The three of us sat on the couch in the living room, for the life of me I couldn’t remember when or how we’d made it there from the front door, but we had. Cloey sat on a recliner across from where Justin and I were next to each other on the sofa. Over the coffee table her eyes shot from me to him. I was focused on Justin, scared for him, with no idea what to say or do. Every time I took my eyes off of him, though, and looked at Cloey, her eyes were on me, and they were none too happy.

“I don’t understand.” He finally said, after a long moment of silence. “How this could have happened without my knowing about it. Why didn’t someone tell me? Why didn’t someone…” He stopped talking, almost as if he’d realized the answer to his question in the middle of asking it.

“Nobody knew where you were.” Cloey stated the obvious. Her eyes welled with anger. “You just left. You left two days after Paul put himself in the hospital.”

“But cancer?” Justin beamed. “He checked himself into that place for cancer and none of us knew about it? How?”

“He didn’t know it was cancer when he checked himself in. He complained of a stomach ache. The doctors didn’t take him as seriously as they should have. Maybe they assumed he was just looking for drugs, I don’t know. They didn’t run any real tests on him until the day after and the entire left side of his torso was engulfed by it. They didn’t know how he could have been… how he was still walking, talking… breathing. That’s how much the cancer had spread. That’s how bad it was. Nobody knew. Not even him. The doctors told him it was cancer and he died the next day. Nobody knew where you were.” She said, for the second time that evening.

“So if those asshole had run tests on him from the moment he’d asked—“

“It would have still been too late. Like I said, the cancer had spread so much. By then, it was only a matter of time. A very small matter.”

I sat with my hands in my lap, feeling like a complete intruder in this conversation. In this house. The only thing in the room that I was familiar with was Justin and at the moment, seeing the look on his face, I barely recognized him myself.

“Lynn left for Las Vegas the other day and she couldn’t find you.”

Justin fiddled with the cell phone in his hand. “I can’t get in touch with her. I don’t understand. Why isn’t her phone on… why? How could this happen? How could this have fucking happened?” His voice rose with every word he said and I finally felt comfortable. For the last hour or so he’d been suspiciously calm for someone who’d just head the news he’d head. He stood from the couch and, like we were attached to him by strings, Cloey and I stood, as well.

He stood tall; his hands perched on his head. “Oh Jesus.” He whispered. “Trev.”

At the sound of my name, I immediately stepped up to him and touched the side of his arm. He didn’t say anything to me and shrugged away from my touch, collapsing back on the couch.

“It’s my fault.” He whispered, as if the thought had hit him right at that very moment. His entire face collapsed. “It’s all my fault.”

“No.” I said, immediately, taking a seat next to him. “No, Justin. God, don’t do that. Don’t do that to yourself. There’s nothing you could have done. You heard Cloey, the cancer had already spread. It was a surprise for everyone.”

He looked at me, and if I hadn’t known any better, I would have never guessed anything was wrong with him. He was so in control of his every emotion and I was confused by it.

“I wasn’t there for him. Why wasn’t I there? Why wasn’t I there? He’s dead. He’s fucking dead, Trev, and where was I? In Vegas crying like a bitch because my girlfriend’s a slut and my best friend betrayed me. I was crying over that while my father sat in a fucking hospital room, listening to a bunch of fucking strangers telling him he had a day to live? Maybe if I could have just…” He took a struggled breath, “If I’d have just been there.”

“There was nothing you could have done.” I said, in the most soothing voice possible.

“He could have said goodbye.” Cloey jumped in, catching both Justin and mine’s surprised gazes. “He could have been there when Paul was asking for him, asking about him, worrying about him when he should have been worried about his damn self. He could have fucking been there and let his step father know that he gave a damn! But he wasn’t! You weren’t Justin.”

And there it was, the white hot anger. I tried to control it, but was overwhelmed.

Swallowing back the desire to leap over the table and wrap my arms around her neck, I growled. “Don’t.” I said calmly, giving her the first and final warning.

I looked at Justin, and he looked horrified. Like a little boy that had done something terribly wrong and would pay any price to fix it. This bitch was confirming every thought, true or not, that was already running through his head and for that I could have really killed her.

“Am I lying?” She asked. “Am I? Was he not too busy fucking you in Vegas to be by his father’s bedside while he took his last breath? Am I lying? Please tell me!”

“Shut up!” I screamed.

She hollered at Justin, and didn’t even seem to realize I was in the room, anymore. “You betrayed him, Justin! The man died thinking that his only son couldn’t care less about him. How the fuck does that make you feel, huh? How do you think it made him feel?!”

I could feel Justin’s entire body trembling beneath my touch and would have no more of it. “Okay.” I stood tall. “This is going to stop right mother fuckin’ now.”

“What?!” She screamed, focusing her fiery blue eyes on me. “Huh? Or what?”

“Or you’re not only going to be losing a step-father this week, but a cousin. Are you really willing to lose two family members in the span of seven days? You may think that you’re speaking the truth, Cloey, but all you’re doing is pushing Justin away, placing a burden of blame on his shoulders that could follow him for the rest of his life and, quite frankly, you’re pissing me the fuck off.”

“I’m not afraid of you.” She spat.

“Then you’re even stupider than I imagined.” I said, reveling in the shock on her face. “Now back the fuck off or I’m taking Justin and leaving this house.”

She laughed. “That will be easy. He’s an expert in that area.”

“Why are you doing this?” I spat, clenched my fists. “Why? Don’t you see he’s hurting over this? He’s just sitting here, taking all of your shit and not saying a word. Stop acting like a fucking monster, this man is your family. Don’t you understand that? Your FAMILY! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Oh please. What are you going to tell me next? That everything happens for a reason? That in two years we’ll be looking back on this whole moment and laughing? Doubtful.”

