15. In a World of My Own

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Please eat something.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Justin…”

“Maura –”

She’s about to say something else but the bus goes over a rather large speed bump and her words die in her throat. I give my personal assistant another scathing look before I turn my attention towards the flat landscape of Florida. I sigh heavily and let my forehead rest against the window.

I feel like shit and I look it, too.

Things really haven’t been the same since Lauren and I broke it off and not a day goes by when I don’t accuse myself for being the biggest and most ridiculous asshole on the face of the planet. I fucked up bad and to make matters worse, everybody knows it.

It’s been two weeks and with each passing day I find myself getting more and more depressed and confused as to what the hell I’m supposed to do. I cant’ deny that I made a terrible mistake but I refuse to admit that I’m wrong. So I do the obvious and act like a right prick to those around me. I know it sounds terrible, but I want those around me to feel as shitty and depressed as I do.

I’ve been given threats of course. Johnny has told me time and time again that if I don’t buck up and put on a happy face for the fans and concerts that he’s going to get my mama involved. I don’t want to cause her the inconvenience of flying all the way out to wherever it is I’m performing so she can just tell me all the things I know I should be doing. So I’m just going to try and be as happy as I can for the public and I don’t care if the crew thinks I’m being a right ass. They can bite me for all I care. Because honestly, how many times can I get through “Another Song” without breaking down? It’s only a matter of time before I’ll have to run off stage during the middle of the song like a little bitch because I can’t cope with a breakup. I wouldn’t be surprised if the dancers, backup singers, and band have a pool based on when I’m going to crack.

Jesus, this blows worse than a child prostitute.

And I have no one to blame but myself…

No, that’s a lie. The blame isn’t all with me on this one. Sure I might have been a moron not to believe my girlfriend and the things I said to her weren’t exactly the greatest or smartest things to ever come out of my mouth, but come on! She said some pretty shitty things to me as well so I’m not entirely to blame.

It’s bad because at night when I try to sleep, the fight keeps replaying in my mind – every single hurtful thing that came out of her mouth still smacks me in the stomach like she’s standing over my bed, bellowing them in my ear. I have to keep telling myself that she loves me just as much as I love her, but now I’m not so sure.

Not even two minutes after she sped away in her car I was calling her. I was praying to whatever God could hear me that she’d answer, but all fifty-six times they went to voicemail. My frustrations were mounting but that doesn’t mean I left her messages. I felt like such a desperate loser begging into the phone, but I guess all sorts of dignity go out the window when you realize you’ve lost one of the most important things in your life.

Whether or not she listened to any of those messages remains to be seen. I know for a fact that if Lauren left me messages like that on my phone I would be driving back to her full speed ahead, all systems go. But did she come back to me? No.

And not only did that piss me off, but it broke my damn heart.

My five days at home were spent in bed with the curtains drawn. I had no visitors save for Trace, my dogs, and a phone call from Mama telling me how sorry she was that we didn’t work out. Believe me, you don’t have to tell me twice how sorry I am. I didn’t do anything, I felt like some kind of chick sitting in my bed with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey watching Disney movies. Well, watching the ones that aren’t sitting somewhere with Theo.

I didn’t see Maura at all during those five days and I was thankful for that. I’m sure she was spending time with her friends around LA and maybe getting over the drama of Grammy Night. Besides, she didn’t really need to be doing anything for me seeing as I was comatose in my bedroom.

I still don’t think she’s to blame at all for stealing my shit. I mean Lauren was working herself into the ground before the Hilton party and I’m sure she was just seeing things when she was looking around in Maura’s place. And besides, jealously can be a dangerous thing – I know that Lauren didn’t like Maura that much as my time away from her dragged on, but that doesn’t mean she can try to pin such enormous accusations on my personal assistant. But jealously does a lot of crazy things to people.

Take for example, my explicit need to fly cross-country and kick that scrawny little nerd, Elliot Rodger’s ass. Day Two of My Life Without Lauren Walters saw me sending Trace out on a personal crusade since I was too busy crying at Belle and the Beast’s relationship to brave the world outside my house. I made him track Lauren down and report back what she was doing. Is she just as miserable as I am? Where is she living? Is she still working? What the fuck is going on with her? Does it look like her life is over just like mine is? Does she have dark circles under her eyes like me since I can’t fall asleep at night knowing the next day won’t bring her voice or touch?

