You sit on the couch in your Queens apartment laughing your ass off. Something about Adam Sandler is as funny as hell. In the middle of your show, you are interrupted by a loud knock. You laugh once more before getting up to answer the door. A short brunette wearing a blue and white flowered dress greets you with a quiet hello. You wonder why the hell she’s wearing something like that when winter is about to start, but you let her in anyway.
She directs herself to sit on the couch you were just sitting on and treats herself to a mint that is sitting in a bowl on the coffee table in front of her. You curse her under your breath for having the audacity. Sitting across from her you observe how she looks. A little troubled, sad even. It is quiet before she finally speaks up, her voice shaky. She explains why she’s there. She met your boyfriend a few weeks back at a club. They made small talk throughout the night until he comes up to her in a drunken stupor and suggests they go to her place. You pretty much know what happens from there and tune her out until she places something on the table. Picking it up she explains that she found that in his pocket after snooping around. Again you curse her for having the audacity.
Not to your surprise she starts to cry. Instead of trying to comfort her, you stare. You know the feeling. You’ve been in this her position before, except you weren’t given the chance to explain. His other girlfriend just walked in on you.
You’re raging mad. This happens too god damn often. Every time you fall you’re kicked in the stomach. He knew your past. He knew because you told him. He assured you that he’s had the same problem and that he most certainly wouldn’t do it to you. Yet he did and you are sure because as you flip through the pages and confirm that it is his address book. You’re staring you own address and number in his handwriting in the face.
After her cries subside she explains how sorry she is and that she didn’t know he had a girlfriend. You know this because you never went public with you’re relationship. But she should know because in the moments they were talking earlier in the night he should have explained to her that he was taken. It’s his fault. And you fucking hate him for it.
*~*~*
Over the next few weeks your animosity towards him grows stronger. You have a fierce temper for your petite size and don’t waste time taking your anger out on the poor, defenseless stuffed animals surrounding your small bedroom. There was even an instance where you punched the wood headboard of your bed and broke a knuckle, missing your pillow by mere centimeters.
You cry yourself to sleep at night. This also happens too god damn often. You curse yourself for not being strong enough to handle this. It’s happened too many times for you not to be able to.
*~*~*
You come home from the doctor’s office after getting your cast removed, the stench of six weeks of unwashed flesh wafts into your nostrils every few steps. As you move closer you see him. He’s standing at your door with his back turned to you. You brace yourself for the inevitable confrontation, but you relax again for fear of being caught in the act of murdering your cheating ass boyfriend.
You near him with a masking smile and startle him because he jumps when you tap his shoulder. He turns around and smiles, planting a long awaited kiss on your lips. You fight with all you strength not to slap him away and beat the living shit out of him. Again, you don’t want to be caught in the act of murdering your cheating ass boyfriend.
Inside he walks to the kitchen and fixes himself something to eat while you go to the bathroom to wash your hands. Even after a year and a half relationship you curse him for having the audacity.
You walk back into the den to see him lying on the couch watching Adam Sandler. Something about him is as funny as hell. With the address book in hand you decide that its getting too hard to hold in your anger and that screaming and beating up stuffed animals isn’t good enough. You have to feel the sensation of warm, soon to be bloody, flesh under your fist to be satisfied.
Standing in front of the TV you wave the book in his face. He stops smiling momentarily and stands up to take the book from your hand, but you snatch it away. “Where did you find that? I’ve been looking for it for weeks. Johnny has been on my ass about it.”
“Some girl came across it.” You saunter past him. “She said she found it in your pants pocket after you got done fucking her!” You watch his face lose its color and think that a nice, hard punch will at least turn it purple. That’s close enough to its normal reddish peach isn’t it? “Well?” He stands there quiet.
“Just let me explain Sharee. Please.” He holds his hands out and you cross your arms. You have got to hear this. “This is what happened.” He tells sort of a different story than the one you already know. You start to wonder if that bitch was lying. That’s not the point. The fact that you had a doubt is reason enough. He said that she came onto him and took advantage of him after he got drunk. That’s no excuse. Don’t get drunk.
“You said you would never hurt me, that you had been through the same heartache and would never do this to someone else. Yet you fucking did it anyway!” He starts to say something, but is cut off by your fist. He’s not surprised that you hit him, but that it was a punch instead of a slap. You notice that blood trickling from his mouth and watch him wipe it with the back of his hand. He looks up and stares at you and you’re mad as hell because you can’t tell what he’s thinking. His mouth probably hurts like hell and this makes you smirk in satisfaction.
“Please Sharee,” he says after a few minutes, “I’m sorry that I hurt you. You have no idea how sorry I’m am.”
“Get out Justin! Get the fuck out of my apartment!”
