17. Sing Sweet Nightingale

Want to know what’s worse than being drunk

Being sick and drunk at the same time.

I almost cancelled my latest show tonight due to the fact that my head feels like a giant balloon that’s going to lift off the ground at any second. My throat is on fire and I’m just tired all the fucking time. I guess you could blame it on the fact that my drinking is still going on strong and I haven’t been sleeping that well at all. Blame it on the nightmares, blame it on the fact that I’ve been staying up at all hours of the night only to fall asleep at four in the morning and have Maura wake me up two hours later to get ready for interviews – all I know is I need a fucking break.

And there isn’t any time for that.

My schedule is packed tighter than an airlock container and I know that soon I’m going to snap or do something so ridiculous it’s going to make front page news and my career will spiral deathward.

Maybe if that happens she’ll finally realize that I’m still alive and missing her.

God I sound so emo. Maybe I should dye my hair black and go on tour with My Chemical Romance instead. They’ve got the right idea on some of the shit they write and perform.

It doesn’t help that most of my so called friends on this tour are abandoning me. Marty seemed to be all for my increase in partying at the beginning of this grand tour of the world, and the rest of my dancers were pretty excited, too. But now they’re distant, they don’t want to go out to get fucked up, and now I’m left to my own devices. I make quick work of the bars downstairs in the hotel lobbies, and sometimes I manage to sneak away to pubs off the beaten track so I can drown my woes with other sorry sacks of shit.

And now I’m all alone. Marty left the tour due to a family emergency almost three days ago with the intention of returning. I don’t know if he’s going to turn back up at all. I’ve been a terrible person to deal with, and yet I’m not going to make any apologies for it. I’m enjoying making people freak out whenever I walk into a room. I love watching tears well up in Maura’s eyes when she tries to take care of me, to get me to stop drinking. She just doesn’t get it, no one does. No one understands that I can’t get better and I won’t change because the one good thing in my life has eradicated herself.

Maybe I just don’t want to change.

Tonight I decided not to go out and opted for a night in my hotel room. I’m actually a social drinker and I enjoy going out with friends and getting totally trashed. I felt nothing but pity for those who don’t have the means to go out with others and get shit faced. So it seems only fitting that I’m feeling sorry for myself right now as I knock back another glass of whiskey.

Maura tried to get me to stop about half an hour after our return to the hotel. I threw a few things, yelled, and managed to get her to retreat back to her room. I know I won’t be bothered again seeing as I put the chain over my door and bolted the dead lock. So now it’s just me, a heap load of booze, and horrible British reality television. I thought American television was bad, but this…this takes the cake. I’m currently watching a handful of teenagers dealing with other people’s babies in hopes to stave off their own need to start a family. Good concept, but these kids are just…idiots.

I’m slumped in front of the couch, my right hand absentmindedly feeling the grooves in the nearly empty glass of whiskey as the light from the television pools over me. I think I may just sit here all day tomorrow and not leave to go to my interviews.

Sure it sounds very unprofessional and I could be killing my career but that’s what she wants. If Lauren wants me to give up my career then fine. I’ll fuck it up and do the whole fallen star routine. Maybe then she’ll want me if I don’t put my career first.

I celebrate these thoughts with another swig of whiskey. The stuff burns as it goes down my throat but soon I’m taking two, three, four, no…maybe six gulps of Jack. By the seventh sip it doesn’t burn anymore and I can feel myself slip deeper and deeper into a stupor that no doubt will have me crying and puking in the morning.

I stifle a cough and snort back all the snot that’s been gathering in my nostrils. Drinking this much has almost made me forgotten that I’ve got a fucking horrible head cold. I pray to Jesus it doesn’t go down into my chest because then singing will be impossible.

But the last time I checked I was going to give all this shit up so maybe a chest cold wouldn’t be that bad.

I pour another round of whiskey into my glass and take a sip. This can’t be good, I’m going to be a raging drunk if I’m not one already. The television screen has become a blur and I know that if I stand up I’ll probably fall right back down again.

The muffled voices from the television are really starting to piss me off. Mainly because I can’t understand them at all. It’s just one big jumbled mess and I really don’t want to have to deal with this bullshit. Leaning forward, I grab for the remote and curse loudly as the clicker falls to the floor. Great. No turning off the television then.

But what was that noise? I’m almost certain it didn’t come from the TV and there’s no one else in the room. Is the door opening?

