Chapter Ten: Betrayal at its finest…
I’m a traitor.
I’ve betrayed the one person in this world that I trust the most with my life. The one person who has never turned their back on me. The one person who I can always count on for anything. The one person who loves me for who I am, no questions asked.
That person is me.
I’ve betrayed myself. I’ve let myself down.
How could I have let my mind wander in the direction of Vanessa Martinez? Worst yet, how could I have actually entertained the thought and followed through? She’s making my integrity crumble at her fucking feet and it has got to stop.
I couldn’t sleep after I left her room last night. Her room!! What the hell was I thinking? What the hell made me take that ice cream from that dude? What actually made me knock on that door?
My initial intentions were to stop by her room and tell her that I wanted to cancel one of the interviews scheduled for the next day. That was it. I was supposed to knock on the door and demand the interview be cancelled. We were supposed to get into an argument about why she was such a bitch. I would have gone to my room alone, since Cameron had to leave, and everything would have been fine. But things aren’t fine right now. They are as far from fine as it can get. Things are really shitty now.
I wasn’t thinking that, though, when I took the ice cream from the dude and knocked anyway. I knew I shouldn’t have done that at two o’clock in the morning. I knew it. It was too late then, my hand had forcefully knocked twice against my better judgment. Its like I lose control of my own body and it gets whacked out when she’s around. I can’t stop it and what makes it worse is that, deep down, I don’t want to stop it.
The realistic part of my brain, the one that hates her guts, was saying that she was going to come to the door looking like shit. With her hair matted from sleep and eye boogies all over the place. Making me disgusted, in turn shaking this thing that was plaguing me. On the fucked up side of my brain, the one that knows she’s hot as fuck, kept saying, fuck it, go for it! After all, it was a simple cancellation request.
Then she opened the door.
The realistic part of my brain, the one screaming don’t do it and mentioning Cameron, went right out that fucking window behind Ms. Martinez’ fine ass . I forgot why I was standing there in the first place, to tell you the truth. The only thing that was registering in my head was her fucking tits and those mother-fucking legs of hers. And may God strike me but it was the best set of both I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot of sets, trust me. And she was gonna answer the door looking like that? That dude with the ice cream was in for a fucking treat instead of delivering one, let me tell you.
Oddly enough I’m jealous of what he would of seen, had I not lost my fucking my mind and knocked on that stupid door.
After walking into her room uninvited, not thinking of the consequences, things became a little hazy for me. I was in some type of zone in which I’ve never been before, like I was on an unidentified drug. All I was thinking about was touching her. She really did look good enough to eat. And by God, if I didn’t dig right in. At first I just stood there looking at her. It was that moment everyone gets when they’re about to make a huge mistake. The moment when you think about every possible thing that can go wrong if you make the move. The moment came, went, and I was still standing there. I could see almost every inch of her legs and my craving for ice cream increased. A lot. I think I may have been a little rough too, but I didn’t have time to think about that or actually care. She wasn’t fighting me one bit, which made my lust for her worse.
I think if she would have resisted me, even just a little, it wouldn’t have happened. But it did and unfortunately for me, I can’t blame it on her. It was indeed her room. And it was in fact me who was in her room. I was one of those things that didn’t go together with the rest of the room. I didn’t belong there. I shouldn’t have been in there. I shouldn’t have, I really shouldn’t have, but I was. Hard dick and all.
I knew she didn’t have anything on under that tiny thing she wore, I could see every single curve that was covered. I was as hard as a rock, and I hadn’t even attempted to touch her yet. My mouth went dry and I acted without thinking it through. But the moment had already passed, I was going down. Literally.
I once again shove my tongue down her throat after thrusting her on the bed, another sign that my head is fucked up. I don’t treat women like that, unless she wants me to, of course. I don’t know what I was thinking. Well I do, but that’s not the point. I didn’t want to stop kissing her but her tits were driving me crazy. If she kept rubbing on me like she was I would have probably not enjoyed what I was planning on doing because I would have fucked her right then. Not that I wouldn’t have enjoyed that act immensely or anything.
