I always regretted rolling my eyes at Doctor Burns. Whenever I did he always gave me that damn look. The look that reminded me of my mother. A mother that never had a real presense in my life, a mother that I had never known and was pretty sure that I hated. Needless to say, I was not to fond of the look Burns had seemed to master and often went out of my way to keep my therapist happy just to avoid the irritating gaze. More often than not, though, Burns could push me over the brink and straight to that inevetable eye roll. Now was a prime example. Wasn't it enough that I'd been visiting the man every day for seventeen years? Why was I still being questioned, dissected and anaylyzed by this man like I was the jusiest fucking worm in the room during a 9th grade biology dissection? I wish I could tell you, really I do, but I don't know any better than the next chap.

You'd think I'd be rewarded for caring about my grades and my schoolwork. It amazed me, to that very day, how people underestimated UNLV (University of Nevada Las Vegas) as a college. Yeah, so there's a strip club three blocks away in the same parking lot as a nursery, but do we all have to suffer because of that? Do we all have to carry the stigma of Las Vegas on our shoulders just because we were the unlucky saps who's parents decided to get busy at the Ceasars Palace on a crazy weekened? I'm going to go ahead and say no. Burns would probably say I'm being cynical, an emotion that's deeply rooted in the mental damage my mother did to me when I was a child. I wont even get into the endless list of defense mechanisms I've picked up since my mother ran out on me. I had aquired so many over the past several years I could easily write you a list around the block. Sarcasim was my specialty. If you were having a parade, I was ready to go with the rain, and I was ready with a smile.

I blame my mother for that. I blame her for just about everything.

I overslept and couldn't find time to curl my hair that morning. Was it my fault? No. Your fault? Of course not. You weren't even there.

Who's fault was it?

Well, Mommy's, of course. See how easy that was? To blame her? I do it all the time.

The point is that I work hard at school, and I will use pretty much anything at my disposal if it will help along towards the degree in Business that I could practically TASTE.

Dr. Burns still had those thick framed, black glasses he'd worn since I was four years old. And I still sat, in his corner office with THE view of the Las Vegas Valley, right across from him in my favorite purple chair. I still sat, baffled at how it took a really special person to pull off those glasses, which could only be described as a pair Steve Urkel would wear on his worst day, the way Burns did. If I'd ever tried to wear those things I would have been laughed out of Vegas and then shot and killed once I hit LA for making such a blatant fashion violation.

Burns' hair was jet black and combed into a basic style on his head. I always told him that he reminded me of a smarter Uncle Jesse from Full House, and he always gets bashful when I do. I guess most people would take a comparision to John Stamos as a compliment. Burns certainly did.

"Trevion! "

I blinked. "Yeah? What?"

"You heard me..."

"No, I really didn't, Burns. I wasn't even listening, but, please, enlighten me... since you know everything."

There was that look again, I'm just going to start calling that face 'the mom'.

"Look, I went to UNLV, too, okay? I took Mr. Venibal for Bio3 and I know he hasn't changed his sylybus in fifteen years."

"As interesting as this is, Burns, I'm really starting to wonder if you're going somewhere."

"He always gives a pop quiz on the second day of class and no one is ever ready for it. It's not possible to be ready for it." Burns squinted his eyes at me and I cursed him for being so smart. Sometimes I wondered if he was the one with the powers and not me. "You crammed last night, didn't you? Just tell me, Trevion. I'll know if you're lying."

Don't act like that's some kind of accomplushment, nerd face. I childishly thought.

Honestly, though. When you've known someone for seventeen years you know them all the way down to the shit in there drawers whether you want to or not. I didn't dare voice my thoughts to his almighty, of course. My plan was to get out of his office sometime THAT DAY.

"Yeah, so I crammed! So what?"

"Why are you yelling?"

"Why are you whispering? Don't try to pull that shit on me. Not today. Your little routine where you talk very quietly while I'm yelling to make it seem like I'm the crazy person is so tired! I've been onto you for years!"

He leaned on his elbows and looked in my eyes, "But why are you yelling?"

"Fuck you."

"Don't talk to me like that." He instructed before, almost immediately after, giving me 'the mom'. I was seriously starting to wonder if he had any idea how much he looked like her when he did that.

"Look, I'm sorry. Yeah, I crammed. I was out late and I didn't have time to study..."

