Deranged Delusions

8. Be Prepared

Last night was weird. I plead temporary insanity for what I did last night because looking back on it now I would have definitely not said any of the things I did say to Lauren. I mean ‘I miss you,’ what the hell was that? Now I feel like Billy Crystal from When Harry Met Sally and yes, I will admit that I’ve seen that movie and I enjoyed it thoroughly. He was so right; guys and girls cannot just be friends. It’s impossible.

Melissa ended up coming over to my house last night and I’m glad she did because she definitely kept my mind off of Lauren’s pending decision. It isn’t until now, once I’m awake and sitting up in my bed that I start to wonder when exactly Lauren will give me an answer.

I look over at Melissa sleeping soundly next to me and I smile. I know she won’t be up for at least another two hours because, let’s face it I tired her out last night. Not many women can match the stamina of the Timbersnake.

Stretching, I leap out of bed and get dressed quickly knowing there’s a bowl of cereal downstairs with my name on it. Maybe afterwards I’ll wake up Melissa for another round of mind blowing sex since she seems to like it so much. And I’m not complaining either.

Throwing the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, I make my way out of the bedroom and into the hallway, noting the pungent smell that’s coming from the kitchen. And it smells damn good. But who the hell is in my house and cooking, and at nine thirty in the morning?

I know it isn’t Trace because he’s off at Elisha’s trying to figure out their relationship and Mom is back in Tennessee with Paul and she won’t come visit me now unless I really need her for something. That only leaves one other person.

Rounding the corner that will reveal the kitchen in all its stainless steel glory, I notice the familiar straight brown hair and t-shirt clad body standing in front of the stove, the delicious smell of bacon and eggs wafting through the steamy air. She has no clue that I’m standing a yard behind her and a huge part of me wants to scare the shit out of her but I decide that’s not the best way to alerting her of my presence.

“Morning,” she says without turning around.

“How did you know I was here?” I ask her somewhat marveled that she can sense I’m in the room.

“I could feel your ego push me against the stove as you walked in,” she quips and I lean against the counter while I press my fingers into my closed eyes. I’m not in the mood to deal with her smart-ass comments right now seeing as I have yet to have my cereal but I try to keep the smart ass retort inside. It won’t do well to piss her off right now.

“Why are you cooking in my kitchen? Don’t you have one of your own?” I ask her and she merely shrugs before she turns off the stove and brings a frying pan of delectable morning delights over towards the cabinet where I keep the plates.

She looks tired; as if she hardly got any sleep the night before and the dark circles under her eyes aren’t exactly helping her in the looks department right now. ­ I’m sure she was up late last night trying to figure out if coming back here was the best thing to do. But she’s here in my kitchen, cooking, so its safe to say that she’s made her decision. And it’s the right one.

“Well as you said a few months ago, my apartment is all sorts of shitty so I decided to come over here and give your kitchen a test spin before I left for the day,” she explains with another shrug of her shoulders. I never said anything about her apartment being shitty and I open my mouth to protest but I stop myself once again, “Well have you made your decision, Lauren?”

“Yeah. But we need to have a little chat before we get into the discussion of whether or not I’m coming back or not,” Lauren states before she walks around to the kitchen table and sits down. She motions for me to follow her but I stay where I am. The last time I checked I never worked for her, and therefore I don’t need to follow her around like some little puppy in training. Not me. I have good ears; I can listen from the kitchen.

“So, what are we talking about?” I ask her and she looks up at me and gives me that look. You know, the one that makes me feel like I’m the biggest fucking idiot on the face of the planet. I count the number of people who can make me feel inferior on one hand, and Lauren is definitely one of them. She doesn’t know this of course. If she did, I’d never hear the end of it.

“We’re talking about how if I come back to work for you, you won’t treat me like a pile of crap,” she blurts out and I roll my eyes at this statement. “I mean it, Justin,” she says, her blue-green eyes boring into mine, “I was able to put up with it for a while but not anymore. I know you have this inferiority complex where you have to prove you’re a man to Trace and your other guy friends and colleagues by making me run around like some kitchen wench but I’m putting my foot down this time.”

Whatever, I so don’t have an inferiority complex.

“Do you think I like getting calls at three on a Sunday morning because you managed to blow the fuse out and you don’t know how to set it right and I have to drag my ass out of bed and drive over here to help you? Do you think I enjoy looking after your drunk ass while making sure you don’t get every STD known to man every time you have a party? You might think I do, but I don’t, and it ends right here, right now. If you can’t make a simple little compromise and agree to treat me like a human being then we no longer have anything to say to one another.”

