"I'll never lie to you, again. I wont." He whispered into my ear, having no real idea that I was only half listening. "You're the one good thing I've got going on in my life right now and I would never jeopardize that. You know that, right?"

I sat, clutching the handles of the seats beneath my fingers. Several seconds past before I realized that he was saying something to me, and I looked over at him. Just as I was about to open my mouth and say something, the giant plane made a new noise (joining the ranks of the mysterious *clink*, *bang*, *crack* and *twings* that had terrified me in the last few minutes). The damn plane wasn't even in the air yet and I was already sweating to get off.

Suddenly, the idea of the plane exploding in mid-air, sending all of us crashing into the pavement, the wilderness or what-ever body of water we may have been over, took over my brain and I had to jam my eyes shut.

There is nothing in the world harder than ignoring your own thoughts.

"Uh--"

The plane shook under our feet.

Shook.

"Uh-- Yes?" I gave Justin a quick glance. Seemingly unaware of my being two seconds away from throwing up all over his worried face, he shook his head.

"It doesn't seem like you mean it." His eyebrows were scrunched together. "Listen, before everything went down with Britney and JC..." He sighed. "My step-father was in the hospital, my mom wasn't talking to me for one reason or another, Lance was pissed off at me--hell, he still is, Chris wasn't speaking to me because I blew him off at some convention, my record company was pushing for an album I wasn't ready to make, my baby brother left a message on my answering machine basically telling me what an asshole I am for not bothering to be in his life, there were rumors going around about me cheating on Britney and it was almost like she... like she was starting to believe them. What I loved most about Britney was that she always understood the celebrity aspect of my life more than anyone else. She was the only person I could talk to. After a few articles in those fucking magazines, though..." Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw him shake his head, "She was starting to believe them, my family was in the hospital, my brother's hated me, and they had every right because... we don't really know each other... at all. Are you listening?" He looked at me, with a true hope in his eyes, just as the plane jolted.

My heart jumped into my throat. "Yes!" I all but screamed.

He shook his head. "I don't know. I've been dealing with stress, long hours, lack of sleep, high expectations, just... serious, SERIOUS pressure that no person should ever have to deal with, for a long time. Since I was thirteen I've been dealing with that kind of pressure. I'm always so level-headed and ready for everything, but... that was the worst month of my life, Trev. It was like I lost all control. All of the balls I had in the air were shifting and when I saw them..." His voice caught and he shook his head.

I watched him, quietly wondering if the large pockets on his baggy pants would be big enough to throw up in.

"When I saw them together, all the balls just dropped. Any tiny bit of control that I may have still had in my grasp..." He shook his head. "Gone. I didn't even feel like me. I felt like somebody standing on the outside, watching my entire life fall apart and shaking his head for letting it happen. Everything was fucked up and it was all my fault. I'd never experienced that before and I just... snapped. I could have killed both of them. I would have." He frowned. "I would have." He said, again, as if he were realizing it for the first time.

"But you didn't." I whispered.

He looked at me, smiled softly.

The plane sped up.

I threw up.

And Justin screamed.

--

"You scream like a girl." I said softly, taking the moist cloth from his hand to wipe my mouth. After I was done, I held out the rag and smiled up at him. "Thanks."

Not smiling back, he snatched the rag from my hands. "That wasn't for you." He said, before furiously scrubbing the stain on his shirt, which he'd laid out flat on the counter of the plane's bathroom. I sat on the toilet of the impossibly small area and he stood between my legs at the sink, struggling to wipe his shirt clean of my throw-up.

Apparently, Justin hadn't been lying when he said he handled stress well. Most normal people would have not only hated me for throwing up all over them, but would have probably thrown up their damn selves after being scrunched in the tiny cubicle we were in and inhaling the vile stench it left behind.

"I'm sorry." I said. "You were just so deep into your story and so desperate for my forgiveness... I knew there was no stopping you. I suppose it's me that's going to be desperate for you forgiveness now, huh? Funny how the tables are turned?"

If my brain had sounds effects there would have been the sound of tires screeching right at that moment.

Had I just said those words?

"Who am I?" I said out-loud, frowning in pure dismay. I clutched my hands in my lap and shook my head, trying to rid myself of whatever sweet-serum Justin had surely injected into my bloodstream without my knowledge or consent.

He continued scrubbing. "All you had to say was that you felt like throwing up. In fact, it would have been helpful to know about your fear of flying BEFORE you let me step on this plane with you. But, whatever." He shrugged the way a person did to convince you that they weren't mad when they really were.