“Herllow?” was that my own voice? It sounds so…different when I’m this far drunk. I think this is the farthest I’ve ever been and I’m kind of scared to see what sort of nightmares my own mind has in store for me.

I hear the door close and I shake my head. There’s no way anybody could get in here. I locked the door three times tonight and no one will be able to get in unless I open the door. I move my hand and feel it brush against my now half empty glass of whiskey. I hear the slight clatter of ice in the cup and my brow furrows quizzically. Did I leave the room at all? I can kind of recall walking down the hallway to the ice machine.

Did I do that?

Did I get ice?

Did I bolt the door once I got back in the room?

What the hell?

Moving sluggishly, I manage to pull myself to my feet, my hand still firmly clutched around my drink. Stumbling towards the door, I bring myself to look up and out and I nearly fall on my ass.

Lauren Walters is walking right for me.

Walking right, fucking towards me.

Looking down at my drink I stumble backwards a bit and chuckle under my breath.

“Well damn, this shit is a lot stronger than I thought.” I have to be hallucinating. This is the only reason why Lauren would be standing in front of me in the middle of my hotel room, in Manchester, the United Kingdom…halfway across the world. I try to remember how many drinks I’ve had because if I can recreate this moment tomorrow night, and the next and the next, then there won’t be any need for me to leave this hotel room at all.

Well only to get more booze.

Speaking of, maybe if I take another sip, she’ll talk

Raising the glass up, I tilt it in her direction for a silent toast. A few drops spill over the top and I grin like an idiot as I raise the glass to my lips. Her reflexes are a lot faster than mine because in a millisecond her hand is grasped around my wrist, hindering me from taking another sip.

“Put it down,” she says firmly and I try to stumble backwards and out of my hallucination’s tight grip but she holds. My eyes widen and I look down at the glass that I’m still gripping in my hand.

“Jesus, what the hell did I put into this?” I mutter as I try to shake her hand off me, all the while hoping I don’t spill a drop of my precious whiskey.

“Put it down,” she growls again and this time she squeezes my wrist so hard that I have no choice but to let the glass fall down to the ground, the contents spilling all over my bare feet and her shoes.

“Lauren?” I croak, “What…how?”

I know this can’t be a dream. In my dreams she always shows up telling me how sorry she is and how she was wrong about this whole ordeal. My dream Lauren always tells me that she loves me but she isn’t doing that now. So is this really a dream?

“Come on,” she mumbles quietly and before I can move she’s standing next to me, throwing my arm over her shoulders. I sneeze loudly as we make our way into the next room. With this sudden change of events I’ve found that I’m having a hard time walking and the only thing that’s keeping me upright is the fact that I’m leaning heavily on my ex-girlfriend who may or may not be a hallucination.

And I’ve never been so happy to see a bed in my life. I look over at Lauren and nudge her slightly before giggling under my breath, “Right direction!” I mutter.

“Oh shut up,” she grunts before I’m being tossed down on top of the bed. I smile and reach up for her but she quickly bats my hand out of the way. “Go to bed.”

“Will you stay with me?” I whisper as I clumsily put myself underneath the covers. I look up at her and my heart flutters when she inclines her head. Her face is swirling around me and I feel so dizzy. I know I’m going to be feeling this in the morning, but as of right now I don’t care. The only thing that will send me over the edge is if I wake up tomorrow morning to find out that this was all a dream and she wasn’t really here.

I watch as she sits down next to me on the bed, her hands playing with the corners of the covers to give her something to do. I want to do something to show her that I’m glad she’s here, but good ideas are escaping me at the moment.

I close my eyes for a second or two, hoping that when I open them she’ll still be there. But in that moment of my eyes being closed, I feel a hand resting on the top of my shorn head. I open my bleary eyes in an instant and look up to see Lauren staring at me. Our eyes meet and I almost have to look away.

They don’t show any sympathy or remorse. They seem shut off, almost distant. In a word, the way she’s looking at me is like steel. My eyes are getting heavier and I know I can drift off to sleep knowing that she’s right here.

Whether or not she’ll be there when I wake up remains to be seen.

*~*~*~*

I am never going to drink that much again.

My head feels like it’s been stuffed in a vice and squeezed just before the point of explosion. The headache is starting to set in right behind my eyes and I want nothing more than to shove the pillow over my face and keep right on sleeping.