Well damn that was a mouthful, the poor girl is out of breath right now after her long-winded rant. What am I supposed to say to that? No? I know she loves looking after me, what woman wouldn’t? And I know that she would probably tear her hair out if she had to work anywhere else, which is why she didn’t run off to grab a new job the moment she left my house back in December. You see you can’t pull the wool over Justin Timberlake’s eyes because he will see the naked truth.

“Okay. Things will be different. Trace will be your assistant and he’ll help you with getting things organized for me and he’ll help you with parties too. I’ll be better and things will be okay…”

“Really? Because I’m having a hard time believing you,” she says with a wicked grin on her face. Oh Jesus, I know what’s coming and I don’t like it. If she’s going to make me grovel then she can just get the fuck out of my house.

The house phone starts to ring and I jump slightly before Lauren leans over and grabs the phone before I have a chance to run over and pick it up.

“Hello, Justin Timberlake’s house. Ex-Assistant speaking,” Lauren states in her most professional voice. Her smile grows wider and she looks at me with a look that I know for certain will cause a shit load of trouble. “Hello, Lynn how are you?”

Fuck it’s my mom.

“I’m doing just fine…” her voice fades as she listens to my mother on the other line. This can only lead to terrible things, “You want to talk to Justin? I’m sorry; he’s currently contracting venereal disease from at least six coked up crack whores upstairs but I can let him know you called,” she states sweetly and I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from tackling the little skank to the ground and smack her senseless. She laughs loudly and crosses her legs as she leans back in the chair, looking at me with an amused expression on her face. I am going to kill her.

“You want to know why I’m his ‘ex-assistant?’” Lauren questions, “Well its simple really. He treated me like crap so I quit…No this happened back in December I can’t believe he didn’t tell you. I guess it goes to show you that he treats his staff like objects and not actual people…” she’s twisting the knife deeper and deeper into my chest and I’m staring to panic. If I don’t do something she’s going to continue to defame my somewhat perfect image my mother holds for me and then I’ll have to explain to her how there really aren’t six crack whores sleeping in my house and I’m not going into rehab or anything like that.

“Did I tell you about the time where he and Trace called the mayor of Millington back in October and told him to shove the key to the city up his ass? They were drunk of course, but I figured you’d want to alert the mayor and let him know…” Okay now she’s just making shit up and that isn’t fair at all. I know my mom is going to call me later today and rip me a new one and I have little Miss Lauren Walters to thank for that. She’s worse than a tabloid magazine.

“Or the time where they started doing lines…”

“GOD DAMMIT LAUREN I’M FUCKING SORRY ALRIGHT?” I scream loudly before I pick up the frying pan filled with bacon and eggs and throw it up in the air. The food soars across the kitchen and splats all over the counter and walls. The frying pan clatters to the ground and Lauren jumps about fifty feet in the air before she quickly hangs up the phone. Her face is pale and I think she expects me to pound her face in, which I really feel like doing right now but I stop.

“What do you want me to do, huh? Bring you the moon to show you how sorry I am?” Do you see how I get when I don’t have my cereal? And now my last chance at a good breakfast is currently strewn across the counter and that pisses me off even more, “Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness because I’m not going to do it. I’m sorry I’ve treated you like shit and I’m sorry you had to deal with all the stuff I’ve put you through. I wish you could just accept my apology and trust me when I say that things will be different from now on because they will be. Okay, I’m sorry.”

“Justin I…” but I don’t even hear her. I’m too busy drowning in my own rage and embarrassment to even notice that my tirade has woken Melissa up and she’s currently standing behind me and listening to this entire early morning confession.

“When you aren’t here things just don’t flow and you know I need that consistency in my life when it comes to my job. Trace tries his best, but he isn’t you. You watch out for me, you have my back better than any of my other friends do and sometimes that even includes Tray. You make sure I eat after a long ass day at the studio when I forget that I haven’t eaten for an entire day and you make sure I get to all of my scheduled appointments on time even when I’m acting like a complete ass about waking up and getting ready. I hate feeling so fucking lost and I hate the fact that I get this sickening feeling whenever I realize that I don’t have you to depend on to get me home safe and to help me make my living. I hate how much I need you...”

I stop abruptly when I realize that I’m about to delve into thoughts that I don’t even visit on a daily basis. Dammit and there goes the inferiority complex shining out for everyone to see. I never meant for that to pop out in the open and now she must think I am a complete pussy who can’t even wipe his own ass without someone to help him. Great job Justin, great job.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, her eyes looking at the table instead of up at me. I hear a slight clearing of a throat behind me and I turn to see Melissa standing behind me. Jesus Christ, did she hear me too? Great, so not only did my screaming wake her up, but she also heard about how much of a pussy I am. Once again, this day is not your day. “I’ll come back.”

