She couldn’t help the tears that streamed down her face anymore than she could stop herself from wanting to breathe. She ran into an empty broom closet and shut herself into her own world. It was her first day as a Mouseketeer and she’d been talking about nothing else for weeks now. She wanted to be here. She was happy to be here. And yet...
She heard footsteps in the corridor outside her hiding place and they stopped as they heard her quiet sobs. She bit on her lip and silenced herself. But it was too late. Whoever it was had heard her and was making his or her way towards the door.
She prayed for a miracle, but moments later the door was thrown open. A boy, around her age, with curly blonde hair, stood before her, taking in the scene.
She waited with bated breath for his taunts. Her earlier experiences with boys had taught her that the average 11 year old boy was not very kind when faced with a crying girl. She steadied her voice and composed herself, waiting for the verbal attack.
“Hey,” he spoke softly, smiling gently at her.
Thrown off guard, she gave him a tremulous smile and nodded in acknowledgement, not trusting her voice.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, gently. Even at that age, Justin was always trying to take on the world’s problems.
“Nothing,” she said, hoping that she sounded convincing.
He knelt down beside her. “You wouldn’t be crying if it was nothing. It’s okay, you can tell me.”
She looked down briefly, and then looked back at him, resigning herself to the fact that he was determined to know.
“I’m scared.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, but then he nodded. “Yeah, you’re not alone. I think we’re all scared. I’m scared too. But you know what, I think it’s going to work out just fine. I’ll look out for you, ok?” He held out a hand to her.
She looked at him pensively, as if trying to figure out if she could trust this curly-haired boy. Something in his eyes reassured her to her satisfaction and she nodded in agreement and placed her hand in his, as he pulled her up. Hand-in-hand, they made their way out of that dark broom closet.
Years later, when people asked Britney who her hero was, she would give the generic answers that were expected of her, but privately, she always knew that it was Justin Timberlake.
Justin had the uncanny ability of calming a person. She should know. He’d calmed her frazzled nerves often enough. His laughter and warmth reassured her that things were not really as bad as they seemed. Even when they really were.
He’d kept to his childhood promise and continued to look out for her in her later years. From her early jitters about being a recording artist to introducing her to the right people. He kept her sane when she started to feel like a magical illusion conjured by the public, an image to everybody, until she forgot herself. He always reminded her who she was. When she turned to drinking as a solution, he didn’t judge her but patiently held her hair up when she was puking her guts, down the toilet bowl after one too many drinks.
Then one day, she started to get a strange feeling in her gut. At first, she ignored it, thinking it must be paranoia on her part. But the more she looked at herself and Justin, the more she acknowledged what deep-down she’d known all along. She didn’t deserve him.
She was constantly drunk, almost-an-illusion, fucked up Britney. He was too good for her, and she was fucking up her hero with her unworthiness. Guilt-ridden, she’d had a huge fight with Justin and stormed off to a party without him. To get drunk, and get lost in the only place where she felt real anymore.
She bumped into Wade at the party that day and they laughed and drank together. One thing led to another and somehow she ended up sleeping with him. Justin found out because nothing is ever really a secret around her. She’d learned that lesson early on, so she knew it was inevitable. She just sat there in her room, smoking a cigarette, staring vacantly at the sunrise, as she waited for him. Wade had nervously left earlier that day. As if he too knew that it was only a matter of time before Justin knew, and he wasn’t stupid enough to still be at the scene of the crime when he got there.
She expected him to storm into the room and confront her with the legendary Timberlake temper. But he opened the door quietly, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hi.” It was a question more than a greeting, really. She was trying to figure out if he knew, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking and it sent chills down her spine.
He sat himself down before her and looked into her eyes. And she knew.
“You know.”
He didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes confirmed this.
“Justin…” she said with a note of panic creeping into her voice. As if she suddenly realized what she’d done.
“Don’t say anything. Please.”
And then he looked at her. And this time she saw the pain that flickered across his face as if indicating that a stray sign of emotion had escaped his control.
This was the boy who’d never shown a hint of emotion when faced with the worst of her problems. He’d always shown her a calm front while taking care of her problems and she placed her faith in his ability to handle anything. This time around she wasn’t so sure.
“I’m sorry,” she said sadly.
“Me too.”
She’d caught sight of his face just before he left the room and she saw fear and uncertainty. And as he walked silently out of the room and simultaneously, her life, she realized that her hero wasn’t infallible. She’d learnt, that night that he was normal, just like her. Susceptible to pain. And hurt.
And she would forever live in the knowledge that she’d been the one to hurt him. Her fallen hero.
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