The legs that I’ve been craving to touch since the moment I saw her were calling my name. I swear to god, they did. And those shits were as smooth as butter. The ice cream that I licked off the top of her left foot was the best damn dairy product I’ve ever consumed in my entire life. I would have concentrated on the ice cream remaining on her foot but the movement of her left leg caused the robe to move to the side. And boy, did I get a view. Distraction wasn’t even the word.
I’ve seen countless views, in between women’s legs and the scenic kind, and I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. She was perfect. It was like that light shining back at the end of that tunnel everyone always talks about before dying. And it was true, I had died and entered Vanessa‘s heaven. I was in complete sinful heaven, I thought, until I saw it. The ring that I saw in my dream was as real as my dick pressing against the mattress in front of me. How I knew that it was there, I don’t know, but it goes to show how fucked up my head really is. The moment that my lips touched hers, down south, I was gone. I wanted to swallow her whole when she let out a shriek of pleasure. I almost came in my pants, I swear.
In spite of what one would think, for having the sourest attitude known to mankind, Vanessa Martinez, was the sweetest pleasure I’ve ever indulged in. To me, I thought everything was good and I was two seconds from stripping her out of that fucking robe. Then she becomes the fucking Incredible Hulk that she really is! No longer is the squirming and moaning woman around. She vanished just as quickly as I had brought her out. Shit! She pushes me off her and I land on the floor looking up at her. Before she gets a chance to kick me while I’m down, I stand.
What the fuck is wrong with this bitch? All that was running through my head and of course I wanted to fucking cry. Why couldn’t she have saved that shit for after I had finished fucking the hell out of her? I had a hard-on the size of Texas, and was in need of some hot shit, more specifically her hot, juicy shit. But no, she wants to turn into a fucking witch! She looked crazy then! Telling me to get the fuck out of her room and all that other bullshit she was saying. I wasn’t even listening, I was too angry. Fuck her! I just finished giving her two of the best fucking orgasms she’s ever had. I was on my way to giving her countless other ones and all she can do is fucking scream at me to get out?
Bitch.
I know she enjoyed every second of what went down, no pun intended. I know she did and she can’t deny it. I would go as far as to say that she loved it and can‘t stop thinking about it. I know this because I too can’t get it out of my head and I enjoyed every second of it. I enjoyed it so much I want to do it again. And well…there lies the problem.
My lack of sleep has caused me to look like a hot mess this morning. I’m on my way to a photo shoot that I’d rather not do right now, but it’s not an option. I have to do it; it’s the cover to my almost completed album. I claimed that I was bringing sexy back and sexy has to be translated into the promotion part of my career.
Rachel hands me a cup of what I hope is coffee and not tea, as we walk out of the elevator and onto the hotel’s lobby. She’s not saying much to me today and I’m thankful. I don’t want to have to do anything today but take pictures, do an interview and get on my bus to head to the next city. I don’t want to deal with the crowd of girls outside the hotel or the flashes of their cameras, but I have to.
I look around that lobby to see if I catch the cause of my restless night but I don’t see her. I’m hoping she decides to skip this part of my day, because I couldn’t honestly deal. I can’t be around her right now, with my senses still piquing. I can’t.
“Did you get any sleep last night?” Rachel asks when we’re in the car and heading toward the shoot. “You stayed out pretty late, I hear.”
“Not really,” I say with a shrug. “You know how I get after the first show.”
“No, actually I don’t,” Rachel chuckles.
“Well, you will,” I say with a yawn. “What time is this Rolling Stone magazine interview?”
“At eleven thirty,” she says and looks at a clipboard in her bag. “You should be out of the shoot by ten, so you’ll get a bit of a break in between. Vanessa called and…”
“And what?” I don’t know why I’m so jumpy this morning but it doesn’t change the fact that I am. I also know why I feel this way; I just don’t want to admit it. The mention of her name triggers me in the oddest way.
“And she said she would be missing the second interview, but that you should arrange to meet with her for a few minutes today in regards to some pictures that the tabloids have.”
“When did she call?”
“During the show last night,” she said after giving it thought. “She’s too good to stick around and watch the show, I guess. She’s so fucking boring,” Rachel says with a disgusted look.
“She was probably busy or something,” I say and Rachel gives me that look she’s been giving me lately. The ‘no you didn’t’ look. “Being a bitch and stuff.”