“What I can tell you is your about to get a fist in the mouth if you don’t shut the fuck up right now you crazy bitch!”

She stared at me, and I waited for her to say something—anything.

Just give me a reason to knock your fucking teeth in. I thought.

She didn’t say a word. Apparently, she was smarter than I’d imagined.

“I need to take a walk.” She spat, giving Justin one last accusatory glare before stomping out of the room.

I looked down at him, and he sat stoic, his eyes full of sadness and regret. I had no idea what to say. I had no idea what to do for him.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” He whispered.

I watched him stand and cross the room to the bathroom. The second the door was closed behind him, I put my hands on my head. If this was how his cousin was reacting, I could barely imagine his more immediate family.

This was going to be bad.

--

Later on that night, after following him all around the house, Justin and I sat side by side on his bed. We hadn’t said much to each other but he was visibly more relaxed now that he didn’t have to deal with his family, who had all gone to bed hours before.

“Well… were you two, I mean…” I knew what I wanted to say, and was only hesitating because everything seemed like the wrong thing to say. Even something as simple as ‘pass the catsup’ could become a complicated theory in my mind of whether or not it was the appropriate thing to say at times like these. “Were you close?”

“Does it matter?” He looked at me. “My mother loved him. I loved my mother. I love my mother. As if it wasn’t enough stress for her that I disappeared out of nowhere. Now this…” He lost his voice, and looked away from me.

If I could have guessed, I’d have said his room was bigger then the whole downstairs of the house. His room was painted red, something I don’t think anyone in their right mind would ever try, and it worked. The entire area was very unlived in and I was vaguely reminded of an Ikea catalogue I’d flipped through years ago.

“You couldn’t have known.” I said, after much thought.

“I don’t know if I can do this for another two weeks.” He whispered. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“I thought you were only staying for the week.”

“I thought so, too. With everything that’s happened, though… I can’t… I can’t just leave. I was actually planning on asking you…” He paused.

“I can’t.” I said, already knowing what he was fixing to ask me. “I would stay… if I could, but I have school. I’m sorry.”

The way he looked at me after I said the words broke my heart, a little bit, and I was almost to the point of damning my classes or any other responsibilities I had just so I would never have to see that look on his face, again.

“I understand.” He said, staring down into his lap. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” He cleared his throat and looked towards the door. “I’m going to go to the bathroom, all right?”

Before I could answer, he stood tall and crossed the room to the bathroom. I followed him, having no idea why and ignored him when he looked at me like I was crazy.

“You going to help me roll my toilet tissue, or what?” He asked.

I didn’t smile, couldn’t, and just shrugged a shoulder. “You’ve just been going to the bathroom an awful lot today.”

“I have a weak bladder.”

That was almost convincing. “Since when?”

“Since always.” He said a hint of annoyance in his tone.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay.” I said.

“I’m fine.” He insisted. “You don’t have to act like this girl who has compassion and gives a shit about anyone else. I know better.” And, with that, he stepped into the bathroom, and closed the door on my face.

No, Justin, you don’t know me.

If you did, you’d know that what you just said made my heart fall to my feet.

I slept in the guestroom that night, and couldn’t keep my eyes closed for more than a few hours without opening them in panic. With each hour, I was hit with a new worry. All I could think about was Justin and what he was going through. I wondered if he was doing all right across the hall. I wondered what he was doing every time he went to the bathroom. If I’d counted correctly, he’d gone thirteen times since the moment we’d gotten there. I hadn’t seem him eat or drink anything all day, so these bathroom breaks were a mystery to me.

I thought back through all the days I’d known him, wondering if he always went to the bathroom this much.

On this trip down memory lane, my mind went to the night we’d first met, and I was reminiscing for all of five seconds before my breath caught in my throat.

The silence of the house was deafening as I jumped out of the bed. The second my feet hit the plush carpet I’d broken into a run. I pulled the bedroom door open and tried to hurry across the large, unfamiliar hallway without running into or tripping over something. I grabbed the handle to what I was sure was Justin’s room, opened it, and immediately closed it after my eyes landed on a sleeping Cloey. I took a second to think about what a bitch that girl truly was, before focusing on the doors ahead of me.

I opened door after door, finding games rooms, bathrooms, work out rooms, dance rooms, but no Justin.

“Where are you?” I whispered, after opening a door to the fourth empty bedroom I’d seen. I wondered if one of those empty rooms was Justin’s. If he’d waited for all of us to go to sleep before sneaking out to do god knows what.

I opened the door second closest to the end of the hallway and let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. There he was.

“Thank god.” I sighed, stepping into the room and closing the door. He was fast asleep.

At least one of us was.

A white down comforter was bunched up around his feet. His body was long and lean. I wondered when he’d ever found the time to keep up an exercise regime in the last month. In Vegas, he’d followed me around so much that I was sure the kid hadn’t taken a shit without my knowing about it. He was laying on his stomach and even on the king sized bed his feet hung over the edge. He clutched two bunched up pillows in his arms and was probably drooling into them as I watched him.

As I looked at him, I wondered why I’d been so panicked in the first place.

Then I realized. This was going to be a time when Justin was going to have to do a lot of grieving and, from what I knew, he didn’t handle grief all that well.

I crossed the room to the bed as quietly as I could, trying not to wake him. Jumping into the bed, I was momentarily sidetracked by how soft it was. I crawled across the huge mattress to where he lay and threw one arm over his body so I could take a peek at his face.