But I have to know if last night was real.

I have a vague memory of how I got into bed but it seems so far fetched I can’t think of anything that would justify what I saw. How could Lauren be here? It just seems so ridiculous and part of me wishes I could go back to last night sober…

But then again I can’t remember the last time I was sober at night. God I’m a mess.

I push myself out of bed and nearly fall on my ass. I am so unstable even when I’m hung over that it’s borderline ridiculous. Even I know I need to get over this whole thing and yet a bigger part of me wants to hang on with this self-beating shtick to see if it will get her attention.

Wiping the sleep and sickness from my eyes, I walk out into the living area of the suite and look around. The curtains are all pulled back and sunlight is pouring in. I squint my eyes and walk towards the sitting area. Did I turn the TV off last night?

I stop dead in my tracks when I see Lauren lounging on the couch, reading a book and looking as if she’s been here for months rather than a few hours. She’s completely oblivious to my presence and I want to keep it that way for as long as possible. She seems completely absorbed in the book she’s reading and I would almost hate to bother her. It just seems so weird to finally be in the same room with her after we haven’t spoken in almost four months.

She just looks so peaceful…

I lean against the wall as I continue to watch her. She flips a page over and brings a finger up to her mouth, chewing on it slightly. I open my mouth to say something but all of a sudden my throat and stomach start to ache and I can feel the contents from last night stir violently in my stomach.

I close my mouth and swallow hard, a slight noise omitting from my throat. It was quiet enough to be ignored if the room was filled with people, but since it’s just me and her, and she’s just reading, the sound is deafening.

Her head shoots up as I turn around and run like a bat out of hell towards the bathroom, my hands covering my mouth. I can feel the liquid struggling to rise out of me and I only just make it to the bathroom before I’m spewing the old liquor and stomach acid into the toilet bowl.

My body retches back and forth and I reach up haphazardly to flush the toilet but a hand is already there. Leaning back away from the toilet, I reach up with my free hand and wipe away the contents there. Looking up, I see Lauren back away right as the toilet flushes and my puke fades away down the piping. She returns to a position of leaning against the threshold, her arms crossed over her chest as she looks down at me, judging me.

I’m about to open my mouth but the feeling to vomit strikes again and soon I’m leaning against the toilet again, my hands gripping the rim of the bowl as I struggle to not completely throw up my stomach and the rest of my internal organs. I hate looking like a pussy in front of her and I hate knowing that I can’t hold my liquor in front of her either.

I flush the toilet again and lean back against the wall opposite the toilet. I bring my knees up to my chest and hug them to me with my arms. Resting my head between the two knees, I sigh heavily and turn to look up at her – her position hasn’t changed.

“Why are you here?” I croak out. I can taste my breath on my tongue and it’s disgusting. I don’t want her to get too close, but then again she just saw me spewing my guts out so maybe disgusting breath should be the least of my worries.

She seems to take a long time to think about her answer and I see her shift her weight as she tosses her hair behind her head. I just want to touch it, run my fingers through it, and make sure that the person standing in front of me is still real.

“You needed me, I came,” is all she says. I can tell she’s trying to filter her words and keep herself in check.

“How did you know?” I figure if I keep asking questions about why she’s here it will keep me from thinking about all the other things I want to ask her so desperately.

“Marty.” I think she’s going to keep her responses short and to the point. I’m going to look over the fact that I pretty much admitted that I need her right now. I hope she didn’t pick that up and by the look of her unchanging expression, it seems like it went over her head.

“How are you?” I venture. I can see her shoulders begin to tense and she looks over her shoulder as if hoping someone will come bursting through the doors to save her from this rather awkward situation.

“Better than you are,” she retorts and I can hear the hint of acid on her voice. So she isn’t going to delve into what she’s doing with her life. I guess I can let that slide although the curiosity is killing me.

She looks good though, really good. Trace and I have been keeping up a good correspondence and the little that he’ll tell me about Lauren and her life right now is hardly enough to keep me satisfied. I know she’s still living with Elliot, she was demoted at work due to her horrible conduct at the Grammy party, and while she gained some weight, for the most part she’s been taking care of herself.

I can only hope Trace didn’t go on and on to Lauren about how much of a fucking mess I am. But judging by her expression and her sudden no-nonsense attitude, I don’t think she really cares.