Of course Trace came back with words I didn’t want to hear.

“How is she?” I ask a bit too eagerly for my own good.

“I don’t know, she won’t see me,” Trace says bitterly. I guess Trace is taking a blow here as well. I know he’s gotten to be pretty good friends with Lauren since my absence from both their lives and I’m thinking she’s giving Trace the same treatment as me since he’s like the shorter version of me…or something like that. “Or rather Elliot won’t let me see her."

“Wait, the little pipsqueak who she works with? Why is he with her?”

“Well seeing as she’s shacking up with him…”

“WHAT?” my voice moves into a higher pitch than my falsetto and I immediately pause the scene in my newly acquired DVD of The Little Mermaid to turn my full attention on Trace, “What do you mean she’s shacking up with him? She’s not dating him?”

If she’s moved on this quickly I think my head might explode from grief and anger.

“Well seeing as you kicked her out of the house and she had nowhere else to go it seems perfectly plausible for her to move in with a coworker. Did you expect her to go live with Maura?” I try to imagine this kind of living arrangement. I think it would result in Lauren creeping towards Maura’s bedroom with a pillow, a hacksaw, and some plastic trash bags and buckets of lye. Yeah, I can see his point.

“But are they dating?” God that would be the biggest blow. My now (dare I think it) ex-girlfriend moving from one of the most wanted men in the country to some little shrimp who probably has her dusting his comic books on the weekend.

“No. Elliot told me she just needs some time to recover as she’s spent the past forty-eight hours locked in his spare bedroom crying a new ocean,” I can tell Trace feels bad about this and while I’m sure he’s being a good friend for me and helping me get through this trying time, I can tell he’s worried about Lauren, too.

But good. Lauren is feeling just as miserable as I am, if not more. Not that I blame her, I said some really terrible shit to her. Then again, we both said some shit I know we don’t mean. But I’m not going to apologize. No.

Which brings me back to the present. Thousands of miles from home and away from the people I really want to be with, but being forced to fulfill obligations against my will. If I had it my way I would be sitting outside of Elliot’s apartment holding a silent vigil and waiting for Lauren to come out so I could talk to her and set things right. Granted that will never happen so I have to settle with screaming women who want nothing more than to fuck me hard and watch me perform right after. I have to please the masses and the only thing I want to do is please one person.

Too bad she probably hates me right now and with good reason. But will I ever admit that I’m the one in the wrong?

Bitch, please. I may love the girl, but she hurt me bad and there is no way in hell I’m going to crawl back to her unless she shows even the smallest bit of remorse. Too bad she won’t see me, talk to me, or even think about me.

“Look, I’ll make you a sandwich Justin, you have to eat,” Maura interjects my thoughts again and I turn to stare at her. She’s sitting on the bench at the front of the bus while I’m sitting at the little dining table staring off into space. She has worry etched all over her face, but I refuse to acknowledge her help. “You have to eat, you have a show tonight. It won’t look very professional if you pass out during the opening number due to low blood sugar.”

I sigh heavily and give a noncommittal shrug of the head. Aside from Trace, my mom, and the few people I consider friends on this tour, Maura is one of the only people I can put any faith and trust into. She didn’t question what happened with Lauren like Trace, Mom, and Marty did. She kind of accepted it. She doesn’t want to talk about it, she wants me to move forward and try to think about what’s coming up – the end of the first leg of the American tour and the jump across the Atlantic for the European leg.

But how can I move forward when so much of me is invested in the past?

Maura must have had a sandwich prepared already because there’s a ham sandwich in front of me just waiting to be eaten. I look up at Maura who’s giving me a pleading look as if silently coaxing me into taking a bite. I stare back at the food and then back at her and the look she’s giving me reminds me so strongly of Lauren I almost think she’s dyed her hair blonde and standing right in front of me.

I give her a small smile as I pick up the sandwich and begin to eat. If there’s one thing Maura knows how to do right it’s how to make a kick ass ham sandwich. “Fanks,” I say with my mouth full before I gulp down the contents of my sandwich.

“Not a problem,” she responds before she takes a seat across from me and returns the smile. It’s warm, comforting, and…God how could Lauren even begin to think that Maura was behind all that theft? She’s just so nice and she doesn’t complain or give me a lot of shit like Lauren did when she worked for me. There are times when I think she’s the only one who gets me.

And that’s what I need more than anything right now – someone who understands.