"Trevion, we've talked about this."

I'm sure you're wondering, "What the hell are they talking about?" If you're not wondering that, then you probably think Burns and I are talking about "cramming" in the "college student" sense.

I only wish. That would make my life a little too easy. That would make me a little too normal. In the world of Trevion Spencer, cramming consisted of flipping through the pages of any book and, somehow, coming up for air with a comperensive understanding of the entire text in just minutes.

How do I do this, you ask? I don't know. Neither does anybody else. As far as Burns and I know, I'm the only one of my kind. This explains why I used to refer to Doctor Burns as 'Uncle Burns' when I was a little kid. He was the only person around that didn't look at me like I was some sort of monster, some sort of freak. So, naturally, I clung to the man like super glue when he saw that I could move things with my mind and did immediately go leaping out of the closest window.

At six years old I made the mistake of telling my father that I could read books without actually reading them. The same year my mother walked in on me cleaning my room. Except that it was more like me sitting on my bed while various toys and clothes flew, at different intervals, all over the place before landing at their destinations, let it be the laundry basket or the toy chest.

My dad didn't know what to think by the time I'd hit seven. My mom had run out by then, scared of her alien child, so I suppose I should be thankful that my father lasted that long. He was dead now. I hadn't given him enough credit, at all, he stuck with me until the very end. Even if his end was a good thirty or fourty years shorter than the average human. He stuck.

Mom didn't. My foot itches. I blame her.

Bitch.

I never saw my father with another woman after her. I don't remember him ever appearing particulary lonely, but I do remember that he was alone an awful lot. He didn't have many friends, and the ones he did have he didn't talk to often. Kind of like me.

The mysterious gift stuck with me all the way to age ten with no visible intention of going away anytime soon. I wasn't crazy, my father reasoned, and Burns agreed. These things were really happening. I really did have an understanding of any book I touched. If I felt like throwing a twenty seven inch television through my bedroom window, I certain could, and probably would. The only probelm? The types of things I could do physically and mentally weren't the sort of things that blew over well in an adult world where people had already been taught what to believe, what to think, and what to accept. Even if these things were happing right in front of my father's very eyes, I still landed smack dab in Dr. Burn's office. I'm still in that office to this very day. Except it's much bigger, much brighter, and my Burns is a whole hell of a lot richer.

I was in my mid-teens when my father died, and Burns took me in like I was his own. I wanted to drop out of school so many times. There were so many people that I wanted to kill, and could have, with absolutely no evidence. There were so many things I would rather be doing than going to school and being the dutiful neice under Burns' unwavering, thick framed gaze. I remember hating him. Or, better yet, I remember hating him, because there was no one left to hate. He was the only person around. So he endured the rather. He never really deserved it, but he took it. In fact, he saw my emotionally unstable ass all the way through high school and was still around right now. My first year of college, and he was still here.

He was the man in my life. I thought, as I watched him. I loved him more than I'd ever willingly say or even admitt to myself.

"Tell me how you do it, Trev. Don't you trust me after all these years?"

Too bad he was a colossal pain in my ass.

"I've told you a million times, Burns. I don't know. I swear to god."

"You could throw me out of the window in this room--"

"Don't tempt me."

He closed his eyes, patiently. Always patient, "Without even lifting a finger, Trev.... and you're telling me you don't know? How do you not know how you move things with your mind?"

"Could you stop talking so calmy? It really bugs the shit out of me that nothing bugs the shit out of you."

"You see that? You can't give me a straight answer."

"Gosh, I wonder why... Oh, wait, I know! I can't give you a straight answer because I don't know!"

Burns tucked his chin in his hand, looking truely frustrated.

I was almost at his frustration level and felt that it was definitely time for me to leave. More than a few hours with this man a day was enough to work my last nerve. I wasn't going to lie, I love him like a brother, a father, whatever, but it was no fault of my own. When you've been shoved down someone else's throat against your will for seventeen years you can't help but form some sort of emotion towards them. Strangely enough, I felt more adoration toward Burns than annoyance, which would have made more sense. Shows how desperate I am to have an authority figure in my life, I suppose. When you have no one you're not that picky.

"Look, I'm just gonna go. Hasn't it started to bother you that you're losing money every hour that I'm in this place?" I questioned while gathering my things.

