| "Do you think I'm shallow?" Lance groaned and threw his hands over his face. "Holy shit! Justin, please. Go to sleep. I'm so tired." Justin laid on his back in the hotel room he and Lance were forced to share due to a booking mistake. His mind was wandering back to the vicious interveiw he had endured hours earlier, and he still felt the sting of the woman's harsh words. They kept replaying in his mind, and now it was late, really late, and he couldn't sleep. "Well? Do you?" He was persistant. Seeing how he wasn't going to get any sleep unless he comforted his friend, Lance clicked on the small light on the nightstand and looked over at Justin. "Do you think you're shallow?" he challenged. The last thing he wanted to do right now was play doctor to Justin's ego, but he was so tired, it had been such a long day, he thought maybe he could get it done and over with quickly. "Well?" he waited for a response. "Maybe. Do you think I'm immature?" Justin just couldn't believe this woman had called him names, to his face. He'd encountered some tough interviews, but this editor was out for blood. Lance sighed and threw his forearm over his eyes, attempting to block out the soft glow of the lamp, and the tenseness in Justin's voice. "Look, we've had a million horrible interveiws in the past 5 years. A lot of people have said shit about us. So why are you letting it get to you? If you know you're not these things, then just forget her." Lance prayed silently that Justin would stay quiet now, and fall asleep, that his words would work and quiet would fall across the room once more. For a while, his wish came true, so he leaned over and turned out the light, closing his eyes. Click! The light went back on. "But, no one's ever actually challenged my behavior to my face before, Lance. It's fucked up." Taking a deep breath, Lance pulled himself into a sitting position. His eyes were so tired, they stung with each blink, and just did not want to stay open. He knew that Justin wouldn't rest, or let him rest, until he found some kind of way to deal with what had happened. The woman had been particularly hard on the 19 year old. Lance cringed when he thought back on it. The five of them had been split up to cover more press in less time. Justin and Lance had been assigned to an editor from Great Britian who was doing an article for a new magazine. They walked in, shaking hands, and being their usual sweet selves when she had abruptly, and rudely attacked Justin. "Do you think it's nice to lie to your fans, the ones who keep you in fancy clothes and nice cars? I mean, they deserve the truth about whom you're dating, wouldn't you agree? "Why do you act so immaturely in public, snubbing fans at times? Do you think you deserve privacy because you're famous? You did decide to do this with your life? Do you regret it now?" Lance had tried in vain to jump in and take some of the heat off of his best friend, but she was so damn relentless, calling him spoiled and callous. At one point, Justin had to blink back tears to keep from crying. Lance finally called the interveiw off, holding back his own choice words, and dragged a despondant Justin from the room. It had taken Lance an hour to calm him down. He would never understand the need for the media to break them down. Justin was the most sensitive of them all, and took things very personally. Now, it was so late, and all Lance wanted to do was hunt that woman down, and wake her ass up. If he couldn't sleep because of the damage she'd caused, well, she shouldn't be allowed to sleep either. "I know it's fucked up, J. I do know. I was there. But she's just one woman. She doesn't define you. You give a lot of yourself. You know it, and I know it, and our fans know it." Lance tried to keep his eyes open as he spoke, but he felt himself sliding down into the comfort of his bed, his eyes begging for sleep. Justin hugged his knees to his chest and thought about what Lance was saying. It was true, he did hide his relationships, but he had to. There was no way he could stand to see someone he loved torn down in print like he was. It would hurt too much. He thought he was doing the right thing, even though he knew a lot of fans would be accepting. But the ones that weren't, well, they were the ones he worried about. Anxiety riddled his body, and he felt the need to cry. Glancing over at Lance, he had to smile. He was sleeping sitting up, half way up anyway, his eyes fluttered open every once in a while, and he was mumbling periodically. He leaned over and clicked off the light, watching in the shadows as Lance's body slumped all the way down into the bed. Rolling over, he let the tears drop onto the pillow silently. It wasn't fair sometimes. He didn't want to have to evaluate his life every day. He wanted to go shopping alone, or go out to eat without being hounded. He didn't want to have to justify every little thing he did in public, or didn't do. And his family, well they had endured more than their share of abuse. "Stage mom....Pushed her kid hard.....Never sees his family..." Justin creapt from his bed and locked himself in the bathroom so he wouldn't disturb Lance any more. He sat on the toilet seat and cradled his head in his hands, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. It was too much for him to deal with. He wanted someone to hold him, kiss his tears away, protect him from this craziness. There was no one though. He sat there all night, until morning, when Lance knocked on the door, afraid when he saw Justin's bed empty. "Dude, you okay?" he asked, still half asleep. Justin peeked through the door, his face tear stained, and his eyes swollen. "No, no I'm not. I want to go home." Lance pushed the door open with alarm. "Justin, what's wrong? Why do you want to go home?" Justin collapsed into Lance and sobbed. "I don't want to do this anymore. I can't." "Shh, it's okay. Come with me." Lance helped him to the bed, and laid him down. "Stay here. I'll be right back." Justin clutched onto Lance's tee shirt, his red eyes pleading. "No, please stay with me for now. Please." His voice was shaky and exhaustion was taking over his body. "I don't want to be alone anymore." Lance chewed on his lip. That damn reporter had done this to him, and he wanted her to pay. He looked down as Justin closed his eyes, still hanging onto his shirt tightly, and felt so badly for him. There had to be a way to make the bitch pay for hurting Justin like this, but how? He thought and thought while watching Justin fall into a state of slumber. When he was fairly sure his friend was out, he picked up the phone and got the number for the London office of the magazine where the woman worked. "Yes, hi, this is Lance Bass from N Sync. I need to get in touch with your owner, or who ever is the editors boss." He paused as he was put through. When he heard the voice on the other end, his mind spun with excitement. "Hi, I had an interveiw yesterday with your editor and I just wanted to let you know that she not only propositioned myself and my bandmate, but she also appeared under the influence of narcotics." He smiled evilly as the man on the other end apologized profusly, offering to pull the interview and seriously reprimand the editor, possible fire her. Lance smiled thoughtfully, and when his conversation was finished, he felt a great deal of satifsfaction. "Don't mess with my friends," he said softly, pulling the sheet over Justin's sleeping body. "They're all I got!" |
| THE INTERVEIW by destiny |