He sat in the dark room alone, nothing could get him out of this funk except for one thing. All he needed was a hit of that little white rock and he would feel a whole lot better. But he couldn't get any, Trace had raided his house before he came home and wiped out his stash. Trace had been camping out at his home since he got back from rehab so it made it a tad bit hard to go out and score some from his usual dealer. Three months it had been since he had his last hit; he could practically taste the white powder he wanted it so bad. He couldn't sleep at night, he couldn't eat, he couldn't shower, he just... laid in his bed, waiting for the perfect second to run out and snort something.
This was Justin Timberlake. He's not the same fun-loving, pretty boy, he's a dark, hateful person who doesn't care about what he worked half of his life for. He flipped through the channels aimlessly until one of the celebrity news shows caught his attention.
"Justin Timberlake was released from rehab yesterday after a daring three month stint. Timberlake was sencented to rehab after being arrested for trying to buy cocaine from an under cover policeman. There are no reports on Justin as of yet, his rep hasn't returned any of our calls and friend slash personal assistant Trace Ayala has refused comment."
He scoffed at the tv show and was about to change the channel when an old photograph flashed across the screen.
"This is Timberlake and ex-girlfriend Chione Sanders back in 2005. Timberlake and Sanders dated some three and a half years and reports show that Sanders might have been pregnant towards the latter of last year but the couple soon called it quits when Timberlake's drug habit began to take control. Chione has since stayed clear of the tabloids, no one has seen her since early this year. In other news...."
Just then, Trace tapped quietly at the door to the lair Justin called a bedroom. He grunted a 'come in' and Trace walked tentively in the room, "How are you doin' dude?"
"Fine."
"Are you hungry or anything?"
"No."
"Jay, you gotta eat man, it's been three days."
"I'm not hungry." Justin growled.
Trace looked over at his disheveled friend and almost shook his head with disgust. He used to be so fun, so full of life. You couldn't stop the old Justin from doing what he wanted to do, once he had his mind on something, it would take Jesus his self to stop him. Now all he wanted to do was sit in a dark room and snort his life away. He didn't even know that Justin had such a problem with cocaine, it came as a shock to him when Chione told him she was worried about his drug use. Sure, they would go out and have a little fun and get high in the VIP room or in a hotel somewhere in the middle of Europe, but they had never brought that shit home. Ever since then, it just got worse and worse until they were at this point.
Justin's wrinkled clothes were strewn around the room. Plates, cups, and beer bottles were thrown into a corner of the room and his beloved shoe collection, which was usually categorized by brand and then color, where thrown haphazardly in the closet. Trace knew what he had been looking for, Justin had practically torn the house apart looking for his stash. He screamed, yelled, cried, shook, and vomitted for almost the entire first day he was home because he couldn't find his cocaine. He called Trace every name in the book, told him he hated him, that he'd kill him if he found out what he did with his stash but Trace stood strong. He took the abuse until Justin finally passed out but he knew that he was the only one that whould do it. Justin's mom wanted nothing to do with him anymore, Justin had pushed away JC, Chris, Lance and Joey; Trace was pretty much the only person he had left. Trace didn't intend on letting him down.
"I have a go out and get some food to stock the fridge. Are you gonna be okay by yourself?"
"I'm 25 fucking years old prick. I can take care of my goddamn self."
"Don't get nasty with me, i'm just trying to look after you."
"Fuck you. Get the fuck out."
Trace let out a deep sigh and turned away from the creep the inhabited Justin's body. He would be okay for a few hours, he couldn't cause anymore damage to the house and he had to drugs. Trace closed the door behind him, jogged down the stairs and out to his car.
Justin jumped from his seat on the bed and ran over to the window, opening the blinds just enough to watch Trace jump in his car, and make his way out of the driveway. One thing raced through his mind, he was finally free to get what he needed. He threw on some of the dirty clothes that laced the floor and threw on his muddy Jordans' and flew down the stairs and into his garage. He grabbed a random pair of keys off the wall and frantically hit the lock button to try and figure which car the keys belonged to. His black Viper beeped twice and Justin ran over to it, threw open the door and jumped inside. He barely waited until the garage door was completely open before peeling out, nearly scraping against the rentention walls on either side of his driveway. He cursed loudly as he waited for the gate open, but once he had enough space, he took off once again toward downtown LA. He grabbed his cell from his pocket, threw it open and dialed the all familiar number.
"Hola?" The Spanish accented voice said.
"Havier? It's Justin."
"Oh Justy. How you doin' man?"
"Good Havi, listen, how much white do you have on you right now?"
"I've got a few kilos papi, how much you want?"
"I need just enough to restock my stash. I gotta stop at the bank but i'll be there in like twenty minutes alright?"
"Okay pandejo, it'll be waitin' for ya."