Calm as usual, Burns closed and opened his brown eyes, the only aspect of his appearance that possessed a potential playfulness, "I could never charge you, Trevie, you know that."

Damn him, don't smile Trevion! Don't you fucking do it!

"I do accept payment in straight A report cards, or free gift certificates from whatever coffee shop you're working at this week."

I waved my hand at him. "I quit that job weeks ago."

"Good, you should focus on school."

"School costs money, hunny."

Burns smiled at me, smugly, arrogantly. "Sit down, we still have fifteen minutes."

"I'm going."

How desperate am I to cling onto the little control I have in this relationship? I stomp towards the door of the office. I know Burns isn't going to chase me or try to stop me. He's too much of a thug for that.

"Stop cramming."

"It was an accident."

"Same time next--"

I slammed the door and smiled through the sad thump in my heart. I hated leaving him and would never admitt to him that I wished we could meet more than once a week. I really did like to be around him, sometimes. I guess you could blame that on the family that I didn't have and the roomate I could hardly stand. That, however, a whole other ball game that I definitely don't want to play.

Burns hadn't changed. Since I was a child he voiced to me how dangerous it was that I had the gift that I had. This was why, right off the bat, he'd laid down several ground rules that he expected me to follow. The man was definitely smart. He taught me from a young age about the closed minded people of the world. How they would rather kill what they don't understand than take the time to try and understand it. How they would turn me into a lab rat, ridicule me, poke, prod and just be downright mean. At the tender age of six Burns had done what grown ups did best. He'd done a thourough job oh scaring the shit out of me. It was an intelligent strategy, scare them when they're young and they'll never do it. It worked, I'm a walking, talking, breathing example because I still followed his stupid little rules to this very day. Okay, so his rules weren't stupid, so what? He was... just like his stupid little rules.

1) Never use your powers (Didn't I tell you he was funny?)
2) If you insist on using them, only when you're alone and only if it is absolutely necessary (this, of course, includes vacumming up the floor, reheating my hot pockets and turning off the tv when I can't find the remote (aka: I don't feel like reaching across the bed for it) )
3) Never tell anyone about your gift (this rule was the easiest to follow, since I hated people and they hated me).

I followed these rules like the Bible (mostly). Even at times when I really, really... really wanted to use them, I didn't. This, of course, isn't counting heating up things in the microwave and vaccuming the floor. If I can sit on my ass and do these things, you'd better believe I do it. Don't tell Burnsey, though.

Besides, I had a right to lay down a few of my own ground rules. It's my body, they're my damn powers, after all.

Rule Number 4) I have a Trig test tomorrow. Fuck you, Burns. I'm cramming.

It's not like my gift is anything special. Stop the music, I can read a fucking book! Eureka, I can move things with my mind! What am I gonna do? Save the world?

Please, give me a world worth saving, then we'll talk.

Maybe.

--

It's always so easy to watch movies and read about the college experience, the trials and tribulations of that first tedious, borderline unbearable first year and laugh your ass off at whatever idiot manages to fuck everything up. Either they can't find their classrooms, or they're making a fool of themselves in the classroom or their roomate is a complete physcopath who listens to death metal, eats all of your food and changes their tampons right in front of you, in plain sight. Then, if that hasn't charmed you enough, they toss the digusting object clear across the room with Michael Jordan percision into your trashcan, like they don't have their own on their side of the fucking room.

Have you met my roomate, Kim?

As a hardcore Eminem fan you'd think it wouldn't be possible for me to find a Kim that I hated as much as Eminem's Kim.

Wrong!

Meet Kimberly Connorey, my freshman year roomate. The rain on my sunshine, the stank in my popori, my very own hell on earth right in my dorm room. Every day, every... fucking... night. Lord help me to love this girl, before I kill her in her sleep, please lord.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm all about optimisim and giving everyone a fair chance (okay, this is a lie). Kim, though, has gotten too many chances from me and I'm perfectly content with never speaking a syllable to her until this year is over. Unless of course I need something. Like a pair of leather handled numbchucks or the latest Slipknot CD. Oh... except that I will never need any of these things. Not ever.

Did I mention that she's a bitch? Don't even get me started on how or why, but she definitly is.

"Kim, I'm studying over here."