“Please Sharee. I said I was sorry-”
“Sorry? Sorry!?” You laugh to yourself and curse him for having the audacity. “Sorry isn’t good enough.” You say through clenched teeth. He watches you, those crystal blues begging for forgiveness. You watch him, in a mixture of anger and love. You curse yourself out loud. You still loved all of them. Those bastards kicked you in the stomach after you fell, but god damnit if you still didn’t love them all. You shake the thought out of your head. It just made you angrier.
In a fit of rage you punch him again, but he catches your hand before it hits his face. Just as quick you punch him with your other hand. He catches that one, too. You try to pull away, but he holds them out. You curse yourself for being to so weak physically…and emotionally because you can feel yourself relaxing. You stop fighting against him.
After you stop moving altogether, he cautiously lets go of your arms and wraps his around your waist. He rests his head on your shoulder. “I need you Sharee,” he says softly, “I can’t imagine myself without you.” You hug him back despite yourself. Tears of heartache and pain fall from your eyes and you curse them for having the audacity. “Just tell me what I need to do to make it all better.” You’re quiet. You play his words over and over again in your head. After thinking it over you pull away. A smile makes an appearance on your face. He smiles back at you, hope glistening in his eyes.
“Ok Justin, here’s what you can do.”
“Anything.” Your smile fades and your expression turns angry again.
“Go find a building and fucking jump!” His smile disappears and the hope vanishes.
“But-”
“Get the hell out Justin! I never want to see your sorry ass again. I never want to hear your voice.” You smile in satisfaction as a tear rolls down his face. It’s about time that the boyfriend hurts instead of just you. He slowly turns to leave as he mumbles something you can’t hear. When you the hear front door close you fall to your knees and cry like you’ve never cried before. He was supposed to be different. But wait, you said that about all the other ones, too.
*~*~*
You’re sitting in your apartment on the couch, but you’re not watching TV. It’s the middle of January and your holding probably the thirtieth stuffed dog Justin sent you. You’re still mad at him. You still love him. Despite what you thought before, he is different.
Any other boyfriend you’ve had said they needed you, but once you sent them out they never looked back. He, however, called every waking moment for the last few months. Sent you gifts. He’s even stopped by once before he left town again. He stood there calling your name, banging the door, and ringing the doorbell for an hour before someone literally dragged him away. You know because you sat two feet across from the door the whole time.
You still cry yourself to sleep at night and you fucking curse yourself for it. You’re not sure exactly why, but you do it, and it shows when you go out. People don’t ask what’s wrong and hell if that doesn’t make you mad. Your mother is your only comfort and she lives in South Carolina, your home state.
She knows what happened because you told her. She understands because she has the same luck. You never did know your father.
As you sit there you wonder if you should take him back. You must mean something if he’s doing all of this. You curse yourself for the thought. You give an inch and they take a mile. It hasn’t happened yet and hell if you aren’t going to keep it that way.
There’s a first time for everything.
You’re about to make yourself some lunch when you hear the phone ring. It’s Danielle, your neighbor. She instructs you to get the news in a panicked voice. You do so, but are confused. You listen intently to the news anchor after you hang up the phone.
“I’m here with Lance Bass of the popular pop group *N SYNC. He is here to comment on his band mate’s disappearance. Lance.”
“He just got over a really bad break up a few weeks back. He won’t say exactly what happened, but it must have been pretty bad because he’s been a complete wreck. I’ve never seen him this way. He’s got a lot of people worried about him.”
“Could that maybe be the cause of his disappearance?”
“It could be. I wouldn’t be surprised if it were.”
“Do you have any idea where he might be?”
“I’m sorry to say that I don’t. Justin, if you’re watching this man, come back. We need you here with us.” You tuned out the rest. It was just babble about the group and their hardships because of Justin’s behavior. You sit there thinking, about what you don’t have a clue, just thinking. You must have meant something to him. But then again you don’t know whether he’s missing because of you or not. You continue to the kitchen to fix your lunch and leave the TV on the news.
You come back from a battle with the stove and seat yourself on the couch in front of the TV. By now they have changed to another topic. Something about a sniper in Virginia. You never really liked the news so you change to something else and what do you know? Another Adam Sandler movie. Something about him is as funny as hell. You’re laughing your ass off and before you know it it’s on the verge of darkness.
You’re about to hop in the shower when you get yet another phone call. It’s Harper, you brother, and he’s telling you to get the news. You figure it’s going to be the same thing you heard earlier this afternoon. But it’s not. They found Justin.
