Justin Timberlake. Justin fucking Timberlake. In my car. I didn't know what to say to him. I didn't know what to think of him. Of course I'd long ago come to my own conclusions of him thanks to NSync alone, but he seemed like a fairly nice guy. Obviously crazy, yes, but nice enough. Maybe he was only being so nice because I'd just saved his life and he had a little common decentcey. Or maybe he was being nice because he actually didn't have anyone, like he'd said earlier.

My interest suddenly peaked. I'd been interested all night, in fact, but had managed to ignore it until that very moment.

"How can you possibly not have anyone? Weren't you in that group? There were five of you, right?" I resisted the desire to add on that they usually wore matching outfits who's sequined sleeves sparkled when they did their coreographed dancing, quite ironically, in sync with one another.

He looked away from where he was staring at the window and at me. He wasn't ready for the question, I could see it on his face. "I'm not ready to talk about it right now... or ever..."

Wow, could I read minds, too? The thought quickly vanished when I let his words register. When he looked away from me and out the window like that was the end of it I felt infuriated.

"Oh, you're not ready?"

"No." He mumbled.

"Okay, then. Oh, and just so you know, I was totally ready to watch you try and kill yourself tonight. Happy to be there."

He looked at me, again, his face expressionless. It was just then that I realized I hadn't seen him smile once since I'd met him. Not that I expected him to with the events of tonight. Every time I walked through a grocery store he was cheesing for the camera in half of the magazines on the stand so seeing him so melancholy was a new thing for me.

I looked right back at him, thankful that the light was red. I never lost a staring contest. WAY too hard headed for that.

"What do you care?" He asked.

"Are you getting an attitude with me, right now? Let's take a minute and remember who's car we're in, shall we?"

"Well, you didn't seem to give a damn on the roof. In fact you were a complete--"

"Okay, Mr. Timberlake, I don't give a damn. I don't give two squirts of piss about you. That must explain why I'm driving you up to the fucking Budget Suites when I should be up on MY roof studying for a fucking Trig exam I have tommorow."

He stared at me like he was annoyed, but didn't say a word.

Good, cause I'm not done.

"That has to be the reason I'm looking over at you sitting in MY passengers seat catching an attitude with me."

"So, you do care about me?"

"Oh fuck you." I spat, hitting the gas with all of my might when the light turned green.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tiny hint of a smile push his lips. I didn't care, though. Not really giving a damn whether or not Justin Timberlake is happy with me at the moment. I just want him out of my hair as soon as humanly possible. No more questions about why he tried to kill himself. As of now I have nothing to say to him.

"You're not coming in?" He asked, ten minutes later, as he climbed out of my beat up ass yellow Beatle. He set his hand on top of the car and peeked in at me through the open door.

Was I looking at him like he was crazy? I hoped so, because that's exactly what he was. Even more so than I imagined.

"Why would I come in?" It took everything inside of me to keep a calming tone to my voice.

His eyes narrowed around the dark parking lot and the even gloomier buildings. When they landed back on me they squinted and he shrugged.

Do not go into that rent office, Trevion. Don't you fucking do it. He's a big boy. He's a millionare. Why on earth does he need you to hold his hand through this? If you go with him he's going to cling to you like a fucking leech. Don't you go into that office.

Justin shoved his hands in his pockets and something that resembled relief flooded his face when I climbed out of the car. I made sure to scoff in annoyance and disgust just so he didn't think I was doing this because I wanted to. He didn't say anything. It was almost like he apprechiated my asshole-i-ness. Maybe if I was nicer he'd want nothing to do with me.

"I still don't understand why you can't stay in a hotel. You have money, don't you?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. I guess."

"You don't know? There's no way you can not know whether or not you're a millionare. I sure as hell aint."

He cleared his throat.

"Are you always this evasive?"

"Are you always this nosey?"

"Most of the time? No. When I'm driving you all around town? Yeah."

"Okay." He mumbled, opening the door and holding it open so I could walk through.

"A gentlemen. How 60s."

"A smart-ass, how 90s."

I stopped in my tracks, "Oh so, you've got jokes? For a minute there I thought you were suicidal... oh wait."

"I doesn't bother me."

"Of course it does. It bothers everyone. My sarcasm is a defense mechanism. It's meant to bother you."

"It's doesn't."

"Well, then pretend. Jokes are all I have."

