Chapter Seventeen: …I’m Broken
Two Nights Later
Broken.
I AM broken. Beyond repair, without hope. He’s built me up to this. He’s pushed me to this point, made me who I am. Made me be disappointed in myself, even though I’ve accomplished what most only dream of. The magazine covers mean nothing. The trips around the world, mean nothing. The credentials following my name, mean nothing. The beautiful face that photographers love to shoot, means nothing. My father has torn me to pieces. I’m a broken disappointment.
Justin Timberlake, was right. Who would of thought?
I’m wallowing in self pity, locked in my condo, like the miserable person that I am. I’ve spoken to Barker but my acting abilities have subsided the questions from her. I don’t want to worry her with my miserable life when she has so much on her plate. She’s the true star in this duet while I’m simply the back up.
Good back up I am, huh? I couldn’t back up a fucking file, I’m a fucking mess.
I can’t remember the last time I had a full meal these past two days and the sound coming from my stomach reminds me of that fact. I should stop watching the bright lights of Los Angeles down below and order something to eat. But I just don’t feel like it and with it being so late, I shouldn’t eat at this time anyway. I make a mental note to grab breakfast on my way to the office in the morning.
I’ve dedicated myself to work for the past two days, preparing for a tour that I basically had to pull out of my ass. And although I enjoyed my previous stint on tour, I’m not really looking forward to this one. I’m actually dreading it, to tell you the truth. With the way that I’m feeling, emotionally, I should be incapable of doing my job, but I’m not one of those people. Inside I may be crying but my work, my career will never be compromised. Even if it doesn’t make my father proud. The knowledge of how my father feels about me, makes me work harder to achieve something in which he could be proud of. But I know I’m good at what I do and I just wish he would see that. It’s never going to happen. It breaks my heart.
It’s almost eleven o’clock at night, according to my phone on the table and I should really go to bed. The little bit of wine that is still in my glass, feels warm going down my throat as I open the screen door to my balcony and enter my condo. The tiled floors are cool on my bare feet as I walk to the kitchen and place the cup in the sink.
I almost drop the bottle of wine when my doorbell rings, “Shit!” I have no idea who could be knocking at my door at this time of night. It rings again and I don’t know why I’m so jumpy but the sound makes me jump a bit. “Who is it?” I say and when I don’t get a response I’m aggravated. “Who is it?”
“Open the door, Vanessa,” I hear from the other side and I close my eyes because I can’t believe he’s standing outside my door. How did he get my address?
“Go away, Mr. Timberlake,” I say and lean against the door. Get a grip, Vanessa!
“You either let me in or I’m just using the key,” Using the key? What? He’s bullshitting! Why would he have a key to my condo?
“What key?” I ask and he chuckles, I can hear him and the stupid knots that come to my stomach are more than hunger for food.
“Just let me, Vanessa,” he says close to the door. “There’s this really old lady looking at me like I’m crazy down the hall.”
“What?”
“Your neighbor, she’s….wait are we really going to have this conversation through a door? Open up. I’ve got food,” the mention of food makes my stomach grumble and I’m wondering how this man knows I’m starving.
“I didn’t order anything,” I say and I watch him through the peephole for the first time. He raises two large bags high enough for me to see.
“Open the door, Vanessa,” he says and looks directly into the peephole making me back away from the door. “You know I can tell when you’re looking through there, don’t you?”
“What do you want?”
“Well I don’t know about you but I want to eat, so open the door, I’m serious,” he says and I can see through the tiny peephole when Mrs. Reed walks up to him. She’s standing there looking at him for a few seconds, then she’s pointing a finger asking what he was trying to do. I can’t contain the laughter and open the door.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Reed,” I say when I open the door and Justin looks like he’s seen a dead person. He looks at me with wide eyes and I can tell he’s asking me for some type of help. “What do you want, Mr. Timberlake?”
“First I want to come inside,” he says and he moves toward me and around me so quick, he forgets one of the bags of food by the door. “Close the door, Vanessa, please.”
“Good night, Mrs. Reed,” I say grabbing the forgotten bag of delicious smelling food and waving goodbye to the lady. I can’t help the small smile that is on my lips when I look at him again. He actually looks like he was scared the old lady was going to attack him. Leave it to Justin Timberlake to be intimidated by an old lady, when he stand on stage performing for thousands of people as a career.
“She’s scary,” Justin says when I close the door and the lock automatically clicks. I don’t know why I just allowed him to come into my home but I walk past him toward the kitchen and leave him standing there, still holding one of the bags.