“Yeah, okay,” she says but I know she’s being sarcastic. When I step out of the car, Eric leads the way into the lot in downtown Anaheim, and I don’t say anything else to Rachel. One thing that I have to be honest about, is that Rachel knows me. My attitudes and the way I act when something’s bothering me. No one can tell when I’m troubled except my mother, Trace and Rachel. Cameron doesn’t even have the ability to figure me out. But Rachel keeps giving me the look that my mother gives me when she wants me to spill something. I’m not spilling anything that I myself don’t know about. I refuse to talk about what’s on my mind. With anyone. So I walk behind Eric and I ignore everyone in my path. I don’t care if I look bad in doing so, but I don’t want to deal with the fuckers and their cameras. Not today.
I’m directed to the dressing area after the photographer goes over what the record label and management want and what I want. Which are two completely different things. I want to wear jeans and a t-shirt, casually lounging on a couch. They want me to wear a suit and pose with a disco ball. Yeah fucking right! You can guess which idea I told the photographer we were going to do. I don’t care what Jive has to say. This is my album and I will do what I want. Period.
“Justin! You ready?” Rachel asks from the outside of my dressing room. I‘ve been in here for a good fifteen minutes changing into another t-shirt I picked from a rack in the room. I wasn’t going to wear a suit at eight in the morning, no way. I followed the suggestions for the tour, I will not on this one.
“I’m only changing my shirt, Rach,” I say when I open the door and walk out. She gives me a raised brow and shakes her head at what I’m wearing.
“You’re the boss,” she shrugs. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day,” she says before walking away to answer her phone. She’s been doing pretty good these past few days and I really am proud of her. I have to remind myself to tell her that when I’m in a better mood.
The set has been turned from the original white backdrop to a nice rustic setting and a couch is set up for me like I asked. I should be gloating in the fact that I’m THE man, for making all these people do all this work after the original plans were set, but I don’t. I don’t feel like smiling for anyone and I’m afraid it’s probably going to show on the photos.
Where the fuck is she? Isn’t she supposed to fucking be here?! Why the fuck can’t I get her the fuck out of my head? I know I thought it would be best if she didn’t show up this morning but I’m quickly changing my mind. Seems to be an unusual occurrence for me lately.
How can after all of this, I’m only thinking of myself? Momma always did say there’d be times like these. Especially times like the one that’s about to go down.
I’ve been taking pictures, changing the different backdrops and changing my t-shirts, for a good hour. The photographer is telling me to look toward the hand I have over my right leg or some shit like that, when the door to the studio slams shut.
Vanessa Martinez is standing in front of the door with her right hand in her pocket. She’s not wearing a skirt today, miracle. Her dark shades prohibit the ability to tell what she’s looking at but I have a pretty good idea. She expected to come in here and have a completely different setup, I can tell. Well it really sucks to be you, Ms. Martinez. Although, right now, it really sucks to be me.
“Can I talk to you for a minute, Mr. Timberlake?” she says and I’m shocked out of the staring contest that I obviously was the only contender of. “Mr. Timberlake will be with you in a few minutes, Mark,” she says to the photographer. She knows him? “Please have your crew make the changes I asked.”
“Sure, no problem. Take your time, Vanessa,” the photographer says before looking over some of the shots I’d already taken.
She doesn’t wait around for confirmation that I even wanted to ‘see’ her, she just continued to the dressing rooms. She passes Rachel, who’s still on the telephone and even though I’m a few steps behind her, I see the evil look Vanessa gives her. Rachel mouths an ‘I told you so’ as I pass her and I playfully give her the finger.
I know I really shouldn’t be following Ms. Martinez’s plump ass toward an empty room, but my dick is the one that’s following her and well…it‘s attached to me, after all. She’s walking hastily toward the room on the end of the hallway. She walks in and drops her purse on the table located right inside the door. I enter the room and close the door behind myself before taking a seat on the vacant couch across the room. She still doesn’t look at me and the shades are still over her eyes.
It’s not until she places her briefcase next to her purse that she places the shades on her head. She takes a sheet of paper out of the briefcase. Is she going to show me that fucking contract again? I’ve seen it a million times.