“I’m hungry,” I say suddenly and she rolls her eyes, which causes me to almost laugh. I’ve missed that so much. “Can we go downstairs and get food?”

“No.”

“What?” I struggle to get to my feet and I walk towards her. She immediately moves away from me, heading towards the main living area of the suite. I can tell she doesn’t want to get too close and I couldn’t agree more. I don’t know what would happen if we were standing inches away from one another. I don’t know if I’d be able to contain myself.

“I was debriefed by Johnny before I came up here that you aren’t supposed to leave your room.”

“But I have shows! I have interviews! I have photo shoots and parties to go to!” I complain as she walks back over to the couch to pick up her discarded book.

“Not anymore. Johnny’s cancelled them all, Ken’s released a statement, and your shows have been rescheduled. Right now the only thing everyone is concerned about is your health and hoping you don’t submit yourself to alcohol poisoning.”

“I’m fine,” I grumble, feeling real put off that Lauren is spewing things at me that I would only hear from Maura.

“Oh sure,” she says sarcastically as she picks up the phone and presses a button, “and that’s why I flew half way around the world to make sure you didn’t kill your sorry ass.”

My temper immediately flares up and I want nothing more than to rush over and knock the phone out of her hand. What gives her the right to come in here, scare me out of my wits, and then tell me what I can and cannot do in my hotel room?

I’m about to tell her off but she suddenly becomes animated as she begins to order room service and the low rumbling of my stomach agrees. I shake my head as she hangs up the phone and I turn my back on her. I don’t know what else to do or say and I’m afraid that if I hang around her too long, I’ll say something both of us will regret.

“Where are you going?”

“Shower,” I respond automatically before I slam the door to my bedroom.

Leaning against the door, I slide down to the ground and hold onto my head with my hands. If I have to hang around with my ex-girlfriend for a few days I’m going to need some help. Crawling forward, I reach underneath my bed and pull out my suitcase. Opening the case I stare down for what has to be a good five minutes. The little bitch took all my liquor.

Shit.

*~*~*~*~*

Why did I come here?

No really, why did I pick up my life again and move halfway around the world just for him?

Granted I’m only supposed to be here for four days and I’m entering my last night in Manchester, but still…why the hell am I here?

For the most part the past few days have been long, stressful, and absolutely dreadful. The only thing Justin and I have done is watch television, movies, and order room service. The extent of our conversations don’t extend past the obligatory, ‘how are you,’ and ‘I’m going to bed.’ There are no ‘sweet dreams,’ or random talks about what’s going on in our lives. I’m trying not to care what Justin is going through other than this whole addiction to alcohol thing. I don’t want to know what he’s been doing the past few months and I don’t want to know what he has scheduled in the future.

I spent the whole plane ride over here with Marty trying to emotionally detach myself from the situation I was getting into. I don’t know what was harder, watching Justin standing in front of me looking like a zombie the first night, or watching him lean over the toilet the next morning, wishing I could reach out and rub his back. But there can be no contact, emotionally or physically. I don’t want or need it.

The tension has been somewhat bearable, but I definitely deserve a break. While Justin has a hard time convincing me and the rest of his crew to leave the confines of his suite, I can basically come and go as I please. Granted I’m worried that Justin will be the sneaky bastard that he is known to be and he’ll go running out to find some kind of alcohol while he’s left alone. And no one else wants to deal with him.

Gee, go figure.

I can’t help but think that maybe Maura would want to be in my position but most of the people I’ve talked to that belong to Justin’s entourage tell me that she’s keeping to herself and whenever she is in the company of others, she acts like a righteous bitch.

So I guess nothing much has changed with Maura, then.

My last night here and while I should be trying to get Justin to promise me and the rest of his tourmates that he won’t fall back to drink again, I’m currently sitting in Michele and Tammy’s room with the rest of the female dancers, talking about random shit.

“Ava went out last night with a really hot guy we ran into at a club the other night.” Apparently all the dancers have been taking advantage of a few shows being cancelled because they’re taking in the sights that Manchester has to offer and I think even a few of them have gone to see some football games.

Jealous. I’d much rather be with them than stuck with Justin. But I was called in to do a job and I’m going to perform to the best of my abilities and try not to screw it up. I swear if I get sick because of Justin, I’ll be super pissed, though.

“Is he from here?” I ask as I pick up the pack of cigarettes that Nancy threw down on the bed earlier. I don’t know how these girls don’t drop down dead from black lung or something while they’re dancing because when they aren’t onstage they’re either on the phone long distance with their boyfriends, or smoking.