Yep, he was asleep.

Good.

If he’s asleep he can’t fight me, which he surely would if he realized that I planned on sleeping with him tonight. I needed to be close to him. Not because I loved his smell. Not because he was the love of my life.

Because I was scared for him, and when it came to him I COULD be compassionate and I DID give a shit.

No matter what he thought.

I lay next to him and curled my hands under my head. Surprisingly, sleep seemed to be coming much easier now that I was next to him then I had when I was down the hall.

--

The second day in the house went by in a flash, with Justin walking around like nothing was wrong leaving me worried sick. Both of us did our damndest to avoid Cloey, at all costs, and she seemed to be doing the same. I’d yet to meet any more of his family members and he informed me that the funeral was in Tennessee and that’s where they all would be. His mother still hadn’t come home, and that was just another notch to add to his already stressed out belt. She wouldn’t even turn her phone on, and I was beginning to feel angry at her for doing this to Justin.

Of course, he didn’t feel the same. He felt like it was what he deserved.

Before I knew it, night was falling and I’d yet to see him upset, crying, or giving me any indication that he was at all affected by everything.

I stood outside of the bathroom door later that night, unable to move. The urge to put my ear against the crack of the large wood Justin had just disappeared behind was almost too much to bear. I didn’t need to do that, though. I knew what he was doing.

At first I was confused by Justin’s frequent trips to the bathroom during the day. By the tenth time, I realized that he was hiding. Very faintly, and only for a moment, I would hear a weep or a sniffle. One second, and it was enough to rip my whole heart in two.

He didn’t want to cry in front of me, so he was going into hiding. I didn’t know much about people, but I was sure that couldn’t have been healthy.

One thing was for certain, his family may have hated my guts, but until these bathroom breaks made a quick downfall I was not leaving his side. Period. Endo.

Leaning against the wall, I pretended not to be listening intently as I studied the carpeting, paintings and light fixtures that decorated the hallway. The house was immaculate, even for Justin. Everything seemed to be exactly where it was meant to be and every room smelled like home. I didn’t even know how to put a name to the scent that flowed around the house, but it was warm and inviting. Something that a palace like this definitely needed.

I jolted, startled out of my thoughts, at the sound of the door jam jingling.

Two seconds later Justin was in front of me in sweat pants and a wife beater. Leaning my head against the wall, I looked him in the eye, but didn’t say a word, preoccupying myself with cleaning the non-existent dirt from under my fingernails.

I knew he’d been in there crying, overwhelmed with guilt for his father, and I had no idea what to do for him.

I had no idea what to do for someone who was obviously going through so much, but hid it so well.

“You look good.” I said.

He smiled, but it wasn’t genuine. From a mile away I could spot the real one, and that wasn’t it.

“Too good for the circumstances… I hate to be tact, but…” My eyes fell to the ground and I shrugged.

“You hate to be tact?” He asked. His voice was horse. The smile on his face was gone as quickly as it was there, a frown eating away at the refreshing sight.

I stared at him, running around in my head for the right thing to say or do, but nothing came. Never had I experienced the burden of making someone feel better. Of comforting. My sarcasm was not only unwelcome, but more inappropriate that it probably ever would be. My sarcasm was like my third arm so, obviously, as I stared up at this broken man, the man I barely knew, I had nothing to say.

He looked so good that any person who walked by him would never know what he’d gone through. I wondered if that was normal. I wondered if it took time for things like this to kick in.

“What are you thinking?” He asked me.

“What are you thinking?” I asked. The way he looked at me was unfamiliar to me, so I asked again. “What are you thinking? It doesn’t matter what I’m thinking.”

“It matters to me.” He whispered.

“I’m thinking…” I wondered if I should just lie to him. “I don’t know what to do… what to say.” I answered honestly, and shrugged. “I want to cry for you, but it seems selfish since I haven’t lost nearly as much as…” I made myself stop talking and looked away. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Yes you do.” He said. “You’re Trevion. You always have something to say. You just don’t want to. This whole thing makes you uncomfortable, and I can’t blame you.”

“It doesn’t matter how I feel.”

“It matters to me.” He said. “It matters to me. You don’t have to follow me around the house, I’m not that fragile. I’m a strong guy. You don’t have to be so nice. You don’t have to be at my beck and call. You don’t have to let me sleep with you if you don’t… if you don’t want me to. I want you to be you. That’s the only way I’m going to get through this. You’re the only one on my side right now. I don’t know how to be me when you’re not being you. You know?”

I did know, and I was frightened by that.

We stood facing one another, struck uncomfortable by the silence we weren’t familiar with. Usually, words came so easily when we were together, now we were stuck speechless. The last few days had been an enormous slap in the face for us both and neither of us knew how to handle it.

“I just don’t want you to be alone.” I said. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I’ll be fine. I don’t want you to have to step outside of your comfort zone just because I’m going through this. On my own time, in my own way, I have to deal with all of this. On my own, Trev.”

The sight of him standing on the roof of my dorm a month ago flashed through my mind, and I fought to push it out.

I stared at him, wondering why he wasn’t listening to what I was saying. “Justin… I can’t leave you alone. I won’t leave you alone. Maybe I should say it a little fucking slower so you’ll understand.”

“Maybe I could say it in Spanish?” I offered. “How do you say ‘I’m not fucking leaving you’ in Portuguese? What about French? Italian? Because the good old English language sure doesn’t seem to be hitting any chords over here. I’m. Not. Going. Anywhere. Period.” I held up my hand and swiped it through the air to emphasize my decision. “Capishe?”