Of course she will. If she thought she was going to walk away after I almost dumped my heart out on the kitchen counter she has another thing coming. I nod slightly and turn around to grab a rag to clean up the kitchen but Lauren stops me.

“You go out and have breakfast with Mel. I’ll clean this up and call your mom,” Lauren adds quietly before she ushers Melissa and I from the kitchen. We’re standing in the foyer now; Lauren is back in the kitchen no doubt cleaning and talking to mom at the same time.

“That was…interesting,” Melissa mutters to herself and I sling an arm around her shoulder before I lead her upstairs so she can get changed.

“Never a dull moment around here,” I add and she nods in agreement.

***

The past two weeks have been somewhat close to a dream. After Justin had his little hissy fit and bore his soul, things around the Timberlake domain have definitely been looking up. For one, all the work isn’t thrown on me. Trace is now actually doing work, and with me watching him like a hawk every second of the day he’s actually gotten better at this whole Personal Assistant business. And I get time to spend with Neal and our relationship is better than ever. I’m getting a steady paycheck, he’s starting to work on his new club and our relationship is progressing towards those four simple words that I’ve been waiting to hear since we first starting dating. I know it’s a matter of time until I hear the ‘Will You Marry Me,’ speech and I’m hoping its tonight.

Today is my third year anniversary of being with Neal and we’re spending it at home. He’s cooking a zesty dinner for us and then we’re settling down with a few of our favorite movies before we move on to more exciting entertainment. But you don’t want to know about that, do you?

Thankfully, Justin gave me the night off and he’s spending the evening with Melissa, or something to that extent. I try not to pry too much into his relationships even though he happens to be with one of my best friends. She didn’t say too much to me this morning before she stepped out for work and I wonder if everything is going all right in the Melissa Moore Department.

The past few weeks she’s been very distant and almost cold towards me and Neal and I have no idea why. She’s not acting like her usual outgoing self and right now its worrying me to no end. I really don’t know why she can’t talk to me about it seeing as I go to her with every little problem in my life. But she does have Justin now so I’m sure he gets to hear all of the amazing things that happen in Melissa’s every day life. Note the extreme sarcasm, please.

Not that Melissa’s every day life isn’t interesting. It’s just that sometimes I get bored with her repeat stories of the one guy at work who won’t stop undressing her with his eyes, and how she found the cutest size two skirt at Nordstrom’s that she just had to have. And don’t get me started on her relationship talks. I really don’t want to hear about Justin and how amazing the sex is, or ‘mind-blowing’ as she likes to say, but I never pause to listen to the rest of that statement because I don’t want to hear about that. Really, it’s like hearing my parents talk about how I was conceived in a Tibetan forest back in the beginning of the eighties. Just, no.

“Sweetie, are you paying attention?”

“Hmm?” I mumble as I look up at Neal before he takes a seat next to me on the couch. He drapes an arm around my shoulder and I lean into his warm body, reveling in his smell.

“What movie do you want to watch?” he asks and I point to one of two DVDs he has sitting on the coffee table. He grins at me and proceeds to load the movie before he settles back on the couch to watch the movie.

We don’t even make it to the menu of the movie before we’re practically having sex on his couch. I’m sorry, I’ve wanted to do this since this morning and we can watch a movie any old time. But having anniversary sex is much, much more important.

“I love you,” he murmurs in between kisses and I quickly bury my hands into his hair as he begins to kiss my neck, his hands furiously trying to unbutton my shirt. I move one hand onto his back and grab onto his shirt, trying my best to unclothe him with one hand. It isn’t working too well and I’m brimming over the edge of the pot of sexual anticipation but his damn shirt just won’t come off.

“I love you too. Now shut up,” I mutter back and he laughs, his breath hot against my now moist skin. The feeling sends shivers down my spine and I can revel in this feeling for forever because its pure heaven. Together, we peal his shirt off and we’re now focused on removing the rest of our clothing.

We’re this close to reaching total and complete satisfaction when my phone starts to ring. There’s nothing like hearing Freddie Mercury and David Bowie screaming at you about pressure to turn off your sex drive and I’m currently thrown into park.

“Don’t answer it,” Neal mutters as he begins to kiss my neck again and I’m ready to agree with him but the curiosity is too great. I lean over Neal and grab for my phone, realizing it’s not a phone call but a page.

“…the hell?” I whisper. I never get pages unless it’s from…

“I swear to God if it’s Justin…” Neal begins and I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to know what Neal will do when he realizes that it is, in fact, the Justin Timberlake.

