Author's Note: The song is not mine. It's a song called "Really" by Nellie McKay. I did change one word to suit my purposes, but other than that it's all hers.
Part Two - The Way You Make Me Feel
When I was a little kid, my father had this big obsession with music. He would listen to it all the time. Literally. All the time. I didn't complain, because I loved music. I've always loved music and when my dad was sitting in the living room listening to some Paul Simon album, somehow he didn't seem quite so scary. As long as he was home (and sober) I didn't have to lock myself in my room with my CD's, I could just sit in the living room with Dad as he let his records play and play and play. It's one of the few times I remember being happy in my childhood. It was comforting. It made me feel like a normal kid with a normal family. That didn't happen very often.
We used to do this thing, Dad and I, where he would put on a song and I would have to guess who it was by. Once I got really good at it, I had to guess the song title too and when I got too good at that, I had to know the name of the album. It was a strange game, but we both loved it and we could sit there for hours doing it. It was fun and it was a way to share the only non-violence induced bond I had with my father: music. Playing that game with him or watching him sit in his chair with that little smile on his face as the sounds of Billie Holiday flowed from the speakers...those are my best childhood memories. Probably my only good childhood memories and I will cling to them until the day I die.
You're probably wondering why I'm telling you this, aren't you? Lara Robertson never talks about her father to anyone. No one knows much of anything about my parents except that their names are Anne and Charlie and they live in Paris, Conneticut. Hell, most people can't even figure out where Paris, Conneticut is and aren't aware that my parents' last name is Trzetrzelewska, not Robertson. I never bothered to explain that I changed my name because then people would start asking me to spell it and God knows that never ends well. It's probably for the best, anyway. This way, no one can find my family. No one turns up in their front yard and picks their grass, hoping that they're touching soil I once walked upon. Daddy wouldn't go for that. He'd probably throw beer bottles at them. Wouldn't that be wonderful for my reputation? All of a sudden, everyone would know that Lara Robertson's father is psycho and abusive. No one knows that now. I don't talk about him, never have. Not to anyone. Well, except for you people and Justin.
...
Fuck. Justin. Somehow I managed to get through that whole tangent without even telling you my point. And he is my point. Justin. You see, if I wanted to, I could just hold on to that story about my dad and tell it to everyone in the world when they ask about him. If I wanted to, I could fool myself into thinking that I have a great father who adores me and that the feeling is mutual. The point of telling you that story is to prove that every relationship has good memories, even the horrific abusive ones. Every relationship can look good if you put it in the right light.
So what does that have to do with Justin? Everything. Absolutely everything. I have never denied that there were good things about my relationship with Justin. As you'll know if you listened to me at all the first time around, he understood me, he listened to me, he brought out my sense of humor and he was a damn good kisser (we won't even get into his talents in the bedroom, because I don't think even I could afford enough alcohol to subdue the aftermath of that discussion). In short, he made me really happy. For a while anyway. But there were other parts of it - at the end of it specifically - that were not so good. They were the parts that make me realize what a huge mistake I made letting myself getting involved with him in the first place. Biggest mistake of my life, actually.
I never got to tell you how I felt when Cassie showed up on the tour. I never got to tell you about how I suddenly felt ten times more insecure and inadequate than I ever had before the second I saw him with her. I never got to tell you about the hours I spent crying my eyes out and trying to tell myself to get a grip because I should have known it was coming. And I did know it was coming, somewhere deep inside. I knew somehow that there was no way Justin would ever choose me - a stupid, insecure teenager - over his beautiful, smart, confident girlfriend. I knew it. What I didn't realize at first, though, was that I had never really meant anything to him. Oh sure, he said I did, but just look at the evidence. The first time we kissed, what did he do? He ran to spend time with his girlfriend. Then, next time she wasn't around, who does he come to for an easy lay? Me. Oh, hey wait! She's back again! What happens to me? I get the dreaded "I'm really sorry, Lars, but..." speech. Yeah, really fucking nice, Justin. Way to patronize me and make me feel about two inches tall. You really fucking loved me then, didn't you? Bastard.
