One month later

Every day since Trace had flat lined had been nothing more than a monotonous routine of sponge baths, psychiatrists, and physical therapists. Half the time he barely noticed the people or things around him. He retreated to a corner of his mind, and had long conversations with Trace. Yes, he was always there, standing in the corner, puffing on a cigarette, making snide remarks about the nurses with the most potential. Often, Trace would make a wise crack, which caused Justin to burst out laughing. He tried not to do that, because when he did, that psychiatrist that looked like Bilbo Baggins would come see him. He hated that guy. He had a huge wart on his nose, one of those warts that drew attention to itself. Your eyes couldn’t help linger on it for the duration of the session. Every once in a while his voice would squeak as if he were just going through puberty. Where had they found this guy? Maybe they had pulled him right out of Lord of the Rings. Trace thought so, and the comments he would shell out during the sessions would leave Justin in a state of hysterics. One time he had shouted out, “They’re gonna send me to the loony bin if ya don’t shut up!”. Bilbo said nothing, but his notebook scribbling had become more furious and intense.

While the psychiatric sessions were nothing more than a joke, the physical therapy sessions were anything but. The injury he had sustained to his spinal cord had severed critical nerve and muscle tissue, leaving him without any sort of feeling from his navel down to his toes. The doctors called him a stage four paraplegic. He called himself a loser who would never walk again. The doctors were optimistic though. They said that if he changed his attitude, and focused on getting better, there was no reason why he wouldn’t walk again. Doctors. What a bunch of fuckin’ liars. The therapy sessions he attended at the hospital were painful, and exhausting. The first time he took on the parallel bars, he nearly collapsed. It took a long persuasive conversation with the most attractive female doctor there to even get him to look at the bars again. Yeah he looked, but he still wouldn’t budge from the safety of his chair.

He was convinced there was no reason to, because he was just going to fall again…and again. He didn’t think he had the emotional strength to deal with that kind of pain. He had never failed at anything he had tried to do before, and the fact that he wasn’t succeeding in getting his life back on track, was killing him inside. He didn’t want to put up with it. So he just gave up. He continued to go through other aspects of his therapy, but when he was encouraged to face the bars again he quickly refused. The doctors couldn’t stop him. His life wasn’t their choice.

The physical effects of his paraplegia were hard for Justin to take in. Since he had lost all feeling from his navel down, there was no way he could use the bathroom normally. The only solution to this was to insert a catheter into his bladder, which sucked the waste out of it for him. It was an extremely embarrassing contraption to use, because the line ran down your leg and into a bag. Meaning, everybody could see your piss.

He couldn't get a break.

When the police had found out there had been liquor involved, they had tried to charge him with drunk driving. But their plan failed when Trace’s family refused to bring charges against him. The allegation was dropped, and nothing ever came of it. Justin often wished he would have been held accountable for the accident though. He thought he might have felt better if he had been punished for what had happened. No, losing his ability to walk wasn’t enough. He hadn’t been able to attend Trace’s funeral. At the time, he was still in too much pain, and in too sensitive a position to fly. The guilt he felt was overwhelming, and did nothing but add more pain to his condition. Trace’s parents had sent a video tape of the ceremony and a tracing of the headstone, which they had gotten framed for him. He couldn’t bring himself to watch the video, and kept the frame face down at all times.

His publicist had been to see him on several occasions. The press had been hounding her for a statement of any kind. They wanted to know the circumstances surrounding the accident. They wanted to know who was in the car, and who was at the wheel. They wanted know if there was any kind of substance abuse involved. They wanted to know too much. Justin wasn’t about to dish out the ugly truth, just so his face could appear on every tabloid magazine in America. Instead, he made up a complete lie. He made up a story about how he fell asleep at the wheel and how Trace hadn’t been able to gain control of the car in time to save them. The story had been eaten up by the press. He had been relieved, until another source came forward with a different story. The real story. It had been one of the "daddy had a dick of gold" triplets. She had contacted his publicist, stating that she and her sisters had photos from the night in question, and that they were prepared to auction them off to the highest bidder. Justin’s lawyers had advised him to pay the girls off, and he had done so without a second thought. He didn’t want the world remembering his best friend as some kind of drunken sex freak, as he was sure the media would have made him out to be.