"I believe it." he mumbled, suddenly becoming even more quiet and uncomfortable when we approached the counter. He didn't like being around people, that much was obvious. I wondered if that was something that changed about him or if he'd always been that way. It would be too bad if he was, seeing how he was surrounded by people all day long.

The woman behind the counter didn't seem happy at the sight of a white man and a black woman walking in together but she recognized Justin immediately. It was all over her face. If I had to describe what sex looked like, it would be her exact expression. If we really were together I'd be pissed off that this bitch was checking out my man so shamelessly. I wondered if Justin got the ass thrown at him like this on a regular basis. He was obviously used to it, strutting around like he had no idea how sexy he was when he obviously did.

"Um, hi. I'm gonna need a room."

--

The room was awful. It was absolutely awful. It was small, impersonal and it had a very distictive smell that I didn't even want to know about.

"It's everything I though it would be." I said, watching Justin step into it and look around like it was a fucking palace, "This must be killing you."

He dropped his wallet on the nearest table and I silently thought the fabric alone was probably worth more then my entire outifit... and my car. I couldn't even fathom the wonders I could find on the inside, "What must be killing me?"

"Was that just a full sentence? I'm impressed."

He shrugged, "I guess."

"It must be killing you that this place is so small. I'm sure you'd be used to the Grand Luxury Super Suite or something."

He plopped down on the couch and that's when I realized he had nothing on him. No keys, no baggage, no nothing. Just the wallet in his pocket and the clothes on his back. I hated that my heart shrunk with sadness for him. "Where's all your stuff?" I asked.

He set his hands on his knees and fumbled with his fingers like they were the most interesting things he'd ever seen, "In LA."

"That's strange... since you're in Vegas."

"I guess."

"You take a lot of guesses. Aren't you ever sure about anything?"

He looked up at me, "No."

The way he said it quieted me for a minute. Coming from his lips the word said so much more than it usually did to me. It explained more than an entire book probably could. All I could manage was a startingly intellecutal, "Oh." In response. Okay, instant discomfort. I was never one to stand around and bask in rigid silences so I was suddenly more desperate to get out of there than ever, "So... I'm gonna get out of here, then."

Step through the door, walk away, don't look back and forget you ever saw his face. You've already left the doorway. Those are the stairs. Run down those stairs and you'll be home free.

"Hey!" he called.

Fuck. So close.

"Yeah?" I called.

"Come here."

"Fuck." I came back and stood in his doorway. It killed me to admit to myself how attractive he was to me. And not in a sexual way. More so an "I feel really sorry for you and I give a damn that you just tried to take your life" kind of way, "What's up?"

"You know my name... what's yours?"

"Does that line work on all the girls?"

"I don't usually need a line."

"Oh, yes. Disgusting amounts of money tend to speak for themselves."

"It's obviously worked wonders on you."

"Funny."

He just stared at me. I wanted to be annoyed. I usually would have been with anyone else by now. It never did make sense to me how people could just stare at eachother and be stared at. I, for one, can hardly stand to have someone watch me so closely for long periods of time. With Justin, though, it was almost bearable.

"Trevion." It disgusted me that I was sharing my name. Talk about busting down the wall of China I had built between the two of us. Hours of work tarnished. What the hell was happening?

His eyes bore into mine and I was still amazed at how much feeling was in them. How they perfectly illustrated what he was thinking and what he meant when he spoke certain words. "That's beautiful." he whispered.

Oh god. My heart just skipped. Fuck. Am I blushing? Kill me.

He blinked, "I mean, it's... that's a really beautiful name."

Breathe, Trevion. Breathe. Swallow the spit it your mouth. Get a fucking GRIP.

"Thanks." I said, touching the back of my head just to have something to do before pointing out of the door, "I'm gonna go."

After I said the words his face crunched into a look so surprised and dissapointed it reminded me of one my three year old cousin had mastered. He wasn't used to being the one run out on, that much was obvious.

"Oh... okay."

"Promise not to kill yourself!" God, why couldn't I just be serious and sensitive like a normal girl?

He didn't laugh at my heartless joke. I didn't expect him to.

He watched me until I closed the door and I suddenly felt a feeling I hadn't been in touch with in a long time. Guilt and genuine concern. I wanted him out of my hair but I only hoped he didn't do something stupid.

--

Fuck. Get out of my head Justin Timberlake! Get out of my life! This is where the script writer would enter my scream of frustration.

