| ...part six... Lance sat in the VIP area of the airport, gazing at the large schedule of arriving and departing planes. "Shit," he hissed, as flight 253 came up in red, delayed by an hour. "Justin, we're stuck for another hour," he said sourly. Justin looked up from his magazine. "Huh?" Lance threw his carry on down and grabbed a glass of vodka from the bar. "An hour. Plane is delayed." Damn, didn't Justin ever pay attention. "So?" Justin asked, still curious as to what happened to Lance. He'd rushed into the hotel, muttering curses and throwing his stuff in a bag, saying he was leaving, but wouldn't say why. "I dunno," he growled, tossing the liquor back. "I just want to get home." "Lance, what the hell happened at MTV?" he asked, replacing the magazine on the table. "Will you please tell me what made you so fucking pissy?" "Nothing, I told you." He was lying, right through his teeth. He thought about his escape, tearing out of the building and heading back to the hotel, his mind filled with confusion and fear. He actually gave a shit about that little intern, and what he'd done to her was unforgivable. He slamed another shot and chewed on his lip. She was so beautiful, laying on the floor, looking up at him with something other than "fan love" in her eyes, something annoyingly warm and true, and he hated the way her eyes haunted him, even now as the alcohol made his body relax and grow fuzzy. Justin shook his head,but let it go, spying a cute actress from television in the corner. "Whatever," he said, heading over. Lance slumped down in the couch, unable to shake the feelings that surged into him. He hated relationships, messy things. So what was it about this girl? She said no to him, that was it. Eventually giving in didn't count. You can't always fight your body, he reasoned. Well, it was too late now. He was going home and not planning on coming back to NYC for a long time. His cell phone jingled, taking him by surprise. He checked the ID, and recognized the producer of TRL's number. "What now?" he hissed, clicking on, "Yeah?" he asked, half interested. "Lance? It's me." He bolted up. It was her. His heart skipped a beat, and he swallowed hard. "How did you get my number?" "I begged," she laughed nervously. "And I might just loose my job for it." "Oh," he said, dumbfounded, searching for words to speak, but none came. "Anyway, I'm sorry about earlier. I really am. I felt badly and wanted to let you know." She felt badly? How was that possible? He'd been the one to persue her like a fucking fiend of some kind, like a letch that couldn't get a date. She'd just been doing her job, he'd invaded her life. "No," he said firmly, standing up and walking to the huge window overlooking the parked planes. "It's me. It's me and my fucked up sense of reality." Lance felt his lip tremble and couldn't believe he wanted to cry, hearing this girl's voice made him want to curl into a ball and let her hold him and just sob about everything bad in life. He pinched his nose, begging the tears to hold. "I don't know what got into me. I had no right to treat you like that. I'm sorry if I put your job in jeopardy." She was silent on the other end, moments ticking by, and Lance was sure he'd said the wrong thing. He heard her clear her throat before speaking again. "I'd like to see you again," she said gently. "I know it's wrong, and damn, I tried to get you off my mind, but I couldn't. I can't. I don't know, it's risking a lot for me, and oh, hell..." Lance smiled a bit. "You do? You want to see me after I was a first class dick to you, and acted like a spoiled brat?" "You weren't that bad," she giggled. "And I think there's more to you than meets the eye, really." Lance thought about that. He wasn't sure there was much more to him. He felt shallow and cold, and mean. He wanted to lash out at people everyday, and his friends were growing more and more distant, and he didn't recall when he'd become this monster type person. This girl on the phone wanted to give him a chance, a way to prove himself, that he could be good. "I'm heading back home now," he said, regretfully. "Maybe I can call you when I get there? Maybe we can set something up?' "That would be nice," she replied. "I'll be waiting." Lance nodded, and his heart felt unbinded, a little more free. When he hung up, he headed back over to his seat, watching an older woman stuggle with her heavy bag. Without a second thought, he jumped up and assisted her, with a smile. The End |