Needless to say I’m stressed out enough to want a few cigarettes myself. Tammy throws me a lighter and I silently thank the lord that they booked a smoking room. Lighting up, I lean against the headboard and wait for the girl’s response.

“Born and raised, his accent is to die for,” Ava says in an almost dreamy fashion. “I’m supposed to go hang out with him tonight…” A chorus of ‘oohs’ are exchanged and Ava responds by chucking a pillow at the nearest person, which would be Dana.

“You excited to go home?” Michele asks as she turns towards me. The mood changes suddenly and I find myself growing almost uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” I start slowly, “It’s been great seeing you all again, but…”

“It’s fucking awkward?” Dana offers and I nod vigorously as I take a long drag before blowing out, the warmth hitting me directly in the lungs.

“He doesn’t seem like the same person and, I don’t know…” my voice fades away. Shit, this is hard to talk about. Luckily these girls are trustworthy and aren’t going to run off to their boss and rat me out or anything.

“Well he is different,” Nancy, offers, “I mean he’s changed a lot since you two…well, you know.”

“I guess so. But he isn’t sick any more and I’d like to think he’s kicked his immature antics of drinking himself silly almost every night. He’s got to stop acting like an unprofessional twat and pull himself together.”

“Did you tell him that?” Michele is lying on her stomach on the opposite bed, a pillow propped underneath her chin.

“Of course I did,” I say as I remember his little tirade the second night I was in town. I told myself time and time again that I wasn’t going to fight him on anything unless his words were directed at my family or close friends. He was pissed that I was there, mad that people thought of him as unprofessional and a lost cause. He called me names, threw a few things, but I just stood there. I fucking stood there when I know full well that if I wasn’t looking at this situation like a nurse looking at an asylum patient, I would be throwing things right back and yelling in his face like I always did.

He settled down when he realized I wasn’t gearing up with my own arsenal and he managed to yell himself hoarse which was good for me because that meant he couldn’t talk for the rest of the night. So I just poured his antibiotics down his throat, ordered his dinner, sent him to bed, and when I went into his room to make sure he wasn’t keeping a secret stash of booze I might have slipped that I thought he was being unprofessional and a twat. .

I feel like a mother fucking babysitter.

One of the other girls are about to pose a question but the phone on the bedside table begins to ring shrilly. Tammy stretches her long body across the bed and picks it up, giggling a greeting into the phone. I finish off the remains of my cigarette and watch as her face changes to displeasure.

“Right,” she holds the phone away from her ear and gives a grimace before she pushes the receiver in my direction, “It’s for you.”

Taking the phone, I hold it up to my ear, already knowing that no matter who it is on the other line, I’m not going to like what they’re going to tell me. “Yes?"

“Lauren. It’s Maura. Justin’s been calling me for the past hour because you aren’t where you’re supposed to be.”

My blood runs cold and I want nothing more than to scream obscenities into the phone and make sure that Maura is in tears by the end of this phone call. But I know that if I let my emotions get the better of me like that it’ll show that I still care about what the bitch did to me.

Granted I do care, but I don’t want the entire team knowing that I’m still hung up on Maura La Whora.

“And where is that?” I ask her sweetly.

“You were called back to assist with his recovery, not take part in girl talk,” she retorts shortly.

“I know that, but that still doesn’t tell me where I’m supposed to be right now,” I repeat in the same voice. I want to piss her off because lord knows if she wants to keep her cover she won’t blow up at me.

“You’re supposed to be with him,” she says quickly and I can tell that she’s trying not to lose her own temper.

“And that would be where?”

There’s silence before I hear Maura mutter under her breath, “…his room.”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you,” I say loudly and I try not to join the rest of the girls who are trying to conceal their snorts of laughter.

“His room. Would you just go check up on him and do your job?”

“Last time I checked that was the PA’s job, but since he doesn’t seem to need you right now, I suppose I’ll have to do it. You have a good night, though. Cheers.” And before the bitch can say anything more, I slam the phone down and smile brightly as the rest of the girls begin to cheer.

“She can be such a bitch sometimes,” Tammy complains as she pulls out another cigarette and lights up. I respond by snatching the box out of her hands and start on my second cigarette.

“We could fuck with her a little bit more,” Dana offers with a wide grin as she holds up the thick room service menu.