“We eat and then you go, Mr. Timberlake,” I’m already taking two large plates from the cupboard and placing them on the kitchen island.
“Why don’t we just eat and we’ll decide later when I leave?” he asks and I look up at him and although I’m amused by his stupid charm, I don’t let it show. “You don’t have to look so mean, Vanessa, I brought you food,” he says as he takes container after container of food out of the bag he carried in.
“Did you buy out a restaurant, Mr. Timberlake?” I say looking with wide eyes at all the containers in front of me.
“No,” he says pointing to different drawers in silent question to where the utensils were located. I point to the drawer and he goes to it and quickly returns with different serving spoons. “I had a meeting with a chef from Memphis at my house, he’s interested in the new restaurant. He made all this, sort of like samples. But I don‘t like to eat alone, so I came here. You‘re not going to ask me where I got your address from?”
“No, I already know the answer to that,” I say with a shrug as I help open the containers. “There’s so much,” I say and I watch as he puts a sample of everything on my plate. I don’t protest because at this point, I could eat a cow.
“Are you not hungry?” he asks when he sees my wide eyed expression. He looks a bit disappointed and I shake my head.
“I’m actually starving,” I say and he smiles at me. I have to turn away and get two glass cups to avoid looking at those lips of his.
“I know what you mean,” he says and when I return to stand in front of him, he staring at me.
“Don’t,” I simply say and turn to open the refrigerator behind me. “What would you like to drink?”
“Water is fine,” he says and before I can stop him, he comes around the island and hugs me from behind. I close my eyes and let him hold me for what seems like hours.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers in my ear and I shiver at the contact. The shirt that I am wearing slips off my shoulder and he places a light kiss on my shoulder. “I didn’t mean to make you cry the other day, okay? Let’s just eat and talk. Stop turning away from me, okay? Please?”
The sound of his voice and the sincerity of his words make my head move up and down in answer and he kisses my shoulder one more time before lifting the fabric to cover my shoulder again. He releases me and suddenly I’m cold. He grabs my plate of food from the island and places it in the microwave before his as I watch him. He’s managed to walk into my home and take over, like he belongs here. Sort of like he’s doing with my life.
“Do you usually eat this late at night?” I ask when he places the plate from the microwave on the counter in front of him. “Umm, that smells really good,” I say out loud and I didn’t notice I had until he looks at me with a smile. He looks different tonight. I don’t know what it is, but he does.
“Where do you want to go eat?” he says looking around the large condo for the first time. “Nice place,” he says shaking his head in approval. He likes it, and I’m stupidly happy about that fact.
“Anywhere is fine,” I say with a shrug. “And thank you.”
“Do you mind if we eat in the living room?” he asks and having him in my house makes me nervous.
“No, that’s fine,” I say and I grab the water bottles I got out of the refrigerator and follow him and two hot plates to the living room.
“I hope this food tastes as good as it smells,” he jokes as he places the plates on the coffee table. “Black couches,” he says and I have to smile because I know what he’s comparing. His perfectly white couches, to my dark charcoal colored sofas.
“They are charcoal, not black,” I say matter of fact as I sit in front of the table and inhale the delicious smell of the food.
“Still not white,” he says taking a seat next to me and leaning his back against the couch. “You didn’t pick these,” he says and he picks up his plate, bringing it close to his chest, making it balance on his bent knees and his left hand. I look at him with a smirk. How does he know that?
“What makes you say that?” I say as I take a piece of chicken from my plate and take a bite. It tastes so good, that I make a sound of pleasure and he looks at me with a smile. “You should definitely hire this guy,” I say savoring the meat. “This is probably the best chicken I’ve ever had.”
“Okay,” he says and he puts a fork full of macaroni and cheese in his mouth.
“Okay? Okay, what?” I ask before savoring the macaroni and cheese for myself.
“If you approve, then I’m going to. God knows how hard it is to get your approval on anything. I’m not taking my chance on another chef,” he says with a chuckle.
“That’s not true,” I say handing him his water when he places his plate on the table, mouth full of food. It’s kind cute. “I approve of a lot of things.”
“Right,” he says after swallowing his food and drinking half of the water. “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” I shrug and take another small bite from the chicken. “Like this chicken. One hundred percent approval.”
“Right,” he says and we eat in silence for a few minutes before he looks at me and smiles.
“What?” I ask and set down my fork before I’m tempted to go for seconds.
“You were hungry,” he says looking at empty plate and setting his next to it. “Note to self, bring her food and she won’t try to kill you. Check.”
“When have I tried to kill you?” I ask with a raised brow as I stand to clear the plates from my coffee table. “You’re exaggerating.”
