats me.

“Shit,” I hear Justin mutter. “Never fails.”

Now I know why he’s up so early. This must be part of the “cavalry” he was referring to back in the room.

“Hi Justin,” one of the bolder ones manage. She’s pretty, but I’m sure she would be much prettier if she had a shower and had a chance to fix herself up. Christ, how long have these girls been camping out here anyway?

“Hello,” he grumbles. No, he’s not in the mood for this. But then again, who would be at four in the morning?

“Let us get some breakfast,” Trace says, speaking for his friend. “Then he’ll give you whatever it is that you need.”

“Just a picture,” another girl protests, stepping as far forward as Eric will allow her. “We’ve been here all night.”

It’s too early for this. These girls aren’t fans…they’re obsessive psychos.

“Later,” Justin promises them. “I’ll be back.” He mumbles something to Eric, before starting away again. We follow. I hear several “I love you’s” and “Justin’s!” before I am halfway to the door. Good lord…it’s amazing that someone like Justin could have fans that are so devoted to him. I wonder if he appreciates that…

“Fuckin’ sluts.” Justin mutters, pushing through the doorway.

Apparently not.

I feel like telling him that those girls are the reason he has enough money to pay me to sleep with him. Of course I don’t though.

Ten minutes later I find myself sitting in a little diner that lies down the street from the hotel. The place is practically empty. The waitress, who looks like she has had way too much caffeine for her own good, greets us, and takes our order. After she leaves, I immediately revert my gaze toward the window…and try to be as silent as possible. I hope that Trace will be too tired to recognize that I exist this morning, and simply start a pointless conversation with his friend instead.

“What the hell happened to your face?”

Great.

I look at him. What am I supposed to say?

“She walked into the wall,” Justin laughs.

I thought I was an idiot for thinking up that excuse. Apparently not…apparently Mr. Charisma…Mr. Originality couldn’t come up with anything better.

“The wall?“ Trace is laughing at me now. Justin has joined him. I guess Trace is stupid enough to believe that I walked into a wall. I guess Trace is just stupid period.

I am never more thankful when the waitress returns. The men start to chow down on their monstrous breakfast platters…like they haven’t eaten in weeks. I on the other hand, have only ordered a coffee. Why?

At this point I don’t think I could stomach anything else.