“Oooh, gimme!” I state as I keep the cigarette between my lips, “What room is she in?”

Ten minutes later and we’ve ordered absolutely everything off the menu to be delivered to Maura Delaney in room 1211. I know it’ll go on Justin’s tab, but the fact is he’s going to have to pay for a very expensive order that Maura seemingly purchased. Hopefully she’ll get a huge fucking reprimand from not only Justin, but Johnny and the rest of the higher ups as well.

But still, her call was important and it seems like I’ll have to go rushing back to play the Superman to Justin’s shitty Lois Lane. I say my final goodbye to the girls as I make my way down the hall towards Justin’s enormous suite.

I don’t want to do this.

I really, really don’t want to do this

I’d rather sleep in the Manchester airport all night than spend it in here.

Nevertheless, I open the door and head inside. I can hear the television in the distance and it isn’t until I fully walk into the living area that I see Justin sitting on the couch with empty plates sitting on the coffee table.

“Where the hell did you run off to?” he demands in a quiet voice. I’m glad he isn’t going to yell because that’s something I can’t deal with right now.

“Seeing some old friends,” I respond with a mere shrug as I pick up the tray holding the plates. I take it to let it rest outside the door and when I return I see Justin holding up a DVD, a sort of twisted smirk on his face.

“It’s movie time,” he explains and it isn’t until he moves his hand in the lamp light that I see he’s holding onto one of those slash-em-up-gratuitous violence movies that I hate with a fiery passion. Most of the time I usually end up clutching onto the nearest person in complete fear.

“You know I don’t like those movies,” I say quietly as I move past him. I don’t want to get into a conversation with him and we’re starting to move in that direction. I just want him to get tired and go to sleep so I can do the same and then get the hell out of here.

“We watched one of those shitty romantic comedies last night,” he argues and I sigh heavily as I throw up my hands in defeat and sit down in front of the couch, my back leaning against it.

“Whatever, put it in.”

He puts the disc into the player before he sprawls out on the couch, and I can just feel his hands brushing against the back of my head. I close my eyes and think that maybe if I can fall asleep I don’t have to subject myself to this bullshit.

Of course someone dies a horrible death by lawnmower the first five minutes into the film and I’m ready to call it quits by the second death, which occurs another fifteen minutes later.

“Look,” I begin but he silences me by rapping me sharply on the top of the head with the palm of his hand. I count to ten and realize that by the time I have my temper under control his hand is still resting on top of my head.

I nearly bite my tongue in two when he starts to absentmindedly run his fingers through my hair. I can tell he’s not doing it on purpose because he laughs loudly when someone’s head gets separated from their body via heavy metal sheet.

Really, who the fuck writes this shit?

The thing that’s really starting to get me is the fact that we’re just sitting here watching a movie, acting like nothing’s changed. But a whole hell of a lot of shit has gone down and I just don’t know how to deal with this stuff right now. I don’t know if I should pull away and make him angry and open up the can of worms we’ve been dancing around since I came here. I’m not sure if I should just continue to let him play with my hair and hope that it stops when the credits roll…

God this sucks.

And then the music comes to a huge cacophonous bang and the guy that’s been killing all the sad sorority girls comes leaping out from behind a shower curtain. The people in the film are screaming along with me as I throw my hands up in the air and reach out behind me, grabbing onto Justin’s arm and holding on for dear life.

I hate him, I really do. The bastard knew what he was doing the minute he picked out this damn movie to watch. “God dammit,” I breathe. I immediately start to frown when I feel Justin raise his arm, pulling me out of my position and onto the couch next to him.

“I hate you,” I grumble at him as I try to put as much distance between the two of us as possible. Kind of hard when I’m still gripping onto his forearm. Really if he wasn’t such a huge staple to pop culture I would disfigure his face. What a fucking ass.

Did Justin pick the movie that would get me holding onto him the fastest? Because the amount of deaths in this movie is astounding. Ten minutes later and I’m now right up against him, his arm wrapped around my shoulders. My head is currently buried in the crook of his neck and I’m trying so hard to breathe with my mouth so I don’t have to inhale his foreign, but all too familiar scent.

I’m not going to look up until I know it’s over. I refuse to be scared even further onto his lap and I’m not going to let this little bastard win. He has to know that I don’t want to do this; he has to know that I want to change and move on.

Justin has to know.

