//Part 4 // The door slammed and he listened as Lance filled Britney in. He couldn't hear the words but he heard the tone and he cringed. Downstairs Brit heard Lance out. She knew Justin better than anyone except his mother. Her heart broke for him. When Lance had wound down, he stared at her in shock. "Aren't you pissed? You got fucked, too." Brit put her hand on his shoulder. "Not now. Calm down and I'll talk to you later." "But…?" "Later, Lance." She opened the door and he left, still confused by her response. She went upstairs. When she went in, Justin looked up from his perch at the edge of the bed. He looked like a schoolboy waiting for the principal. Unshed tears glistened in his eyes. Brit shook her head and sat down next to him. "He hates me," Justin said, the words stabbing him. "He's hurt. He's angry. He could never hate you. He loves you." Britney laughed bitterly to herself. When did she become the wise one? Too much Oprah and Dr. Phil. Justin's eyes widened. "Is that a surprise too, babe?" she asked. His shoulders slumped. "It doesn't matter anymore anyhow." "Justin, he doesn't get it. That's all. You've never let him in the way you've let me in. He doesn't know how much of your self-esteem rests on the fans' approval." "I hate that it does. Like how it took me almost two years to tell them we were dating and even longer to tell them to stop booing you. How could I tell them that one half of the perfect couple is bisexual?" "You don't have, too, Justin. You just have to tell yourself, let yourself believe it. Know that it's okay." "You're my best friend, Brit. I do love you. You know that, right?" "Yes, baby, I know that. I also know you love Lance." Her face darkened with jealousy. She knew she had to force a choice. They couldn't go on like this forever. "So now what?" "So now we cancel the wedding plans, tell everyone we came to our senses and we go on from there." "Where does that leave Lance?" "That's your problem, Justin, but  I'm not willing to play the adoring girlfriend anymore though.. We need to break up. Remain friends." "Fuck. This is just what I was afraid would happen." He jumped up and started pacing. "I need you in my life, Brit." "And I'll be there.  But, Justin, I have feelings, too. It hurts too much." He stood frozen. She added, "How do you think I feel when you get out of bed after fucking me and call Lance? Or arrange our lives around him? Or sound so fucking happy when I tell you he's coming over or staying with us?" "I thought I was covering that up." "Well, you weren't. Especially not the last few weeks. When you asked me to marry you, I was hoping that you had finally chosen me." Tears slipped down her face and he had never felt so guilty in his life. "Brit, baby girl, I * want * to choose you." "Me or not being bisexual?" He was paralyzed. She moved first. "I'm staying at Felicia's for awhile. Justin, think about everything. Don't do anything stupid. I'll be right here if you need me." He flopped on the bed and didn't even move when she came over with a small bag and kissed him on the forehead. "I'll call you later, babe." Lance was still driving around-- pretty much like a madman—until the state cop pulled him over. He flashed his smile, promised tickets for the cop's kids, and drove off slowly. He headed home before the thoughts whirling around distracted him from his driving again. He might not be so lucky a second time. He paced through the downstairs, replaying Justin's excuse, until he threatened to erupt. He headed for the bar and poured a glass of Jack. No ice, no niceties—just alcohol to suppress his misery. He wasn't sure what he had expected. Protestations of love, a collapse of the denial into a splintered mass, gratitude? He hadn't expected what he'd gotten. He had been sure if he could hold it up for Justin to see that he would accept who and what he was and feel the relief that he himself had felt when he finally acknowledged his sexual orientation. Not. The gate buzzer sounded and he went to the intercom. "It's me. Let me in." He pressed the buzzer and opened the door, waiting. Britney pretty much looked like shit herself. And that took a lot of doing. She smiled at him, a weak effort that was forced out of her own pain. "Hey," she said. He stood aside as she moved past and then he grabbed her and pulled her into a hug, offering her some solace and receiving some from her. "Hey, little girl, what's up?" "Calmer?" she said and sniffed as she got a whiff of the Jack. "How long have you been drinking?" "This is the first. Want one?" She shook her head. It needed to be clear so she could lay it out for him. She backed out of the embrace and headed for the den. "I broke it off with him?" "The wedding?" "The whole thing." Lance's eyes grew into saucers. He had never expected this. "Why?" he whispered. Tears were there again, sparkling on her cheeks. "He needs to make a choice. Between us." "Between us or between bisexuality or heterosexuality?" Lance snorted. "Between us. He knows now, babe. He's just so fucking scared to admit it." "I don't get it, Brit." "His self-esteem is so fragile. So dependent on what others think of him, especially the fans." "So why make choices like the Elton John video if he's so afraid?" Nothing Justin said or did was making sense right about now. "He thinks dating me, proclaiming our love, wanting to get married, will protect him from the fans thinking he's gay." "Laura hasn't fucking helped me. They still got me set up with JC," Lance said with the first real laugh of the afternoon. But then the smile faded. "I love him so much," Brit stated and Lance turned his back, trying to hide the pain that shot through him.  `Jesus Christ', he thought, `she has no idea how much * I * love him.' He wanted to leave and started to make excuses when he realized it was * his * house. He got quiet and sat down heavily on the leather sofa. "How the fuck did we ever get involved in this mess?" "Loving Justin? How can you not?" she asked softly. She took a deep breath. "I know you love him, Lance." Lance's head snapped up and he stared at her. "When?" he said, the word a mere puff of air. "Some when you got so angry that he wouldn't come out—even to himself. And just now." "God, Brit, I'm sorry. I know this complicates things even more but…" He wished he had never laid eyes on Justin Timberlake. Britney didn't deserve this. Neither of them did. "Hey, love is love. You can't stop it. And if he loves you…." She couldn't finish the sentence. The thought was too appalling. "Anyhow," she said when she had the feelings under control once more, "it's his decision, not ours. I just hope he stays together while he's making it. I feel guilty but I can't do it to myself anymore." Lance said nothing, understanding her dilemma but hurting for Justin. "Why did you wait so long if you knew the marriage thing wouldn't work?" Lance had to ask, semi-changing the subject. "Hope, babe. I kept hoping that he would accept his decision and be happy with it." "Unrealistic, baby girl." "I know," she sighed. "Lance, can you understand where I'm coming from at all? He's sweet and sensitive and romantic as hell. He adores me. He knows me for who I am and he accepts me. Not to mention great sex." Lance nodded. She continued, "I don't want to give him up. But God help me, I love him enough to accept whatever decision he ultimately makes." Lance nodded again thinking that the same was true for him. She stood up and pulled he jacket tightly around her, a gesture of self- protection. "At least call him. Let him know you don't hate him. He's so lost right now." "Or you'll `fucking kill me', right?" Lance laughed softly. "Yeah," she said and then turned and left before she lost control of the pain that was threatening to overwhelm her. Lance closed the door behind her and took a deep breath. Then before he lost his courage, he crossed the room and dialed the number. The answering machine picked up, a cutesy message left by the two of them. After the beep, Lance spoke, "Justin, pick up. Please?" He heard the begging note. When nothing happened, he continued, "I'm sorry for what I said. Give me a chance to explain. Please? Brit was here. I want to see you. Call me." He hung up, wondering what to do next. He waited an hour, then two before he finally got in the car and went over. There was no response to the intercom so he punched in the gate code and let himself in. The house was deserted looking but he was relieved to see Justin's car parked. He thanked God that they all knew each other's information as he let himself into the house. The shadows were heavy. He went to the den. The drapes covered the windows, making the room dark. Justin was there with a bottle of vodka in his hand. Lance went in and sat down. He tried to wrest the bottle from him, but Justin resisted, pulling the bottle to him and protecting it. "Go the fuck away," he said, the words only slightly slurred. "Talk to me," Lance said. "What the hell do you want me to say? How happy I am now that I know I'm bisexual? That my life will be wonderful from now on? Thank you for saving me from marriage to a wonderful, beautiful woman?" Lance cringed beneath the lava flow of recriminations. "Justin. Give it a few days. Let it sink in." Justin looked up, a stony glare pinning Lance. "Great. And how will that help? Don't you understand? I feel like shit." "I * do * understand, Justin. Let me help." "How?" Lance watched as Justin's need overwhelmed his anger. He watched as Justin broke down, letting the bottle slip to the floor and holding himself as harsh sobs tore from him. Lance moved next to him, putting his arm around Justin's shoulder. Justin pulled away and rocked until the sobs trailed off into whimpers. Lance reached out and pulled Justin to his feet. "Come upstairs," Lance said softly and Justin just nodded, allowing himself to be led to the bedroom. Once there, Lance undressed him like a child, tucking him under the covers. "I'll be here as long as you need me, Justin," Lance promised. He wasn't encouraged at all when Justin turned his back to him. Justin fell asleep-- the emotions of the day had drained him completely. He dreamt of Britney and Lance on stage like Miss America contestants, each yelling at him, `Pick me.'  