*~*~*~*~*

I can’t believe I’ve managed to survive for two months.

Two months without him.

Two months without hearing his voice.

Two months without seeing his face in person.

There’s been two months of missing him, longing for him, and needing him. Two months realizing that I haven’t been the same person without him. I honestly can’t say how I’ve been able to act like a normal human being knowing that I won’t ever see him, or talk to him, or even kiss him again. Part of me should be happy about this – I shouldn’t lower myself to be with an asshole like Justin.

But you can’t help who you love and, remarkably, I’m still in love with Justin Timberlake.

Despite his faults, despite the fact that he pretty much admitted that he was sleeping with Maura just to get me to be quiet…despite the fact that he is a Grade 1 Asshole who should be shot in the liver just so he can bleed out and die.

Yeah, two months later and I’m still a hell of a lot bitter about the whole situation.

But can you blame me?

I may be bitter, but I’m still completely heartbroken and I can’t believe my life has had a semblance of consistency since Justin and I called it off two months ago. After my collapse on Elliot’s doorstep I spent the next two days pent up in his spare bedroom crying my eyes out and letting all the hateful words we exchanged consume me. I cried myself dry and nothing Elliot could say or do would make it better.

I let him have the daunting task of listening to all the messages Justin left on my cell phone with the explicit instructions to erase every single voicemail. Elliot made an evening of it and he’d walk into what was to become my new room with my phone pressed against his ear. I know he was trying to make me hear little pieces of Justin’s frantic voice.

“Lauren, please, I’m sorry. I love you –”

“Come back, don’t leave me. I need you…”

“If you come back we’ll talk about this…please,”

It wasn’t until I locked myself in the bathroom and threatened to drown myself that Elliot finally stopped trying to feed me subliminal messages of returning Justin’s phone calls.

Those two days turned into a week, and it was then I decided to leave the confines of Elliot’s apartment so I could stop living in his pajama bottoms and old indie band tour shirts. I made sure Trace wasn’t home so I could avoid his questions and sympathetic stares. He had stopped by the day after the February Smack Down of 2007 to see how I was doing, but Elliot being the overprotective dork that he is, wouldn’t let the troll get a glimpse of me. Thank God. I don’t know what I would do if I heard Trace’s ‘well you shouldn’t have done that to Justin,’ bull shit dogma. It’s bad enough I still have to deal with Elliot’s ‘I told you so,’ looks from time to time when he thinks I’m not looking.

But that day I grabbed all of my shit out of Justin’s house and brought it back to Elliot’s place. We pulled my furniture from my apartment out of storage and by the end of February; I signed a co-lease on Elliot’s apartment.

Hooray for dorky roommates. Granted I have to deal with certain Fantasy RPGs every so often, but for the most part I lock myself in my room with a big ass carton of Ben and Jerry’s and a few seasons of Law and Order.

Or when I’m feeling exceedingly sarcastic and crude, South Park.

For the most part, my life has been lacking any sort of color. Currently my daily schedule is as follows: wake up, shower if I feel like it, eat waffles with a shitload of whipped cream and strawberries, go to work, bark out orders and make the interns cry, skip lunch, go home, watch my latest reality television fodder, eat pasta or anything easy to make in the kitchen, fix a cocktail, knock back a few sleeping pills, and surprise lights out by eleven.

The only positive human contact I have is with Elliot or calls from my parents who skip the whole ‘we were right about your ex-employer all along’ and just coo at me from whatever distant location they’ve managed to find themselves in (right now it’s the Isle of Skye). I don’t take Trace’s phone calls although I really should, and I debunk any offer of Elliot’s to join him at the latest comic convention or Fantasy RPG meeting.

I swear to God I’ve probably gained twenty pounds since February and you know what? I could hardly give a flying fuck because who the hell cares anymore? I certainly don’t and I really don’t have any impressions to make. Granted I could try a bit harder at work and not go on autopilot every time the doorman holds open the giant glass doors at the main entrance. Murray probably isn’t happy with my performance and I have no idea how in the hell I managed to keep my job after my abysmal conduct at the Grammy Party. All I know is after Elliot went in to talk to him, my roommate looked rather put off for the rest of the day.

But for all I know Murray scheduled him for a party the night of one of his little role play meetings. The boy shouldn’t have to bitch about missing Battlestar Galactica again because I introduced the man to TiVo and he hasn’t turned back since.

