I'm holding on your rope,
Got me ten feet off the ground
I'm hearin what you say but I just can't make a sound
You tell me that you need me
Then you go and cut me down, but wait
You tell me that you're sorry
Didn't think I'd turn around, and say...
It's too late to apologize, it's too late
I said it's too late to apologize, it's too late
One Republic- Apologize

I had spent quite a bit of time in front of the mirror, admiring the article clothing that was covering my body. A strapless empire waist flowing gown in the most gorgeous shade of blue that I had ever seen. It came all the way past my ankles and made me feel like a million bucks. Maybe even better than that. Justin was going to love it, really he would. At least, at the current moment, I had hoped he would love it.

I bought the dress, had it boxed and wrapped and headed back to the Timberlake compound. I was so anxious to model the dress, I felt a little bit like a kid in a candy store, and all I could do was hope that this would be the one thing to make Justin recognize me as something more than just a personal bitch. I hit the garage door opener on the stone house and quietly moved my car in and shut off the ignition.

"Shhh, she won't be home for a couple more hours. Trust me, I told her to go dress shopping and when girls go dress shopping they're always gone for hours." He said to the blonde sitting on the couch.

"Yeah, but when are you gonna tell her that you decided to take me to the event instead of her?" Macy replied while straddling his waist.

Interrupting their kisses, Justin said, "Tonight over dinner or something probably."

"You know what Justin, don't bother. I don't need a dinner to be told that." I interjected.

Quickly he threw Macy off of him and made his way over to me.

I placed my hand in the air, "don't, just don't. If you need anything call Trace, because as of right now, I'm taking a leave of absence."

"You can't!" He exclaimed as I made my way to the car. "I'm paying you!"

"Read the fucking contract you asshole, I get four weeks. And guess what? I'm using them, Justin, and I don't give a shit what you think, say, or do."

I started the car back up and flew out of the driveway. My cellphone began to ring and without looking at the caller ID, I rolled down the window and threw it on the highway.

"SHIT!" I say to myself, "I left the fucking dress at the house!"

______________________________________________________

"What do you mean she left man?" Trace questioned while handing me a beer.

"I mean she peaced, said she had four weeks or some shit on her contract that she could take off and ran out of the house. I tried calling and it goes straight to voice mail now, I must've left about twenty of them." I explain.

You know? I feel like this is all my fucking fault. Like I couldn't think logically enough and realize that when shit did get bad in the house, people like Macy just can't handle it. Diana was right, people like her only like the attachment to my name, not me. I mean, it's not that big of a deal though, right? She's only my personal assistant. Tons of girls would kill for her job, I could have a new one in like five minutes, right? It's only been a couple of hours, though, and I already feel like my life is unorganized as possible.

"What about-" Trace begins.

"Don't even fucking ask me about the charity event. I really don't have a clue what to do." I say

"You know, I respect you on a lot of decisions you make regarding the business aspect of your life, but when it comes to actually handling a relationship, dude, you suck. You had a girl right in front of your face, and you treated her like dirt. Put yourself in her position, do you think it would've felt good inside to see a person who just asked you to go on a high profile date making out on your couch, talking about you to somebody that really doesn't have a brain?" Trace says, making me feel more like the scum of earth, maybe even worse.

"I know! Don't you think I know I screwed it up? She probably won't even want to speak to me anymore. Let alone be seen in public with me." I say, while getting up and going to the kitchen. That's when I notice it, the box, probably with her dress or something in it.

"Trace! Dude, come check this out." I state. It's this long blue gown, something that only certain people could pull off. It requires the body, you know? But there's something about it, something I just can't put my finger on.

Trace examines the dress, "J, man, this isn't your run of the mill 'I'm going on a date with Justin, yay!' dress, this is 'I'm Justin Timberlake's girlfriend, and don't you forget it, bitch.'"

"Shut up, asshole."

"Hey man, sorry, I gotta go though, I'll talk to you later." Trace walks to the door, opens it and turns around to look at me, "quit fucking up man."

Once again, I screw everything up. But don't you people think I know that?

Obviously not.