Deranged Delusions

18. And He Shall Smite The Crackheads

Ah, Boston. You’re so great, I love you to death. Really I don’t know what I would be doing with myself if we were holed up in some random town in Kansas or something. At least I’m not bored out of my mind and I can go do some things here while Justin is in the middle of press or partying with his band. Not that Justin and I spend any quality time together or anything. We’ve hardly said anything to each other since our last blow up fight after his Anaheim show. I mean we have talked to each other, but it’s on a complete professional level and…

Ugh, why am I still confused about this? I mean this is the easiest job in the world now. Justin doesn’t make huge requests, he stays out of my face and I do the same. It’s been quite enjoyable and I’m enjoying the free time I have to walk around the different cities and take in the different places and faces.

But then again that gives me a lot of time to think about our situation.

I never would have guessed that Justin and I have a ‘situation,’ but we do. I told him to never touch me and he hasn’t. Not so much as a pat on the shoulder to tell me good job. I think he’s really freaking scared that I’m going to mess him up and reveal to him the pictures I’ve taken of him throughout the years and so that’s frightened him enough to stay away.

I mean do I want him to kiss me again?

Fuck, no.

Well, maybe a little, but only because that guy knows what he’s doing. But then again, the only times we’ve ever kissed was when we were both angry as hell and couldn’t do anything else but try to kiss each other into oblivion. We’re not using it in a romantic way at all. We’re actually doing it to channel our anger.

But we’ve only done it twice. God now it sounds like we’ve been screwing each other which isn’t true at all. Maybe we would have done it the first time, but Trace came in and interrupted us, and I was thankful for that. No sense in doing something I’ll really regret…

Having sex with Justin Timberlake would be a huge regret.

Kicking his ass wouldn’t be that bad.

“You aren’t supposed to be in here,” Justin snaps at me as I walk into his dressing room. He’s sitting on the couch with a bottle of beer safely encompassed by his hands and I give him a look of ‘try to stop me,’ before I walk in and head over to the small cooler set up by the vanity.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting rid of this alcohol,” I state simply as I start to pick up the heavy cooler. How much shit does he have in here? I know Boston has good beer, but damn.

“You can’t do that!”

“What do you think I’m doing right now?” I ask, “You don’t need to have this in your body before you go out on stage. I will not have you going out there drunk off your ass.”

“Who are you, my mother?”

“No.”

“Then don’t take my shit out of my dressing room!” Justin yells as he sets down his already opened bottle and heads over towards me. Lay one hand on me, Justin, and you’ll get a huge awakening. “I always have one or two beers before I go out on set, and besides, they all love it when I drink on stage!”

“Yeah but the fans won’t love it when you forget the words to your songs!” I counter and he grumbles in frustration.

“They don’t even know half of the songs because the album isn’t out yet,” Justin tries lamely and I laugh in his face.

“Please, you know your shit leaked like three days ago online and they probably all know the lyrics so you can just shut up and stop trying to give me lame ass excuses. I’m only looking out for your best interest and going out there buzzed or drunk isn’t going to make for a good show. Trust me on this.”

“Why should I trust you with anything?” Justin glowers and I roll my eyes as I set the cooler down and look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Justin, if I weren’t here to keep you from destroying yourself, you’d be, well, destroyed.” That was awkward.

“Thank you for those wonderful pearls of wisdom, Socrates, but if you’d excuse me, I have to get ready for my show.” And before I can stop him, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a zip-loc bag of something green and flora…

“Oh hell no, Justin. You are not smoking that before your show!” I squeal with displeasure as I make a wild grab for the weed I know Justin will light up before he goes out on stage. He tries to do it every single time but for the most part, I’ve been able to stop him.

“It relaxes me!”

“There are plenty of other things to relax you! Listen to some music, watch some TV, get a massage…”

“You want to give me one?” Justin asks wickedly, his eyes alight with mischief and that sexual energy that makes a million and one girls squeal with delight every time he sees them or looks into a camera.

“In your dreams. Give it to me Justin,” I demand while I hold my hand towards him and the bag.

“No!”

“Justin I swear if you don’t give it to me I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” Justin taunts and I roll my eyes at him and throw up my hands in defeat.

