| "Justin Randall Timberlake!" Justin blinked from the warm comfort of his bed. His mother's voice shreiked up the steps of their home, and instantly, he knew he was in trouble. Shrinking down under his covers, he searched his mind to come up with why. What had he done wrong? For chrissakes, he'd only been home for 12 hours. He hadn't even seen his mother yet, having taken the red eye into Florida, and promptly collapsing in his bed. So what the hell was she screaming about? The knock on the door told him it was somthing that couldn't wait. "What?" he called out to her, trying not to worry. She flung open the door, glasses perched on her head, waving a bill at him. "What is this?" she hissed, tossing it onto his chest. "Why are you calling these numbers?" Justin's blue eyes widened as he saw the hundreds of dollars worth of calls on the phone bill. He stared at it in wonder. The date ran back to a two day break he'd had last month. Wait! He'd put these calls on his credit card. Someone fucked up, and big time. Now he was screwed. Thinking quickly, he tossed it down, attempting to play it off. "It wasn't me, mom," he answered, keeping his reply simple. Inside, he was dying, just dying. As soon as his mother left, he was calling that damn company and giving them hell. What was that shit, charging it to the phone company instead? Oh, he was going to make sure someone's head rolled. His mother eyed him, still angry. "Justin, look. I know it had to be you. You were home during that time and..." "It was not me!" he said again, burying his head in his pillow. "Now, please. I'm exhausted. I need to sleep." "Listen to me, young man. I'll let you sleep but we are not done discussing this." Justin sighed as he heard her grab the phone bill and shut his door firmly. He could tell she was terribly upset, and saw right through his lies. Listening carefully, he heard her footsteps carry down the hall and descend the steps. Grumbling miserably, he raked his fingers through his unruly curls and snatched his cell phone from the crumpled jeans on the floor. He dialed the number he knew all too well and asked for a service manager. Waiting patiently was not his strong suit and he tapped his fingers with irritation. The prerecorded message was playing, sexy voices promising to comfort during lonely nights, promising to satisfy any fantasy. He groaned as he heard the recording ask him to hold for five more minutes. His tired eyes threatened to shut with every ticking second. He was so fucking exhausted, and why? Why did he have to come home to this shit? It was definately time to move out, just like Joey kept telling him. He was about to be 20 and nothing was less cool than living with your family. Closing his eyes, he envisioned it. A sprawling home, large backyard, dogs, ooh, maybe a horse. Lance would love that. Yes, that was it. He was going to move on. A nasaly woman clicked on the line. "How may I help you?" she asked, having no idea what was coming her way. "You fucked up my account," he seethed, struggling to keep his voice in check. "You charged my phone instead of my charge card and now..." "And now your wife has found out," the voice continued, having heard the same excuse for years and years. Sighing loudly over the phone, she waited for the rest of this guy's outburst. "No, you idiot! I'm not married. I..." Shit! I what? Justin frowned, not liking the idea of saying he still lived with mommy. "Look," he hissed. "It's none of your business. Just get it the hell off the phone bill, charge my damn credit card, and send some kind of apology for it." There! That should do it. "Excuse me?" the lady gasped. "Apology? We don't do that. I'm sorry for the confusion, but we can't retract from the bill. If you'll kindly pay the phone company, we'll be sure that this doesn't happen again, Mr., ah, what's your name?" Justin growled. "Just, forget it!" he screamed, "Forget it. I'm not using your crappy service anymore. So take all your shit and shove it!" He clicked his phone off and layed back on his bed, wondering how he was supposed to get out of this one with his mother. He tried to return to his slumber, which he so desperatly needed, but his mind wouldn't shut down. He needed to talk to someone, and find out what to do. Rolling onto his side, he reached for his phone once more, trying to decide who would be most sympathetic to his situation. JC would be disappointed in him, Chris would tell him to fuck off, calling him on down time, Joey, well, he'd laugh his ass off. That left Lance, who's mother was worse than his. "Ah ha!" he said, grinning and dialing the Mississippi number. Three rings and still no answer. Finally on the fifth ring, a very sleepy Lance answered, his deep voice gruff. "Yeah?" "Lance, dude, I need your advice." "Who is this?" Lance asked, still half asleep. "Man, it's only been 12 hours, and you've forgotten me already?" Justin rolled his eyes at the insanity of that. "Justin? God, what the hell are you doing calling me at this hour? I'm fucking tired man! Call me later!" "No!" Justin yelled over the line. "Look, I just need a few minutes. My mother got a bill for phone sex. I need help here. What should I say? The silence on Lance's end was unnerving, and Justin was wondering if he'd made a mistake by calling him. That's when the unexpected snicker came, turning