He slammed the phone shut and threw it on the passengers seat. Within minutes, he had withdrew five thousand dollars and was speeding towards his destination. Just like he said, twenty mintues later he was slamming on the breaks in front of a broken down building. He jumped out and scanned the street, spotting Havier walking up the street. Justin practically ran up to him and thrust the money in his pockets, "It's all there."
"Damn papi, no hello or anything?"
"Just give me the shit man."
Havier looked around for a second and then slipped the baggies into Justin's hands. They nodded at each other and went their separate ways. Justin ran behind the building, ripping the first baggie open and spreading it on the compact mirror that he kept with him at all times. He made the three lines with a credit card and then held his hand to his nostril and snorted the contents. Once he had licked the little mirror clean, he fell back against the brick wall and closed his eyes, letting the drug race through his system. He coughed violently at first, but soon adapted to the feeling and lost the rest of the afternoon.
Hours later, darkness had fallen over the city and Justin's body was sprawled out on the concrete. He woke to a jolt, and looked around, seeing nothing but bums and fellow addicts lined up and down the dark alley. He straightened himself up, propping his back up against the building again. His once brilliant cyan eyes were glazed over and he could barely move his now aching body. He reached back into his pocket, pulled out another baggie and repeated the process again. When he finished, he smiled to himself lazily, he hadn't felt this free in a long time. He slide his eyes to the side, his head slowly followed and caught the image of himself in a piece of broken glass that sat up against the wall on the opposite side of the street.
He used to love the T-Shirt he was wearing. He only wore it every once in a while because he didn't want to ruin it in the wash. Now it had dirt smudges on it and tiny hints of dried blood in places. It was wrinkled and smelled like alcohol, like it had been drenched in vodka. His hair was all over the place, and it looked like a dried up leaf had nested itself in his locks. He unkept beard was chalk full of dirt and he was laying in an alley with the other common trash that were now his brothers. The sight disgusted him, but he could barely remember a good moment in his life where he wasn't high. Wait, Chione.
Chione. The most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on; those were the good times. The memories of them making love, walking a long the beach filled his brain as he sat in the alley. Her sweet giggle flooding his ears, oh god, she was pregnant. Chione was pregnant with his child. The though made his eyes swell with tears and nothing could keep them from spilling down his cheeks. He had given it all away for the drugs and he knew that. He curled himself in a ball and rocked himself as his emotions spilled down his face. A little girl or boy who would never know their daddy; it sickened him to know that he had forgotten all about the only offspring he had. He remembered being happy with her about the pregnancy, she was only three months along but they already had names picked out. Braelyn Gabriel for a boy and Dionne Samantha for a girl. He wondered if she had stuck to those or if she chose a different name for their child.
He remembered the day she had walked away from him. They had fought about something stupid and he had gotten violent with her, pushed and shoved her into the bedroom wall like he had done so many other times. As she wept in the bathroom, he pulled out his crack and injected the liquid form of it into his veins. He fell asleep on the bed that held their late night conversations and love making sessions a little while later and then awoke to an empty house. He knew right away that she was gone for good, but he still looked around for her anyway to no avail. That was the single worst moment that he could imagine but he was crazy not to expect it. He beat her, pushed her, kicked her; he got crazy when he was high and took it all out on her. She had to get away from him, he would have killed her, worse, he would have killed their child. He never saw her again after that, and his drug habit got worse and worse.
A few more hours went by, a few more baggies were emptied when an all to familiar voice called out his name, "Justin?"
It was distant at first, then as it got closer it got louder, "Fuck, Justin."
Trace. Good old Trace had come to his rescue again. Trace hooked an arm under Justins arm pit and lifted him to his shaky legs, "How long have you been here?"
To high to comprehend the question, he laughed and giggled at his friend, "Come on Jay, let's get you home."
Trace struggled through the dark passage, trying to avoid the other addicts and bums and keeping Justin from falling over. He piled Justin back into the Viper and made sure he had locked his own car because he had to leave it over night so he could get Justin's much more expensive car home. He pulled out into the street and sighed deeply. On the one hand, he was relieved, he had no idea where Justin had been all afternoon, but on the other, he was angry at himself for leaving his friend alone. He had driven around all day and half the night until his headlights lit up Justin's car, from there, he knew what Justin had been doing.
They pulled up to Justin's lit up mansion and Trace helped his still high counterpart inside. He stripped Justin of his clothes and started the bath; it smelled as though he had pissed himself. He bathed his intoxicated friend and then threw a pair of boxers on him and put him in his bed. Once he was sure that Justin was sound a sleep, he began to clean his room. Like he said earlier, he wasn't going to let Justin down. He knew he would thank him one day.
Story Tags: Be the first to add a tag to this story