“Fine, ruin your fucking life. Fall back into being a pot head and see what that does to you! You’re going to get sick and run yourself into the ground and you’ve got a crap load of stuff to do in the future and you’re just going to ruin it all! See if I care, I only want my paycheck and my pat on the head at the end of all this, saying I did a good job before I can go on my merry way and never have to deal with your sorry ass again! See if I care when I see you five years down the line and you’ve thrown it all away because of your stupid addictions to the acts of the mentally retarded!” I’m ranting now but I don’t care. He’s about to reply when there’s a knock at the door and I turn around to see Marty, Justin’s choreographer standing in the threshold. I don’t know how long he’s been standing there and I don’t really care.

“You’re on in five, Justin,” Marty explains and Justin nods dutifully before he throws the bag on the coffee table and stalks towards the door. At that exact moment, a tall, blonde haired woman walks in and throws herself on Justin, kissing him soundly on the mouth.

Great, I didn’t realize Shannon would be back here tonight.

Justin’s new squeeze, Shannon Murphy, is someone I would like to give a thorough ass kicking to and I wouldn’t care if I got arrested for it. She is the bitch of all bitches and I would give a hell of a lot just to rip out her weave and make her beg for a hit of whatever it is she likes to snort.

She whispers something playful in his ear and he smiles before he walks back towards his gym bag and pulls out his money clip. He hands her a roll of bills and I nearly gag out of disgust when she squeals in delight and snatches the money out of his hand, kissing him harder than the first time.

Oh I hate her.

Shannon spots the weed on the table and she picks it up immediately before she heads over to the vanity to roll what is probably her thirtieth doobie of the night. The girl is a drug addict, there’s no way about that and I blame her for the reason why Justin has relapsed into his drug abusing ways.

He would do some shit when he was with Cameron, but that was nowhere near to the extent that he’s doing now. It scares the shit out of me sometimes, but I do my best to keep my mouth shut.

“Marty, can I talk to you?” I ask him as Justin stalks past and heads towards the stage. The dancer rolls his eyes and heads over towards me. I know that Marty and I aren’t the greatest of friends, he thinks I’m too overbearing and won’t let Justin do the things he wants to do, but when you think about it, I’m the one with the head straight on her shoulders. Everyone else around here acts like they should be in a circus.

“Sup?”

“Look, I’m getting worried about Justin,” I say in a low voice. I don’t want Shannon to overhear this because she’ll only stick her lame nose into my business and I don’t want to talk to Shannon any more than I have to.

“Why?”

“He’s so busy and just doing so much stuff that I think he’s going to run himself into the ground. I’m afraid he’s going to get sick or something. And the way he keeps using these drugs…”

“Look, Lauren. I don’t know why you’re so worried about him. He’s a grown man, he can make his own choices and the last time I checked you don’t really give a damn about his well being, so why should you start now?”

Note to self: Scratch Marty off my Christmas list.

I really do care about Justin’s well being, too much, I think. I make sure he gets sleep, I help him get to where he needs to be on time, I make sure he doesn’t destroy himself before he goes out on stage, I do all of that for him and more and apparently no one around here realizes that.

“I’ve gotta go get my seat for the show. Don’t worry about it,” he adds before he walks off towards the front of the house. What am I going to do? I’ll probably sit on the couch and listen to the show through the walls. I don’t go out to the front of the house anymore to watch his show.

I can’t because every time he sings some of his new songs, he always looks at me. And him making eye contact with someone on the upper levels of the venue is never a good thing. Everyone turns around to look at who he’s singing too and that always means I get death stares from women and gay men or questioning looks from reporters and gossip bloggers.

So I stopped going out there. And now I just sit on the couch in the green room and listen to the show through the walls. There’s hardly anyone back here because they all want to watch Justin and I enjoy the serenity of the backstage area during the show. After, I usually hang around and make sure no one talks to Justin that isn’t supposed to. Yes, I’m supposed to be a bitch to people who want to congratulate Justin and tell him that he’s their hero.

Don’t you love me for it?

“Justin needs you to do him a favor,” Shannon’s silky voice sounds over the thumping bass in the background. I guess the show has started.

“What else is new?” I question as I begin to shift through news reports and reviews of past shows.

“Well, he needs you to go now,” the leggy blonde glides over to me and hands me a slip of paper, “Go there and get two blocks and one kilo of their pure….”

“Wait, you’re sending me on a drug run?” I ask hastily and Shannon roles her eyes at me as if I’m wasting her time with stupid questions, “Sorry, Shannon, but this is where I draw the line.”

“I don’t think you understand. Either you go and get this stuff, or I’ll make sure you do time,” she threatens and I give her a very unladylike scoff before I turn away and face the reports. This is getting ridiculous. She is really overstepping her boundaries here.

