| He woke up sick today. Laryngitis, bronchitits. "Can we go for three and say tonsilitis?" Chris teased as the doctor wrote out the prescriptions for his friend. His silent friend. He'd lost his voice. He could speak at a whisper, but it hurt. It all hurt. His body felt like it was on fire and about to snap into a million peices if he did so much as make a sudden move. And here he sat--alone. No fans screaming his name. Unable to answer someone when they spoke to him without pen and paper in hand. He was so used to signing his name when he held a pen between his fingers, that it was on instinct. "I don't want your autograph man, I want you to tell me what you want from the store," Joey said teasingly. Justin smiled at his friend. Friend. It was something he could address few people with now. The friends he'd had when he was younger stayed with him, but they seemed to change. Where he thought the fame would change him, in turn, it changed them. Using his name as if it were an identification badge to gain admittance, or acceptance. He didn't care. Let them have their fun, so long as it didn't effect him in a negative way. He wouldn't step in. The few times he had to, it was ugly, but not as ugly had he let the behavior continued. JC brought him some hot soup and a magazine, one with any articles about him cut out. He didn't need to read something in the tabloids to know who he was. Anything he'd read in print was either something reported more times than he cared to count, or as far from the truth as possible. He was tired with all of it. JC knew this. Everyone knew it. As he sat and ate his soup, he looked straight ahead. Thoughts racing through his mind that continued as he watched his friends in the rehearsal he'd been excused from. He watched them dance. Laugh. Smile. Concentrate. He listened to them sing without their realizing that they were doing it. The words and tunes that escaped from their mouths like simple conversation. The jokes. The laughter. He was missing out on all of this right now, sitting against the back wall and staring straight ahead as if lost in something. He was. He was lost in what was before him. The reflection of the tired, sick, young man who was doing nothing to illicit screams, cries, pleas for a touch. The reflection of someone he wondered if he still was before this day. Someone normal. Someone ordinary. Someone he always is and few people cared to see. Justin. As he sat, he thanked the few people in his life who saw him for who he was, all he was. His group mates. His family. His reflection. Next - Joey Back To Soul Searcher Series |