"I get sick in all moving vehicles, so had it been a train, bus or plane..." I shrugged. "Wouldn't have mattered. High puke-probability all the way around."

"But, you drive a car."

"Not long distances." I counted. "Look, I said I was sorry, I meant it. We can just sit in separate seats and I'll throw up on some other poor fool's lap for the rest of the flight."

He scrubbed his shirt for a couple more minutes before throwing the rag in the sink. He threw the shirt over his arm and adjusted the wife beater he had on.

"If you're throwing up on anyone's lap, Trev, it's going to be mine." He said with a small smirk.

I frowned up at him. "You're jealous of the guy I'd rather throw up on?"

He seemed to think about that. "I suppose so."

"Is there anything on earth that you DON'T turn into some sort of sick competition?"

"Coffee." He immediately answered. "I have never been able to make a perfect cup of coffee."

I raised my eyebrow. "And everything else?"

"I'd kick your ass!" He beamed.

I wanted to laugh, but was too afraid. "You're sick." I responded.

He held up his shirt, which still reeked out my puke, and raised an eyebrow.

I couldn't argue with that, but I could add, "You're not the most secure guy on earth."

After those words, which seemed to hit some unknown nerve, he watched me for several long moments.

"No." He whispered. "Not lately."

The hope in his voice made it as clear as day to me. He was hoping that this whole trip was going to rectify what had been broken in him. Help him find the man he'd lost the day he walked in on JC and Britney.

Just like Trace when he surprised us in Vegas, Justin didn't seem to know the man he was today. He didn't recognize him nor did he particularly enjoy his presence.

As I looked up into his blue eyes I was reminded of the thoughts I thought every night.

The thoughts that scared me so much that I would try to force myself into thinking something else.

The Justin I knew wasn't the Justin that everyone else, or even he, himself, knew. It was the Justin that everyone wanted to go away. The Justin that needed to be fixed. I didn't see what everyone else say. To me, the only real flaw that the man in front of him had was the unforgivable need he felt to be a corn-ball all the time. Apparently, though, I was the only person in Justin's life that saw nothing that needed fixing.

Whoever the real Justin was, it seemed, I didn't know him.

Had never met him.

It scared me more than I cared to admit. It scared me to be so close to someone that I didn't really know. That, maybe, the real Justin wouldn't like me nearly as much as the one I knew today did. I'd never known an insecurity like the ones I had with him.

"What's going through your head?" He whispered.

I stared at him, but didn't give an answer because I knew it would upset him.

What's going through my head? I thought.

Who are you?

That's what.

--

An hour later, we were in LA and night was falling. As we pulled into a neighborhood with houses I didn't even want to know the prices of, I was feeling just about as sick to my stomach as Justin looked. Each house we passed had acres and acres of land, and the streets were curvy and confusing, but Justin seemed to know where he was going.

"Los Angeles has a lot more trees than I imagined." I observed, taking in the scenery from the large hill we were advancing. "You can see the ocean from here, holy shit!" I pointed out of the car at the blurry, blue horizon, as if Justin didn't know the view from his own fucking neighborhood. "Look!" I beamed. When I looked at him and realized that he wasn't going to get excited with me, I willed myself to relax. "Looks like it's going to be your turn to throw up, in a minute." I commented. I reached down into my duffle and pulled out a handful of paper bags, "Good thing I stole these from the plane, huh? Justin?"

Justin didn't respond. I watched his face go from excited to petrified to sick all in the span of two seconds and suddenly realized what a big deal this was to him. The fact that he was so nervous almost made me nervous. More than anything, I wanted things to go well here for him. This was his home, his family. I understood that, without them, a big chunk of him would always be missing.

If they give him a hard time. I thought to myself. I'll rip them a new one.

The idea excited me, since I'd been dying to regain a little of my old self over the past couple of weeks.

I looked at Justin's hands on the steering wheel of the rented Porch, saw that his knuckles were turning red, and immediately realized that fucking with his family probably wouldn't be the BEST idea.

"Are you okay?" I asked. "I don't think you've taken an entire breath since we stepped off the plane."

He didn't answer me and my heart nearly stopped when he suddenly turned into the driveway on our right.

"This is it." He whispered, putting the car in park.

I stared up at the house. It was Victorian, white, and so big that I didn't even know where to start being amazed by it. But I'd expected that. Extravagant was Justin's middle name.

"I can't do this." He said, almost immediately after he'd stopped the car. Within seconds, the key was back in the ignition. When the Porch came roaring back to life, I sat quiet in the passengers seat, wondering if he was serious.

Somewhere, deep down, I was hoping that we would turn around, drive back to the airport and pretend that this whole thing had never happened. I was afraid of losing him to these people, this life that I didn't know, and I hated myself for it. It seemed like he was pretty serious, as he was beginning to back the car out of the lot. I opened my mouth to voice my disapproval, even though my heart sang a whole different tune.

"Justin... You can't do this. You have to fix this with your family or you're never going to be happy."

"I know." He commented, a twinge of annoyance in his voice, "I know that, and I will fix it. Just not now. Not now." He shook his head and had a determination in his eyes that told me he was serious. He was nearly all the way back onto the street.

"Justin... you've come all this way. You're here. I wont let you go back, because I know you'll never forgive yourself."

"You can't stop me." He said, like a child, pulling completely onto the street. He put the car in drive and slammed down on the gas. When the car growled, but didn't move one inch, his entire forehead tightened. "What the fuck?" He whispered. After hitting the gas with all of his might, stopping and re-starting the car, even banging on the steering wheel, the light seemed to go on in his head.

I smiled more out of pure amusement than actual pleasure.

"Stop." He said, hotly. He gave it a few seconds, tried to hit the gas again and clenched his teeth when it didn't move. "This isn't fucking funny. I'm serious, Trevion."

"So am I." I said, and with those words, I knew I wasn't going to let him leave.

"I need to do this on my own time." He said, clutching the steering wheel. "I'm not ready. I'm not ready to see their faces."

"You are ready, Justin. You are. You're just scared. And that's not a good enough reason to prolong this absence you've had from your family. They haven't seen or heard from you in a month. Don't you think you owe them this much? Nobody's asking you to go in there and kumbaya with all of them, but at least go in and let them know you're alive."

"They know I'm alive." He countered, his lips pouting out more with every second that passed.

"Fine, then, forget that. Go in there, Justin, and let them know you give a shit." When his eyes met mine I could see him caving, and I was silently rocked back to an hour and a half ago when I talked JC down.

I should go into therapy. I wondered.

I snapped myself out of my thoughts and looked into his eyes. "I haven't seen my mother since I was a child. I've never told anyone this, but I loved her with all my heart. I think about her everyday and I miss her. If she'd have shown up at my door anytime in the last seventeen years, even if she had the most piss poor excuse for not being in my life so so long, with a genuine want to be in my life... that would be it. That would be all I needed. Your family can be angry at you until they're blue in the face, Justin, and that's thier right. But, believe me, you'd rather have them be angry at you than thinking that you don't give a shit about them, because that... is the worst feeling in the world. I wouldn't wish it on my worst fucking enemy and I certainly wouldn't wish it on the people on the other side of that door. So, no, I'm not relenting control of this god damn vehicle. The only place it's going is back into that driveway and, believe you me, I will sit here all night." I crossed my arms to solidify my threat. "Yes, I will."

Justin stared at me for several long moments and, just when I was sure he was about to start screaming at me, he smiled. "I'm glad you're here." He whispered.

He pulled the car back into the driveway and I was about to reject the hug he was sure to try and give me once he had it in park.

Then we heard the front door slam.

A leggy brunette woman came barreling down the porch, strutting down the long walkway and towards the car with a fury that rivaled Godzilla.

Immediately, Justin stiffened, confirming that this was family member #1 and she was not to be fucked with. He climbed out of the car, quickly, and opened his arms to the approaching female.

She stopped in front of his outstretched arms, pursed her lips, and slapped the shit out of him.

I gasped.

So did Justin.

Welcome home, baby.

--

Standing in the silence following the slapping of Justin, the young woman stared at her hand, as if she couldn't believe what it had just done. Justin's head was turned away from her, in the direction she'd slapped him, and he didn't seem in a big hurry to look back at her. And were was I?

In the car.

Was I moving?

Hell no.

Justin took a few heavy breaths, as if he were willing himself to be strong, and craned his head to her. They stood, face to face, eyes locked. From where I sat, they looked nothing alike, but they were obviously related. There was a familiarity and a comfort they shared that proved that fact.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, holding out his hands. "But I'm here."

From the look on her face, the girl did seem sorry, which was the only thing that stopped me from jumping out of the car and going all wild bunch on her. He hair was stick straight and she had an average body. Her brown eyes were angry under the sun, but also wet with tears. She didn't know how to handle to very sight of him. She wanted to be angry because she loved him, but couldn't stay angry because she loved him.

It was a foreign expression to me, since I'd never experienced such emotion on someone's face directed at me.

She wiped a fallen tear from her face and shook her head.

"Clo..." Justin begged her to respond to him.

I quietly put a name to the face as I watched the scene before me like a movie.