Justin met her at some after party in Vegas and the weasel doesn’t have a life so when he invited her to come with him on tour, she accepted immediately. And she brought her coke whore-ish ways with her. Almost every time I see her, she’s either on something or getting off of something and that always makes for some verbal abuse on her part. Of course this happens whenever Justin isn’t around and it makes me think that Shannon is doing it because she knows she can’t get away with it when Justin is around me. Nevertheless, Justin adores her and likes that he keeps her young and sort of grounded in the world of twenty-somethings.

I think she’s destroying him.

“You don’t scare me, how are you going to make me do time?” Shannon is so full of hot air it’s laughable. If she wants a damn fix she can get it herself…

“I have my ways. All I have to do is drop some heavy stuff in your bag and it’ll all come crashing down. Justin adores me and I think he’ll have a harder time believing your story than mine. Besides, I thought you were his assistant? You’re supposed to do things like this for him.”

Well I guess I missed that memo. And I know Shannon isn’t fucking around with this whole drug business. She’ll really pin some kind of drug bust on me if she doesn’t get a snort in tonight. It used to be so easy to get drugs around here, mainly because Marty or Trace knew where to go, but seeing as Trace isn’t here, and I kind of told off Marty, I don’t think they’ll be too anxious to help me. And I’m getting sick and tired of trying to get Justin to stop using this shit. If he wants to destroy himself, then so be it.

“Fine,” I snap as I put aside my papers and snatch a fold of bills out of Shannon’s manicured clutch. She smiles brilliantly as I stalk out of the room, wondering how long it will take until Shannon or Justin over dose.

I can only hope it’s soon because I am getting sick and tired of their bullshit.

I pull the rental car in front of a horribly run down house with trash littering the front lawn. A siren wails in the distance and I can see a helicopter shining a spotlight on a row of derelict apartments a few blocks away.

Wow, great part of town.

Grabbing my purse, I get out of the car and walk up the front steps. There is no way in hell I’m leaving my purse in that car because the next thing you know, it’ll be broken into and some gang member will show up at my place of address on my license to kill me and steal all of my shit.

The paint on the house is peeling, bars are on the door and windows and there is definitely no welcome mat. But this is the place and I have to go in, why I don’t know. I don’t have a clue as to why I need to do this for Shannon or Justin’s approval. Maybe I’m doing it to show that I’m serious about my job, or I’m doing it so Justin can see that I’ll pretty much do anything and everything for him when it comes to his comfort.

Or maybe, I think to myself as I knock on the door, I’m just fucking insane.

I can hear movement inside the house and I shift nervously on my feet. Why did I not think to pick up some Mace or something like that before heading over here? I know I’m probably going to get gang banged or something like that but I can’t very well leave now. I already knocked and there’s the sound of someone coming towards the front door.

I can run now and not do this, or I can wait and see what happens.

Too late, the door is open and there’s a very dumpy looking woman standing in front of me, half of her body hidden by the flimsy wooden door. She looks tired and her hair is greasy and unkempt. And it definitely looks like she just took a hit of something big because her eyes are bloodshot and I think she’s going to pass out at any moment.

Wonderful.

“Um…hi,” I stutter but I quickly clear my throat and try to regain some kind of confidence. These types of people can smell fear a mile away, “I’m here to pick some shit up.”

“Right. John,” the woman says in a voice that can only be made from smoking for twenty years. She wheezes and coughs loudly before she lets me in the house and slams the door behind me.

I’m trapped. Okay, now is the time not to panic.

I follow the woman into the depths of the very tiny house and realize that none of the lights are on at all. The only main source of light is the television coming from the living room but we pass that quickly and walk further into the house.

A door on my left, a sign on it that says ‘KEEP OUT’ in huge letters. The woman opens the door and I blanch, expecting to see some dead person or walls and walls of cocaine and other kinds of drugs, but instead it’s a flight of stairs leading into the bowels of the home.

“John’s down there. I hope you have his money because he hates it when people show up for some stuff and don’t have any dough,” the woman explains seriously before she turns around and walks away.

Whoa, whoa, I have to go down there? I have to walk into the basement of this run down house and pick up a pack of drugs with the air of a seasoned Bloomingdale’s shopper? You have got to be kidding me!

“Who the fuck is up there? You better haul your mother fucking ass down here or I swear to Jesus I’m going to fuck you up!”

Oh God. Stepping forward, I begin to walk down the stairs, hoping to God that I don’t die or get raped or get in a drug bust because that would just be the cherry on top of this awfully fucked up night.