She was tapping her pencil against some book about the most notorious serial killers in US history, but that wasn't what was bothering me. The tv that was blasting some stupid show was. She smiled a perfect smile and, somewhere deep down, I could see that a normal girl used to live in that scary person's body. A girl with compassion, sanity and soap. Where had that girl gone? Why, oh why, couldn't SHE be my rooomate instead? Kim's hair was a firey red that worked well for her complexion and set off against her blue eyes beatuifully. She wasn't an ugly girl, by any means, but she definitely tried too hard to be a badass. Sometimes I wished she had a million tattoos, peircings and jet black hair so I'd at least know what to expect. To come into a dorm room looking normal when you're the way Kim is, well... that's just deceptive and wrong. WRONG.

"I know you're studying, Trevion, you're always studying. I still don't know how you passed Venibal's Bio test the other day. I heard that's not even like... possible."

Breathe, Trevion... just breathe, "Actually, I told you I was studying to hint that the television was too loud and I can't concentrate."

Kim scrunched up her nose and looked toward the tv with regret, as if she wished she could do something, but couldn't. "Yeah..., but like... a Full House marathon is on."

I could feel my cynical eyebrow raising. I couldn't help it. She made me fucking crazy and the lifting of my eyebrow eased the urge to wrap my fingers around her neck, immensely. "I'm humored. You watch Full House?"

"Heck yeah! John Stamos is fucking hot!"

I smiled unwittingly, "Burns looks just like him."

"Who?"

I blinked at the question. For a split second, I could hardly believe I'd even mentioned him, "Nobody."

"I guess I could turn it off.. since you're studying and all..."

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"I'm always nice. You're the mean one."

Quickly, I closed my books and gathered them towards my chest, "Don't bother turning it off. I'll just go up to the roof."

Kim rolled her eyes, "Fine."

--

I loved it on the roof. If I could drag my bed and computer desk up there I swear to god I'd sleep there every night. It's always empty and is much better than the library when you want someplace quiet to study. I truely believed the lack of people around is what makes me love it the most. No obligations to make conversation, no loud, giggly girls... no people.

No people. If it was possible to hug my roof, I would.

Who said true happiness didn't exist in the world?

I had a perfect spot on my roof, I liked to call it my sweet spot. It was the one place on the roof that I could almost see the entire campus from. It made me smile to sit in my spot. Sometimes, I had a little too much fun looking down on the other students, pretending they were my slaves and zapping them dead with my imaginary lazer gun, laughing a manic laugh.

I giggled. I never giggle. The thought of all the idiots around me falling to my death, though? I don't know... it gets me.

The second my eyes left the ground to gaze lovingly toward my special place they immiately riveted to the only human figure I'd ever seen up there since the first day of school. I was a little startled and almost frightened. To see a human body where you've never seen one in five months is bound to scare anyone, and I was certainly shaken. I wasn't expecting it, I suppose. Obviously, it was a guy, and for a split second I wondered if he was dangerous.

Then I laughed. Even under the heavy black pants on his legs and layers of shirts he had on over a very nice black coat, he was as skinny or skinner than I was.

He was standing on the edge of the roof looking down but I thought nothing of it. I wondered if he and I shared the same pleasure in pretending to blast all of the bastards below dead with our lazer guns.

Suddenly a feeling of annoyance came over me. What the hell was he doing here? This was my special place. I'd be damned before I went back down into the dorm with my room-monster, but I couldn't stay up here. My special place had been violated by some skinny guy in a black coat. Okay... I just realized what it sounds like everytime I say "my special place". I'll think of a new name later. More important issues call to me now.

"Hey!" I called. "What are you doing up here?"

If I was a complete bitch to him, he'd have no choice but to leave cursing the minute he ever met me the entire way, I reasoned.

His head snapped in my direction and from what I guessed was surprise, his body waved on the edge of the bulding. A gasp of shock left his mouth and a scream left mine.

"Shit!" I cried, holding my hands out, even though I was nowhere near close enough to catch him. "What are you, some kind of fucking idiot? Get off of that ledge. You're insane."

He ignored me and was, once again, standing calmly against the edge. I let a few minutes pass before I concluded that he was ignoring me. This fact just annoyed me more.

"Look, I don't want to sound like a bitch, or anything, but this is kind of my spot. I've been here for seven months and I just... I found it first and it's mine!" The childish outburst escaped from me before I could stop it.