I flip open my phone and am greeted with a blaring message, 911! Emergency! I need you now!!! My head falls down onto Neal’s naked torso and he picks up my head by placing a hand underneath my chin. I groan and look up at him with sad eyes. I hate doing this, especially to him, but Justin never sends messages like this and I know it has to be a matter of life and death. After all, I told him if he disrupted my night I would castrate him and feed his testicles to his dogs while he watched.

“Lauren…”            

“I have to go,” I say quickly and I pull myself off of my rather irate boyfriend and pull on my bra and shirt. He’s sitting up on the couch and rubbing his face with shaking hands and I know I need to get out of here before he explodes. “You know he wouldn’t send something like this unless he really needs me,” I explain to him in a quiet voice and he sighs.

“But I need you right now. Surely I’m more important?”

“Of course you are. But he could be hurt…”

“So let him call 911. This is our anniversary,” I can hear the disappointment in his voice and my heart begins to break. I hate doing this to him, especially on a night like this where it was only supposed to be the two of us. The last time I checked, Neal wasn’t a fan of threesomes involving my boss.

“But it’s Justin. He wouldn’t know how to dial 911 if he had Trace to spell it out for him,” I explain trying to make a weak attempt at a joke. He isn’t laughing and I frown before I walk over to the couch and kiss him on the lips. When he’s about to pull me back down onto the couch, I pull back.

“I love you so much. I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise,” I whisper to him just as Justin sends another page. I groan loudly as I make my way out to Bentley Lexus, hoping Justin is about twenty minutes away from death. Because if he isn’t…I’ll gladly assist him.

***

His house is dark which makes my nerves jump. I tried calling him on his cell phone and his house while I drove over but he didn’t even pick up. I phoned Trace but he’s currently somewhere in Toronto with Elisha while she’s filming some new movie that is supposedly supposed to launch her career. He said as far as he knew Justin hadn’t called him and it was the first he heard about any sort of emergency.

I park Bentley behind one of his garage doors and I quickly race to the front door, praying to God I’m not too late to save Justin from a horrible fate, whatever it may be. The fact that hardly any of his lights are on and he’s still sending pages is only increasing my initial worry for my boss and I’m still praying to God that everything is okay.

Every single scenario is running through my head. There’s a burglar in the house and I’m the only one Justin’s been given to contact, or there’s some kind of fire and he’s trapped. Or something fell on him and he’s currently pinned underneath something. He might have been screaming for hours for someone to save him before he got the bright of idea of using his cell phone. Justin’s slow like that.

I unlock the front door and step inside, noticing how quiet the place is. The only sound I can hear is some Donny Hathaway over the speakers piped through his house and other than that, there’s silence.

“Justin?” I yell out, “Are you okay? Where are you?” I pause to listen for a faint voice but I’m startled when I hear his loud voice boom from the kitchen.

“Come here, quick!” he yells and suddenly I’m booking it towards the kitchen. Maybe he tripped and landed on a knife while he was cooking or he got his hand caught in the garbage disposal or something of equal catastrophic proportions. You can imagine my surprise when I dash into the kitchen and see Justin standing by the island, perfectly healthy and happy, looking at me with a huge grin on his face.

“Are you okay?” I ask out of breath and he nods quickly before he ignites a match and lights three candles sitting on the counter. “I came over as soon as I got your pages. Are you hurt?”

“Nah,” he says with a simple shrug, “I just had to get your opinion on something.”

I don’t hear the last bit of his statement because I’m still too much in shock. He isn’t bleeding to death, he isn’t being held hostage, and he isn’t dead. I’m so overcome with relief I want to hug him because I honestly and truly did think something horrible happened to him.

“Melissa’s going to be here in about five minutes and I can’t decide on which candles to light. Do you think the lavender is better than the vanilla and freesia?” he asks me and I look at him with a blank expression on my face.

“Huh?”

“You’re a chick. Which scent turns you on more?” he asks with a wolfish grin and I can feel the relief of him being all right begin to slide. Now I just want to shove one of those candles up his ass.

“Justin,” I start slowly as I begin to count to ten inside my head, “You mean to tell me that your huge emergency is you don’t know which candle to light so you can turn on your girlfriend?”

“Yeah. Did you think it was serious, because you do realize I’d call 911 before you, right?”

I don’t even give him an answer before I turn around and start to walk out of his house. I am so mad I can’t even see straight. I completely and blatantly ignore his cries for me to come back so he can explain to me what he really wants but I’m already out the door.