I might have been okay if he'd just left it at that. I could have moved on, we could have been friends in a few years. But then he had to screw it up. He had to get drunk and kiss me, and then that night in the lobby he had to come sit down and talk about how he hoped we could still be friends and that he didn't want me to be mad at him and all that shit. I was nice and told him I wasn't mad, but I wanted so badly to just scream at him. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" I wanted to yell. "YOU DON'T WANT ME! I GET IT! GO AWAY!" But I couldn't. Of course I couldn't. I was weak and he had this power over me that I couldn't control. He could get me to do whatever he wanted, no matter how wrong or stupid I knew it was. It was so unhealthy. My therapist tells me I'm self-destructive. I don't know why I pay her to tell me these things. I could figure that one out on my own.
Oh and of course we must talk about the night I left. That night really takes the cake, you know? He got in some fight with Cassie because he called her by my name while they were having sex (way to go, genius) and so naturally, he came to my room to make him feel better about himself. Because that's what I was there for. I was the replacement. I was the one who would fuck him when Cassie wouldn't; I was the one who would repair his wounded ego. I told myself I wasn't going to give in when he showed up outside my door. I really wasn't. I was going to shut the door in his face and let the bastard wallow in self-pity because, fucking hell, he deserved to be miserable. But as I said, he had some sort of hold on me and I let him in. I let him in and I let him sweet talk his way back into my bed. I was such an idiot and I knew it, but I did it anyway. It wasn't until aftewards that I finally got the strength to do something about it.
See, most of the time when I slept with Justin, it was really, really amazing. I don't mean that in a crass way, I just mean that it was...I don't even know the right word for it. He made me feel loved and he made me feel complete. It felt right. That's why I let myself keep doing it when I knew it was wrong, because it felt so perfect. But that night, as I laid there watching him sleep, I didn't feel right and I didn't feel loved and I sure as hell didn't feel complete. I did feel used, and I did feel dirty. That was something I'd never felt with him before. Dirty. Under the circumstances (the circumstances being that I was a cheap whore sleeping with another woman's boyfriend) I should have felt dirty a lot, but I never did. I always felt special to him. But not anymore. Now I realized that all he wanted was a fuck buddy. I realized that it had never been about me and what I wanted or what he wanted for me, it was always about him and his need for sexual gratification. I literally felt like I had to take a shower to wash away the scum that was growing on me. Not literally growing on me, obviously, but you know what I mean. So I decided that I had to break it off with him and that's what I did. It was hard and I still don't know where that surge of willpower came from, but I did it.
The thing is, he didn't really want me because I was me, he wanted me because he couldn't have her. "It wasn't like that, Lara," he's said the me the few times I've let him get any words out about it before shutting him up. Like hell it wasn't, shithead. I'm not a complete moron, I know exactly what it was "like." That night was the end of my stupidity. I wasn't going to buy that "I love you" shit (that was low even for him, I must say) and I wasn't going to let him convince me to stay. I was going to get out before I'd lost all of my self-worth. Not that I ever had a whole lot of it to lose in the first place, but I wanted to keep some shred of dignity.
Do you see what I mean now? Every relationship has good sides and bad sides, it's just a matter of whether one end of the spectrum cancels the other out. Obviously, with my father the black eyes and drunken rages canceled out the few times we spent together peacefully listening to his music. And with Justin, the realization of how he used me canceled out all the good things he used to make me feel. "Used to" being the operative phrase.
Throughout the past three years, anytime I've seen or talked to Justin, I've been friendly enough, I guess. Mostly because we're usually in public and as far as anyone knows we're still friends. I have to keep that little lie going for the sake of my sanity. But that doesn't change the fact that I don't really want to be friends with him, nor do I see myself wanting to be friends with him anytime soon. Or ever. In fact, aside from once or twice when the subject of our "relationship" came up and that stupid night last year when I stupidly got drunk and went to his stupid house with him, I haven't participated in anything other than small talk with the man. I'd really like to keep it that way, too.
It isn't that I hate him or that I'm holding a grudge against him or anything, though. No matter what my therapist says to the contrary, I do not hold grudges. It's more about protecting myself than anything else. I still have a horrible time trying to control myself around him (as evidenced by the aforementioned stupid night) and it's easiest if I just keep my distance. It also helps to keep reminding myself why I walked away from him that night three years ago. I have a mantra. Yes, a mantra. It goes like this: "Dirty, used, inadequate...dirty, used, inadequate...dirty, used, inadequate...etc, etc." I know it's really dorky and weird, but it works. Well, it usually works. It didn't work very well just now.