Deep breaths, Lauren, deep breaths. You’ll be okay.

“Hurry the fuck up! I don’t have all damn night!”

The door slams behind me and I can hear the sounds of a lock being thrown on the outside. The woman has apparently shut the door and locked me inside.

I’m trapped.

Shannon Murphy is a Sex Goddess.

No really, she is. The girl can do beautiful and dangerous things with her hands. And that tongue of hers…woo boy don’t even get me started.

The little time slot between the final song of the show and when I need to go talk to some of the industry big wigs or some kind of reporter is when Shannon comes and we get down to business. Some nights we make out, others we do a little quickie, and others we just snort as much shit as we can before it’s noticeable to the people on the other side of the dressing room walls.

I like Shannon, she’s a cool chick but I know it isn’t going to last. Truth be told, the only reason why she’s around is because she helps me get my mind off of Lauren and the fact that I can’t have her. I think she knows too because she doesn’t like Lauren at all and I know it’s not because she’s brunette.

But without Shannon I would probably do something very horrible and drastic that would include Lauren and I don’t want to ruin us. Because I know there’s an us. Deep down in my soul I know that there is an ‘us’ to Lauren and I and it’ll come out sooner or later. I can only hope it’s before Shannon ODs.

We decided not to take hits, we decided not to have sex at this moment, so Shannon and I settled on option number one: heavy make out session. And I love them. The only down side is that every time I kiss Shannon I find myself comparing her to the Lauren O’Meter 9000. Why the 9000? I don’t know. It sounds cool.

But anyway, I always compare her kisses to that one Lauren and I shared after the Anaheim show. Needless to say, it doesn’t compare, not by a long shot and I don’t know if or when I’ll ever get another chance to add another Lauren kiss to the Meter.

Why am I thinking about this? I’ve got a gorgeous woman on my lap; practically shoving her hands down my pants and I can only think about Lauren. Lauren, who hates my guts and almost punched me earlier tonight because I was going to smoke some pot. I love it how she always looks out for me, but it infuriates me that she can hold any sort of power over me.

I hate it, but I love it at the same time and that’s what makes this all so confusing.

Stop thinking about it; think about what’s in front of you, which would be Shannon.

Thank God for Shannon, she’s a Sex Goddess, you know.

But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t stop thinking about Lauren. Where is she?

The funny thing about my time with Shannon is that it is always interrupted by Lauren. Always. Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes after the show is over, I hole myself up with Shannon and by twenty-five minutes, Lauren is pounding on the door, yelling at me to get out of the room or she’ll come in and drag my butt out.

It’s been thirty minutes and no Lauren, and it’s starting to freak me out a little bit. She takes her job very seriously and she isn’t here doing it. Where is she?

I break my lips away from Shannon’s and she sits back, pouting slightly.

“Where’s Lauren?” I ask her and I can see her eyes darken as she puts a strand of hair behind her ear. Did I mention that Shannon doesn’t really like Lauren?

“I don’t know,” she replies saucily before she tries to kiss me again.

“Seriously, she’s never late getting us out of here. Do you know where she is?”

“Justin, babe, think of this as a blessing. She’s always messing up our mood,” Shannon purrs as she puts her mouth on my neck. She sucks gently and for a second my mind is off of Lauren and I’m completely content in sitting here while Shannon the Sex Goddess does her thing.

“I should call her,” I say abruptly as I gently push Shannon off of me. I know she’s getting pissed but I really don’t care. It’s driving me crazy that I don’t know where Lauren is and I will be very upset with myself and Lauren, too, if she’s just running late or fell asleep somewhere. But still, I can’t get rid of the nagging feeling in my stomach that something is wrong.

I quickly call her phone and I start to pace around the dressing room hoping to God that she isn’t hurt, or worse, dead. But Lauren takes good care of her…

“Hello?” a voice picks up the other line but it isn’t Lauren’s. Well it could be Lauren if she got a sex change operation in the time I was gone and managed to become a two hundred pound black man. Because that’s what she sounds like.

“Lauren?”

“Do I fucking sound like a Lauren to you? Who the hell are you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I fire back, “Where’s Lauren?”

“She’s chillin’ right now. She’ll call you back,” the man says casually but I don’t believe him.

“Like hell she will, who are you?”

“Call me Jesus.”

There is no way in hell I am going to call this man Jesus. No way in…

“Do you want to know where she is?” the man asks and I let out a huge breath of air that I’ve been holding in.