“Earlier this afternoon we gave you information about Justin Timberlake’s disappearance. Well now I’m standing in front of the twenty-one story Bentley Hotel in New York, New York. Justin Timberlake is standing on the top floor threatening to jump. Right now the police are up there trying to coax him down, but he only wants Sharee. We assume this is the girlfriend he’s been grieving over for the last few weeks...” You tune them out again. It was just babble about how they found him. He took you seriously. He fucking took you seriously! There was a piece of you that wanted him to, but an even bigger piece that didn’t. Once news gets out every teenybopper in the world will blame you for this, and they’ll fucking hate you for it. You’ll fucking hate him for it.
This makes you mad. You go from almost forgiving him, to hating him again in two seconds flat. You turn off the TV and punch the back of the couch. “Let him jump.” You say out loud. You curse yourself for thinking that. You would never wish death upon someone, no matter how much you hated them.
You decide to drown your anger in the hot water of a shower. An hour later you get out after you can no longer stand the cold water against your body. As you’re getting yourself ready to get comfortable for the night, you hear the doorbell. As if getting phone calls wasn’t already bad enough. You put on your slippers and head for the door. You ask who it is and all you get is a “me.” You roll your eyes and open the door. A blur passes you by. You curse them under you breath for having the audacity.
After you close the door you turn around and see Johnny, Justin’s manager, pacing the floor. You two were never really friends so you curse him again for having the audacity. He’s babbling about Justin and some other shit you could actually care less about. Justin stopped being your problem the minute he closed that door back in November.
Minutes later you get another visitor. It’s Lance and Joey. You smile because Lance was polite. Joey forcefully pulls Johnny out of your apartment. Lance sits down on the couch in front of the TV. That seems to be a comfortable spot for any visitors you get. You sit down next to him instead of across. You always did like Lance.
He explains his situation. Not too long ago he and Joey were on the roof with Justin. He said that Justin will only listen to you. You sit there thinking, again about what you don’t have a clue, just thinking. He puts a comforting arm around you and sighs. He tells you that the least you could do is talk to him. You’re mad that he even suggested that, but knew he was right. If you didn’t talk to him you couldn’t be sure what Justin would decide to do. Did you really care?
*~*~*
Of course you do. You walk past the media. It’s safe to assume that they have an idea of who you are. They’re all in your face, asking too many questions. You curse them under your breath for having the audacity.
You reach the door to the roof and it’s guarded by a burly police officer. Lance mumbles something to him and he walks outside. Seconds later he walks back out with a small crowd of police officers. Lance hugs you and gives a reassuring look. You nod and take a deep breath, then venture back out into the ice cold.
It must be thirty something degrees outside, yet he’s standing there on the very edge in a pair of jeans and a light sweater. You can see him shivering, the cold breeze blowing your hair. He’s standing dangerously close to the ledge and this makes you extremely nervous. You call his name. You wait a while before calling it again, but he turns around. You jump back in shock. He looks really bad. His face is blue. His normal crystal blues were now a pale gray. You feel ashamed and you’re not sure why. Maybe because you had something to do with why he’s like this. No. If he hadn’t have slept with that bitch in the first damn place you would still be together. You would be happy. It’s his fault and you fucking hate him for it.
Still looking at you he smiles and says, “I missed you.”
“This doesn’t mean were back together, Justin.” His smile fades and he looks to the ground before returning his gaze to the city. You stand there and watch him. You’re thinking about something, and this time you have some idea of what it is. You don’t want him to jump. You would never want that. You feel yourself getting angry. The hell if you know why. You wonder if you even know yourself anymore. Here is this man that is about to kill himself just to make you feel better and all you can do is be mad at him, thinking only of yourself. You curse yourself for having the audacity.
“Justin. Please come down from there.”
“No.” His abrupt answer takes you by surprise.
“Please Justin I don’t want you to fall.” You see him chuckle.
“Weren’t you the one that told me to do this in the first place?” He says without turning around.
“I wasn’t serious, Justin. I was just mad. What you did hurt a lot, Justin.”
“And I said I was sorry.” You sigh.
“Sometimes sorry isn’t good enough.” This time he sighs. Another dead end. It’s quiet for a while and you watch him shiver in the ice-cold breeze. You hate yourself for it.
“I just wanted to make it better.” He says suddenly. You look up and his back is still turned to you. You start to get frustrated with him and curse yourself for having the audacity. “I need you, Sharee.” He turns around to look at you and you smile, but that smile fades when you see him again. He looks really bad.
“Killing yourself isn’t going to make it better.”