“Why do you insist in showing me a piece of fucking paper I already know I signed?” I ask when she extends her hand out with the piece of paper.
“It’s not the contract you signed with us in the beginning of your career, Mr. Timberlake,” she says before dropping the sheet of paper on my lap. She doesn’t stay close to me, instead she walks over to the door and opens it wide. I chuckle. “What you find funny, can wait until later, Mr. Timberlake. That sheet of paper is another contract. The one that you signed a few weeks ago where you agreed to have Wright Entertainment Group guide you into a successful career. One where you agreed to make any changes necessary to have your tarnished reputation cleaned up a bit. You know, the reputation your girlfriend, gave you.”
“Oh, so now you’re worried about my girlfriend?” I ask standing, making the sheet of paper land on the floor. “You weren’t so worried about my girlfriend last night.”
“The set is being changed back to it’s original look, Mr. Timberlake. You will put on that suit, you agreed and signed on the dotted line about. You may choose to like it or you may not, I personally don’t care which. What I do care about is that signed piece of paper that gives me permission to do my job. You will do it.”
“Or what, Vanessa?” I say and cross my arms over my chest. “What the fuck are you going to do?”
“I advise you not to test me, Mr. Timberlake. You clearly don’t comprehend the extent of my capabilities. Put on that suit!”
“Are you fucking threatening me?!” I know she didn’t go there. “I’m not fucking scared of you, Vanessa! I thought I made that very clear. Surely you remember last night.”
“You’ve wasted an hour of Mark’s time, I suggest you don’t continue to do so,” she says and it angers me that she’s completely ignoring me. She may be standing here physically but she’s not here. What the hell is her problem? I realize that it may be a little embarrassing to admit I broke it down for her last night. But hell, I’m not myself either. I’ve fraternized with the enemy, she wasn’t the only one in the fucking room.
“So you’re choosing to ignore me now?” I ask and I really didn’t mean to ask, I’m just pissed.
“I’ve been ignoring you since nineteen ninety-nine, Mr. Timberlake. What’s another decade?”
“You’re a fucking bitch, you know that?”
“Yes, I do know that,” she says digging for a folder in her briefcase. “Speaking of bitches. Can you tell me who Ms. Diaz is kissing behind that tree? I am aware of the fact that you’re a cheating son of a bitch, but I wasn’t expecting it from Ms. Diaz,” she slams an issue of the National Enquirer on the table and adjusts the shades on her head.
“What the fuck it this?” I ask picking up the magazine. I could tell the photos of Cameron were old, but not old enough to have been before she met me. I’m not upset over them, at all. First of all, I’ve learned that in this business, nothing is what it seems. And second, Cameron would never do anything like that. I’ve given her all the attention she needs along with all the space she needs, as well. So the mention of her cheating on me is hard to believe, I know for a fact that woman loves me, I’m positive. “What does this have to do with me?”
“Obviously you don’t give your girlfriend any thought, Mr. Timberlake,” she’s standing in front of me and I can smell that stupid shit she always wears. Why can’t she stink? Why can’t she be ugly? Just, why? “Your name is printed at least twenty times in that magazine. It’s my job to clear it out of there. Is there anything you would like to comment on the story or are you going to let me do my job and take care of it?”
“Aren’t you going to do what you want anyway?” I ask, and she’s shocked that I’m actually giving her some type of credit. She looks up from where she’s looking over paperwork, and continues to look through them. She’s obviously as uncomfortable as I am, standing there, because she’s never acted this way. She has always looked me in the eyes when she speaks. Today I’ve barely gotten to see them.
“Yes, I will do what I am responsible for doing. It’s simply a courtesy to ask if you have anything to say about it. Clearly you don’t. I won’t waste more of Mark’s time, you can go get dressed now.”
“So that’s it?” I ask and put a hand to my head. I want to either kick her ass for being so standoffish or kiss her. I obviously can’t do the latter, so I’m stuck with a headache. “You’re going to pretend like nothing happened?”
“Nothing happened, Mr. Timberlake. I no longer need you in my presence, please excuse me,” she says looking up at me and then at the door.
