TWISTED FIVE Lance shook. His body trembled with each step he took backstage. His eyes widened with every dropped item -- with every person who said hi to him. He was like a beaten dog, just waiting for his owner to turn on him again. Justin watched carefully, not being able to stray too far from Chris. But he managed to get to JC, corner him and plead. “Watch Lance tonight, please,” he’d begged. “Just keep him away from Joey.” Big blue eyes surrendered into the inevitable -- the reality that neither could fight much,  but his heart yanked with the request. And JC had agreed, unwilling to hear more -- the why’s or how’s. He just knew that Justin and Lance were getting worse. “I got him, Justin,” he’d promised. “I’ll keep him safe tonight if I can.” Justin had nodded, his hands wringing obsessively in front of him. “Thank you,” he said, over and over again. An hour to show, and Lance was still wandering, still jumping at every noise. Joey was relaxing, sending very intense messages to Lance through expression -- through body language. The wardrobe lady yelled at Lance. “Keep still!” she growled as she adjusted his pants. “Dammit, Lance. They’re another size smaller.” She frowned at him as her hands pinned the baggy material. “Christ, kid. Eat something once in a while will ya?” Lance stared down at her with an apologetic gaze that made Justin disintegrate. He watched from across the room, and wanted to break down, hold Lance and just make it right. But Joey stepped in front of Justin with evil eyes and bitter breath. “Stop staring at him,” he snapped. “It’s fucking weird.” “Sorry.” Justin lowered his head and looked away, fighting the pit that fluttered in his gut, feeling sorry for Lance and his sobbing body. Wishing he could do something more. Wishing he had done something more. Chris was pulling at his shirt, and Justin spun around, refocusing his attention. “What’s going on with you two?” he demanded, pinching Justin’s cheeks in his hands. “I mean, fuck. Ya’ll are all puppy eyes and shit.” Justin shrugged as he heard Joey move away. “Nothings going on,” he said quietly as Chris yanked him down beside him. “Honestly. I’m just tired, I guess. Lance looks tired too.” “Focus on your own mess, Justin,” Chris whispered into his ear, wrapping his hand around the back of Justin’s neck and dragging him closer. “Because you can’t help Lance. You can’t even help yourself!” Justin winced as the words sliced through him, and his body shrank back into the cushions because Chris was right -- and he wondered if he’d done something so wrong in his short life to deserve being controlled and abused so harshly. And he pondered a different life, one where he was friends with Chris and Joey, and they laughed and protected each other. Just like the image the public had. A life where he slept with Lance at night because he *wanted* to -- because they longed to sink into each other’s arms and make love. “Gotta go,” JC said, eyeing Justin nervously. “Everyone ready? Press in the hall.” Justin gritted his teeth and waited for Chris to let him up, and he hated to have to move his fishbowl out there where his eyes could be caught, and lies could escape. Slowly, he turned and looked at Lance who was standing like a rag doll while he slid his pants on, taken in to accommodate his diminishing frame. He had anger, and when Lance’s eyes glanced up to meet his, the anger turned ugly. “You say you love us,” Justin hissed lowly, twisted in Chris’ grasp to face him. “You say we’re your blood. You say this is the way it’s always going to be. But if you kill us, it’s not going to be any way anymore.” Chris’ hands dropped as Justin stood, his eyes tired and unblinking. “Let’s go then,” Justin said, brushing past Lance, unable to meet his gaze again. Lance rubbed his hands on his costume and followed silently, trying to play keep away with Joey’s hands. If he could make it to the hallway, he thought he’d be alright. True to form, as they filed out of the room, the smiles fell from all five faces as the media pressed forward. And Lance managed to contain his wobble as a reporter cornered him to drill inane questions. He bit his lip, and forced his eyes to sparkle, and pressed the sting of his ass away, distressed that it bothered him at all. Justin was staring, he could tell, but he focused as Joey’s large hand landed on his shoulder, and the wince he felt throughout his body transformed into a tight smile, nothing more.  He felt fingers press into his shoulder blade and urged his smile to widen. Justin looked away from him, bouncing the hackey around absently. It was a tear down Lance’s middle as those big blue eyes ripped away from him, and he felt so lost and alone -- he wondered how he could go out there and perform again. How much longer his body would last being tormented. “Let’s go,” the stage manager called, and Lance resisted the impulse to shove Joey’s hand away. Instead he waited, patiently, for Joey to shove him slightly toward the impromptu circle. “Ready?” Justin asked. And while it was seemingly directed at all of them, Lance felt the words curl around his body -- knowing Justin was speaking to him. And together, the two babies wondered if tonight would be the night it all ended. Or if it would continue on ... as it had. ************* “Crowd was slow,” Chris hollered as they were rushed from the back of the stage to the busses. “What the fuck was up with that?” Joey jogged behind him. “You’d think rain would sexify them!” Lance