"Oh..." he said, lifelessly. "I'm sorry. I'll be out of your way in a few minutes, all right? It'll be all yours."

"I guess." I mumbled. I did feel kind of thirsty. "Well, I'm going down to the vending machine and if you're still here when I get back you're not going to like it! Not one bit!"

I turned my back and began walking away. He still wasn't responding to my negativity. Usually it only took about a minute or so of my bitching before a person was driven to the brink of insanity and became desperate for an escape. As if breathing the same air as me would make them susceptable to my cyniscim. This guy, though, wasn't so easy to crack.

If there was one thing in the world I hated more than people who talked back to me, it was people who DIDN'T talk back to me. How do you not have a response when somebody is screaming at you and, basically, telling you what you are and aren't going to be doing? I'd just flat out decided for this person that he was no longer allowed on the roof and he didn't even dispute it. Some man.

Some man, indeed. I don't know what it was that made me stop at the door. Actually, I do. It was his voice. He was talking to himself.

At first I figured that this guy was crazier than I'd originally imagined, but, as I put my hand on the handle of the door, I recognized the words he said. My head snapped around in panic as I wondered if I was hearing what I thought I was hearing. He was in the exact same place with his hands in his pockets and his buzzed head hanging low. He seemed so calm, which is a bit of a mystery as what he's about to do becomes more and more clear.

I can see his lips in the distance. They're pink and full. With every words that leaves his lips, a hush of white air goes with it, making them stand out even more. "Dear heavenly father please forgive me for the sins I've committed and the sin I have yet to commit... I'm so sorry..."

The misery in his voice shook me and was sos familiar that it squeezed my heart like a vise.

"Hey, what are you doing?" I called, but received no answer. "Hey!"

He removed his coat with a speed that astounded me and the second it hit the ground he raised his hands at his sides. I screamed again and broke into a run.

Now I never run. Not from mean dogs, not from the nasty fat boy in the third grade and not in PE class freshman year. I am NOT a runner. I don't know what came over me, but I was running faster than I ever had, faster than I ever would.

"STOP!" I screamed, tears coming to my own eyes as he looked back at me. His eyes were very serene, as if he was so grateful. He'd finally found the answer to some great puzzle. This was his answer. I didn't know what was going on in his life, it must have been pretty bad, but he obviously thought this was the solution and I'd be damned if I let it happen without a fight.

He was so...

I blinked, suddenly. His eyes were still on mine and my brain swam as I was hit with a strong and immidate wave of recognition.

Did I know him?

No.

I squinted.

I definitely knew him. I tried to think of the people in all of my classes, but quickly realized that I had no real idea what any of those people looked like. In fact, I'd done a pretty incredible job of denying the very exsistence of most of the people around me, with the exception of Burns and the characters on my favorite tv shows, for years.

So, this guy was either Burns, or one of the dudes from 90210. And there were so many of those, I wouldn't even know where to start. He certainly wasn't Dylan, not Brandon, not the curly headed dude that no one liked.

Maybe David? No.

I pointed at him, "Wait a minute..."

Suddenly, I pictured my television playing Entertainment Tonight, the latest Cosmo magazine that I'd been flipping through just that morning in Burn's office, my younger cousin's entire bedroom wall.

No. I immediatly said, as my green eyes were nearly leveled by his icy blue ones. Did Justin Timberlake have blue eyes? Was this Justin?

I looked harder. No.

I could feel the moment that my eyes went wide. YES, my brain screamed. The second I put a name to the face, Justin Timberlake, I could tell he knew that I knew. This only seemed to distress him more, if that was possible.

"Oh my... GOD." I gasped, unable to find anything else to say. I covered my mouth with one hand and pointed at him with the other, as if there were other people around me that just had to see this. Unfortunately, there was no one else. Just me and Justin Timberlake. Any other day, I couldn't have given two shits about him. Any other place, I probably wouldn't have. The fact that he was about to do what he was obviously about to do, though, made my first encounter with the celebrity I never cared about a whole lot different than I ever imagined it would be.

What would a normal person do in a situation like this? I asked myself. I couldn't come up with an answer.

He closed his eyes for a longer period of time before looking back out toward the campus below, as if he'd never seen me.

Justin fucking Timberlake. On my roof. About to off himself.

