| SEVEN |
| It could not have been a worse scenerio, not in a million years, a million lifetimes. The hospital came into veiw quickly, and the N Sync bodyguards held them back, scanning the entire set up for a safe and quiet way in. Justin stared out the back window of the limo, tears pricking his baby blues, his lower lip trembling. He was glad JC wasn't dead, but shit, how could this even be happening? He wiped at the salty liquid pooling and gazed at the two or three cars that followed them, sure they contained fans. Right now he would give up everything in the entire world if they would just get lost somewhere, take a wrong turn, anything to keep this out of the media. "Can't you loose them?" Lance grumbled, looking out the window with Justin, biting on his lip which was already raw and chapped and not calming him at all. The driver sighed. Just what kind of car did the kid think he was driving? It wasn't a maserati for chrissakes, it was a stretch limo, not just a limo, a stretch. He was being paid a pretty penny, however, and nodded. He sped up, eyeing the cars behind him. Dashing through a red light, he thought maybe he'd gotten rid of them, and hoped there were no cops. The ambulance had long since left him in the dust, and he entered the hospital complex, satisfied that no one was trailing them. Chris' legs jiggled nervously, and he averted his gaze, well aware the three of them thought this was all his fault, but shit, he didn't force the pills down JC's throat, he hadn't even been there. Just because he was fucked up didn't mean JC had to do it too. His hands shook slightly and he wished he had some pot, or valium, or anything to calm him down. His upper lip kept breaking out in a sweat, and he swore he was going crazy. God help him if this was the beginning of withdrawal, not now, not this moment. He tried to wet his lips, which were so dry they cracked, but his mouth felt as if it was full of cotten, and he reached for a bottled water, ignoring the small alcohol samples that were provided. Lance let put his arm around Justin, not knowing quite what else to do for him. "He'll be all right, you know that right?" Justin sniffled loudly, wondering how the hell Lance knew that for sure. He didn't, he was just talking, again, as usual. "Yeah," he answered because even though he didn't believe Lance, he had no energy to argue right now. The limo stopped, and the bodyguards held the singers back. Joey pushed their hands away, his eyebrows knitted together in anger. "Fuck the press. I don't care if they're out there hanging from the trees. JC's alone in there, and he needs us." Lance sighed. JC would not like adverse publicity, not at all, and especially not on him, so he grabbed Joey's sleeve. "Don't man. Don't make it worse. JC will be fine, and if we bring too much attention to ourselves..." "God, Lance! What are you saying? You'd rather us all sit out here on our asses? JC is alone, by himself in a strange city. I'm fucking going in, and you all can sit here, but I'm not." Joey's eyes were red, and he pressed them closed for a moment, trying to regain his composure. "We have to do this, together. We can't be divided, not now." Justin nodded, shrugging Lance's arm off him. "Joey's right," he admitted, placing his sunglasses over his eyes, even though clouds reigned the sky, and the sun was no where in sight. "Let's go." He looked at Chris, who was gulping down water like a camel. "Chris?" "Yeah," he said, tossing the empty bottle to the floor. "Let's go." The bodyguards shook their heads, not at all sure this was a wise move, but they were only employees, and had given their advice. They climbed out first, looking like secret service agents, hands in front of them, scanning the area for anything out of the ordinary. One nodded to Joey, and he climbed out, dashing for the back entrance. Chris followed, shaky on his feet, with Lance and Justin picking up the rear. Once inside, a hospital spokesperson was there to guide them. "Your friend is in the ER having the contents of his stomach pumped." She eyed them carefully, wondering what lead such young celebrities to such destructive behavior. Already she could tell one of them was a junkie, and stifiled the shake her head wanted to give. "We're prepared for fans and media, should it be necessary, but for now, he's in isolation, with minimal staff working on him." Justin frowned, not liking the sound of that. "Minimal staff?" he questioned. Minimal staff to him meant less than perfect care and that was not acceptable. All the money they made, he wanted the best for JC, anything he needed. She sighed. "For publicity. The less people that work on him, the less chance the story has on breaking." Christ, didn't these kids have a damn publicist to explain things to them. "Anyway, we'll do everything we can for him." Lance rubbed at his eyes, and pushed down the urge he had to strangle Chris. His earlier feelings had not gone away, and he stole a glance at him, all shaky and nervous, probably dying for his next fix. Well, good, serves him right for letting this happen to JC. "Can we see him?" Lance finally asked, wanting to say something to get his mind off Chris, and the fact he'd been to this fucking hospital twice in twenty four hours because of him. The woman nodded, and headed off. She turned when they all just stood there. She was loosing patience, and fast. "Well?" she asked, annoyed. Justin hung his head, ashamed under her condesending glare. He knew this was wrong, and they were wrong, and he was going to lead this charge, even if he was the baby of the group, because JC deserved more than what they were giving him. "Let's go," he