My entire body cooled over and I jammed my eyes shut to rid the thoughts in my head. When I opened them, again, Justin seemed concerned.

“You think I’m going to try and…” He didn’t even finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

My eyes immediately stung and I looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That was a long time ago. That night… I was a different person that night, Trev. That man that was standing on the roof that night, I…” He held both hands over his heart. “I don’t even know that person. I don’t know who I was that night, what could have possibly been going through my head. I’ll never understand what came over me back then. A complete mental shutdown, an out of body experience, I don’t know. But I wasn’t there, on the roof, I wasn’t there. But right now, Trevion? Right now, I’m here. This is me. All of me. Every inch.” He reached out to take my hand but I pulled it away. It seriously bothered me the way he could tell what I was thinking without my saying one word.

I locked both of my hands behind my back, not wanting to touch him. It was a lost cause, though, since just looking at him sent the very shockwaves I was fighting to avoid through touch right down my spine, anyway.

“Listen to me, Trevion.” He said, and waiting until I looked at him. “The only way I’m making my exit is the way god intends. Not by choice. I wouldn’t do that to myself, to my family… to you. I wouldn’t do that. You have my word.”

I looked him in the eye and tightened my hands behind my back. Several seconds past, and I didn’t even reach up to wipe them away as tears wet my cheeks. I mustered up all the courage I had and frowned. “That’s not good enough.”

He took a step away from me, like I’d just slugged him in the mouth.

“That’s not good enough for me.”

And I stood my ground.

When he turned and walked away from me, huffing and puffing, I followed. Halfway across the never ending hallway, he stopped and looked at me.

He opened his mouth, probably to yell, but I beat him to it.

“Five weeks ago you and I got in a big argument. I didn’t know you and you didn’t know me. The only thing we had I common was the fact that we were both there the moment you tried to kill yourself. I saved you because it seemed like the right thing to do, let you sleep on my floor because I felt sorry for you… for an entire day I convinced myself that you were just some temporary baggage that I didn’t really care about and would have gotten rid of by the end of the week. All it took was a day, Justin, one day and that was it. I was involved completely, one hundred percent. When we woke up the morning after everything and got into that fight, I was relieved because I would be rid of you and wouldn’t have to deal with the burden of giving a damn about someone else. But then…” I covered my eyes, damning the tears that I’d long ago convinced myself I was incapable of. “I came back from my classes and you were gone. All of your shit, which then consisted of a wallet, a key ring and a pack of gum, was sitting on my dresser. You bought me that new scarf. You thought of me when you didn’t have to… and I remembered wondering if people like you actually existed or if you were some pop star robot that a big man with fat pockets had concocted in some secret factory in New Mexico.” Justin guffawed, but I ignored him. “Then I saw the check you wrote. I remember reading a magazine when I was younger, one of those stupid teen magazines. There was an article about a girl who’d committed suicide and at the end of it they showed all the warning signs. According to them the first sign that someone is going to kill themselves is when they start giving away their possessions. No matter how insignificant or miniscule. So, of course, your handing over every penny you’d ever made sent up a red flag or two.” I laughed just to keep myself from crying. I could feel his hand on the back of my neck. He was squeezing it, and I knew he only did that when he was sorry. “I thought you were dead, and I’ll never forget the feeling that rushed through me. I’ll never forget the panic… the fear. Not ever. You don’t have to be sorry for leaving me with that memory. I’m actually thankful for it. I’ll never forget the way I felt when I thought you’d killed yourself, and because of that I’m not leaving you. I don’t care if you’re not the same man you were that night. I don’t give a god damn. I’ve only seen you grieve once, Justin. I’ve only seen how you handle the grief once. Once is more than enough. Maybe you don’t always go to the nearest skyscraper when things get rough. But you did it once, and once is too much. Period. I’m not leaving you alone. Period. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not next week. It doesn’t matter what you say or what you do, Justin. So you can make this easy or you can make it hard but I’m just letting you know that the outcome is going to be the same one way or the other until I’m satisfied, all right?” I pushed his hand away, suddenly angry at him, and wiped the tears from my eyes. “And it’s your job to cry. I shouldn’t be the fucking one crying right now. That’s officially your job, Justin!” I knew I was now rambling, but couldn’t have cared less if someone paid me.

“Okay.” He said, immediately, the way a man did when he was desperate to calm a frantic woman. “Okay.”

I nodded stiffly.

Okay.

“Trev… I didn’t know you cared so much.” He smiled playfully.

I scrubbed my face mercilessly with the back of my hands, angered by the tears. “Shit, Justin… neither did I.”

He swiped a finger across the side of my cheek, which I was sure was red and blotchy, then pinched it.

“Liar.”

I stared up and him and wanted to fight, but didn’t have the energy. “Let’s go to bed.”

I followed him into his bedroom and I could tell he wanted to protest when I climbed into bed with him. He turned his back to me, clearly to show his disapproval, but I didn’t care. I scooted as closely as I could to him without touching him, and tucked my hands under my cheek.

I waited for him to go to sleep for a long time. Even thought his back was turned to me and his eyes were closed, I knew he wasn’t sleeping.

“I’m just worried.” I said, knowing that he could hear me. “I know that you don’t want to cry in front of me because you’re worried about how it will look. What you don’t know if that it really bothers me that you won’t cry in front of me. I don’t feel like it’s healthy. I don’t know much about this kind of thing but I don’t feel like tucking yourself away from everybody until you pull yourself together is good for you. You have to let it out. You have to trust me, Justin.”

After that, I closed my eyes and tried to find sleep. I was so worried about him that I couldn’t keep my eyes closed for more than ten minutes tops. I didn’t know how many times I’d fallen asleep and woken up before I felt him moving next to me. I’d lost count after the third or fourth time.