“I am not,” he says moving a bit to the side so that I can go around him toward the kitchen. “Do you need help with those?”
“No, I think I can handle it,” I say from the kitchen. Now that the food is gone I wonder to myself, now what? What is there to do now?
“I’ll clear these,” he’s in the kitchen now, putting the lids on the different containers as I watch quietly. I don’t know why suddenly I’m feeling dare I say, shy? But I am and I don’t know what to say? Do I ask him to leave? Do I ask him to stay? I don’t know. This is awkward.
“Well, this is awkward,” he says leaning against my kitchen island and looking down at his shoes. Is he being shy too? Great? Two fucking idiots.
“What do you mean?” I ask because I will not be the one to admit that this situation is awkward. And it’s not the awkward where you don’t know what you should say to the other person, I realize. It’s the awkwardness of having a lot to say and not having the balls to say them. It’s not a bad thing, but it’s also not a good thing because I have to work in the morning. I can’t stand here all night.
“You know what I mean, Vanessa,” he says and he’s talking with his hands in evident frustration. “This whole thing between us. I’m actually hesitant about what I should say to you because I don’t want to make you cry again. I can’t see that, I just can’t. And the fact that you won’t talk to me when we both know you want to, well that makes this really awkward.”
“You didn’t make me cry, Justin,” I have to let him know that the guilt he’s feeling over what happened a few days ago, is unnecessary. He looks at me from where he’s standing and I shake my head. “Don’t feel that way. What you said was true and although the words hurt, it wasn’t you that made me cry, it was my father.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better about what I said, though,” he says and he’s looking down at his shoes again and instead of rude, I find myself thinking about how adorable he looks. After a few seconds of silence he looks at with a sad expression across his face. “Why do you let him treat you like that, Vanessa?”
“Who? My father?” I ask and laugh bitterly, not at him but at myself because it’s pathetic. I walk past him to the living room and shrug. “Because I guess he can.”
“I think you’re wrong,” he says walking behind me and I stop to look at him.
“Well I think that’s your opinion,” I say taking my disregarded bottle of water from the floor and sitting on the sofa. “Can we not talk about my father, please?”
“If that’s what you want, sure,” he says and he takes a seat across from me on the other couch. The action kind of disappoints me but I don’t say anything. “What would you like to talk about?”
“I don’t know,” I say and he makes himself comfortable on my couch. He looks good there. At home, kind of. Scary. “Mr. Myers said…”
“No work talk, V,” he turns to wink at me and I have to admit that it‘s cute. Why does he have to do that? And why is it not the most annoying thing in the world to me anymore?
“What do you want to talk about then?”
“What was that for?” he asks pointing to a large framed picture of Barker and I, over the fireplace.
“We do a lot of work to raise money for charity. That one was two years ago for The SPCA calendar,” I say looking at it with a proud smile on my face. “I love that picture. Barker had it framed and mounted when I got the condo a few months back.”
“You look good,” he says looking at it. “Lucky dogs.”
“Thank you,” I say shyly and chuckle a bit about his dog comment. “I think it’s one of Barker’s best shot.”
“She looks good too, I guess,” he says with a shrug as he looks around the living room for something.
“What is it?” I ask curiously, trying to ignore the act that he’d only seen me in the picture, completely bypassing Barker. While it kind of disses my best friend, it also makes the butterflies in my stomach flutter like crazy.
“There’s no more?”
“More what?”
“Pictures,” he says matter of fact, like I was supposed to know that.
“Not out here, no,” I say as I watch him get up from the sofa and walk toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere,” he says as he see the white grand piano in a room off to the side of the dining room. “This yours?”
“It’s my place, isn’t it?” I say as I walk to where he’s standing, looking surprised.
“You play?”
“Yes, but not that one. It‘s really not supposed to be played, it’s an antique,” I say looking at it. “It actually sounds horrible but it was a gift. I love it.” I say and I’m suddenly blushing. Why? I don’t know, but the thought of him knowing this about me feels intimate.
“It’s almost as beautiful as it’s owner,” he says as he enters the room. “Do you mind?”
“No, go ahead,” I say admitting him access to the white piano. “I did warn you that it sound horrible.”
“I just want to look at it,” he says looking at the detailed engravings on it. “Isn’t this…”
“Yes,” I say with a smile. I know he recognizes it and I’m impressed by it. “He’s a good friend of my father’s.”
“Wow,” he says with a appreciative smile across his face. “You have Elton John’s piano.”
“I do,” I say leaning against the wall. “Lucky girl, I guess.”