“Hey,” he starts as he nudges me into alertness with his body. I don’t dare look up just in case he’s trying to scare me further, “It’s over.”

My trust in him is slim to none and so I don’t move from my position. I don’t trust him, and I don’t know what miracles he’d have to perform in order for me to trust him again. I feel his arm leave its position around my shoulders and soon two hands are framing my face and pushing me away from his body.

I go rigid as he brings my face up to look him in the eyes. All I can think to do is keep my gaze away from his. I can’t do this; I can’t do what I think he’s wanting me to do. I don’t want to do this. God, this isn’t good.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

Just become void of emotion. Count to ten, sing chants in your head, do something that will keep me from showing him that I still need him, want him. His hands are still on my cheeks and it feels like an old friend has come home, but I don’t dare let that register on my face.

My panic deepens as his breath quickens and he draws my face closer to his. God he’s so close, this is the closest we’ve been in months and I’m screaming to be on the other side of the world as him. I want this and yet I don’t all at the same time. I don’t want to fall back into this again I could never forgive myself.

And yet, would it be that bad?

His face is getting closer and I can just feel the surface of his lips mere millimeters from my own. His breath is tickling my face. We’re so close and who the hell knows what would happen if one of us went that extra percent.

Yes…it would be terrible if I allowed myself to take this all back. Because he still has Maura and nothing I say or do will make him change his mind about her. He made that perfectly clear months ago and the fact that she’s still on tour with him is enough damning evidence.

Still…

I jerk my head back ever so slightly and watch as Justin looks down, biting his lower lip in the process. He slowly lets his hands slide off of my face and I watch as they fall into his lap.

Thank you, thank you, thank you God!

“Do you really have to leave tomorrow?” he asks quietly, his gaze still locked on his clasped hands.

“Yes. I have to get back to my life.”

A life that you think you aren’t apart of, but in all actuality you’re there every day. I want to tell him that so desperately but I can’t wait around anymore. I can’t allow him to disregard my needs, I can’t let him shove me into the background while he thinks about himself first.

I need to let him go.

I need to do this for myself…because it’s been a long time since I’ve done anything for me.

“Oh,” is all he says but he says it in such a small voice it seems as if his entire heart was crushed under its weight. I don’t know what he wants out of this…I don’t want to ask him. I just don’t want him around anymore because it’s dangerous. Dangerous for me, for my friends, for the life I’ve managed to salvage after we called it quits.

He’s been my life for so long that it’s time for me to make my own.

He doesn’t say that he’ll miss me, but a part of me wants to believe that I can see it in the way his shoulders are slumped forward and the fact that he still won’t look me in the eye. Of course I don’t want to look him in the eyes because lord only knows it’ll cause me to break.

“But you’ll be okay right? You won’t do any of this bullshit drinking and excessive partying anymore?” He’s quiet for a long time and I’m worried he’s going to tell me that he doesn’t give a damn and neither should I.

“No, I won’t.” His responses are short and his breathing is becoming terse and short. I reach out and place a comforting hand on his shoulder, knowing that this is the first time I’ve voluntarily touched him.

“Good,” I say with a firm smile. He looks up and our eyes lock together. His blue eyes are swimming with what seem to be frustration, stubbornness, and a trace of apprehension. I don’t know what my eyes are conveying because my head is a clusterfuck of emotions that I haven’t felt in almost five months. Jesus Christ…

I do the only thing I can do and lean forward, pulling him into a hug. It was the only thing I could do that would break the connection and not seem like I was being completely obvious. His arms wrap slowly around my waist and I try again to not drink in his scent of distant cologne and peppermint.

“Lauren,” he whispers against my ear and his breath ruffles my hair. My breath hitches in my throat and I find myself again wracking my brain for advice on what to do next. This situation is completely alien to me and I have no idea how to act. The most important question is what will happen next.

And I know what’s about to happen the second I feel myself starting to lean back against the couch, Justin’s arms still wrapped around me. I’m so not in the mood to be doing this or to even think about it, but I don’t know…God I don’t know.

We’re completely lateral and Justin takes his arms from my waist and lets his hands sink into the couch on either side of my head. Balancing on one hand, he reaches with the other one to push a strand of hair out of my face. I avoid his eyes at all costs and I close my own when he draws his face close to mine. Will he kiss me or will I suck it up and kiss him? His breath is washing over my face and I can just feel the outline of his lips on corner of my mouth. He hovers there for a moment, his mouth barely touching my own. I stifle the giggle that’s threatening to escape my mouth due to the tickling sensation is breath is causing on my skin.