I have the night off tonight and I went to get some coffee about a half hour ago. On the way back, I ran into Justin. Literally. And we just stood there in the middle of this fucking torrential downpour having the most forced, awkward conversation I've ever had in my life. I tried to get the mantra going, but no matter what I did I couldn't think "dirty, used, inadequate." All I could think about was how good he looked and how I wanted to kiss him and how much I miss him. The first two aren't too huge because, let's face it, the man is hot. But the last one? Missing him? And not just missing his amazing kisses, but seriously missing him and everything about him? That's bad. That's really bad and dangerous and fuck, Lara, get a grip! Think about the bad things! Think about how he used you and never cared about you. Think about how stupid you were! Stop thinking about how soft his lips are and how his touch makes your skin feel like it's on fire and how his eyes used to sparkle when he smiled at you...shit, now I'm talking to myself. Fuck, shit, hell, damn....oh god, why am I thinking about him like this? Why am I thinking about how happy he used to make me and wishing I was that girl he's on a date with right now?
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
I think I need some ice cream.
***
"Good morning, Mr. Timberlake," a redheaded receptionist greeted Justin as he walked into the lobby of a recording studio.
"Morning, Sheila," he replied with a smile. "I'm here for my ten o'clock session with Pharrell. Do you know which studio I'm in?"
Sheila glanced at her computer screen and after a few clicks of her mouse, returned her gaze to Justin. "You're in 305, on the third floor. You know where it is, right?"
"Sure do," Justin affirmed with a nod. "Thanks."
"You're early, though, so the door might still be locked. I'll send someone up to open it for you," Sheila offered. Justin thanked her again and said goodbye before heading up to the studio.
Justin let out a sigh and leaned his head against the side of the elevator as the doors closed. He'd come early because he wanted some time in the studio by himself before Pharrell showed up, but he was beginning to regret that decision. It was only nine thirty, which wasn't too early but still, he was exhausted. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before; his mind was too busy plaguing him with thoughts about the blonde he'd run into earlier in the evening. He had been awake until at least two am, trying to tell himself to stop thinking about her and get over it already. And then, when he finally did get to sleep, he kept dreaming about her and waking up. It had all resulted in a lot of tossing and turning and an all around unpleasant night.
He had hoped his date would help get her off his mind, but that had pretty much been a disaster. The girl, whose name was Jessica, had been incredibly nervous and fidgety all night, barely able to hold a conversation longer than five minutes. He guessed it hadn't helped that he'd invited her to his apartment a few minutes after he arrived, but what was he supposed to do? He was drenched from the rain and covered in Lara's white mocha, so sticking around the coffee shop in the clothes he was wearing didn't seem like the best idea and he didn't want to be rude and ditch her. In the end, he was sort of wishing he had just ditched her and gone home. That was horrible, he knew it, and he really did feel bad for the girl (it wasn't her fault she was so nervous) but it had been an excruciatingly long date and hadn't done much more than make his thoughts drift back to Lara during the frequent lulls in conversation.
This was really pathetic even for him, he decided. He was twenty-seven, not seventeen. He should be way past this sort of thing. Why the hell was he letting himself get hung up on some girl? Why was he still obsessing over things that had happened years ago? He'd spent a good majority of last night cussing himself out and telling himself to grow the fuck up and get over it, but it wasn't working. Just as it hadn't worked every other time he'd tried that sort of thing over the past three years. Anytime he saw Lara, it resulted in a lot of talking to himself and feeling stupid about how much he still wanted her. It was pathetic. Really, really pathetic.
Thank God for work. He hadn't been in the studio in over a year, so he was ecstatic to get back to work on a new album. And he was sure this would help him keep his mind off his woman troubles. Or at least he had been until he stepped off the elevator and immediately heard a familiar voice drifting into the hall from the first door on the right. The door was open slightly and he looked inside. Lara was sitting at a piano alone, playing and singing a song he'd never heard. He assumed it was something from the new album she was recording.
"Am I sad?
Not sad enough really
Am I mad?
Not mad enough clearly
Am I complacent?