Then again, no one does.

“I’m getting take out tonight, what do you feel like?” At the moment I’m lounging on the couch on a Saturday morning. Thanks to my terrible performance at the Grammy Party, I was asked to take a huge pay cut and was basically given a demotion to Assistant Event Planner. Congrats, Elliot, you’re my boss. Basically my new title means fewer hours, but more grunt work. Not like I care - that was basically my job description when I was working for Justin except exchange the less hours bit with every time I drew breath.

“I don’t care. I’ve got Half Baked in my fridge and half a bottle of wine I need to finish off,” I mumble into the phone. I’m trying to stay focused on the episode of Dance Life but I know that Elliot is going to want to argue so I pause the episode. At least I can fast forward through commercials now.

“Lauren, forgive me for saying but your diet over the last few months is atrocious. You aren’t taking care of yourself and excuse me for being blunt, but you’re kind of being a pain in the tush.”

I would feel offended if he didn’t use the word tush. Who the hell am I talking to, Great Aunt Muriel? Jesus, if he wasn’t my best friend I’d almost be afraid of the company I’m starting to keep.

But then I can always look to Trace and Justin and realize that Elliot is a huge upgrade in that department.

“How am I being a pain in the ass?”

“I’m not asking you to get over him, I’m just asking you to be more assertive and involved with things around the apartment and take more of an interest in where your life is going instead of what you’re leaving behind…” Well there’s Elliot for you – straight to the point. And how can I move forward when the only thing that’s propelling me in that direction is an overzealous nerd who has an extreme liking of all things fantasy, sci-fi and technological? Not much of an incentive to get on with my life now is it?

“Italian,” I mutter as I un-pause the television. I’m not in the mood to carry on this discussion any further because it’s reminding me of one I had with Neal last year…from what I can recall it centered on me just sitting on my ass as I got over a long working relationship with the man I just recently broke up with.

Hmm, go figure.

We say quick goodbyes and I go back to watching my mindless television. Justin would be so pissed if he knew I was watching this – he hates reality television with almost the same passionate hate I hold for some of the stupid medical dramas he adores so much. Don’t get me wrong; I love Grey’s as much as the next woman, but Justin’s love for the show borderlines obsession.

But nobody does trashy reality television like MTV and I’m about to settle into an hour of Parental Control when someone knocks loudly on the door. I know it’s too late for any sort of mail service to show up and I know Elliot isn’t due to host his little RPG until next weekend. I have no friends other than my roommate so I have no clue who it could be unless…

I want to smack myself when my mind immediately jumps to the thought of Justin being the one knocking on the door. The last time I checked with my emotions, I hated the bastard and I was still mending the broken heart he served me with a side of severe betrayal. But my heart can’t help but pound as I head towards the door and open it without a second thought.

“Loho! Oh my sweet gentle Jesus, you’re among the living!” I let out a pent up breath and lean against the door slightly.

“What do you want Trace?”

“Can’t I come see one of my good friends who’s been missing from my life for two months? Jesus, Lauren, talk about falling off the face of the planet.” Believe me, I wish I could have fallen off the face of the planet – at least dealing with the pain would be that much easier, “Aren’t you going to let me in so I can see your new pad?”

“What do you want, gnome?” I ask again without budging. I’m not about to let him in so easily and I’ll be damned if I let the guy off the hook without a decent explanation as to why he’s here.

“Look, Lauren when it comes to your current situation with…well with my brother from another mother…” he’s trying to struggle for the right words and I’m slightly touched by the fact that he isn’t trying to mention Justin by name. Believe me, it’s something Elliot and I skirt around all the time – we just refer to Justin as ‘him’ or ‘The Great Bastard’ – GB for short. “When it comes to the two of you I take a neutral stance – I’m Switzerland.”

I can’t help but crack a smile at his terminology and I can feel my protective walls start to crack. I can say that I have honestly never thought of being really good friends with the guy who used to team up with Justin to make my life a living hell. And yet here I am thinking that I’ll give him a chance to waltz back into my life.