The room was black as night, only illuminated by the tiny wasps of moonlight that peeked through the curtains. Faintly, I could hear him weeping next to me. The sound broke my heart and made me feel relieved at the same time. I knew it would be a long time before Justin truly healed, but at least he was on his way.

At least he was letting it all out instead of finding the nearest rooftop.

I curled up behind him and wrapped my arm around his waist. The moment I touched him, his weeps turned to cries, then sobs. He set his hand over his eyes so I wouldn’t see him, and I gave him that.

I held his as tightly as I could until he wasn’t crying, anymore, and only let go when I was sure he was near sleep. Every once in a while, his eyes would flutter open and he would look back at me. He was having just as much trouble staying down as I was.

I couldn’t understand what he was going through, but I wrapped my arm around his waist and told him my thoughts, anyway.

“I read a quote somewhere a long time ago. It said that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. You pushed through everything with Britney, and I’m so proud of you for that.” I whispered. He didn’t look at me, barely moved an inch, and I set my lips next to his ear, once more. “I know you’ll push through this.”

He didn’t respond.

Ten minutes later, he was fast asleep, which meant I could finally get some sleep.

As soon as I was about to close my eyes, my mind was struck with intrigue at the picture sitting on the nightstand. It was a triangular frame covered in sparkly diamonds that I would bet money were real. The gorgeous frame kept my attention for only a moment, though, and my heart stopped at the sight before me.

Justin had his arms wrapped around an older woman, both of them smiling gleefully. Behind them were the gates of the Magic Kingdom, a background that was perfectly accented by the ridiculous mouse ears they both had on their heads.

The pictures was obviously old, as Justin looked about twelve or thirteen.

The woman in front of him looked so familiar.

Too familiar.

It took all of two seconds for it to hit me.

The red hair. The curls. The outfit that was more appropriate for a seventeen year old in a 21+ club.

“Hey, are you Trevion?”

“No.” I said, out loud, hoping that saying the word would make it all go away.

“Noooooo.” I gasped. I reached over Justin, who apparently slept like a rock because he didn’t move and inch, and grabbed the frame beneath my shaking fingers. I flipped it over and opened it, pulling the picture out. On the back, written very sloppily were the words I was dreading.

Justin and Lynn Harless at Disneyland ’96.

The entire weight of my body rested on Justin’s back, as I could barely find it in myself to breathe, let alone sit upright.

She HAD been in Vegas the last few days, looking for Justin so she could tell him that Paul was sick. Apparently she’d had a hard time locating him and probably figured that I was her best bet.

Right?

“No.” I stared at the picture.

"Well, I live up in the Dalton dorms, okay? Drop me a line when you've found a tub top that fits, a straightening iron that's capable of taming that wild beast I'm sure you like to call hair and the ability to speak a syllable or two and maybe I'll be able to muster up the energy to ignore you. Okay?"

“No.” I said, again, but staring at the picture, my brain said what my mouth couldn’t.

Yes.

“NO.”

Yes.

I’d cussed out Justin’s mother.

“Well…” I whispered, setting the frame, which was now trembling under my fingers, back on the nightstand. “Well…” I swallowed.

I gazed down at Justin, who was still fast asleep, and tried to imagine what his reaction to this would be.

When I realized there was no way in hell it would be anything good, since the boy thought the sun rose and fell on his mother, I felt sick.

“Fuck.”

--

“Morning.” I greeted Justin with a yawn. It was seven AM and I’d been up for hours, unable to take my mind off of Lynn and the things I’d said to her. Somehow, against the wishes of my sleep induced stupor and guilt ridden mind, I’d found my way from his bedroom to the kitchen. I figured the only way to take my mind off of everything was to keep myself busy. Task number one: finding a way to cook breakfast in this massive kitchen. Task number two: tell Justin about the Lynn situation before he found out from somebody else.

Task number two make me want to puke.

So I pushed it out of my mind.

“Morning.” He responded. “You found the kitchen.” He remarked with a grin.

“I only got lost seven times!”

“I’m so proud of you, Trev.”

“How are you?”

He nodded. “I’m okay, I guess. Much better than last night.”

“Good. Good. It only gets easier from here.” I had no idea whether or not that was true, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

“You slept with me last night.” He said, as if this were information that I, myself, wasn’t already aware of.

“I know.” I said, absently.

Justin stood in the door jam of the kitchen and watched me as I hurried about opening and closing the drawers and cabinets of the unfamiliar area.

“Why?” He asked.

I continued searching the massive area, tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and tried to ignore his question. I looked up at him, saw his raised eyebrows, and sighed. “I was hoping that you’d wake up and make sweet, passionate love to me?” I said, as more of a question than an answer.

He chuckled. “No, really.”

“Really.”

“Look, Trevion, if you really wanted to have sex with me, I would have known. And we would have done it, already.”

I stood tall, putting a halt to my search. Looking into his eyes, I was comforted by how much calmer they were. “Your ego never fails to astound, J.”

“I’ve had sex with a lot of women. I know all the signs, all the moves. Unfortunately, I’ve yet to receive any of those from you.”

“A woman who didn’t want to have sex with you. That must have boggled your mind, huh, Timberlake?”

“It took me a few weeks to make sense of it. I finally realized that you’re actually one of the few women that really didn’t give a damn who I was, what I could buy you or what I could do for your career. The word refreshing doesn’t even begin to describe you.”

“So you weren’t, at all, disappointed that I didn’t want to sleep with you?”

He considered my words, then laughed nervously. “I’m not going to answer that.”