said firmly, clearing his throat. Chris hung back, feeling woozy, and clammy, and his head was swimming around. He reached out and grabbed onto Joey for support, even though Lance was closer. Lance hated him right now, and honestly, he didn't blame him, but fuck, he felt like crap right now. "Joey," he warned, stopping. "I'm not doing too good." Joey's arms caught him just as he began to stumble to the ground. "Guys," he hissed. Why oh, why was this happening? He didn't think they were that bad to deserve all this. Lance and Justin spun around. "What's happening?" Justin whispered, seeing the pale look on Chris face, Joey's arms under him, and he cursed, loudly, screaming through the hallway, listening to the echo of his cry. "Fuck!" He'd had it. "Take me to JC," he instructed the woman. Chris would have to fend for himself. He could not do this anymore. The woman nodded silently, weaving her way through the halls until she came to the back entrance of the ER. She pushed the doors open, and Justin walked in behind her, swallowing hard. The smells of hospitals always made him queasy, since he was a kid and his grandmother had a stroke. The middle of the night he'd been awakened and rushed to the hospital with his mother, still in his favorite feetie pajamas, the ones with the bright orange basketball on the chest, the ones that he's worn so often the fabric on the heels were paper thin. And he padded about the hospital, no more than five, with his teddy clutched tightly to his chest, and the smell stung his nose, and made him throw up. He'd tossed the pajamas as soon as he was home the next morning, because they reminded him too much of the smell, and the fear, and while his grandmother would be alright, eventually, he never forgot. Now, the smell assaulted him once more, and he cringed as he pulled back the curtain, JC's mouth an odd color from the charcoal they'd given him, and he looked scared, but alert. Justin ran to his side, grabbing his hand and clutching it like he'd clutched his teddy all those years before. "JC?" he croaked, his emotions running wild. JC couldn't speak, but tears formed in his crystal eyes, and he cried, silently, while the staff continued to work on him. Justin blinked hard, to keep his own tears at bay, and paused to wipe JC's away. He looked at the doctors for some kind of understanding, wanting to know just what they had to do to him, what that fucking shit was in his system, and why, why JC had done it. All the questions had to wait for a now, while they cleaned up the mess, and Justin sat still, never letting go of his hand. He remembered meeting JC when he was so young, and looking up to him. He was so together, even back then when Justin would be running around chasing the girls, or goofing off with a video game. JC practiced, his vocal excercises, and his acting lessons, and Justin thought how diciplined he was. Now, he stared at him, laying helplessly in the bed, the N Sync rock for so long. He hated himself so much. He hated what they'd done to JC. Lance appeared from behind the curtain, Joey and a slightly recovered Chris trailing. Lance rubbed the back of his neck, and sighed. "Hey," he said softly. JC forced a smile, his teeth black from the charcoal, and damn but he felt horrible, and like a failure. He hadn't meant to take the pills, but after flushing the tainted pot, he was depressed, so fed up with the entire situation, sick of bailing everyone out all the fucking time. When did he get to act his age, maybe pull in a groupie, or get drunk? Never, that was the truth. He could never let his guard down becasue if he did, there would be no one to bail him out, and he'd be fucked. It all caught up with him, and the little white pills looked harmless, like maybe valium, or something, but it wasn't. Christ, he'd fallen over immediatley, his body unused to the shock of drugs in his clean system. And he was naked, having just taken a shower, and the floor got closer and closer as he tumbled. He wanted to tell them all, but his lips were numb, and his throat hurt, and he felt like he was dead. But he wasn't. There was Justin, holding his hand so tight it was turning blue, and Lance, with his concerned face, and Joey trying so hard to keep composure, and Chris just looking like he was going to break. It all made JC want to cry even harder. His group, all there, in that room, staring with wide eyes and the solidarity he'd wished that he'd longed for. The medical staff left the five singers alone, and Chris fell forward to JC's bed, sinking his head into the sheets, grabbing onto JC, and sobbing. "I'm sorry," he gasped, not knowing if there was enough 'i'm sorries' in the entire world to let JC know exactly how sorry he really was. JC nodded, afraid to let go of Justin's hand, but unable to use the other one which was attached to an IV. "It's okay," he managed, wishing he could comfort his older friend. "Chris, it's okay. I'm the one who let you guys down." Lance stared at him, moving closer. "No, you didn't. You're the only one who has any sense." He glanced around the small area and laughed bitterly. "Well, ususally. JC? What happened? Can you tell us?" JC nodded. "I will, but not now. I just want us to all be okay. Okay? For real. No more fucking up, not for any of us." Justin took a deep breath, turning his gaze to the other three, raising his eyebrow slightly. "Agreed, right?" Lance gulped hard. Of course, whatever it took , but he hoped it didn't mean giving up sex or anything, because he didn't really want to do that......." "Lance?" Justin asked. "Yeah, I hear ya. I agree." JC grinned. "Okay then. Let's get me the hell out of here and home." |