“Look, Trace…” my voice fades away because I haven’t the faintest idea on what to say, “I appreciate your stopping by…”

“So you aren’t going to let me in?” I can hear the slight edge of hurt in his voice and I really wonder how many people this whole breaking up with Justin thing is going to affect. I hate hurting my friends, but when they’re basically related to the person who ripped my heart out of my chest and sacrificed it to the devil…

“I don’t know,” my voice falls away once again as I move away from the protection of the door. “I mean…”

“What the hell are you wearing?” he asks miffed and it causes me to look down at my recent attire. I guess old habits die hard because I’ve given up all my lounging clothes for the pajamas I stole from Elliot a few months ago. Maybe it’s a comfort thing, I don’t know, but at the moment I’m wearing Elliot’s most comfortable flannel pajama bottoms and his enormous Death Cab for Cutie tour shirt. I am in no way ready to receive any sort of company and I’m a little embarrassed that Trace has to see me with tangled hair, glasses, and a rather blotchy face (no thanks to Ben and Jerry…the asses).

“Well in Western civilization, Trace, people usually wear clothes…” I state dryly as I unwillingly move away from the door and head towards the comfort of my sofa. He can just shut the fuck up and let me watch my television – I’ll humor the munchkin for right now.

“Yeah, sure, but I mean damn. You’ve let yourself go, Loho.”

“Thank you, Trace. I’m so glad you think so.”

“As much as I adore your sarcastic wit, Lauren you have to admit that you’re reaching for it,” he points out and I sigh heavily as I throw myself down on the couch and pick up the remote. There’s a bowl of ice cream within my reach and as I lean forward to grab it, Trace gets his grubby paws wrapped around the bowl.

“That’s mine!”

“Says your ass…” Trace retorts and I can feel myself starting to get thoroughly annoyed. “Really Lauren, is this what you do with your time? Work and then come home to sit on your ass and eat more than Cartman?” I throw him a peeved glare and he merely shrugs it off before he starts to dig into my ice cream.

“Trace if you came over here to make fun of me and make me feel worse than I already do, then congratulations, you’ve succeeded. Now get the fuck out of my apartment and leave me alone.”

“No,” he states stubbornly before he shoves another spoonful of Half Baked into his mouth. I’m going to kill him if he finishes it all, “I came over here because I miss my friend and I want to spend time with her. Granted I wanted to chill with you over a month ago but your little knight in shining armor wouldn’t let me within your line of sight.” I smile softly at his words and it isn’t until he’s scooping out the remnants of my coveted ice cream that I realize how much I’ve actually missed Trace.

“I had to get away and put…put all that stuff behind me,” I state softly as Trace places the empty bowl back on the coffee table. I give him a look to tell him that he owes me a new pint of ice cream and he sighs heavily before he settles back into the couch.

“But have you really put it behind you?” I open my mouth to say something but I catch myself as I really let his words sink in. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to put this behind me, but I’m not going to tell him that. I start to say something but Trace holds up his hand to stop me, “I don’t want you to answer that because we aren’t going to talk about that. We’re going to move forward so…” his voice fades away and he picks up the remote, “what are we watching?” His eyes brighten as he presses play and he turns to look at me with the biggest grin on his face.

“You know, he would never watch this stuff with me,” Trace explains, “Do we have any chips or shit like that?”

I purse my lips and shake my head as Trace gets to his feet and hurries into the kitchen. He’s only been in my place for less than fifteen minutes and he already knows there’ll be a vast array of junk food. Sure the circumstances who we hang out with has changed, and my attitudes towards a certain best friend of his has almost certainly been changed but as Trace returns with a huge bag of chips and salsa I realize one thing – our relationship has stayed the same.

Switzerland indeed.

*~*~*~*~*

I think I need Zoloft or Prozac, or something that will help me get rid of this enormous pit that’s growing in my stomach.

Honestly, I don’t think I’ve given a genuine smile since I saw Lauren’s face in a moment when we weren’t at each other’s throats. I think every smile I’ve given on stage and for interviews has been faked and perfected. And some people say I’m a terrible actor.

I should be getting an Academy Fucking Award.

The last time I was in London I was here to get Lauren back. And now I’m wandering the streets with my security, Marty, and Maura trying to get back to the hotel without causing a riot. Granted that’s impossible in London – the paparazzi here are more ruthless than the ones Stateside. I’ve been spending my time here before the European leg kicks off in Ireland by hitting up the studio to work with Madonna. I’d be a hell of a lot more excited if I weren’t so damn depressed.

The first couple songs I turned out for the titled Queen of Pop were all about mending broken hearts and getting on with life. Too bad she’s looking for the next greatest dance record since ‘SexyBack.’ Sorry, I just don’t have that shit in me right now.