I'd done everything in my power, all of my life, to avoid drama. I like to believe I've done a pretty good job so far, but I'll be damned if this wasn't now at the very top of my "holy shit" list.

"Um, um, um... you don't have to do this. I don't know you and you don't know me, but whatever it is... it can't be that bad." I was wringing my hands together. It wasn't a habit I ever remembered having.

He said nothing. That frustrated me. I didn't know what to say and what I was saying obviously had no impact on him. I took a step closer, planning to grab onto his shirt and pull him back. It was as if he could read my mind.

"Don't come any closer." He whispered. The calm in his voice was chilling.

"Please." I begged, "I'm staying right here, I'm not moving, so please... don't."

"Don't come any closer." He said again. I saw his eyelashes flutter closed and graze his cheeks and my heart sped.

"Don't." I pled, again, when I saw a pure calm overwhelm his features. "No, no, no!"

I don't know what happened when he leaned forward over the edge. I don't know what I was thinking when I saw him dissapear. I don't know how I managed to breathe when I ran to the ledge and saw his body falling helplessly before my eyes. Even as he fell, he was calm. It was as if he wanted this without an inch of doubt. Immediately, without even realizing it, I tried to stop him from falling. Another second passed as I focused all of my energy on him. With everything I could, I tried to stop him in mid air, fly him back over the roof or turn back time. Nothing worked. Besides, I never had been able to turn back time. I just figured it wouldn't hurt to try.

At that exact moment, with my eyes on him, sure that he was going to crash onto the concrete ground, I saw it. I saw the exact moment that he panicked. His arms and legs flug helplessly around and I knew, right then, that he regretted what he'd done, but at the same time, couldn't fix it. It was too late. He'd already jumped. There was no room for changes. He couldn't take this one back.

But I could, and I would.

I didn't even realize my eyes were jammed shut until I heard a loud thump against the shed on the other end of the roof followed by a loud scream of horror. My eyes flew open and when I looked into Justin Timberlake's eyes I could barely believe my own. His blue orbs burned against mine with terror and confusion. I'm sure my own mirrored his, perfectly. Somehow, I'd fallen to the ground and was leaning back against the ledge. Both of us were shaking, scared and wondering what had just happened.

Justin was probably wondering if he was dead. I was wondering if I was the reason he wasn't.

This was probably the time, I decided, to say something comforting.

"You asshole."

Okay, not the ideal words to say to someone who'd just tried to kill themselves, but I was fucking pissed.

Tear fell from his eyes and down his face, which was as red as an apple. His body shook so uncontrollably, I could see the trembles from where I sat, several feet away.

He whispered, shakily. "I don't... am I dead? Is that why you were on the roof? You knew this was going to happen and you were waiting to take me? Like, to another life? To hell?"

"Okay." I said, rolling my eyes and standing, "You're alive and obviously crazy."

"Are you an angel?"

No one had ever called me an angel in my life. I almost laughed.

"All that's important is that you're alive." I said. My legs shook under me and when he stood his were doing the same. It was like we were connected, somehow. Binded by blood through the experience we'd just shared.

"But I was falling..." He said, his entire face curled into a frown, "I was dead."

I just stared at him. He, obviously, suspected me immediately. Maybe I could convince him he was crazy and I was just a figment of his imagination? Or maybe I'd just tell him I was his guardian angel and take him to my car.

I would drive his ass straight to the nearest institution, of course.

"Then... I don't know. It was like I just stopped. I stopped falling and my back hit the wall and I was up here. I--" he looked back toward the wall as if he expected it to swallow him whole, then back at me, "What is this?"

"It doesn't matter. All that matters is that you're alive and, hopefully, you'll never do some stupid shit like that again. Common, we're going to the nearest hospital."

"Did you do this?"

"Do what?"

"Do what? You saw me jump! You saw me falling! You saw how I, somehow, under the grace of god-- or I don't know what, land back up here with no explaination! You don't even look confused! Not nearly as freaked the fuck out as I know I am right now."

My eyes bore in his. "That's not important. What's important is that you're mentally unstable and you need a HOSPITAL."

He didn't move. "Are you some kind of witch or something?"

"No."

"Then how did you do that?" His voice was relaxing and going back to normal but as he stepped closer, I stepped back, "It was you... wasn't it?"

I hoped I didn't look scared, but I knew I did. Nobody had ever known. Nobody but Burns.