Of Page Six of the Post plastering a picture of Lance and him across it. Of Carson, an evil grin on his face, asking him to `Confirm the rumor.' He woke up and rolled over, but when he saw Lance asleep in the chair, he turned his back to him once again. He hated him. There were too many questions and no fucking answers. He fell back to sleep wondering how he could ever sort his life out. If he chose Brit, did it mean he wasn't bi? If he chose Lance, did it mean he was gay? Maybe nothing meant nothing. Maybe he should just remove himself from the equation. Not choose either. The next time he woke up, Lance was awake, too. "How are you feeling?" "Confused. How the fuck do you think I feel? By the way, how long are you staying? You've already fucked it up for Brit and me. Haven't you done enough?" Lance held his temper in check. He wanted to point out that Justin was responsible for his own fucked up life. He, Lance, had just held up a mirror. But he didn't because he knew Justin couldn't take much more. "You want to eat?" Lance, Mr. Practical. "No." "Tea? Soda? Cocoa?" "Where's the vodka?" "That won't help. Believe me. I know that one from personal experience." "Fuck you, Lance," he said and threw back the covers. He padded downstairs in boxers and stocking feet, searching for the liquid solace. When he realized it was gone, he headed for the bar and grabbed something else. He didn't even look. It was the effect not the taste he needed. Three swallows and a tiny bit of the pain disappeared. Three more and his head started to get just a tiny bit fuzzy. He sat on the couch lifting the bottle to his lips every few minutes. `Where the fuck was Lance?' he thought. That was followed by `Why the fuck do I care?' A few more swallows would take care of that. It wasn't long before he was nearly off his ass drunk and freezing his butt off.  He dropped the bottle, not even noticing the brown liquid seeping into the carpet. He staggered up the stairs and aimed for his bed. He squinted at the form under the blanket. `When had Brit come home?' He lifted up the covers and tried to slide in, his feet getting tangled in the sheets. "Fuck," he hissed loudly. He tore at the sheets until he finally gave up and passed out in the disordered mess. Lance turned over when the movement stopped. He tucked Justin in once again and kissed him lightly before falling asleep himself. In the morning, Lance rolled over to find that Justin was awake and watching him. "Why are we in bed together?" Justin asked. "Because I didn't want you to be alone after all the booze." "That's it?" "I didn't touch you if that's what you're worried about," Lance said caustically. Justin rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "I'm sorry," he said softly. He exhaled loudly. "I've got another freakin' hangover and I feel like shit." "Been there, done that," Lance said with a small laugh, a meaningless thing, meant to distract them from reality. "Lance?" "Uh-huh?" "You said I was fucked up because I wouldn't admit I'm bi." He turned toward Lance who just nodded. "Well, now I've admitted it and I'm still fucked up." Lance rolled toward Justin. "What did you expect? You spend your whole life hiding a great big fact from yourself. You finally let yourself know the truth." He was amazed at the naivete of this boy. " So `they lived happily ever after', right?" "Yeah," Justin admitted. "It's your choice, babe. We both love you." It was as simple as that. Pick. And break one of us into tiny pieces. "I love both of you." "Ah, but you can't have both of us." Lance felt the pain of that statement tear through his gut, slicing it into slivers. "Someone's going to get hurt—really hurt." "Yep. Life sucks sometimes. It's our bad luck to both fall in love with you." Lance bit his lip. He had sounded so nonchalant, so unconcerned about what was the central truth of his life. So opposite to what he was truly feeling. "Listen, Lance. I need to be alone. To think this out. I swear I won't do any more self-destructive shit. You can call every six hours to check on me if you need to. Okay?" Justin's head spun. How had he gotten here? "Sure. Call us if you need anything." Lance didn't want to leave but Justin was leaving him little choice. So he pulled on his clothes and left. Justin didn't follow him. Just lay there, eyes closed. Thinking. He thought about his choices, the consequences, the pain. He thought until his head felt like it would explode. He looked at the clock and realized that hours had passed and he was no closer to a decision he could live with. He sat up and opened his bedside table, the one with the old bible in it. He opened it and took out a card. He read the writing. Noel Giordano. Psychotherapist. He had said to call whenever he needed help. If not now, when? He took a deep breath and picked up the phone. ( epilogue ) ( back to menu )