But I somehow managed to make a miracle and I pulled a pretty awesome track out of my ass. Don’t ask me how I did it because I don’t even know myself.

Be that as it may, the paparazzi are terrible leeches that are shouting questions at me. They want to know where Lauren is; they want to know who I’m seeing since apparently it’s gotten out that I’m back on the market. If I had a nickel for all the advancements I’ve received from another actress or fellow singer I could probably retire early and not have to worry about singing in front of a crowd ever again. They’re like fucking cougars man, ready to pounce.

Too bad I don’t want to hear any of it

Please tell me when I abandoned reason for insanity…I mean come on; I’m fucking giving up a chance with Gisele for Lauren. If I didn’t think it would be totally callous and rude of me (not to mention a huge disservice to society), I’d chop my own dick off. Because really, Lauren is gorgeous and wonderful, but even she has to admit that her body is nowhere near the perfection of Gisele’s.

Did I mention the little detail that Lauren isn’t my girlfriend anymore and as far as the rest of the world is concerned we are no longer an item and therefore I am free to date, screw, or marry anybody I want?

And yet I just can’t seem to give the idea of her up. Like at any moment she’s going to be in my hotel room like she was in Montreal to finally give my sex-on-the-piano fantasy a try. I’m sure Gisele would be up for that shit

No. Lauren. Focus on Lauren.

Jesus Christ, I am completely mono-pussy whipped and I hate it. I mean come on! We’re done and over with and I could fuck any woman in the world and yet I’m holding fast for someone who hates my fucking guts.

Please tell me what is wrong with this picture…

Fuck it, I need a drink.

Luckily for me, in London there’s at least one pub on every street.

“Hold up,” I shout to my mini-entourage. I watch with a satisfied smile as the group of five stop in their tracks. “I want to stop in here,” I add before I point to a pub called The Hoop and Toy. Marty looks pleased as hell, Maura looks put off, and if I didn’t know any better my security looks like they just want to leave our asses here while they go in search of their beds.

But no. I need a drink and I’m going to get one dammit. Madonna may be a musical genius but she’s a dominatrix of a collaborator and my senses are shot. Plus this whole not having sex thing because you want to prove a point to your ex-girlfriend who you haven’t spoken to in almost three months thing is getting to my head.

We duck into the pub and emerge three hours later… and I am drunk out of my mother fucking mind.

I don’t even know how I got back to the Dorchester, but thankfully I get there without the loss of life or dignity. I’m sure this will be all over the papers tomorrow because I distinctly remember the familiar sight of flashbulbs going off and the muffled speech of the paps as I stumbled with my crew back to the hotel

The best thing about this feeling of intoxication is the thoughts of Lauren are kind of thrown into the background. All I care about now is having a good time, sleeping this shit off, and waking up to begin the whole process again.

The very small part of my mind that’s sober is screaming out that this is a recipe to alcoholism but I could give a damn. All I know is Lauren is on the back burner and the longer she’s there, the better.

“You were really great…” I mumble to Maura as I reach out and pet the side of her face. I know it’s probably really awkward, but I don’t care. I’m sober enough to walk myself so Randy, Mike, and Eric dropped my sorry ass at my floor with Maura and Marty before they went the next floor up to get some kind of sleep

Marty’s says goodnight to us in a slurred voice as he ducks back into the room he shares with Eddie. Now it’s just Maura and me as I stumble down the hall singing some drinking song the locals were trying to teach me back at the pub.

Maura is trying to suppress her laughter at my incoherent and inebriated singing. She keeps telling me to shush but I continue to sing anyway.

“Justin there are people trying to sleep!” she whispers fiercely but I can still hear the laughter in her voice.

“I don’t care!” I bellow belligerently, “They can bite my ass! I’m the most important person in this whole place!” I laugh loudly before I start to sing again.

“I’m serious, Justin! You know you and the rest of the team will blame me if we get complaints. Shut up!”

“And what’s a girl like you going to do to stop it…er me…oh fuck…” my words are so slurred and the world is starting to spin. What the hell…sometimes I hate getting this drunk.

“I don’t know…” Maura says her voice suddenly growing soft. It’s almost too soft for my stuffed up ears to comprehend so I lean closer to see what she’s trying to say.

I don’t know who moved first, or if I stumbled as I leaned in closer or if she tripped or what the fuck…because suddenly her lips are on mine and I’m kind of…wait what was going on?