“You said that you-”
“I know, what I said, and I told you that I didn’t mean it. I was just mad.” He steps off the ledge and you sigh a sigh of relief. You watch him shiver as yet another ice-cold breeze passes by; your hair being blown at all angles from under your hat. He puts his hands in his pockets in a pathetic attempt to get warm. You watch him pace the same five feet of concrete, only a few inches from the ledge.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since…that day,” he starts quietly, “It’s been really hard on me. I can only imagine how it was for you.” You cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to get warm. You’re wearing your thickest jacket, earmuffs covered by a wool hat, and thickly insulated boots, yet you’re still shivering. You can’t bare to think how cold he must be. You fucking curse yourself for being the cause of that.
By now he’s stopped talking again, still pacing that same five feet of concrete. You start to cry as you watch the man you love freeze to death, the tears almost freezing as they slide down your cheeks. You wipe them away. “I love you Sharee, you may not think I do because of what I did, but I do. I really do.” Obviously not too much if you slept with someone other than me, you are tempted to say, but decided that it won’t help anything. Except to make things worse. You look at him and are met by his stare, that pale gray gaze. He shivers again, teeth clattering and all. Finally you can’t take it anymore and you cautiously walk up to him, unbuttoning your jacket.
You’re looking down and don’t see that he’s meeting you half way. You notice that he’s close when he puts his hand over yours as you start to undo the last button. You shiver at his touch as you stare at him staring at you, both sets of eyes having their own conversation. You wish you could get in on it.
You’re thinking again, and you know what about. You want to make his pain go away. And no matter how god damn much his mistake hurt you, you feel yourself easing up, beginning to forgive him for it.
While you were thinking he’s buttoned up your jacket. You know because you feel his knuckles against your chin as he buttons the last one. You like the contact and are saddened when he steps away. By this point you don’t know what the hell he’s doing. It seems like he wants you back, but when you try to get close he sort of steps away. You’re frustrated because you can’t figure him out. You curse yourself for having the audacity.
“What are thinking right now, Justin?” you ask because you truly want to know. You hear him chuckle slightly and wonder what the hell is so funny. He waits a while before answering you.
“About how we used to be, how I wish we still were.” You sigh. Deep down inside you wish you were the same way, too. You want him back and start crying again. You feel like you’re being weak because your still want him. This man that tore what little heart you had left to shreds. You still love him. You still fucking love the others. But you’re not still in love with the others. Damn. You’re in love with him.
You watch him shiver again. You curse yourself for being the cause of that. You’re crying is getting louder as the longing for his touch, his presence in your life grows stronger. You definitely want him back.
He turns around with a confused look, probably not sure he’s hearing right. His expression turns to concern when he sees you crying. He engulfs you in a hug as if trying to warm you up and to stop you from crying. You cry harder and his attempts to warm you up are futile because he’s the one that needs to be warmed up. You appreciate his attempt though.
“I still love you, Justin. I shouldn’t, but I do. I really do.” He squeezes tighter, as if trying to absorb your body heat.
“I love you, too, Sharee. I’m so, so sorry.” You’re glad you’re in his arms once again. It feels good despite the cold. You think about the hurt again. And at a time like this? You pull yourself away. He looks at you smiling. Probably the first genuine smile he’s had in a long time. His skin tone stays the same, but his eyes gradually regain their color.
You think about saying that you aren’t an item yet; that you want to be friends for now and that he’ll have to gain your trust again. Again the pain is still there and you don’t want him to think that you’re weak; that he can have you when he wants; that he can go and do some shit like this when he screws up and you’ll come running back to him.
You think some more and notice that he’s still too close to the ledge for you’re comfort. You’re glad that he doesn’t resist.
He stares at you, face full of hope. You feel bad that you’re about to hurt him again. But this time it’s only slightly. He still has his chance. He notices the slight frown on your face and frowns also. This can’t be good.
“What’s wrong? You’re not having second thoughts are you?” The urgency in his voice makes you queasy. It’s a weird feeling for the situation.
“Justin,” you say slowly, “I want us to work out, but right now I’m still not quite back to trusting you yet.” His face falls.
“I understand. So you’re saying it’s over…for good?” When you don’t answer you feel him pull away, but you’re not about to let that happen, so you hold on tight. He looks down at you before trying to turn away again, but you pull him into a hug. He doesn’t return the embrace.
“No,” you say into his shirt, “I’m saying that we can be friends, and that maybe,” hopefully, you think, “I will trust you again. And then, and only then, will you get me back.” After a while you feel his arms around your waist and hope that’s a sign that he understands, truly.
“That’s fair enough.” He pulls away. “I love you, Sharee.” You smile.
“I love you, too, Justin.” You surprise him with a passionate kiss, the last he’ll get for a while. He hesitates for a minute before returning the intimacy.
You hear pounding at the door. Seconds later your private moment is bombarded by nosy reporters. You curse the security guard for not doing his job. You curse the reporters for having the audacity.
Number of reviews: 5
Print:
