| Chapter 13 Lance pushed AJ away, swatting his hand as AJ groped at his crotch. They sat up. Lance stared at AJ. He was one hot little guy, sexy as all hell with his deep brown eyes and thin mouth and dark slicked hair. The muscles stood out on his arms, highlighting the tattoos that ran up and down them. He was tough and scary, seductive. When they had come in here, it was to "talk", both of them a little buzzed from the drinks they had had. And it had started that way, AJ asking how things were going with Justin. Lance had grunted, his disgust with the current situation apparent. AJ was the perfect compassionate listener, nodding and agreeing in all the right places. Lance had warmed up and told him most of what had happened, leaving out any of his own culpability. AJ clucked and then laughed, "Fuck Justin. *We're* here." Lance tilted his head, "What are you saying?" AJ didn't say another word. He leaned into Lance and captured his bottom lip with his teeth before moving to Lance's neck, nips and kisses alternating, Lance's enjoyment becoming evident. "Like this, huh?" AJ smirked. "Forget Justin. Make it you and me tonight." Lance hesitated but he rationalized his behavior by telling himself that he and Justin weren't really together right now. So that's how it had happened and Lance was lost in the haze of sexual pleasure that AJ managed to induce in him. But his conscience hadn't died. It was just in a coma for awhile. And somewhere between necking and almost getting a blowjob, it had resurrected itself and blared warnings into Lance's brain. That's when he sat up and looked at AJ and said yes, boy, you are damned sexy, but you aren't Justin. And I gotta go. He let himself in and ran for the phone, cursing whoever was going to bring down his parents' wrath on him. After all, it was 1:30 in the morning, a little late for chatting. If it's Justin, he thought, I swear I will go back to that damned party and fuck AJ for sure. "Lance?" He heard the drunken voice on the other end of the line. He froze as he recognized Justin's mom's voice. "Yes, Mrs. Chasez. Is Justin OK?" He couldn't imagine any other reason for her call. "I don't know,"she slurred, "You turned him into a fag like you. I hate you. I wanted him to be special, to be somebody and now look at him....." She started sobbing. Lance wanted to cry and he wanted to slam the phone down but he did neither. "Mrs. Chasez, where *is* Justin?" "Isn't he with you? When we threw him out, we thought...." she trailed off amidst a new spate of tears. Good, Lance thought, cry, you bitch. "I have to go now. Goodbye," he said and replaced the receiver in the cradle. He let the tears come then as her phrases ran through his head. "...wanted him to be special, to be somebody and now look at him.....we threw him out....a fag like you..." Lance was stunned at their cruelty, at last recognizing that Justin's fears had been justified. He had to find Justin, but where? He knew Justin was too scared after this week to come to him. He dialed Britney's number and blurted out, "Where's Justin?" as soon as he heard her voice. "How the hell would I know where that fag is. He's *your* boyfriend." He vaguely heard the click as she hung up on him. What the hell had Justin done? Told everyone, one after the other? JC didn't pick up and AJ played dumb and there wasn't anywhere else for Justin to turn. Lance needed someone himself and ran up to his parents' room. "Mom, Dad, please, wake up. I need help." They came awake immediately, terrified at the panicked note in his voice. Diane grabbed his hand and pulled him down to sit on the bed, taking in the tears running down his face. "Justin," he sobbed. "What, baby, what about Justin?" Diane asked, anxiety in her voice. "They threw him out and I don't know where he is. I need to find him. He needs me." Jim was calm and one by one, he listed all of their friends and called them until there was no one left. "Where would he go, son, if he had no where else to go?" "I don't know," Lance cried. "Let me think for a few minutes. Alone." At that moment, Justin was well into the first bottle of scotch. He had been at it steadily since coming here and he was still hurting. How much would it take to pass out, to lose his awareness of how fucked up his life really was? He rubbed his fingers over the letters on the headstone. "Dad, what did I do to deserve this?" When there was no answer, he took another swig, determined to drink enough to go far away from here. The picture of Lance and AJ and the look on JC's face at the end both remained firmly in place, torturing him. His eyes closed and the world started to spin away and for that he was grateful. He lay on the grass, the bottle still tight in his grasp, and curled himself into a fetal position. No one knew and no one cared that he was here. When he had first arrived, the tears had come in a flood, the realization of all that had happened tonight crashing in on him. You really did it this time, Justin, he told himself. There is no one left. He replayed the last months wondering how things had gone wrong so quickly. He wondered why JC hated him. He would have given him everything. Everything except Lance. Why did he have to take it, to make him hurt so bad? That train of thought led to his life, his mother, his father, and what there was about him that made him unlovable. He cried as he thought of how hard he tried to do everything right, to please everyone, to prove to himself that he was not defective. Tonight he knew the truth. He *was* defective and he deserved everything that happened to him. Things now were beyond his ability to fix. There was only one answer now and what made him cry even harder is that no one would care when he was gone. It would simply be another burden removed from their lives. Lance could be with JC, his mother and father wouldn't have the shame of a fag son, Britney could point to how fucked up he was as an excuse for her rejection. He hated the taste of the scotch but he liked the warmth. His one friend, his friend that would help put him out of his misery....his thoughts became too clouded for thoughts of tomorrow. But if the end came in this alcoholic blur, then good. Lance lay going over a conversation he had had a while ago with Justin. Justin said there were places he went when he was sad, places that gave him comfort. Lance bit his lip trying to remember where they were. The beach, the park, his father's grave. Justin had even taken him there twice. Lance jumped off the bed. "I'll be back," he shouted and ran out the door before his parents could stop him. He found the cemetery and parked outside the locked gates, frowning, puzzling out how to gain entrance. He shrugged and climbed the wrought iron fence, praying that he wouldn't impale himself on the rusty spikes. Shit, maybe