Some of his close friends, like the guys and a few other people he trusted came to see him as well. But when they sat with him, he felt like he hardly knew them. They were so cautious when they spoke, especially the guys. They acted as if Trace had never existed, and that the way things were now were the way things had always been. Even Chris, who besides Trace was the most real person he knew, was even acting like nothing had happened. He wanted scream at them all . He wanted to them to know how much he was hurting inside, but their gazes were so full of sorrow and pity for him that he knew he couldn’t express himself. Their pity for him was too much for him to handle. It seemed like every time they tried to comfort him, his pain only got more intense. A lot of the senseless jokes they would crack would remind him of Trace, and the things he had used to say to him. Eventually it pushed him to the point where he didn’t want to do anything but push them all away…and he did. Not to say they weren’t angry with him for this. In fact, they had been furious. Furious because they had known him for so long, and he had decided to ignore them when he needed them the most. But Justin hadn’t cared. By that time he had closed himself off to everybody else besides his mother and the rest of his immediate family. It was a little easier to deal with everything that way. Trace was still around of course, but only when Justin was drugged up with painkillers or when he was really depressed.

He had his Mother to thank for his sanity. She was the calm center of the storm. Instead of pitying him like everybody else he knew, she encouraged him and tried her best to make him feel good about the situation. She would sit by his side and read his fan mail to him. It was the only thing that took his mind off of the situation. Hearing such heartfelt words from complete strangers humbled him. It felt good to know that his fans still stood by him, even though he felt he had let them down in some way.

The most challenging part of his hospital stay though, was when his father and brothers had taken a trip up from Florida to see him. Nothing had been more gut wrenching than having to wheel himself over to his brothers, and force a smile on his face as if he were perfectly fine. Jonathan, being fourteen, had seen right through him. He had asked him how much pain he was in. Justin had tried to be calm about the whole thing, not wanting to upset Stephen, who was only eight. He hadn’t been able to remain calm though. He had broken down right there in the guest room, in front of everybody. Stephen had looked absolutely horrified. His father hadn’t known what to do, and Jonathan had just stood there staring at him like he didn’t know what had happened to his brother.

He was finally released from the hospital three and a half weeks after the accident. He was flown back home to Los Angeles, accompanied by his Mother. It was the first time in years that Trace hadn’t been right there beside him, arguing about who got the widow seat, stealing his peanuts, and charging everything in Sky Mall Magazine to his credit card. He was sorry for all the times he had yelled at Trace for that. He would have given anything to have that bill again, as long as it meant Trace would still be alive.

Going home had been more of an emotional experience than he had thought. Sure, the plane ride had been heart wrenching, but it was nothing compared to entering the house that he and Trace had threw a party in just days before they had taken their trip to New York. It chilled him to see that the house hadn’t been cleaned since the party. His Mother had told him that upon finding out what had happened, the maid had been too upset to touch anything in the house, and had simply resigned from her position. Justin understood, because he knew how superstitious his maid had been, but was enraged that she had left him to deal with sorting out Trace’s things.

That had been hard. Watching his Mother and her assistant clean up the mess, and having to point out what was his versus what was Trace’s. Trace’s belongings had been everywhere, in every room of the house. But it wasn’t like he had expected them not to be. Trace had practically lived with him, and actually, the subject of him moving into the house permanently had been brought up many times. Hell, they had picked out that house together…they had picked out the furniture and the paint and the fixtures. It was supposed to be their house…not just his. After all was said and done, he couldn’t even bring himself to pick out something of Traces that he felt he wanted to keep. He sent it all back to Trace’s parents house in Tennessee…t-shirts, jeans, books, and even scraps of paper Trace had written on. He hadn’t wanted any part of it.

Justin had been raised to put his faith in God, no matter what the situation. It had seemed to pay off well, up until now. What had he done to make the Big Guy pull the rug from under him like this? What had he done to incur God‘s wrath? It preyed on his mind over the course of many sleepless nights. He tried to figure out what he had done wrong. Yes, he had hurt some people along the way. Girls. He broke their hearts and laughed at the thought of them crying over him. But was that reason enough to do this to him? Take away his life…his best friend? His career? He didn’t know. Maybe God wasn’t so great after all. “Maybe God’s just a big joke,” he muttered.