“Yes…”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Jesus,” I say and the man, Jesus, chuckles sinisterly. It’s so creepy it’s making the little hairs on my head curl, and I don’t have a full head of hair. What has Lauren gotten herself into?

“She’s a little fucked up right now,” Jesus announces and I can feel my temper start to get the better of me, “I don’t know if you want to see her right now.”

“What do you mean she’s fucked up? What did you do to her?” I’m getting mad now, more because I’m sick with worry than anything. I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t know if this guy is teasing me or if Lauren is really in trouble. He has her cell phone so I think that something bad is going on.

“Nothing she can’t fix. Now if you’ll excuse me, Jesus has to perform a divine intervention…” and before I can ask him what he’s going to do, I can hear her voice in the distance.

“What are you doing? Put that thing down! I’m not going to do it so you better just put it away!” she sounds scared and unsure of what’s going on, which is making me really worry. “Hey! Hey, don’t touch that!” she yells, louder this time, “I swear to God…”

And before I can make of what’s going on, there’s the sound of a scuffle on the phone, people yelling, and finally a loud bang that nearly destroys my eardrum. Lauren screams and then the line is cut.

Wheeling around, I look at Shannon who is sitting on the couch looking meek and unsure of what’s going on. She totally doesn’t look like the woman I met a few weeks ago and I know for a fact that she knows exactly what’s going on.

Rushing towards her, I pick her up by her shoulders and force her to look at me. Panic is swirling around me and I can only think that I need to get to Lauren as soon as possible.

“Where is she?” I ask her frantically, “Where the hell is she, Shannon?”

Shannon doesn’t say anything; she just looks straight past me and towards the doorway. She isn’t paying attention and I don’t think she wants to listen to what I have to say but dammit I’ll make her listen if it’s the last thing I do.

“Where is she?”

“I can’t believe you fucking shot my phone!” I find myself screaming at John. He merely looks over at me before he doubles over with laughter and takes another hit from his bong. The rest of his friends start to chuckle and they all take another drag from whatever it is they’re smoking.

“Please, you can get another one. If the guy you’re working for can afford to buy shit from us, he can buy you a new phone,” John, or Jesus as he told Justin, says casually before he hands me the ruined remains of my phone.

“He’s probably pissing himself right now,” one of John’s friends, Frank, comments, “Not too many people can hear a gun shot and not piss their pants.”

“Did you see me flip out when he fired the gun?” I ask and Frank perks up as he looks at me.

“You screamed didn’t you?” I roll my eyes and I flop down on the disgustingly stained couch, in between two of John’s other friends and shake my head.

“No. I’m not that tough,” I mutter. It’s funny because I expected to be dead right now seeing as I’m still locked in this basement, but apparently this is what John does to everyone who buys shit from him.

Of course, I explained that I wasn’t using the stuff but he said it didn’t matter. He and his friends need to scope out who’s buying that way they can keep tabs on them so they don’t go to the cops. I thought the way they operated was completely different — people buy, they pay, and they either come back for more, or they don’t. But John’s different. He likes to form relationships with his buyers and he’s doing that right now with me.

I fucking love this guy.

He’s like a huge teddy bear even though when I first came down here and saw him take a needle to his arm, I almost passed out. I’ve been here for almost two hours and so far we’ve had a good time chatting and I have learned so much about drugs it isn’t even funny. Haven’t done any, but having John and his posse explain the different types of stuff and all that is definitely an eye opening experience.

Besides, I’m getting kind of loopy from all the smoke.

I told them when I went to my Drug Abusers Anonymous meeting I’d be able to hold seminars on proper usage of drugs. That got a big laugh, and that’s when Justin decided to call and John decided to have some fun.

It pissed me off because Justin is going to do one of two things. One, he’ll send someone out here to get me out of this. Or, two — he’ll call the cops. The second would be very, very bad seeing as I’ll more than likely get arrested and that wouldn’t be good at all. Nothing like getting a criminal record because Justin and his crack whore need a fix.

“C’mon Lauren, take a hit,” John ventures towards me and I shake my head before I look down to inspect my shot up cell phone. Oh poor cell phone, how I’ll miss you in the long run.

“Sorry, John. It’s where I draw the line…” I start to say but John slams a case on the coffee table and the sound makes me jump a mile in the air.

“Look,” his voice is rough now, the teddy bear is long gone and now there’s this irritable grizzly staring me in the face, “You’re going to take a hit or I’m going to shoot something else of yours and it won’t be inanimate.”