couldn't run because his body was aching, every pore screaming for mercy. It had been the wall that nailed him this time, his ass Velcro'd to it. Flashes of light popping in record numbers as he jumped and attached himself. In developing those photos, he knew there would be anguish worn across his face. And then what .. he just didn’t know. Justin’s hand fell on the small of his back, a gentle touch that seemed to covey all the emotions pushed back from the day. “We’ll be at the hotel soon,” Justin whispered. “Soon.” He jogged ahead to the others, fearful of being seen with Lance. “Come on,” Chris laughed, grabbing the back of Justin’s neck. “Hurry the fuck up. Slow and slower!” He turned to Justin and shook his head. “You’re on your own tonight,” Chris smirked, shoving Justin up the steps. There was a thunderous pounding in Justin’s head, a fear he couldn’t quite get a grip on as Chris’ words slithered inside him. Alone. He paused mid step and twisted to face Chris. “What’s that mean?” he asked softly, licking his lips nervously. “Chris?” And from behind Chris he saw Joey smack Lance’s backside with a sadistic smile -- and he saw the pure agony flash across Lance’s angelic face, and the tears glisten in defeat. He begged Lance silently to look at him, so he could create a little blanket for him. Send it out because he knew by Chris’ tone that something bad was going down. Something huge for them not to be allowed to sleep together. But Lance was hobbling, trying his best to run to the bus, and Joey was the one who caught Justin’s eye. He smiled broadly and grabbed his crotch before disappearing behind them to the other bus. Justin crashed inside. He felt his heart fall and blackness swim around him. “Chris, please. Don’t let him ...” It was wicked hands that grabbed his face, and hurtful fingers that splayed across his neck. It was Chris hissing in snake-like tones for him to shut up and get in the back. And Justin shook as his body tingled -- as his heart raced and his mind scrambled to come up with something .. anything .. to keep Lance safe. The bile pooled in the back of his throat, and he saw JC run past their bus to Lance’s. Hope surfaced that perhaps JC could stop the impending attack, or whatever Joey’s mind was planning. So he backed up, and pressed his nose against the glass, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was going on. Already security was in a tizzy, trying to get the busses going. “What’s the holdup?” Chris asked, stepping next to the bus driver. He looked around and sighed. “Fucking JC, man. What the hell?” Justin’s heart soared. JC had promised. He’d vowed to try to keep Lance safe and now he was trying. Chris whirled around and pointed at him, and it was a triumph of sorts. Because, Justin thought, so long as Lance was okay, he would suffer. They couldn’t break them. No matter what. The anger and resentment from earlier was dissipating, and tears stung in his eyes. He ached for normalcy, for a chance to escape things. And his mind kept replaying the scene in the hotel room, when Lance was trying to show him intimacy, and love. And things that were supposed to be. He’d pushed away then, but as he sat under Chris’ death glare, he promised himself that if given the chance, he’d never push again. “You!” Chris cried as the busses lurched forward. “You fucking did this, you shit!” Justin wiped his eyes and tried to stay calm. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Maybe JC had to talk to Joey about something or ..” The slap was so ferocious it caused his head to slam back against the window pane, and pain seared through him. He refused to whimper, refused to let Chris have that joy. But inside he was screaming, calling for his momma to rescue him. Or for Lance. For JC. For anyone. Because he was scared. All the time. And ashamed. He was bigger, and by all rights should have been able to just knock Chris over, tell him no more. Yet the physiological toll was enormous, and as he sat on the bench stunned, Chris hovered. “You wanna play Justin? You think you’re so fucking smart!” And Justin covered his face with his hands, fearful of another slap, trembling because he wasn’t smart. He was the furthest thing from smart. He could feel the fury radiate from Chris, and he longed for his blanket, to be curled up against it, wrapped up with it. Somehow, he knew he’d gone a step too far. “Let’s go,” Chris said, yanking him to his feet. “Let’s go have a chat about this little plan  you and Lance concocted. Dragging JC into it. What the fuck?” The bitterness yanked Justin down, his soul, his being. But he stood and walked slowly to the back, mindful of Chris on his heels. He expected a hard shove, or a punch to the back of the head. He expected to be punished in whatever way Chris wanted. That was the way it was ... or so Chris reminded him day after day. “Talk,” Chris demanded, lunging for Justin. Justin felt the wind fly from his lungs as Chris knocked him to his back, and he blinked up in time to see Chris pounce, swiping his wrists and pinning them to his stomach. “What do you want me to say?” Justin gasped, frozen under Chris’s weight. “Who’s attitude this is? Why you’re all of a sudden trying to change things? Where the fuck you get off ..” Justin was stunned, and sad. And his mind whirled with images of Lance, and Joey’s plan being foiled with JC on that bus. The corners of his mouth twitched, unintentionally, and then the pain occurred. TWISTED FOUR MENU TWISTED SIX