“Do you want to sleep with me?”

“Why do you want to know?”

I shrugged.

“I find you very attractive. I always have.”

“That’s not answering my question.”

“Why does it matter? Even if I did have those feelings for you, you don’t feel the same way so it would be a lost cause… right?”

“Sure.” I immediately answered.

“I understand why you've been coming to bed with me at night.” He said, his voice taking on a very serious tone. “And you don’t have to, anymore.”

“Don’t have to what?”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

"Well..." I stared at him, keeping my face calm even though my heart was feeling the exact opposite.  "Well, I do."  It was the most honest I've ever been with him. To avoid looking at him for another second, I continued my search, which seemed more like a lost cause with every drawer or cabinet that I opened.

“I know you do.  What are you looking for?”

“Knifes and plates.” I said.

“Plates are over your head and knifes are there.” He pointed to the drawers closest to him.

“Thanks.” I grabbed all of my supplies, sat them in front of me on the counter and began chopping.

“You cooking me breakfast?” He smiled like a true jackass.

“No, I’m cooking ME breakfast. If there’s any left, feel free to take my scraps.”

His grin widened. “You’re cooking me breakfast.”

I didn’t respond.

“Where’s Cloey?” He asked, scratching the back of his head and frowning with sleepy eyes.

“She went to the airport. Said she was going to Tennessee a few days early. I’d say we should could our blessings on that one.”

Justin smiled through his tired eyes. “She’s not a bad girl.”

“Really?”

“She’s just angry. She has the right to be.”

“Well, she didn’t have the right to talk to you the way she did.” I spat, chopping the onion before me to reflect my anger.

“I think she did.” He said.

I figured that he and I would just have to agree to disagree on that one.

“I guess it’s just you and me, then.” He said, smiling. “Since everyone is in Tennessee, getting ready for the funeral and my mom won’t turn on her fucking phone.”

I tried to ignore the last part of his sentence, since it reminded me that of what I’d done to his mother. Why am I such a bitch? I quietly thought to myself. My attitude was bad, I knew that, but it had never screwed me over quite as badly as it had this time.

“Yep.” I responded. “If I get lost in this ridiculously massive house, I have faith that you’ll follow my screams and save me.”

“I will.” He smiled. “Just don’t wander off past the game room. We’ve lost a couple of people that way. Mostly children. Poor little Timmy…” He somberly stated, staring off into space.

I tried not to smile at his stupidity, but couldn’t help it.

“The funeral’s in two days. I bought you a ticket to Tennessee and a ticket back to Vegas from there.”

I stopped cutting and looked at him. “Are you sure that’s the best idea?” I asked.

“What?”

“Me going to the funeral? Your family hates me. I think it would be a little disrespectful.”

“I disagree.”

“They all think I’m the reason that you weren’t around for your step father, Justin. It’s not like they’re going to welcome me with open arms.”

“They’re going to have to.”

“They WON’T.”

“They’re going to HAVE to, Trevion. You had nothing to do with my not being here for him. It was all me, and if I have anything to do with it, my family is going to know that by the end of all this.”

“You don’t have to protect me.” I whispered.

“If you can take care of yourself, why are you worried about coming?”

“It just seems like I’d be intruding on a really personal time for you and your family.”

“I’m pretty sure that my inviting you kills any chance of intrusion.” He said, and when I didn’t respond, he frowned. “Please come. I’m not exactly Mr. Popular and it’ll be good to have you there. You keep me laughing. You keep me happy.”

“Could have fooled me.” I said.

“What does that mean?”

I thought about what he’d said to me the other night before he’d gone into the bathroom. It hurt me more than I’d ever admit. More than I’d ever tell him, so I just shrugged.

“I hope you know I didn’t mean what I said last night. I’m sorry.”

How the fuck does this guy read my mind the way he does? It was starting to really irk me.

Unable to respond, because I was still a little hurt by what he’d said, I continued to chop onions like it was my life’s mission.

He leaned up against the counter and watched me at work for a couple of minutes, crossing his arms. “I suppose my feelings were hurt when you told me you couldn’t stay the whole two weeks.”

“I have school.” I growled, taking the knife to the onions now, with an unnecessary force.

“I know you do. You’ve always been dedicated to school. It’s one of the things I admire the most about you, lord knows I hated every second of high school. The thought of college....” He visibly shivered, then chuckled at whatever memory he must have conjured up for himself. “You can’t play hooky just because I’m going through this. You’ve always been there for me and I have no right to try and take over your life the way I have. I just took it a little too personally. All right? I’m sorry.”

I took in his words and felt a real desire to forget what he’d said and put it behind me. Then, I thought about the picture I’d seen on his nightstand the night before, and wanted to kick myself for having the nerve to be angry at him, at all. .

“Justin—“ I started to tell him everything. It seemed like the right thing to do.

“Hm?” He blinked, rapidly, and looked at me with raised eyebrows. It was as if I’d torn him away from a deep thought. I wondered what he was thinking about, as I looked up into his eyes. They were redder than usual and very tired. The kid was losing it by the second and, as I watched him, I didn’t have the heart to tell him, not then.

I cocked my head back, surprised at the emotions that were pouring out of me, and shook my head. “No… nothing. Forget it.”

“Tell me.” He immediately responded.

I stared up at him, wanting so badly just to tell him. The way he looked at me, though, like I was the only light in his life, his saving grace, made it impossible the say the words. He gave me way too much credit, that much was obvious, but I wasn’t quite ready to prove him wrong.

“Help me cut these onions.” I said, instead, opening the drawer beneath me and handing him a knife.