A cell phone, a really nice one, sat in the middle of my passengers side seat like it was meant to be there. Like that was it's place in the world. This just wasn't funny anymore. I could see the humor when Justin Timberlake was standing on my roof. I could understand the irony when I happened to be there just in time to save him. I could cackle at the fact that he actually wanted me around, like few people did. But this was the last straw. I'd finally ripped myself away from him emotionally and physically and his fucking cell phone is sitting in my car.

I'm not taking it back to him. Hell no. If he wants it so bad he can drive out to campus and get it. I'm already halfway there, after all. Wait, he doesn't have a car. How can he get down there? Maybe I should take it back.

What the fuck am I saying? He's Justin Timberlake. He could afford 50 cabs to China and back and still have enough money to wag around in my envious face.

That freakin' thing was blinking like crazy and I'll be damned if I wasn't curious. Who gets 38 new messages in fifteen minutes? I give you three guesses. Fuck it, he left it in here, it's fair game. I pushed the button to dial voicemail and held the phone to my ear as I approached the next stoplight.

"Please enter your passcode. Then press pound."

A password protected voicemail? How typical. Of course I was only pissed off because I couldn't snoop.

I grabbed the phone after I parked the car and realized just then that I hadn't brought my license or anything.

"The risks I take." I mumbled as I stopped at the soda machine. Should I pay or use my oh so wonderful gift to get a free soda tonight? I was feeling charitable, so I stuck my dollar in the machine and waited patiently for my Dr. Pepper.

It was very quiet in my dorm and I concluded that kids were probably still out partying. No better night then Wednesday night to party until 3 am. Sometimes I felt like I was surrounded by monkeys. Oh! Justin's phone has a ton of games! Pacman! Fuck me, this game was my LIFE when I was a kid. That's it, no studying's going to get done tonight.

"Trevion."

Fuck!

"Fuck!"

Justin seemed shocked at my shock. "Hey, sorry--"

I would have been embarrassed about tripping over the small step behind me hadn't I been so preoccupied with the horror of seeing him standing there, "What the hell are you doing?"

"I just--"

"God!"

"I left my phone in your car."

"Phone!?"

He frowned, "Yeah... the one... in your hand there. Looks like you're playing Pac-Man."

"I thought I'd ridded myself of you." I'd never let him know that I was actually strangely happy to see him as I handed the phone over, "How did you get down here?"

"Cab." he mumbled, playing around on the phone.

"You have thirty-eight messages. That thing is noisier than a mother fuck."

"You shouldn't swear so much."

"You're not serious."

"It's unladylike, that's all."

"You're REALLY not serious."

He didn't respond.

"Well, there's your phone... so, I guess I'll see you when I see you. Which would be never. Since you're rich and I'm not."

"Actually..."

Dammit!

He breathed deep and looked away, "I really don't think I can..." Oh god, men! He wanted to say something that symbolized weakness and it was hard for him. I was not humored.

"Spit it out."

"I don't want to be alone tonight."

"Okay, Aretha."

"I don't know what I might do." He said the words quickly and looked away right after them. God damned if they didn't have an effect on me.

"Don't, dammit. Don't say that to me."

He shrugged, "It's the truth... I don't know anybody else in this city."

"Oh, that makes me feel so warm inside. It's always great to be settled for."

"I need you."

It was my turn to be silent. He was the first person to ever leave me speechless.

"And I'm not afraid to say it. I need you. I do. I feel... less like shit when I'm around you."

"Less like shit? Your intellect is startling. And it can't be healthy to be this open. You should try closing yourself off. Internalizing your feelings. It'll make you more normal."

"I wish I was normal."

I raised an eyebrow, "Believe me, you are normal. You're normal with a few perks like fame and fortune, but normal never-the-less."

"I feel like we're the same, you and me. We both have our gifts, ya know? Just in different ways."

"Very different, and I don't like talking about that with you."

"There's nothing wrong with it. It's who you are."

"That's the kind of thing you say to people who have warts on their ass."

He ignored me, "So maybe I could stay here tonight. Or you could come back to the Suites with me."

"The Suites? I'd rather cut my left tit off. That place is creepy."

"Then I'll stay here."

"Are you trying to get attacked? You do realize this is a building full of college freshman?"

"It'll just be for tonight. Then tomorrow we can go look for a place for me to stay."

"Wait, when did you and I become a 'we'? And why are you looking for a place here when your home is in LA?"