into a chuckle, then full blown laughter. "What's so funny?" he pouted, furious that Lance, of all people, had the balls to laugh at his problem. "Nothing, oh shit! Man, I'm sorry. I just...the thought of....hang on." Justin listened as Lance tried to compose himself. He wanted to hang up so badly, but really needed some assistance before facing his mother's wrath. "Okay, I'm back. Look, tell her it was you, and that you're a man now and that you were having safe sex!" The laughter erupted once again, causing Justin to curse. "Fuck you Lance! If I wanted this shit, I'd have called Joey." He hung up, more angry than before. The phone rang back immediately, and he ignored it, kicking the covers off himself and wandering into his bathroom. There just had to be something he could say to make it less embarassing. His mother's knock made him jump. "Justin, honey, Lance is on the line. Do you want to talk to him?" At least her voice was less threatening now. He blinked the water out of his eyes and turned the water off momentarily. "Naw, tell him I'll call him later, maybe." There, that should shut him up. Safe sex! Ha! Some friend. He turned the shower back on and stepped under, taking the longest shower in history. He didn't dare step out until the hot water had been reduced to ice and he was so waterlogged, he looked years older. He had to face the music, so to speak and sighed wearily. Justin crept down the carpeted stairs, his heart hammering loudly in his chest. Be a man, for chrissakes! He chanted over and over in his head, but he was still nervous. He'd been a mamma's boy for his entire 19 years, and while he was the last to admit it, hated seeing disappointment in her eyes. She always held him on a pedestal, and now, now he was feeling lower than a snake's belly. He knew that she knew it was him, and lying wasn't going to help him out of this one. But what to say to save some dignity? Well, that was an answer he just didn't have. He heard the familiar sounds of her computer keyboard tapping away and assumed she was doing some promotional work for her entertainment company. He slipped into the kitchen and rummaged through the refrigerator for some juice. "Justin?" she called, hearing his footsteps. "Yeah?" he responded, weakly, poking his head further into the cool appliance, praying for it to swallow him up. "Sweetie, come on in here. I want to talk to you." She still sounded nice, so maybe it wouldn't be that bad. He grabbed a box of animal crackers from the shelf and slowly stepped into her office, a completely glass enclosure that overlooked the pool. The sun gleamed in brightly, and she sat at her antique desk, staring up at him. "Sit," she commanded, ignoring the cookies in his hand. Justin slumped down in the Queen Anne chair and wished that would swallow him up as well. But it didn't. His mother's glare was burning into him, and he shifted uncomfortably, popping several little animals into his mouth. "Justin, I need for us to be on the same level here," she said, quietly. "And lying is not the same level." He nodded, averting her eyes, choosing instead to stare at the large spider plant that hung from the ceiling. Suddenly, he felt as if he were 10 again, and stole some gum from the corner store. Ashamed. That was the feeling. His ears shaded red, and his heart jumped to his throat. "Sorry," he sighed, still not looking at her. What was it about a mom that made her continue to keep control after all these years? He wished he wasn't so damn close to her. No, he didn't wish that really, just now. "Anyway," she continued, letting out a deep breath, "I just don't understand why you have to do this. I mean, you're a handsome young man. You need to call women to not feel lonely?" He finally found the nerve to look over at her, and she held his gaze with, what was it? Pity. Oh hell no! Not pity! "Mom," he started, biting his thumb, "I umm. Gosh, I just don't know what to say. I'm sorry?" His blue eyes clouded over with embarassment and he wanted it to be done with. "You're sorry?" she repeated, standing up. "Justin, I don't want to hear your sorry. I want to hear why. Why you need to call these numbers. That's what I want. I want to know that you're okay. You're my baby..." Her voice broke up as she stared at him, her son with the millions of fans and the lonely heart. He rolled his eyes, seeing the persistance in her face. "Mother, I'm not a baby." His lower lip bent back between his teeth, and he tried to be nice. "I'm fine. I just, geez, don't make me say it." He searched her face for understanding, but found only confusion."I'm okay, really." He stood up and grabbed her in a hug, doing his best to smooth over the situation. "Maybe you should call your dad, and talk to him. Maybe you should go see him." However his mother could be so nieve was beyond him. For heavan's sakes, he didn't have a psychological problem, he was just horny sometimes, and talking on the phone was better than getting involved with a fan, and fuck! Why was he trying to rationalize it in his head anyway. "I don't need dad," he explained, pulling back. "I am fine. Please. Let's just drop this." He turned on his heels and headed back for the kitchen, ignoring the gaze that followed him intensely. He was definitely going to look for his own place, and soon. |
| MOVING ON by destiny |