He smiled and took the knife from me, standing next to me so we were arm to arm. He took the other half of the onion and watched me for several seconds before trying to emulate me. I grinned and he sloppily cut it, leaving it looking choppy and gross.

He smiled sheepishly. “I’m not much of a cook.” He said, softly.

“Takes practice.” I reassured.

“Since when can you cook? I remember you made that Mac and cheese one night in the dorm room and, baby, it wasn’t the stuff dreams were made of.”

“Don’t call me, baby. And, hey, there’s only so much I can do with Craft macaroni, all right? I’m not even sure if that stuff is real cheese.”

“Me either.” He said, “Not after eating that.”

I punched him in the arm when he laughed. “Just shut up and cut. I’ve got a knife and I’m not afraid to use it.”

“Feel free.” He said. “Take me out of my misery.”

My hand froze over the onion the second the words left his mouth. When I looked over at him, he was still cutting away, oblivious to the words he’d just said and my reaction to him.

I didn’t like to hear him talk that way.

In fact, I fucking hated it.

“Let’s do something fun today.” He said.

All I wanted to do was lay around eating junk, but the prospect of getting him out of this house and getting sentences like the one he’d just uttered off his lips, was too important.

I grinned. “Okay. What do you want to do?”

“Trace will be here in a couple of hours. We want to go see that new zombie movie.”

I didn’t know what I was more horrified by, the news that Trace was coming or the fact that Justin actually expected me to see a zombie movie.

“What are we making?” He asked.

“Omelets.”

Twenty minutes, five burnt frying pans and four cut fingers later, Justin and I sat at the massive dining room table eating our respective omelets. Or, better yet, I was eating while Justin toyed around with his, which looked nothing short of horrific.

“This is so gross.” He spat, cringing down at his omelet, which looked more like pigeon guts or Gak than something a person would willingly swallow into their system. “I told you. You should have made mine for me.” He looked up at me like I was the worst human being alive.

"Actually, Justin, I tried to help you with yours but you refused.  In fact, I'm pretty sure it was you that took our nice cooking session and turned it into some sick cometition just like you do with EVERYTHING." I took a big bite of my omelet and looked him in the eyes before rubbing my belly. “Mmm, that’s sooo good.”

Un-amused didn’t even begin to describe the look on his face. “Is it good, Trev?” He asked, throwing his fork against the plate, making it clank, finally giving up on his disaster of an entrée.

“It suure is!” I beamed, taking another bite. “Hey, Justin, earlier you said that the only thing you were bad at was making a cup of coffee. Apparently, I not ONLY kick your sorry ass in bowling but in the kitchen, as well. That is so sad, if you ask me.” I smiled gleefully before taking a sip of my orange juice.

From the look in his eyes, Justin was obviously doing his best not to pick up the steak knife on his plate and do me in for good. If anything got down to that boy’s last nerve, I’d come to learn, it was losing. Rub that loss in his face, and you were not only on his last nerve, but grinding at it with a jagged saw.

“Mm, this is just so damn good… maybe I should taste your omelet, Justin, and then taste mine so I can compare!” I picked up my knife and fork and went to cut his omelet. As I maneuvered my way around the disgusting thing, Justin never took his eyes off of me. I smiled. “Damnit, Justin… I can’t seem to find the egg portion of this omelet.” I giggled and turned it over with my fork. “Are you sure you didn’t run out into the backyard when I wasn’t looking and shoot down some poor pigeon? Because, honestly, this…” I stabbed a piece with the fork and held it up. “Looks, suspiciously like a liver.”

“Stop it.” He said, very calmly.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered, setting it down. “Just a simple question.”

“So you’re a better cook then I am, so what?!” He beamed, finally letting it all out. "You a woman, that's your job, isn't it?"

“You know what? You're right, Justin, I’m not a better cook than you. I’m SUCH a better cook than you that they should have a cooking cemetery to bury the cooking disasters like YOU that cooking masters like ME murder in the kitchen!”

“You did not MURDER me.”

“I MURDERED YOU.”

“Trevion. You can’t murder me. Okay? I’m Justin fucking Timberlake. I am UN-murder able.”

“Well if your omelet is so god damn good why haven’t you taken one bite from it yet? Huh? Do you have an answer for that, Mr. Fucking Timberlake?”

Like I knew he would, Justin snatched up his utensils and chopped a piece of his omelet of before tossing it in his mouth. I counted the chews, he actually got all the way to five, before his face reddened. I watched in horror, even I couldn’t believe he would go as far as to eat that pile of shit, as he tried to swallow it. His internal organs would have none of it though, and the piece was barely down his throat before it hawked it right back on up, where it landed on the plate. Right where it started.

I burst into laughter.

I pointed at him in the midst of my laughter, and I was in such hysterics that I didn’t even realize it when he reached over from his side of the table.

He took my plate, with my PERFECT omelet, in his hand and gave me the fakest laugh I’d ever heard before flipping it right off of the table. The china landed on the tile below us with a clank, but didn’t break.

I stared down at the floor where my perfect omelet had been demolished, and almost started crying.

Justin, in turn, burst into laughter.

How OLD was he?

Seriously.

I decided not to make a big deal about this as the anger rushed through my veins. Calmly, I dabbed my lips with my napkin before setting it neatly on the table. I clasped my hands together in front of me, and closed my eyes for several seconds before cutting them to the laughing bastard.

“You have… five seconds.”

His laughter stopped immediately, and he looked at me, wondering if I was serious.

I smiled, pleasantly. “Four seconds.”

As if his brain started worked at exactly that second, Justin jumped from the table and raced out of the room like a flash.