What the fuck happened? Oh wait, he had cocaine didn’t he? I remember the memorable night when Justin was so high on cocaine I felt like John Travolta from Pulp Fiction when he was Uma Thurman. You know, when he had to shove the needle in her chest to keep her from over dosing? Well it wasn’t that bad, and I think Uma did some heroin but still, it was scary, and he was really irritable and short tempered.

Great, I’m in the lair of Cantankerous Crackheads and there’s no chance of escape. Especially since the basement door is locked, there are at least four huge men hanging around and I’m sure they’re all armed.

I’m three ways fucked to Sunday.

She’s lying in the middle of the room, bleeding. I don’t know what to do because I’ve never been in a situation like this before. She’s unconscious and I don’t know if that’s because of the cut on her forehead or because she has traces of drugs on the corners of her mouth and her nose.

There’s a gunshot wound in her stomach and it won’t. stop. bleeding. Too much blood, there’s just way too much blood…

“Stop it,” I say to myself and I hit myself in the forehead with my free hand. The other is on the steering wheel and I’m racing through late night traffic, trying to get to the place where Shannon sent Lauren.

My mind is totally running away with me and so far I’ve imagined Lauren dead, close to dead, severely injured, and just fine. Guess which one happens infrequently?

Every time I call her phone all I get is her voicemail and I find myself getting even more upset about the fact that I don’t know where she is or if she’s okay. Not knowing is the thing that’s making me upset and I hope to God she’s okay.

How could Shannon be so callous as to send Lauren out into the middle of nowhere, in the middle of nowhere in the ghetto, and have her pick up some crazy crap that I would never use myself? Needless to say I kicked Shannon to the curb and told her to find her own damn way back to Vegas. I’m sorry but when you mess with Lauren, and put her in dangerous situations like that, you are just not on my nice list.

She cried, she apologized, she pleaded, but I was too emotionally involved with getting Lauren out of wherever she is safely to listen to her pretentious bullshit. I don’t know what I’m going to find when I get to this house but I only know that it’s going to be bad. Very bad.

People with guns mean business and they had one, and they used it. Maybe on Lauren, but I don’t know. I’m just so fucking scared.

I’m by myself too. I was so worried about finding her that I didn’t bother to tell security or anybody else. I just jumped into my rental car and took off. I’m still in my clothes from the show and I’m sweaty, but I don’t care. I don’t fucking care if paparazzi are following me right now, all I care about is getting to her and making sure she isn’t dead.

Finally, the house. It looks horrible. Worse than horrible. Lauren got out of her car and walked into this house? Are you kidding me? If someone had sent me out on this little errand I wouldn’t have touched this place with a ten foot pole. But when the person you pretty much love is somewhere in that house, you don’t care if there’s a fucking army in there.

I jump out of my car and run up the path to the front door. It’s wide open which isn’t helping the acute wave of anxiousness and nausea that’s rising in my stomach. Let’s not even discuss the fact that a gun shot just went off down the street followed by the incessant screaming of a woman.

My heart leaps into my throat, thinking that the person screaming could be Lauren. Would they have taken her out of the house? I have to check this place first before I go rushing about into situations that involve firearms and other dangerous substances.

I’m never doing drugs again.

I run into the house and look around. It’s empty and there isn’t a sound. What if she’s unconscious, what if she’s drowning in a pool of her own blood or something? What if something bad is going to happen to her? To me?

“Lauren!” I yell as I move from room to room. Tables and chairs are overturned and there’s a sign of a scuffle. No blood though, which is a good thing, but still — I’m scared shitless. I might have peed my pants a while back but I’m not too sure. “Lauren, can you hear me?”

Nothing.

Silence.

Shit.

I run through the house again, checking every single room. The place is totally empty. I’m about to give up my search and take to the street when I notice a door that’s slightly ajar and locked from the outside.

Rushing over, I quickly unbolt the door and find a flight of stairs leading downward into whatever is down there. A light that’s illuminating the stairwell is swinging ominously and casting a green light on the peeling walls. How quaint.

There’s probably someone down there with her right now, holding a gun to her head. Oh man I don’t know what to do around guns. I mean I like to think I kind of know what to do seeing as I did the movie with Morgan Freeman and LL, but seriously that was nothing. That was stunt doubles and choreographed fight sequences. This is real fucking life.

Some huge man is down there holding her hostage and as soon as he sees me, he’s going to shoot her in the head and blow her brains all over the place and I’m going to be standing there and…focus! Dammit I need to focus.

“Lauren?” I say hoarsely. God I don’t need this right now. I should have come with Mike or Marty or Eric or someone who would be able to keep their head in a situation like this. I should have called the cops. I should have done something rather than rush blindly into this. What if they know who I am and are using Lauren for bait?