Completely lacking in sincerity?
Yes indeed I am.
Am I tough?
Not tough enough really
Am I rough?
Not rough enough nearly
Am I lying here
On the ground
Watching me get pushed around?
Yes indeed I am
Really
I don't know why
I'm such a wimp
I realize
I'm just your pimp
But what can I do?
What can I do?"
Justin was surprised to find himself standing in the room at this point, only a few feet behind Lara and staring at the back of her head as she sang. It was like his feet had taken him in there without his permission and he hadn't even noticed. More to the point, now that he had noticed, he wasn't turning around and walking back out. He just stood there, his feet rooted to the ground as she continued.
"I feel small
Not small enough really
I feel lame and cirumspect
I feel your pain and yet
I feel sympathy
Empathy
It's just that I'm super busy right now
Really
I don't know why
I'm such a shit
I realize
This doesn't help a bit
But what can I do?
What can I do?"
She stopped playing and pulled a sheet of paper off the top of the piano, grabbed a pen and started scribbling something on it. Justin tried to decide whether or not to make his presence known, but his internal conflict was proved unneccesary when Lara spoke, not even bothering to turn around.
"Hello, Justin."
What the hell? Does she have eyes in the back of her head or something?
"Oh...hi," Justin choked, clearly stunned by the realization that she knew he was there.
"I saw your reflection in the window," Lara explained, still not looking at him as she gestured to the window with one hand and returned the piece of paper to the top of the piano with another.
"Ah." Justin nodded and sat down next to her. His body was working of its own accord again, because if he had been in control he definitely wouldn't have been sitting down next to her. It wasn't a very long piano bench and it was impossible to sit next to her without their arms and legs touching. He felt her tense as his appendages brushed hers.
Why is he doing this to me? she thought as she avoided making eye contact with him. She'd been fighting seriously good feelings towards him the previous night and this was the last thing she needed. How was it that after a good three years of successfully staying away from him and being happy in her decision not to stay with him, she was suddenly feeling things for him again? Did the fates hate her or something?
"Writing a new song?" he asked.
"Yep." She gave him a curt nod and kept her response as short as possible while her mind frantically started trying to form a plan of defense. Considering the way her heart was beating out of her chest, she was definitely going to need one.
"It sounded really good." He smiled at her, still wondering what the hell he was doing. He knew she didn't feel particularly friendly towards him, but for some reason he'd suddenly decided to try and change that. It proved to be a bad decision when he saw Lara close her eyes and shake her head.
"Justin, stop," she ordered.
"Stop what?" he repeated innocently.
"Stop pretending we're friends," she clarified in a low hiss. She'd decided the best plan of action was to play the anger card. Obviously being "friendly enough" to him was giving her problems, so she was going to have to distance herself and not even give him that. "Because we aren't friends and you know we aren't friends so just...stop." She was met with a brief silence; Justin was a bit taken aback by the bitter tone of her voice. He shouldn't have been, because he knew she was bitter, but she rarely spoke to him like that.
"When did you get so aggressive?" he asked softly, only half joking and unable to bring himself to look at her. He was continuously asking himself why he didn't just stand up and leave before this conversation got ugly, but it didn't change the fact that he was glued to the piano bench.
"Oh, about the same time I realized if I wasn't aggressive, people would seize the opportunity to take advantage of my passiveness and use me," Lara snapped. The reference to the way she thought he'd used her was not lost on Justin and he sighed, running a hand over his head.
"How many times do I have to tell you it wasn't like that?" he asked. His blues eyes finally travelled to the woman seated next to him and he found her staring back at him, a determined expression etched on her face.
"It doesn't matter how many times you say it, Justin, it still doesn't make it true."
"And it doesn't matter how many times you refuse to believe it, Lara, it still doesn't make it false," Justin retorted. A pair of green eyes rolled in response.
"Whatever." She stood up and walked over to the window, leaning against it and folding her arms against her chest. She'd done it mostly to get away from touching him. His bare arm brushing against hers had been giving her serious problems and made it difficult for her to think. They were both silent for what seemed like forever before Justin's vocal chords took a page out of his body's book and started working without his consent.
"I really miss you, Lara," he said quietly. Where had that come from? It wasn't a surprise that he was feeling it, but why was he telling her?
