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Justin paced the floor, to the annoyance of the other people waiting in the small reception area. Ignoring their mumbled protests, he walked back and forth, all the while wiping tears from his blood shot eyes.

‘How could this happen?’ he thought sadly. ‘And why does this hurt so much?’

When he could not withstand the cramped air that continued to suffocate him, Justin quickly ran out of the hospital, almost knocking an expectant father over as he walked to the maternity ward.

As Justin heard the double doors slam behind him, the cold air attacked his bare skin. He was not accustomed to the freezing New York air, and the sudden temperature change took the breath from his dry throat.

Justin sighed dejectedly, and pulled out a pack of Camel cigarettes. He didn’t normally smoke, but he figured now he had a good reason to start. He relished the warm smoke that entered his lungs, enjoying the slight taste of chamomile that accompanied the cigarettes. Gratefully, he realized the he hadn’t burst out coughing, like the first time he tried pot. Probably he shouldn’t have worn a pot leaf around his neck, but marijuana had gotten him through some rough times. He didn’t really care what the fans thought of him smoking, only that it was a therapeutic measure that he needed to take. Trace said it was just making him forget his problems, not making them go away, but what did he know? Had he ever tried it? No. So…so screw Trace. Screw all of them.

Justin felt tears welling up again, and he didn’t bother wiping them away as they slowly crawled down his cheeks. He threw the cigarette on the ground, stepping on it with all of his strength. He started jumping on it, taking his anger and fear out on the burnt out fuse. Justin moved from the cigarette to the trashcan, kicking the aluminum receptacle filled to the top with wrappers and hospital bracelets. He kicked the doors, he kicked cars, he kicked lampposts. Finally, when his foot hurt too much to continue kicking, Justin sank to the snowy pavement, sobbing.

He didn’t know how to deal with the pain. Everything that he used to use to comfort him now only made him more hysterical. Though, he’d never had to deal with someone dying. Well, no, that wasn’t true. There was his twin sister, but that didn’t really count since he didn’t remember it. And then there was Bud, the lights guy for the Celebrity Tour. But that didn’t hurt this much.

And actually, Tucker wasn’t dead yet. But he was gonna be. Justin knew it. Everyone did. It was just a matter of time. Every day sapped the young man of strength, of the will to continue living. Justin could only watch in despair. That’s what killed him the most. Knowing, but being too insignificant to do anything but watch. And wait.

Footsteps brought Justin back to reality, back to the painful reality. The snow had begun to sop into his Tommy Hilfiger tee shirt, chilling him the bone. An elderly woman hobbled past him, not seeing his hunched figure. Justin laughed, harshly. How ironic. He wasn’t being seen, wasn’t there to anyone. All eyes passed over him. Him. Justin Timberlake. When he needed someone the most. This realization slapped him in the face.

When Justin’s arms went numb, he realized he probably should go back inside. Inside. Where death and grief stood, waiting for the young man to succumb to the pain. Shit. He didn’t want to go inside. Why would he? All that was there was…himself. A happy carefree Justin was hidden in the halls of that damn Hospital. That Justin had floated away as soon as he’d stepped inside.

He stood up slowly, trying to make time go slower, so he wouldn’t ever have to face the despondent faces of Tucker’s parents.

Shit, why did he care so much? Tucker wasn’t a particular friend of Justin’s. He wasn’t someone Justin had talked to, much. Hell, he hadn’t even talked to Tucker since before the Mickey Mouse Club. And yet, here he was. Mourning over a boy who hadn’t even fucking died yet.

Looking at his watch, Justin saw that time had not slowed down. Sighing angrily, Justin stood, cursing the ground he stood on. He ran to his Jeep, slamming the door and closing out the pain that lay in the parking lot.

Justin Timberlake drove. He drove past everything he knew; he drove past everything he didn’t know. He yelled out obscenities; he cursed God. ‘What God,’ he thought bitterly. ‘What fucking God? There is no God. There is no God. All there is: Life.’

Finally, Justin stopped driving. He had no idea where he was, had no concept of time or responsibility. He walked out into the middle of a grassy field. And there he lay. For hours, he lay among weeds. He just…lay there.

Read the sequel here: http://www.nsyncfiction.com/viewstory.php?sid=5785