For a few moments longer, she stared at him, then her eyes narrowed to me. My heart stopped as I saw her mouth, 'Why is she here?'. She said the word 'she' with venom and it was accompanied by a deep frown. At least, I thought, she had the decency to whisper for my sake. When I saw Justin saying something back, also keeping his voice down, my heart warmed at the sight. Even thought I couldn't hear him, I knew he was standing up for me, and it made me so proud of him.

As he spoke quietly with 'Clo', who's real name I assumed was 'Cloey', she kept a suspicious eye on me, and even rolled them a few times. She was unconvinced by what he was telling her. She'd probably read about me in the magazines and had come to her own fucked up conclusions weeks ago.

"Come inside." She said, loud enough for me to hear. Her voice was hard. "I'll get you some ice." She turned her back on Justin and began towards the house.

He followed behind her, looking at me only to signify that I follow. I quickly climbed out of the car, never taking my eyes off of Cloey. I already didn't like the bitch.

With the way Justin was looking at me, as I came into step next to him, he may as well have been speaking to me with words.

Let me handle this. His eyes warned.

And I promised myself that I would.

--

I followed Justin into the house, which was a lot quieter then I imagined it would be. For some reason, I'd expected all of his family and friends (of which I assumed there were hundreds) to be waiting in the living room of his home. They would all be in a single file line, each one taking turns to come up and give Justin a piece of their minds. Some would hug him and thank god he was okay, others would cuss him out and some (apparently Cloe would belong to this bunch) would hit, slap or kick them with all of their might before strutting out the door without another word.

There was none of that, though.

In fact, it was eerily quiet.

Justin, who was obviously thinking the same thing I was, frowned. Cloey hurried into the kitchen, leaving us standing at the entrance. The house was more amazing inside than it was out. The moment you walked through the doors you were met with two grand staircases on each end of the room, both curving up onto the second floor. There were wall to wall windows in the grand room, killing the need for any artificial light, and the marble floor beneath us shone so bright that it was almost blinding.

"This house is out of control big." I had to comment. "Even for you."

"That's the one thing." He chuckled. "That I agree with you on."

"Who's the girl?"

"Cloey. My cousin."

"She's a real peach."

"Don't." He warned.

"I know. I know you don't want me mouthing off to her. That's why I'm getting it out of my system now."

He couldn't seem to find anything wrong with my reasoning, so he kept quiet.

"I can't believe she slapped you." I whispered. "I was this close to jumping in there and getting your back, you know." I said. "Hopefully your mom doesn't have the same reaction."

"She wont." He said. "I mean... she'll want to, but... she's not a violent woman."

Cloey came from around one of the corners, I wasn't exactly sure what part of the house she'd emerged from in this castle, which a zip-lock bag full of ice in her hands. "Here." She said, placing it in his hand.

"Thanks." Justin said, taking the bag. He didn't put it on his face, though, but let it hang at his side. He was too anxious, I noticed, to care about his quickly reddening face. "This is Trevion." He motioned to me.

Just as I was about to reach a hand out to greet her she spat. "Yeah, I know."

It took everything I had not to slap a bitch.

"Where's mom?" He asked, clutching and unclenching the zip-lock bag beneath his fingers.

The second he asked the question, a look of confusion crossed Cloey's face. She shook her head, as if there were too many thoughts in there for her to handle all at once. She tightened her fingers around her crossed arms. "What do you mean?" She asked.

Justin was looking at her like she was an idiot, and who could blame him?

"I mean... where's mom?" He asked, again, cocking his head out because he didn't understand what was confusing about his question.

"But..." Cloey looked at me, as if this whole mix up was somehow my fault, even though I didn't know what the fuck was going on, then back at Justin. "I thought... I thought you met up with her in Vegas. I thought that was why you came down."

Now both of us were looking at the girl like she had two heads. What the fuck was she talking about?

Justin shook his head. "No... I haven't seen her since I left. I've been in Vegas this whole time and I haven't seen her."

All of a sudden, Cloey was no longer angry. The look that passed over her face was chilling.

"Oh no." She put her hands on top of her head, as if she had the whole world on her shoulders. "You don't know."

Justin took a step toward her, as did I, his eyes wide.

"What?" He strongly questioned. "What don't I know?"

"I thought... Justin..." Tears fell from her eyes. Without another seconds hesitation and no word of warning, she cried. "Paul died last night."

Justin's entire body swayed, and I reached out to steady him in fear that he would topple over. The sight of him so disoriented immediately upset me, but at that very second, I could only think one coherent thought.

Who was Paul?