“It’s a shame you can’t play this,” he says circling it and stopping to look at me. “You can come over my house and play whenever you’d like.”
“Sure,” I say with a small laugh.
“I’m serious,” he says and he walks over to me, stopping directly in front of me. “Anytime,” he says and he brushes his lips on mine, before walking past me and out of the room. Wait! Don’t stop!
“Wait!” I actually say this out loud and I only realize this because he’s back in front of me and he’s looking at me with concerned eyes.
“What?” he asks and I can see myself in his eyes although the lighting in the condo is low. Those eyes of his are going to get me in trouble.
“Please kiss me,” Yes, I said this out loud and I can’t take it back. And when his lips brush against mine once again, I don’t even care that I did. I’m actually grateful because it’s the best feeling I’ve had in two days. But then he stops again, shit!
“Which one is your room?” he asks as he pulls me behind him down the long hallway.
“Straight ahead,” I say and I don’t think about the fact that he’s about to enter my bedroom, another intimate place. This is crazy, I know, but part of me is saying that he’s already had me, what’s the point of being shy? When he opens the door to my room he stops and turns to look at me.
“Do you have a sound system in here?” he asks and it wasn’t what I was expecting to hear. He should have had my clothes off by now. What is going on?
“What?”
“Music, do you have a system in here?” what the fuck is he talking about? I don’t have the patience for this right now. I need some type of release. The type of release I know he can give me. He can make me forget that my father hates me. He can make me forget that I’ll never be good enough. He can do it, right here, right now, and he’s asking if I have a sound system in my room?
“You’re asking me if I have a sound system in MY bedroom? Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I ask and ppull my hand away from his, to place them on my hips angrily. And he chuckles.
“Yes,” he says and he’s still laughing quietly and although I should probably take offense at his amusement, I don’t. He shakes his head and grabs my face with both of his hands, bringing his face close to mine. “This isn’t about me tonight, okay? I’m not here for this,” he says as he takes one hand away from my face to wave around the room. “Forget the music, okay? Retract the claws, Vanessa.”
“What do you want from me?” I ask and he smiles at me. “I don’t get it. You said you wanted me and now that you can have me again, you don’t want to?”
“Please trust me when I say this, Vanessa,” he says before kissing me lightly and biting lightly on my bottom lip before pulling away. His thumbs are caressing my cheeks and he looks at me with a smile. “I’ve never wanted anyone more. Believe that. But it’s not what you want or need right now.”
“You don’t know what need, Justin,” I say and back away from his touch, walking past him. I’m tired of people telling me what I need. What I want. I want to cry, that’s what I want to do. To be completely fucking honest.
“Don’t,” he says coming to me where I stand next to my bed. “You keep trying to push me away but it’s too fucking late, Vanessa. You let me inside that door. So you can send me away to work with that stupid new PR but I’m still coming back. I told you how I felt about you, you’re not pushing me away, so stop trying.”
“Just go, Justin,” I say when I feel his arms come around me and this time I can’t forget anything. My father hates me. And I cry because I can’t control my emotions. This hurts too much.
“Just let it out,” he says as he hugs me to him and I’m sobbing like the fucking miserable woman that I am. What is wrong with me? Why am I letting my father’s words do this?
I don’t know how long we stand there, him holding me and me wetting his t-shirt with my tears. But I feel my feet lifting off the floor and he lifts me onto the bed. I can’t look at him and even if I tried I know my vision would be too blurry. I hear the sound of his shoes hit the floor on the other side of my bed and when I turn to look at what he‘s doing, I‘m face to face with him. He’s reaches to pull the covers from under me and I lift a little to allow him access.
“Just sleep okay? I’ll be here,” he whispers to me and his arm comes around me. He pulls me close to his front and for the love of God, I cry more. It’s not because I don’t feel warm and fuzzy in his arms, I do. It’s because I feel comfort in his arms. How ironic is that?
“Do you really think I’m broken?” I ask as through my sobbing. This isn’t sexy at all. I’m a mess.
“I think your father is the broken one. But you? It’s different with you, I think this is broken,” he whispers in my ear and I swear my heart is reaching out to him when he places the his hand over my heart. I don’t know what to say. “If you’d let me, I can fix that, Vanessa. Let me at least try,” what am I supposed to say to that? No? He sure makes this hard, doesn‘t he? He kisses my shoulder for the second time, and I snuggled closer to him.
And as I close my eyes, I can’t help but think that he’s already starting to fix it. And I can’t stop him, nor do I want to.
LoveStoned by Lynn
Story Tags: interracial wallsex celebrityj enemiesturnedlovers