Fuck, I didn’t think of that.

I start to walk down the stairs, holding out to the sticky walls to keep my balance. It feels like these stairs are going to fall apart at any moment and I find myself holding my breath as I descend.

There’s a kind of smoky haze down here, accented only by the horrible fluorescent lighting and the faint smell of narcotics. I feel like I’m in a fucking Miami Vice episode except I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m going on pure adrenaline right now.

“Lauren?” I call again and I’m met with the sound of a scraping chair.

The hell?

I stumble down the rest of the stairs and all but crash into the wall opposite the steps. Regaining my balance, I turn to look into the room to find a couch overturned, shards of glass littering the floor, and a few more swinging lamps.

In the middle of it all is Lauren, blindfolded, gagged, and tied up to what looks like a very uncomfortable chair. I have never been more relieved to see another human being, to see her, in my life. The huge breath I’ve been holding releases and I walk towards her, hoping to God some person doesn’t come running out from the shadows.

Walking cautiously towards her, I stop in front of the chair and kneel down so we’re eye level. I rest my hand on her knee and she tenses up immediately. She must be scared shitless, especially since she’s tied up and can’t say anything.

“Lauren, are you okay? Yes or no?”

My worst fears are confirmed when she shakes her head. Something’s wrong. Shit. I quickly get to work and untie her hands and feet from their bindings. Once her hands are free, she rips off the gag and the blindfold and looks up at me with frightened blue eyes.

“Are you alright?” I ask her again and she bites her lip and tears start to pool in her eyes. Before I can stop myself, and before I can think of the ‘No Physical Contact’ rules, we’re both sitting on the disgusting concrete floor, holding onto each other so tightly I feel like my eyes are going to bug out of my head.

She’s breathing hard and she’s holding onto me so firmly it’s almost as if she’s trying to crawl inside of me. It’s when she starts to shake uncontrollably that I start to rock her back and forth to try to get her to calm down. I smooth down her wild hair and do my best to not think of how close we are. Right now I want to make her feel safe.

After a few more minutes of silence, I pull away and look at her, “Are you okay? Did they hurt you? Did they touch you?”

She shakes her head, “They took everything.” Is all she says and I feel myself becoming more confused by the minute.

“What did they take?”

“My purse, your money, they have my ID, they have my home address, they have my credit cards, they have everything,” she manages to spit out before she dissolves into furious tears.

I try my best to soothe her but it isn’t working at all. So I just let her cry. She’s going to have to get it out of her system sooner or later and it’s better she does it now than back on tour.

She buries her face into my chest again and grips onto my arms so tightly I know I’m going to get fingernail marks on my skin. “I was so scared,” she whispers and I can feel my heart melt all the way down to my toes. Why does she have this power over me? Why?

“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” I mutter into her hair. She pulls back and looks up at me. This is the first time I notice the large scratch on the left side of her face. Reaching over, I touch it softly and she winces before bringing a hand up to her face. She catches my hand in hers and presses them against her face.

“I am so sorry,” I start to say and I find my voice is shaking, why is my voice shaking? “This is my fault, Lauren. I’m so glad you’re okay. Let’s get you back to civilization, okay?” I venture and she nods vigorously.

Getting to my feet, I hold onto Lauren’s hand and hoist her up. I don’t let go of her hand as I lead her up the steps and into the deserted house. I don’t know where the guys ran off to and I really don’t care. All I want to do is get back into the car and get to the hotel and make sure that Lauren’s okay.

We make it to the car safely, and soon we’re speeding away from the house. I am so glad we got out of there safely and I really don’t care about her money or the cards. That isn’t an issue. All we have to do is call the different companies and make sure that they cancel the cards and send her new ones. She’ll have to get a new license and stuff when she gets back to California and she might have to change her address, but it isn’t going to be that difficult.

Thirty minutes later and we’re back at the hotel. We go in the back way because I really don’t want to deal with the fans waiting outside the hotel and I definitely don’t want the paps getting a taste of this. That’s all I need right now, that’s all Lauren needs. A scandal on top of getting the crap scared out of her. Don’t think so.

Everything is moving in a blur but somehow I get her into her room and she manages to wordlessly get ready for bed. It isn’t until she’s safely tucked away in her bed that she finds her voice again.

“Thank you for coming to get me,” she says hoarsely and I sit on the side of her bed and tap her leg soothingly.