“I do recall something happening, Ms. Martinez and we need to discuss this,” I say and my voice rises a notch. She better act like she knows and tell me what’s up.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Timberlake. Nothing remotely important happened to me,” she says with a shrug and looks up at me. “Go get dressed, you have an interview in two hours and you need to be out of here on time. You’ve just used up your free time, taking unusable photos. Now you‘re wasting my time. I don‘t like for my time to be wasted.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Vanessa! Don’t think you’re too fucking good to give me your precious time. You’re either volunteering it or I’m fucking taking it. Either way, I’m getting it! Stop acting like talking to you or taking up your time is a fucking privilege! It’s your fucking job!”
“You weren’t doing much talking last night, Mr. Timberlake, which makes it a waste of time,” she says, setting the paperwork on the table and looking at me. “Get out!”
“Oh, so now you know what I’m talking about, huh? When it’s convenient for you,” I say and slam the door shut, making her jump a little. “Now, it was a waste of time? You seemed to have enjoyed that time a whole lot, if I remember correctly.”
“Get out of here, Mr. Timberlake. Don’t test me! And I would appreciate if you’d stop trying to push buttons that aren’t there to push!”
“Stop with your stupid threats, Vanessa. They’re empty and ridiculous. Why can’t you just admit that I turned you out last night? That’s all I really want to hear,” she laughs and I want to kick her.
“You think highly of yourself, Mr. Timberlake. You should really consider taking it down a notch or two. Hyping yourself up like that can get you into a lot of trouble,” she shakes her head and returns to her paperwork.
“What other fucking trouble can there be? I’m already in a whole lot with you,” she’s not laughing anymore but she’s looking at me with that fucking smirk, she usually gives. Funny enough, I feel better because the bitch that was before me two seconds ago was even worse than this one. I can only do one bitch at a time and this is the one that makes me want to fuck her brains out.
“If you’re worried about your girlfriend, I assure you that she will not become aware of what you did. I can promise you that. I will not be sharing that information with anyone. Ever,” she says before sitting on the desk chair.
“Fuck my girlfriend,”
“I believe that’s your job, Mr. Timberlake,” she says picking up the magazine and examining it before she slams it down on the desk again. “Or is it?”
“I wasn’t done fucking talking. I told you that you talk too fucking much,” I say and throw the magazine across the room. “You’re so involved in the sound of your own fucking voice, you think the world is fucking yours. What I said is fuck my girlfriend being aware of what happened. Fuck that! What about you? Aren’t you fucking aware of what happened? Or are you as heartless as you fucking seem?”
“It was nothing and it will continue to be nothing in my book, Mr. Timberlake.”
“Nothing?” I ask in shock. How the hell can she say it was nothing? She’s fucking lying! I know she is!
“I can sit here all day telling you this, Mr. Timberlake. You’ll have no album cover shot and you’d be late to two interviews. But in the end you will have the same result. It was nothing,” she stands and walks in front of me to head to the door. Her hair brushes past my chest and my senses are on over drive. I catch her wrist as she passes me and she jumps at the contact.
“Why do you do that? Why do you act like you don’t care?” I ask and I don’t know why. I don’t know why it’s bothering me so much that she’s brushing me off, like she didn’t have her shit in my face less than nine hours ago.
“Because I don’t, Mr. Timberlake,” she says through gritted teeth and she yanks her wrist from my hold and walks out of the room.
It takes me ten minutes on the phone with my mother, five with Johnny and another ten with Trace on the phone, before I exit my dressing room. In a suit.
Needless to say, I’m pissed. Why does everyone think they know what’s best for my career? Like I wouldn’t know or something. It’s my career after all and I’ve been doing pretty fucking good for the past ten years. You’d think they’d trust my judgment. But no, now I have to wears a suit and pose next to a disco ball.
When I walk out of the room I can see Vanessa talking on her phone and she’s walking back and forth as she does so. The actions scream frustration and I’m glad because I’m frustrated too. I don’t ever remember feeling this frustrated.
The make-up chick that didn’t leave me alone during the first set of photos comes to me and puts some shit on my face. She tells me that Mark is ready whenever I was. I’m not ready because I don’t want to take these fucking pictures.
The door to the studio opens and Tim comes in with his fucking cousin tagging along next to him. What the hell are they doing here?