God I am so drunk.

Her lips are soft against mine and it actually doesn’t feel that bad. I thought me kissing another girl would cause Lauren or someone else to come running out of a closet or something brandishing an axe to chop off one of my appendages or something. But everything is serenely quiet as she steps closer to me.

Hmm…weird. So weird. Why am I doing this again? Wait…where am I?

God I am so drunk…but I already know this…why am I repeating myself?

The kiss deepens and I find myself pushing her back against the hallway wall. Her lips part slightly as she omits a slight gasp but her arms are wrapped around my neck so tightly I’m afraid she’s going to cut off air supply. But I really don’t care. I can taste the gin and tonic that she was nursing at the pub on my tongue and I don’t know what to say other than the flavor suits her. Don’t ask me why, it just does.

I can already tell where this is going by the time Maura has her sweater unbuttoned and I’ve got my room key out and ready for action. I don’t know what the hell I’m feeling at this moment because all I know is that my thoughts are all jumbled together and the only thing that I’m managing to do right is kiss my personal assistant.

God this is so weird. I giggle against her lips and she responds by pressing me to her all the more tightly. Good lord I might finally break my dry spell tonight although I rest assured I’d rather be with Lauren or Gisele than Maura Delaney.

Of course that would be the sober part of me talking…if only that was the larger part of my current functioning brain. I’m drunk off my ass and the only thing I can think about is sealing some kind of deal.

“I’m so ‘runk right now…” I mumble and Maura nods as she tugs on the corner of my shirt. Well damn she just wants to get it right here in the hallway. I can’t help but remember that one time in New York – the night Lauren and I finally had sex after years of tension and hidden need.

Lauren. Your girlfriend who is an ex. Making out with her mortal enemy. Your employee. What the fuck are you doing?

Sober Me is screaming warnings as I try to put the key card into the door. Maura and I are jumping from foot to foot in anticipation because I know once I get the door open the fun is really going to begin. The light is about to turn from yellow to green when all of a sudden her phone begins to sound in her purse.

“Shit,” she mumbles before she immediately falls away and begins to scrounge through her purse. My door is open and I’m leaning against the door frame as I watch her face go from elation to explicit dread. “I’m sorry Johnny…yeah I’ll be there in a second.”

Well there goes the evening.

“Apparently you weren’t supposed to stop at that bar tonight,” Maura says through her teeth. “I’ve got to go help Johnny do damage control at one in the freaking morning…”

“You better go then,” I slur under my breath. She nods silently and before she turns and heads down the hallway, “Maura…” I call after her and she stops dead in her tracks before she looks over her shoulder, “This never happened…strict regulations on employee/employer relationships and all…” I have no idea how I’m even managing to speak coherently let alone explain to her that our little make out session never happened and shouldn’t happen again.

I can’t read the emotion on her face and I don’t watch her as she continues towards Johnny’s room. I stumble into my suite and head straight towards the couch. I feel like I’m going to be sick, but I refuse to vomit.

I manage to throw myself down on the sofa and it isn’t until I’m sprawled out on its surface that Lauren’s words start to swim in my head.

‘You arrogant little asshole! Do you honestly think….and what about Maura, huh? She’s been waiting months to fuck you! Then why don’t you go run off to her? You can go fuck her brains out…’

Her face is swimming in front of me and I rub my eyes to try to get her angry and bitter expression out of my line of sight. I don’t need this right now – I don’t want it right now. All I want to do is pass out and forget this night ever happened. But my mind won’t let me go and the crux of our argument is back full force, slamming me over the head like a sledgehammer.

‘Like hell I am! You can kiss my ass, Justin! For all I care you can go run off after Maura and fuck her backwards and forwards…unless you’ve already done that!’

‘Don’t worry, she’s better than you ever were.’

God I still can’t believe I said that. I groan in protest as my feet grow a mind of their own and take me towards the kitchenette. I bend over and pull the door of the fridge open. My blurry eyes scan the icebox and I immediately yank out a small bottle of Jack Daniels and Patron.

Shutting the refrigerator door, I slump back into the living room and sit on the couch, popping off the top of the whiskey. I feel like such a schmuck. Knocking back the whiskey I let my head fall back against the couch as I try my best to let it all go.

Lauren’s heartbreaking look is swimming in front of me and all I want to do is forget.