“And what, did you think I was going to leave you there with the crack whores and pimps?” I joke. Somehow during extremely tense situations I always manage to spit out a joke that really isn’t that great and I end up acting even dumber than before. “I promise we’re going to find the creeps who did this to you,” I vow and she shakes her head.

“You don’t have to do that. They’re long gone by now. Those fuckers,” she mutters under her breath and for a moment I feel like we’re back to the old times; none of this awkwardness between us, not the unspoken attraction that I know I feel but I don’t know if she does. I hate not knowing and if this were any girl other than Lauren I would have probably already asked her if she cared for me in the way I care for her. But she’s different and I’m not going to do it until the opportune moment. And right now is not a good time.

“I feel terrible,” I reveal and Lauren scoffs.

“You should. It was your money that sent me out there. It was Shannon who made me go…where is that little bitch? I’m going to tear that weave out of her head and make her eat it.”

“She’s gone by now. I had security take her back to the hotel to get her stuff and get out of here by the time I got back to the hotel. “But when we go back to Vegas you can call her up and kick her ass as long as you want.”

“Good,” Lauren says firmly and I chuckle under my breath.

“You need some sleep, you’ve been through a lot tonight,” I say and I start to get up but she reaches out and grabs my arm. I turn to look at her and her eyes are clouded over with fatigue and a trace of fear.

“Can you stay with me? I don’t want to be alone tonight.” I take in a sharp intake of breath. Does she know what she’s doing to me right now? Does she know that all I want to do is pick her up in my arms and tell her that I love her and would do anything for her? Does she know that I want nothing more than to be with her every single night? Does she know any of this?

Apparently not.

She scoots over to make room for me and I lay on top of the covers while she snuggles underneath them. Turning her back towards me, she lets out a held breath of pent up emotions and stress and I can feel the tension leave her body.

Trying to get comfortable, I settle in for a long night. Because I won’t be able to sleep at all with her right next to me. No freaking way.

Tomorrow is going to blow.

But right now I’m content with just sitting here and playing sentry. Just being with her and not being in screaming matches or hitting one another or just plain glaring at each other is so refreshing I really don’t want her to wake up. Well that’s kind of bad seeing as I like it when she’s awake, I kind of like it when she’s making me think of a quick comeback or when she’s paying attention to me and only me. And unlike the rest of the women in my life, she takes care of me. She sticks up for me and watches out for me and she’s like my mom only she’s younger and I can have feelings for her.

Wow Justin, you need to stop.

She sighs contentedly and turns over towards me. Her face is so peaceful and the scratch on her face is still visible but you can’t tell it was from being tied up in a crack house for an hour or so. I still can’t believe she went to a crack house. Even now it seems like we were there years ago.

Reaching out, I push a strand of hair out of her face and she smiles smugly before she snuggles closer to the covers. Why am I wishing I were the covers instead? I hate feeling this way. So I do the only thing I can do at a time like this, I talk.

“Lauren, you awake?” I ask softly. There’s no response so I’ll assume she’s sleeping. I sigh loudly and rub the back of my head before I rest it against the headboard. “I have to say you had me scared shitless tonight. When you didn’t come back to separate me and Shannon I got worried, and when I called your phone and that asshole answered, it scared me even more. I thought something terrible had happened to you and I don’t know what I would do if those premonitions proved true. I mean, Shannon wouldn’t be able to take care of me the way you do, she wouldn’t triple check my schedule and make sure I stayed away from all the things that could hurt me. You’ve been looking out for me since day one and like an idiot I took that all for granted…”

It’s so easy to talk to the person you need to tell all this stuff to when the said person is fast asleep and can’t hear a word you say.

“Truth is, I’d be beside myself if I ever lost you like that. If you ever, died or got seriously hurt. I don’t think I can forgive myself now for putting you into danger like that. I kept having flashes of what I would find at the house when I got there and they weren’t pretty and I was relieved when I saw that you were okay. I care about you, Lauren and I hope you can absorb that in your sleep and see that I really do think you’re an amazing person and that I think I love…”

My voice fades as she shifts her weight and yawns loudly. Oh God did she wake up? Did she hear anything that I was about to say? Fuck, fuck, fuck. She turns away from me and I let out another held breath. I was getting carried away, I have to stop this or else I’m going to say things I’ll really regret.

Trying my best to relax, I stare off into the darkness of the room and hum softly under my breath. Hopefully the melodies I make up will be enough to send me into sleep and into dreams where she can be mine and I don’t have to explain myself with awkward words. She’ll just understand it.

***