Justin isn't here. Now was the test. Where the hell was the grave? He moved slowly, looking for recognizable landmarks from the two times Justin had brought him here. He breathed more easily as a familiar monument became visible. He closed his eyes and pictured them together, a right turn after the large stone structure and down a hill. Yes, he remembered Justin saying that it was a nice view from his father's grave, hills full of trees and gravestones, a peace that was strangely comforting. He ran down the hill and then slowed, squinting into the shadows. He seemed to think that the actual plot was close to the road. He hoped so or he'd never find Justin. He forced himself to take deliberate steps, scanning each row for movement and finding none. He bit his lip and looked back up the hill, concerned that he had run past the spot. Keep moving, he told himself, and turned back to check out the next aisle. He almost missed him, Justin hunched into a ball, practically indistinguishable from the other small mounds that dotted the cemetery. Lance dropped to his knees next to Justin. "Jus," he said, shaking the unconscious boy, "Jus, wake up." He picked up the bottle and held it to the light, realizing it was almost empty. Shit, that much alcohol could kill you. He leaned down and put his ear to Justin's chest, both the heart beat and breathing slow. He dialed 911 and tried to explain where he was, sobs starting halfway through, as he panicked over the time wasted doing this. "I'll stand on the road. Whatever, just come," he yelled into the phone. He obeyed the instruction to stay on the line but he was numb, barely able to respond to the dispatcher's questions. He stroked Justin's curls and prayed aloud for God to save him, to not take him. The dispatcher was listening, making soothing sounds, telling Lance what the progress was. When they were inside the gates, she told him to go to the road and flag them down. The paramedics took over and Lance stood paralyzed as they carried out their job, ignoring his pleas to know whether Justin would be okay. Once in the ambulance, they asked if he wanted to come and he clambered in, sitting out of the way but touching Justin's leg, hoping he would know he was there. In the emergency room, the questions started and he began to cry, asking for someone to call his parents and let them know that they were both there. Jim and Diane ran into the ER, frantic with fear for Justin and unsure of how Lance was. He saw them and ran over, throwing his arms around his mother, sobbing out his fears. Jim went to find someone, anyone, with information. The clerk was relieved to contact an adult, someone who could make some decisions. They needed permission to treat Justin and Lance was too hysterical to even give a phone number. They had called the number of the psychologist on the card they found in Justin's wallet and he had said he would be right down and would inform Justin's parents. But no one had come yet and they wanted to know if he could contact them. Just as Jim said yes, the Chasezs flew through the door, Paul demanding to know what the hell was going on and Lynn frightened but dazed, the alcohol in her system still too strong for full lucidity. Jim started to explain what was going on in a quiet voice and got a filthy look from Paul. "You're that fag Lance's parents?" Jim stiffened, "I'm Lance's dad. Listen, go over to the desk. They need permission to treat Justin." Paul growled but went over, scribbling his signature, and muttering threats against everyone. Lynn stood alone, trembling, like a drunken doll, until Paul grabbed her hand and made for the door. Jim stared openmouthed as they prepared to leave without even asking about Justin. Just then a young man, half-dressed and obviously just out of bed, ran through the door, heading for the desk. "Justin Timberlake. Are his parents here yet?" "Who the hell are you?" Paul spat out. Noel turned and studied the couple he had brushed past, offering his hand, "I'm Noel Giordano, the school psychologist. Mr. And Mrs. Chasez?" Lynn nodded automatically, but Paul remained silent and neither took the offered handshake. "How is he?" Noel asked. "Don't know and don't care. We'll pay for the hospital but we don't want nothing to do with him. No son of mine is gonna be a fag." Noel's lips tightened at the slur. Jim Bass watched from a short distance, keeping an eye out for Lance, not wanting him caught in the crossfire. "Mr. Chasez, we need to talk but now is not the time." "Fuck you. Fuck all of you," Paul shouted and turned to pull Lynn behind him. She surprised everyone by pulling back, "Wait. I need to see Justin, just for a minute." Paul glared but let her go and she staggered off to find her son. Noel blocked her way just as she was going into the room. "Mrs. Chasez. If he's awake, please don't ...." "He is my son and I'll do what I want, Mr. ......" and she moved around him. It was quiet. They had started the IV and were preparing to pump his stomach and get rid of whatever alcohol hadn't been processed but he was alone, still unconscious. She stared at her beautiful child and picked pieces of grass from his curls. How had they gotten here? It never occurred to her to question her drinking, to recognize that she had provided him with a template for self-destruction, to do anything but blame him for his own misery. She shook her head, the word `fag' reverberating, knowing she could never accept that in him. So she brushed the hair off his forehead one last time and left, crying only for her own loss. Four pairs of eyes focused on her as she walked to the door, leaving Paul to catch up. Diane's arm was still around Lance as if protecting him from the hate that hung like a fog. Jim shook his head, his expression grim and looked at Noel for guidance. As experienced as he was, Noel was stunned. He had no idea what had happened and he was terrified to find out. He hoped Justin hadn't been awake. He moved to the small group and introduced himself, smiling at Lance, who was still shell-shocked. "What now?" Jim asked, ever the pragmatist. "Do you want to see him, Lance?" Noel asked softly and was not surprised when Lance shook his head. Noel could feel the fear coming off the seventeen year old as he faced the possibility that his lover could die. He squeezed Lance's shoulder, offering support, and then turned to his parents and told them to take him home, that he'd stay and update them when he heard anything. When everyone was gone, he went in and stood near Justin. He felt the tears come then as he watched himself not that long ago, rejected for his sexuality, wanting to die, and being rescued by a teacher, a good, kind man who convinced him that he was worthwhile. If Noel could do that for Justin, goodness would come full circle. continue menu |