I’m not listening to whatever the photographer is saying to me because my full attention goes to the three people across the room. Vanessa is not on her phone anymore, she’s giving Tim and hug and I see red when she gives Dre one as well. What!?
“So we can start whenever you’re ready, Justin,” the photographer says. I heard everything he said although I wasn’t giving it much attention. In this business I’ve learned to pay attention to your surroundings while listening to the person in front of you. This is no difference. I know he explained that he wanted me to pick up the large disco ball and pose with it the best I could.
“Okay,” I say and while I walk over to the plain white backdrop they set up again, my line of vision is directed toward the threesome. I pick up the disco ball and a few pictures are taken. I can’t concentrate on what I’m doing. I can see that Tim is now sitting next to Rachel by the window and they are talking about something. I don’t really care about those two. Who I apparently car about, I’m shocked to realize, are the other two. Vanessa and Dre are having the best conversation fucking ever, it seems. She throws her head back in a laugh and he sizes her up.
Can they be more ridiculous? They need to get the flirting shit out of my face! Before I have a chance to think about what I’m doing I throw the disco ball on the floor. It cracks a bit and a chunk if the mirrored pieces flies off. The sound of it makes everyone alert. The photographer continues to snap pictures as I take my right foot and I step on it. It crumbles under my new shiny shoes and I wish it was Dre’s head. Everyone is staring at me in shock, nobody says anything. The photographer tells me to continue what I am doing and keeps the camera flicking.
When I’m done crushing the whole one side of the disco ball, I walk over to one of the director chairs in the room. I pick it up, set it in front of the white back drop, next to the smashed disco ball and take a seat.
“Take some pictures now, Mark!” I say as I slouch on the chair, the photographer doesn‘t waste any time and starts snapping pictures. I’ve completely lost it. And over some pussy? I get up from the chair and walk out of the room without another word. I’m going insane.
-----------------------------------------------
I’ve had a long, draining day. The bad day started at two in the morning, it seems. While I may have been enjoying myself at that time, it wasn’t a good start. Although now that I think about it, it may have been the highlight of my entire day. Maybe my year.
I had the episode where I destroyed a studio and made an ass of myself. My mother taught me better than that, I know. But telling myself that after the fact, doesn’t really work. The only good thing coming from that little episode was the fantastic photographs the photographer claimed to have captured. It still doesn’t make me feel better about the way I acted. It didn’t make sense and it was idiotic.
I mean why would I have acted like that? Tim and Dre were there to meet me, not her. Why had I forgotten about that I asked them to come? Why had I acted like a raving lunatic? It was just her! And I hate her. Right? Right.
She didn’t speak to me for the remainder of the day, which was fine by me. If she wants to act like nothing happened, then I’ll give her that. I can get anyone I want. Anyone. In fact, I’ve gotten plenty of ass in the past and will continue to do so. I have lots of game. Just because I can’t get her out of my head, doesn’t mean I’ve lost my touch. She’s the one walking around being a bitch about it. I’m cool.
She talked more to Rachel than I’ve ever seen her talk but she didn’t speak to me. She sat in the far end of the room where I was being interviewed and that was it. When the first interview was over, she walked out ahead of me and my security. She got into the car that she was being driven in and we went to the next destination. Not a glance. Not a look of disgust. Nothing.
I don’t care either way. If she wants to go on for the rest of the tour, without speaking to me, it makes the situation that much better for me. I don’t have to think about her. I don’t have to smell her. And most importantly I don’t have to restrain myself from jumping her bones.
I don’t care.
I’m only kidding myself here. I’m as full of shit as Kevin Federline marrying for love is. I will probably continue to lust over this woman for as long as it takes me to bag her. And trust when I say that I want to. I want to in the worse way and I can’t stop it. And she may act like this shit that happened this morning between us, is nothing, but I know better.
It’s something.
And please God grant me the patience I will need. But, Ms. Vanessa Martinez will succumb to the need that I have running through my veins for her. Not for my girlfriend, Cameron. God damn it, only her.
Shit.
Author’s Note: I’d like to take this time to thank Blackchickfic, for once again jumping on board the Lovestoned Madness, this time as my personal editor. I’m so excited to have her back.
LoveStoned by Lynn
Story Tags: interracial wallsex celebrityj enemiesturnedlovers
