Alone

The tinny sound of the keys gave him little comfort as he sat alone on the hard, cool bench, clad only in his boxers. A faint glow lit the room, and he knew she was in his bed, sleeping soundly, her eyes covered by her trademark sleeping mask and her ears sheilded from his routine midnight keyboard playing. Just once, he wished she'd climb out of their warm bed and wander in to him, rest her hands upon his shoulders and kiss his cheek, take his hand and lead him back to the comfort of the matress. But she never did. She just covered up his mournful sounds with storebought items and ignored him.

JC grabbed for the bottle of whiskey that kept him warm on these dark nights and wondered why his heart was so heavy, so alone. The distant sound of a train blaring it's horn distracted him, and he thought about all those people on it, in the dead of night, travelling to see loved ones. Sighing, he sipped the strong liquid, releshing the hot burn of it's trail to his stomach. He hoped his liver would survive this latest binge.

His fingers found the keys once more and he tapped them lightly, staring blankly at the notebook in front of him. Two more days until Christmas. Then into the studio for work on the next album, and so much fucking pressure on him to repeat the sucess he'd had with the songs he'd written for No Strings Attached.

The moon made it's desperate plea through the window, and he saw their cat leap up on the sill, licking it's paws with routine expertise, staring over at him with glowing eyes. What made a cat have nine lives and not him? He wanted nine lives too. He wanted to start a new life, leave this one, and try it all over again.

Frustrated with the way his pathetic attempt was going, he snatched the bottle and exited the sliding glass doors toward the pool, his pool, the pool bought with sweat and tears and his heart. They didn't get it. None of them. Not Justin, or Lance, not Chris, and definetly not Joey. They continued on fluidly when N Sync took a break. They had no worries, satisfied with the amount of money the tour had raked in, content with the toy sales, and the appearances. If the next album didn't see half as much, it wouldn't matter to them. They'd done what they set out to do all those years ago, and then some.

He heard a noise and cocked his head, hoping maybe she was coming for him. When the noise wafted away and silence replaced it, he closed his eyes, letting the bottle drop to the tiled patio surrounding the pool. It shattered, but he didn't care. His mind just wouldn't cooperate with him, and the idea of heading into the studio and having to rely on songwriters to create songs for them once again was horrifying. Even Lance had written a song this time. Fucking Lance, the least musical of them all.

The chill in the air created an interesting display of goosebumps to rise over his body, and he let his eyes flutter open. The stars weren't afraid, they kept coming back night after night. It was good to be a star, right? Only the stars in the sky would last, he wouldn't.

A few more years, maybe, then his fans would grow up, go to college, get married and have kids, leaving their posters and marionettes in the trash for rats to eat and birds to shit on. They wouldn't care about how long or hard it was to write just one song, just one hook. They'd toss their CD's out, or maybe tuck them inside a hope chest and take it out ten years later, just to 'remember the good ol days'.

He'd be gone, washed up, left for dead. Fuck. This was getting him no where. Heading back inside, he climbed the plushly carpeted steps to his room where she still lay on her side, her mask stiffly in place. Pulling back the covers, he crawled in next to her, spooning his chilly body against her warm one, hoping that she would wake and take him in her arms.

She only moved away, closer to the edge, recoiling from the chill in his bones. Sadly, he rolled over, hugging his knees to his chest and burying his rugged features into the pillow. He wanted to cry, just like Justin did when he was hurt, but tears never came out. Convinced he was some kind of sub human, he rolled onto his back and stared at the dormant ceiling fan.

The cat jumped up on the bed, and normally would have been swatted away hastily. Instead, JC reached for the purring animal and snuggled in his arms, reveling in it's innocent comfort. His eyes refused to coordinate with his body, which was awake, and they shut slowly, letting him dream a dream of his nine lives, and his adoring fans, filling him with the sleep he so desperatly needed right now. Tomorrow would be another day, and the day after, and the day after. His star would shine brightly until he himself let it go out.

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