“Threetwoone!” I screamed, before jumping up and rushing after him.

I chased him out of the dining room, through the kitchen, across the entry way, past the great room, through the den, and over the couches. His eccentric laughter reminded me of the laughter of a child when I chased him. And even though this dude was faster than a mother fuck, I would chase him for hours if it meant keeping that smile on his face.

Somehow, in our wild chase, we made our way back into the dining room. Justin stopped on one side of the table, leaving me on the other. He stepped left, and I followed, he flinched right, and so did I. The smile on his face was one of the brightest I’d ever seen.

“Trev…” His breathed heavily. “Don’t be crazy. Look, I’ll make you another omelet.”

“Nope! It’s too late. You shouldn’t have thrown my omelet on the floor in the first place. Poor you. Probably had no idea that you would surely die for pulling some shit like that.”

“You wouldn’t… really kill me. Would you, Trev?”

I laughted. “Justin… you have NO idea.”

In the middle of my sentence, he got bold and took off towards the kitchen. Too bad I was a gangster and was right behind him. We’d barely made it through the grand room for the second time before Justin fell. He’d tried to pull a Jackie Chan leap over the loveseat and ended up busting his ass, instead.

I circled the couch quickly and made no hesitation in leaping onto his stomach.  He jammed his eyes shut and groaned loudly at the pressure. My legs straddled his waist and I watched as he lay below me.

Exhausted.

Defeated.

“So, what?” I asked, breathing hard myself, as I stared down at him. I started counting off on my fingers. “I can kick your ass in bowling, I can kick your ass in the kitchen, and I can kick your ass PERIOD?! Aren’t you supposed to be a MAN, Justin?! Huh?”

Somewhere in between his gasps from breath, he managed to growl.

“You… didn’t… kick…” He swallowed hard, “My ass…”

I began playing with my fingernails, feigning boredom.

“I… tripped.”

“Sure, sure.” I sighed, tossing my hair back. “Hey, Justin, do you want to borrow some of my Lady Tai Bo tapes? You could probably use them.” I began giggling fanatically and cried out in horror when he suddenly reached up and grabbed both of my arms. Unable to react, since he’d done it so quickly, I was on my back before I’d even realized what the fuck was going on.

He rested his knees of either side of my waist and held my hands firmly above my head. I tried to fight him, tried to MOVE, but couldn’t. If I said that I wasn’t surprised, I would have been lying.

“Since when are you so fucking strong, huh?” I whispered. Now it was my turn to try and catch my breath. He was kind of hurting me, but I’ll be damned if it didn’t turn me on.

He gripped my wrists tighter, as if to confirm what I’d just said.

“You’re hurting me.” I gasped. As I stared up at him, I wondered if he’d been shirtless this entire time and how I hadn’t noticed it. The pajama pants he had on were tickling my legs and only heightening the sensation that the sight of his tense muscles above me were already creating.  His arms were huge, a true man's arms, and with every heavy breath he took, his abs tightened, which I would have guessed wasn't even possible.  Had he always had this body?  I wanted to ask him but was too embarassed to. 

“Who’s the man now, Trev?” He whispered, leaning down so his nose was a whisper from mine. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Who’s the man?” I asked. “Is there a man in this room?” I looked around. “I must have missed him.”

I giggled.

“Why are you always busting my balls?” He gasped.

“Because it's FUN.”

He watched me for a long moment, then let his nose graze mine. “Do you always smell this good?” 

“Uh… yeah.”

“Do you always look this good?”

“Duh.”

He grinned down at me. Both of us had come down from the high of running, but our chests were still heaving. We still couldn’t catch our breath. Clearly, it was due to the fact that we’d never been this physically close. Justin had never hit on me as blatantly as he was now. I wondered if this was his way of coping with the death of his step father. I wondered if he was really attracted to me, or just looking for something to take his mind off of his life at the moment.

“Okay, you can get off me now.” I laughed nervously. I was enjoying his presence, but I didn’t enjoy that it was probably only there because he was hurting, and needed to be close to someone.

He rubbed his nose along mine and I could feel his breath against my lips. I wanted to close my eyes as just enjoy it, but was too entranced by the sight him. How had I known him for so long and missed this entire side of him? Looking at him right then, he was sexy, curious, and ripe with all of the things that I’d never associated with him.

“Just…” His tongue jumped from his mouth and wet his lips.

I tried to remember my name.

He reached up a placed his hand on my face, holding it in place, when I saw his eyes fly to my lips and take on a lust filled glow, I gasped.

“Justin, wait—“

It was like he couldn’t even hear me as he dipped his face towards mine.

You should stop this. My brain screamed.

If you stop this, you're stupider than I thought. The other half of my brain screamed. It’s already happening, Trevion, you want it to happen, no matter how much you deny it. How bad could it really be?

I would never get to answer that question, apparently.

Just as I felt the slightest tease of a brush between our lips, the sound of the front door hitting the wall startled us both. Justin immediately flew off of me and stood tall. I would have stood with him, but stayed lying on the floor, lost in the moment that had been snatched from us.

I stared up at him, fully expecting the stupid remarks and profanity that always came from his mouth when Trace was near.

I heard no such thing, however, and my heart jumped at the expression on his face.

He whispered. “Mom.” Then ran towards the door.

As he disappeared from view I had to gasp for my next breath. And this time, it wasn’t because I was turned on.

I was because I was so angry at myself for not telling him about Lynn sooner, that I could hardly remember how to breath. She was here and it was too late.  The second she saw me she would tell Justin everything and I honestly hadn't the first idea how he'd react.    I was scared out of my mind.