It continues on for another ten minutes, just laying on the couch with him, his face inches from my own as if he’s hovering over a landing strip, wondering if he has the credentials to actually ground the plane. Our legs are tangled together and I know it’s going to be a bitch of an effort to untangle them whenever I get the balls to end this.

But I don’t have the courage or the energy to stop. I refuse to bend my will and I won’t yield until he does…and I know he isn’t going to end this until it’s all over. Unless he really has changed like Nancy said a few hours ago.

How do I get myself into these positions? It’s like our bodies have this unspoken agreement to connect our minds are screaming out in protest. Well, at least mine is… but my body is a lot bigger than my mind and it seems like it wants to go for it.

Because my hands are lightly running up and down his back as he continues to slowly outline my jaw with just the shadow of his lips. Part of me wants to move forward so he has no choice but to kiss me, but I know that’s crossing the line and entering some really dangerous shit.

The hand that’s keeping him positioned over me moves away from the couch and he slowly falls down on top of me, sending my body to mold with the cushions. His breath has traveled down to the collar of my shirt and he just rests his head in the crook of my neck while I continue to trace lines and patterns onto the back of his shirt.

And then my hands move lower and toy with the hem of his shirt and before I can collect my thoughts, he’s helped me remove his shirt and is now assisting me to shimmy out of mine.

His breath continues its tour de force to my chest and I keep my eyes closed and body rigid trying to think of something else that will keep me out of the present. His breath is back at my collarbone and as he shifts his weight my eyes fly open when I feel his stiffness against my inner thigh.

God this is going to happen isn’t it?

I don’t dare look at him for any indication; all I know is this needs to be over, and quick. We’ve already gone halfway and honestly there could be the slight chance that maybe, just maybe if we do this we can connect on the level we were once tuned in on. Maybe the fire will rekindle, maybe some semblance of the good old days will resurface and we can put all the bad stuff behind us.

Maybe we’ll let ourselves forgive.

We wordlessly shed the rest of our clothes and I watch out of my peripheral vision as he bites his lip and searches my face for something that will tell him what to do next. I turn my face to look at him and he nods noiselessly before he crashes into me without a sound.

This is the most surreal thing I have ever experienced in my life. There are no moans of pleasure, no feelings of complete ecstasy surging through my body…it’s just nothing. It’s the old familiar motions and yet there isn’t any familiarity to them at all. It’s mechanical; it’s just there.

I can’t bring myself to look at him as we move unsynchronized through the motions. I know another minute in that there is no way in hell either of us are getting any satisfaction out of this at all and I know for a fact that there will be no after fuck cuddle. I can’t even bring myself to hold onto him…I’m looking to the couch for comfort and support

There is something incredibly wrong with this picture.

Another minute later and it’s over. The worst sex of my life with the person who usually steps up to the plate and delivers the most fantastic orgasms and feelings ever, is over. I watch as he sits up at the other end of the couch, looking…God I can’t even explain what he looks like right now.

He turns to look at me and our eyes meet once more. He looks disappointed, let down, and…it can’t be fear can it? The man who’s entire skeletal system is made of cocky seems so unsure of himself and freaked out that it feels like I’m looking at a completely different person.

Is this the person everyone on tour has been seeing, the one that Justin won’t let me see even when we’ve been in such close quarters for almost five days?

He tears his eyes away from me and wordlessly gathers his clothes and heads into his bedroom. I flinch as he slams the door shut without another word. And it isn’t until I’m left with the realization that I have to sleep on the couch that I just had awkward sex on.

Fuck no.

I quickly throw my clothes on and head towards the phone located in the front hallway. I’d rather sleep in the fucking airport than stay another night in this hotel room and be reminded of all the shit that just went down.

After I call for a cab, I throw all my things into my little suitcase and head for the door. I don’t even pause to look back as I let the door slam behind me and make my way out into the corridor.

All I can think about as I ride the elevator down to the lobby is that no matter what way I look at it, the fact remains:

There was never a chance of us getting back together on this trip no matter how much my heart secretly wished it would happen. All I have to do is go back to California, put this terrible mess behind me, and forget.

But forgive…I don’t know if that’s something I can ever do.