| ++ SIX ++ |
| Justin slept so soundly, so deeply in fact that Lance checked on him every fifteen minutes or so, worried if he woke up alone he'd become more aggitated, or more despondant. He paced around his house, biting on his nails, opening and closing his front door on the lookout for Joey. He knew it took some hours to get to Mississippi from Florida, but was hoping Joey decided to speed because he needed him right now. And Justin's mom was on her way. He thought about calling her back, asking her not to come, not when Justin was so upset, so freaked out. But he didn't think that would help the situation. Justin was her blood, and she was hell bent on finding out just why her son had gone off the deep end. There was nothing much he could do, so he sat, quietly, staring into space, wondering if Justin would be alright. Hours passed, the sun tucking itself away behind the clouds, and Lance crept back up the steps to check on Justin once again. The bed was empty, causing panic to race through his blood. "Justin?" he called out, moving through the bedroom, into the bathroom. "Justin, where you at?" He tried not to shake, or tremble, but he knew something just wasn't right. Nothing about this entire day was right. The french doors to the balcony were open, letting a cool breeze float into the room. Lance blinked and hurried out. "Justin?" he called. "I fucked it all up," the voice returned, sadly, whimpering in pain. "Lance, I had it all, and it's gone now." Lance looked around. He saw nothing, heard the voice, but saw no sign of Justin. "Man, where are you?" His voice was waivering now, frightened, and scared. He looked over the balcony and saw Justin sitting on the wrought iron ledge just underneath, curled up, dried streams of tears on his cheeks, his sapphire eyes now red rimmed and foreign. Lance reached over, instinctively, grabbing for Justin's tee shirt. "Don't," Justin warned, leaning away. "Just don't." He rocked back and forth, staring at his bare feet. "I don't want to be helped." "Bullshit," Lance growled, swiping at him again. "Don't you fucking dare do this to me, Justin. Don't you dare!" He missed again, and pulled back, rubbing his hands over his face. "Fuck!" he screamed, as Justin crept closer to the edge. "Justin, you cannot do this," he pleaded, his heart exploding inside him with a terror he'd never known. "You get up here now, you face life and stop being a baby!" Justin sniffled and peered up into those angry jade eyes, eyes that cared for him, and loved him as blood. "I can't," he stammered, all feelings lost. "I don't wanna anymore." Lance sighed, and knelt down, pushing his arm through the bars of the balcony, barely able to touch the soft curls of his friend's hair. "J, it's okay. I promise. Just come back up here and I'll help you. I will." The curls slid further away until Lance could no longer touch any part of Justin, and he knew he was slipping, somewhere dark and sinister, somewhere that no one would be able to find him. All this simply from lonliness? It couldn't be, shouldn't be. Not like this, not when he was so fucking young and talented and christ, there was no use thinking about it now. Not when Justin was seemingly oblivious to the edge, and it was a long way down to the concrete below. Lance inhaled deeply, trying again. "Justin, remember when we were doing liner notes, for No Strings Attached, and we were going nuts focusing on thanking people, and we all sat in that fucking room at Jive and bit through pencils and wondered if this album would go anywhere, do anything? Remember?" Justin stayed quiet, but he stopped rocking. Lance knew he was hearing him, and spoke evenly, calmly. 'And we were there, just the five of us, scared shitless that our fifteen minutes of fame were up? That we were washed up?" Justin nodded now, and wiped his nose, peering up from his solitude. Lance knew he had him. "What did you tell us, Justin? Can you remember what you said to us all?" The voice was so tiny, so frail that Lance thought he would break just from the odd sound it made. "I said it didn't matter because we were best friends, blood, and family. No one could destroy us because we had each other." Lance let out the breath he'd been holding, praying Justin would be jolted by the memory. "That's right," he said gently, watching carefully as Justin moved back a bit. "You said nothing could destroy us because we had each other, and if you don't come back over this balcony, Justin, we won't have you anymore, and I don't think we could live like that." He was too afraid to cry, to do anything more than continue to talk in his most reassuring voice, touching his cross, hoping that God would come through again. "So why don't you get up and come on over here?" "But my mom..." "Justin, I'm here. Your mother can't hurt you. She just wants to help you and if you don't want to see her, I'll get rid of her." Lance eyed Justin's tee shirt, almost within grasp. Just a few more inches and he could grab it. Just a little closer. From below, Joey peered up at the odd scene, the dusk overtaking the sky, the yard illuminated only by spotlights and garden lights. "What the fuck is going on?" he boomed, alarming Justin and surprising Lance. Justin jumped, loosing his balance a bit. Lance dove forward and grabbed his shirt, holding on for dear life. "Joey, get up here now!" Lance screamed as he clutched the thin fabric, holding Justin up. "Justin, listen to me! You have to stay still, do you hear me?" Justin nodded and looked up, fear consumed his azure eyes. "Okay, Lance, I won't move." He was scared, and shaking, and cold, and he knew he had the guys, for now, for always, and he was pissed because he was acting like a spoiled baby, crying and whining because he suffered from lonliness, and no one ever died of that. He didn't want to fall, and with each breath he felt Lance's grip loosen just a bit. He struggled to move closer, but his body was trembling. When Joey's face appeared from behind Lance, he cried. "Joey, I'm sorry," he gasped. Joey nodded, but the look on his face spoke volumes. He had no idea what was going on, and reached over to grab onto Justin's arms, yanking him hard. He popped to his feet and over the balcony, sending them all tumbling to the tile floor with a thud. Joey grunted as Justin landed ontop of him. "What is going on?" he grimaced, confused. Justin bit his cheek, ashamed and solemn, and crawled back into Lance's bed. Lance scurried in behind him, covering him up with the comforter. "Shh," he cooed, tucking him in, watching as he curled back into his fetal position. "It's okay. I'll take care of it." Justin nodded, and closed his eyes, drained and tired, sick with it all. Joey threw his hands up in total bewilderment and watched as Lance motioned for him to follow him out of the room. "Okay, wanna let me in on why Justin was out there? And what you meant when you said you'd take care of it, and what the hell is happening?" Lance rolled his head back, the dull ache that settled there knawing at him. "It's a long story, but he needs help. We gotta get JC and Chris here. We all have to be here for him. He's loosing it." Joey knew better than to question Lance. Lance's face was serious, deadly so, and when Justin's mom arrived just moments later, Joey had been briefed a bit. They stared at one another, wondering if they should let her in, wondering how much more damage that would do to Justin. If he felt lonley and abandoned by his family, surely seeing one of them would make it worse. |