"I don't understand why we can't be friends. Why are you so nasty all the time?"

"Because I don't know you! Just because you're Justin Timberlake I'm supposed to fall to my knees and thank the lord for this rare opportunity to be your friend? Get a little cockier, please!"

"That's not the same."

"So you're telling me that if you were a normal person you wouldn't find this whole situation a little weird? From both sides?"

He looked away.

"And since I haven't been living under a rock since the sixth grade I know that you have SOME friends. Even a girlfriend. In fact, if I remember correctly she's the most famous girlfriend in the WORLD. Isn't her name Britney... or something?"

His eyes filled with fire and I could tell Britney was not a subject we'd be exploring anytime soon. The hate I suddenly felt for her surprised me.

"She the reason, isn't she?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Isn't she?"

"She's not."

"I don't believe you."

"Fine."

"Submissiveness is so unattractive on a man."

"Would you be happier if I smacked you around a little?"

"I'd be happier if I understood you. I'd be happier if this was all a little less WEIRD."

"I don't even understand me. I understand that I need to start over, though. I just need to start clean."

"Pop stars can't start clean. You do realize who you are, right?"

"Unfortunately, I do."

"So what about Nsync? Aren't you close with those guys? Where are they?"

Instead of the fury that filled his eyes at the mention of Britney I was sure I saw a bucketload of painful tears fill them at the mere mention of those guys. I couldn't have been more curious for information then I was at that moment.

"Sometimes things aren't what they seem... alright?"

"No!"

"Then too bad. I just can't deal with it all!"

"So you run away? That's right up their with submissiveness on the 'lame chart'."

"Then I guess I'm lame. Can we go up to your room please?"

Was he serious?

"What HAPPENED to you Justin? We're not going anywhere until you tell me."

"I think I need to see somebody."

"I think so, too! There's a hospital..."

"No hospitals. I just... I can't tell you, I'm sorry. I need to talk to someone, though."

Why was I offended? Why did I CARE?

I shrugged, "I guess I know someone. His name's Mike Burns."

"Who is he?"

"He likes to call himself a guide."

Justin blinked.

"He's a shrink. The name just makes it easier for his clients... us... the CRAZY people to swallow. Makes us feel a little less crazy. You can talk to him in the morning."

"So... will you stay with me until then?"

God, why me?

"Or can I stay up here with you?"

Fuck, shit, damn, fuck, shit, fucky, fucking, shit.

"Common... god." I didn't even recognize myself in the reflection of the door as I swiped my access card and held it open for Justin. My dark brown hair seemed a little shorter against my head, my dark green eyes seemed lighter, my brown cheeks rosier. I actually seemed... content at the idea that I was doing something nice for this guy. I didn't recognize it and I didn't like it. Trevion Spencer wasn't nice. Trevion Spencer wasn't compassionate. Pity wasn't an emotion I recognized on myself but I'll be damned if Justin Timberlake didn't inspire a ton of it in me. Hopefully Burns would be able to talk some sense into him tomorrow and somehow convince him to go home and fix whatever needed to be fixed.

Justin strutted behind me towards the staircase and when we were about five feet away I gave a quick flick of my hand and sighed peacefully as the double doors flew open and thumped against the wall. It wasn't until I was halfway up the first staircase that I turned around and saw Justin reopening the doors with a look of astonishment on his face.

"Oh... forgot you were here."

He just stood there, staring at me.

"Look, if it freaks you out that much I'll try to tone it down on the power front. I just do it without thinking sometimes--"

"You remind me of someone."

Um... random?

"Halle Berry? I get that a lot."

That was the first time I heard Justin laugh. There was no room to be offended because I was too busy reveling in what a wonderful sound it was. It made me angry that somebody was responsible for stealing his laughter, something that obviously came so naturally to him. It made me even angrier that I was the reason he was laughing now... and it made me feel like laughing right along with him.

Kill me.

--

"Kim, this is Justin. Justin, Kim."

I kicked off my shoes and found a couple of sheets for Justin in my closet as he gave Kim a meek little hello. I laid the sheets and a pillow down next to my bed and silently thought that I did have something to thank Justin for tonight. Kim looked like she'd just seen a ghost, then looked at me, and back at Justin. She was speechless. She actually had NOTHING to say.

I smiled up at the pop star. Maybe some good would come out of this horribly disturbing night.