"Oh god, don't do that," Lara groaned in response. "Do not do that."
"I'm not doing anything, I'm just..." He was just what? He didn't know what he was doing. "I just wanted to tell you that. I miss you."
"Well, the feeling is not mutual." That was a lie if she ever told one and she felt a slight pang of guilt at the pained expression on his face as the words left her mouth.
"You really hate me that much, huh?"
"I don't hate you." Lara's voice softened considerably as she raked a hand through her blonde curls and turned her body slightly so she didn't have to look directly at him. "I just don't like thinking about us and I don't really want to be friends with you."
"I don't want to be friends with you either." Justin shrugged and passed a finger over the keys of the piano as he waited for a response. He glanced up for a quick second to see Lara staring at him in confusion and returned his gaze to the piano. If she couldn't figure out what that meant, he wasn't going to spell it out for her. That would just be setting himself up for rejection.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she demanded.
"I think you know," he replied coolly.
"I think I don't. You tell me you miss me, then say you don't want to be friends with me?" Lara was having trouble figuring out why that little statement had bothered her. She didn't want to be friends with him, so why should she care if the feeling was mutual?
"I mean I don't want to just be friends with you, Lara. I have wanted more than that ever since I met you and three years of you doing your best to avoid me hasn't changed it." Okay, so there he went ditching the whole thing where he wasn't going to spell it out for her. And again he had to ask himself, why was he telling her this? Why now? Lara's face went a few shades paler, which was saying something since the woman was already pretty fair skinned.
"You're so full of shit," she snapped. "I can't believe you're doing this. I really can't believe you're still...just fuck off, Justin. Please. For both our sakes." The bitter tone had returned as she glared at him fiercely. Justin appeared completely unaffected.
"Why?"
"You're an asshole and I don't want you in my life, okay?" She felt tears welling up in her eyes against her will. Why was he doing this to her all of a sudden? He'd always been pretty respectful of her decision to stay away from him, so why was he hitting her with this now?
"Okay. I never asked you to return the feelings, I'm just telling you how I feel. I still care about you, Lara. I'm still in love with you."
"No, you're not!" she shrieked. Now he'd really gone too far. "You are not in love with me and you never were!"
"Yes, I am," he replied simply.
"No, you're not. I stand by what I said that night three years ago, Justin. If you had loved me, you would never have treated me the way you did. You would have broken up with Cassie in the first place."
"I know I seriously fucked that up, Lars," Justin admitted with a sigh. "But you have to believe me when I say that I know I acted like a complete asshole, but it doesn't change the fact that I did love you. I did love you and I still do, and I would never make those mistakes again. If I could go back and change them, I would." That was the last straw for Lara and she completely blew up, which was not something she did very often. Yelling and screaming at people had never been in her nature.
"Well you can't change it Justin, so just stop, okay? Do you have any idea how horrible you made me feel? Do you have any idea how used and tiny and inadequate you made me feel when you chose her over me? And do you have any fucking idea how it felt to realize that you only came to me for sex when you couldn't get her?" Damn it, she was crying now. She really hadn't wanted to cry in front of him. "Everytime I see you, that's what I think about. All of those feelings come rushing back and I just feel...I just feel worthless. You make me feel worthless." She looked away from him and bit at her nails nervously as an awkward, tension filled silence filled the room. She'd never told him that before. She'd never told him, because as much as she wanted to blame him for what had happened, she'd always pretty much blamed herself for being stupid. As far as he knew, the majority of the reason she'd refused to stay with him was because she felt what they'd done was wrong and she didn't want anyone finding out about it.
Justin was staring at her incredulously, not sure what to say. He really hated himself at the moment, how could he not? He made her feel worthless? He had known he'd made her feel bad, and he'd harbored strong feelings of dislike for himself because of it, but he hadn't realized just how deeply he'd hurt her until that moment.
"I'm sorry," Justin finally broke the silence. "God, I'm really, really sorry, Lars. I never meant to-"
"Please go away," she cut him off shortly, wiping her eyes and hoping to God that her producer wouldn't show up before Justin was out of the room and she could regain her composure. He heeded her wishes and stood up, walking slowly over to the door.
"I'm sorry," he said again before he disappeared. "I'm really sorry."
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