“Justin, can you please try to be reasonable today?” Lynn asked him, turning the volume on the radio down a notch. “I want you to be in a good mood when you meet this doctor. She’s done a lot to accommodate you. She only takes one patient a year.”

Dumped. He was being dumped and he had no say in it. His Mother had come in contact with some miraculous world renowned physical therapist. She was one of those doctors who charged her patients a nauseating amount of money to live on some horse ranch in the middle of nowhere, forcing them to care for the horses and push themselves harder than they wanted to. Well, there was no way was he about to roll himself around a muddy stable and give some smelly horse hay. That doctor would learn that real quick.

Why was he being dumped? The answer was simple. He was a burden. His Mother had to care for him like he was six month old baby again. She and Paul were constantly stressed, having JIVE and Johnny harassing them about his career and at the same time having to tend to his every beck and call, since his mother thought it was pointless to hire a full time nurse for him. It was just another thing he felt guilty about, and while he knew his mother would never say anything, he was convinced that she was glad to be getting some time away from him. Hell, anybody would feel that way if they had been through all of the shit she had. “I could get one of those live-in caretakers Mom. It would be the same thing,” he told her.

“A live in care-taker neither has the means or the knowledge to get you back on your feet again,” Lynn informed him. “This will be good for you Justin. It will get you back in touch with reality. Maybe even more in touch than you‘ve ever been before.”

“Listen to ‘er,” came a familiar voice. “The woman is wise.”

He looked. Trace was back again. It had been awhile. “I have to shovel horse shit,” he muttered.

Trace simply shrugged, and took a drag of his cigarette. “It could be worse Jus’,” he nodded, and then vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

“Justin,” Lynn chuckled. “I’m sure it won’t come down to that.”

He hated being the passenger. He always liked to drive. He had been reading up on special cars for people like himself. People with disabilities. Hand controlled cars. He could do it. He had told them he could do it. “Mom.”

“Not yet,” she answered with a small smile, seemingly knowing exactly what he was about to say.

“You shouldn’t have to drive me everywhere I need to go,” he told her.

“I don’t mind,” Lynn smiled. “It gives us time to talk.”

“You won’t even let me try to drive,” he whined. “The guy told me I could have that car for as long as I needed it. He wasn’t even gonna charge me for it.”

“You’re not ready,” Lynn told him. “Besides, you might not even need a car like that. Doctor Rinaldi said that if you focus on your therapy and nothing else, you could be walking in eighteen months.”

“Doctor Rinaldi is back in New York Ma,” he grumbled. “Before the accident, he didn’t even know me. I don’t know why you didn’t get a second opinion from a doctor around here. Maybe if you had…”

“Maybe if I had, you would have gotten your way right?” Lynn said. “You wouldn’t be going to get the help you need, you would just be sitting in that house, having some woman wipe your ass and help you to the toilet and back.”

His mouth gaped. Had his mother really said that?

“Oh man! I love your Mom dude. Love ‘er to death.”

Justin wished Trace would get out of his head. Just for now. He glared at him. “Not now,” he seethed.

“Right, it’s not going to happen now,” Lynn nodded. “Because your going to Dr. Williams, and you’re going to do your best to do what she says even if you don’t like it.”

Trace was gone, and Justin hoped he wouldn’t come back again today, so he could keep what little sanity he had left. He stared out the window. His Mother had gotten off the highway long ago, and was now turning onto a dirt road. There was gate. Justin figured this was the place. He slipped his sunglasses over his eyes and let the tears form. He was scared. Scared of being left alone with some strange doctor he had never met before. He was scared of what would happen once she made him face those damn parallel bars. He was scared. He wanted out, and he hadn’t even begun the hardest part of his journey yet.

There came a buzz. The gate parted. His Mother drove onto the property. There were horses grazing in pastures on either side of them. There was nothing to see for miles but grass, trees, and the blue sky. There were no crowds here, no people with cameras or papers for him to sign. If the circumstances were different, Justin would have thought this was paradise, but now the only true peace he could think of was joining Trace wherever it was that he went after he disappeared.