"I wont tell." He immediately promised.

"There's nothing to tell!" I screamed. I felt panicked. Burns had never prepared me for what to do or say if somebody ever found out about my powers. Maybe he didn't because one of the three rules was never to use them. Fuck, I could almost hear him saying that. But he said not to use them unless they were absolutely necessary. This guy was about to kill himself for the love of pete! What kind of person would I be if I hadn't saved him?

What would happen to me? I really hoped that I hadn't just fucked with "god's plan" or whatever you want to call it. Maybe Justin Timberlake was meant to die that night and I'd just stopped it. I'd just played god, something I never intended to do, "Let's just please go to the hospital." I said, suddenly terrified.

"I can't go to the hospital. I'll be all over the news."

"Let's get to the part where I care."

He sighed, "Look, if you're going to be a bitch about this, then fine. If you tell anyone about tonight then I'll tell everyone about tonight."

"About how you tried to off yourself? That'll make for one hell of a Sunday brunch discussion with the girls." I was seriously being sarcastic at a time like this.

"About how you stopped me from offing myself in mid-fucking air. We all have our secrets... you keep quiet and I'll keep quiet."

Is this what blackmail feels like? I don't like it.

He paused, as if he were waiting for me to tell him my name.

I cringed. "I'm not looking to be friends after this, okay? If you want to go out and try to kill yourself again tomorrow then that's on you. But you wont do it as long as I'm around. That's a promise."

"Are you always this pleasant?"

"If you're not going to go to the hospital, then at least come down to my room so you can call someone."

"Call someone?"

"Yes, like a friend. So they can bring a car, let you in the car and drive away. You leave."

"I don't have anyone to call." He said. The minute he said the words I knew that was the whole reason everything had gone down the way it had that night.

With a scoff, I shrugged my shoulders, "Fine! I have a car. I'll take you anywhere you want to go."

"I don't live here. I have nowhere to go."

"Justin, we're in Las Vegas and you're rich and famous. There are a million and one places for you to go. Why are you even here, anyway?"

He stared at me and, for the first time, I realized how powerful his eyes were, how emotionally telling. "I needed to take care of some things."

"So, the freshman dorm at UNLV was last on your list? You realize you would have landed right by the front door had you succeeded in your little attempt?"

"I do."

"Instead of killing yourself, why don't you get on your knees and grovel for the attention? It's less gory and not as emotionally taxing."

"You don't know anything about me."

"No, I dont. If things go my way, and they will, that will never change. How about the Mandalay Bay? They've got nice suites, I hear. I could even take you to the airport so you can go back to wherever you came from."

"I can't go back." He said, and I was surprised when he followed me to the only door on the roof.

"Sure, you can. I go back to my nightmare of a roommate, night after night. We all have to make our sacrifices." I could tell he wanted me to care about why he'd tried to do what he just did but I wouldn't let myself.

"Just... take me to an apartment complex, or something. A nice one."

I raised an eyebrow. "You're planning on renting an apartment at 12:30 in the morning, huh? Baby, this is the city that never sleeps, but we aint that bad."

He bowed his head.

Oh god, the puppy dog look, gag me with a fucking spoon. Why was I cursed with such a horrible roommate? I wouldn't be in this mess if she didn't make me want to choke her brains out night after night.

"Look, don't get all teary eyed on me. There's this place called the Budget Suites a few miles up Tropicana. They rent by the month. You could probably stay there until you can find a place."

We finally made it off of the roof and he followed me down the stairs and through the halls of my dorm. I'm sure he was thankful that it was relatively quiet tonight. Except for a few lingering stares and hellos nobody really bothered him. Before I knew it we were down in the parking lot headed to my car.

"You drive this Beatle?" He asked, a small smile touching his face.

Was he making jokes? "It does the trick."

I hoped in and unlocked the door. Justin climbed calmly into the seat and buckled his seat belt.

"Safety first." I said sarcastically, "You did not just buckle your... forget it." I laughed for what I thought was the first time that night, "How the hell did this night end with Justin Timberlake in my passengers seat?" I mumbled to myself, pulling out of the park and speeding into the street.

I ignored my curiousity about this man and my car jetted down Tropicana Ave. All I knew was that this guy had made me feel more in the last three hours than I had in years. I didn't like that... and he had to go. Immediatly.