He’s standing on his front stoop, holding onto one of those stupid candles as I peel out of his driveway. I don’t dare go back to Neal’s place because I know he’s probably pissed off and he’ll be even madder when I come back home and say it’s a false alarm. I made such a big deal out of it I’ll more than likely have to make something up to keep the patronizing glares off my back every time I go over.

I’m not going over to my apartment because it’s slowly yet surely reminding me of Justin seeing as he’s there every other day and I don’t want to chance a run in with Melissa because she’ll want me to explain everything. So I do the only thing I can do, I drive.

I mainly stick to the residential streets because I don’t trust my anger enough to actually go on a freeway. The last thing I need is to get pried out of Bentley with the Jaws of Life or kill some other poor unsuspecting family. In all actuality, I’m still in a state of shock over what has just happened.

I fell into a false sense of security in thinking that Justin had honestly changed for the better. The past two weeks that I’ve gone back to work for him were an absolute Godsend. He was polite, considerate about my time off, and he told Trace that he was supposed to help me and make sure I wasn’t overly stressed out by anything. For the first time, I was able to take time for myself and not have to look over my shoulder every second to make sure Justin wasn’t getting into any trouble or a few seconds away from dying.

And poor Neal. He doesn’t deserve this right now. I skipped out on him to check on my boss and now he’s probably mad at me. No, I know he’s mad at me and he has every reason to be upset. I ruined our anniversary, not Justin. If anything he could have called me to ask but I guess I had to physically be in the room to get the full effect of the trio of candles and their scent. I could have ignored his call and gone straight to the anniversary sex that was ruined by the ringing of my damn cell phone. For the first time I damn Freddie Mercury and David Bowie’s existence and turn onto the freeway. My anger’s finally subsided enough for me to actually go somewhere other than Hollywood Suburbia and I know exactly where to go.

Almost an hour later, I’m walking down Santa Monica Pier, taking in the sights and trying my best not to indulge myself on cotton candy or churros or anything that will more than likely make me experience more guilt that I’m already feeling right now. Teenagers are running around, lovers are walking hand in hand to enjoy the sights and sounds of one of California’s famous boardwalks and here I am alone, on the one night that was supposed to be perfect for me. I am so stupid.

I lean against the railing and look over into the depths of the ocean. The waves are crashing on the shore and the smell is bittersweet enough to calm me down so I can try and get my wits about me. I’ll have to apologize to Neal sooner rather than later and I’ll have to go yell at Justin and probably quit again. I know there’s going to be a huge fight once I go back to work for him tomorrow or whenever he calls and I hope he can realize I’ll need some space before he starts to order me around to do things for him.

But my main priority right now is Neal and I have to make amends with him before it’s too late. It probably won’t be tonight, but tomorrow I will definitely make it up to him. I screwed up, I can admit that and hopefully he can see that I didn’t mean any harm. I mean I was really and truly worried that something terrible had happened to Justin. My intentions were innocent. It wasn’t like I was rushing off to be with him on the night of our anniversary.

A gust of wind blows my hair back and I rest my head against the railing as I take a few deep breaths. I should start heading back as it’s almost midnight and I don’t feel like getting assaulted.

I’m walking down the large wooden pier when my phone begins to ring. Thinking its Neal, I pick it up without checking Caller ID and press it to my ear.

“Hello?” I cry desperately and my hopeful mood is destroyed when I hear his heavy breathing on the other line.

“Lauren,” I stop walking when I hear his voice. It sounds so lost, so confused and I instantly know that something is wrong, I don’t need a ‘911 Emergency’ page to know that. But I’m not going to let him know that I’m worried about him. He needs to know that I’m pissed and I’m not going to be heading back to his place for a little dilemma like candles or lighting.

“What do you want?” I ask icily and I hear a shaky sigh on his end of the line. Has he been <i>crying</i>? It sure as hell sounds like it and I hear him whimper before he takes a deep breath.

“Can you come over? I…I need to talk with someone right now,” he whispers and he sounds so broken and so…helpless that I can slowly feel my anger towards him falter.

“Can’t you just talk to me on the phone? I’m kind of busy right now,” I lie. I don’t want him to know that I’m just standing in the middle of Santa Monica Pier, getting strange looks from some pretty burly looking guys. I walk faster towards my car, hoping I don’t have to bust out the Mace or gouge some eyes out with Bentley’s keys.

“I…I just need to talk to someone,” he repeats and I can tell he isn’t listening to me, “Please,” he begs, “Before I do something stupid.”

Now he’s just sounding suicidal and that in itself scares the shit out of me. I never did well with people talking about taking their own life or threatening to do stupid things and it is definitely something I don’t take lightly. If he’s talking about doing something stupid when he isn’t under the supervision of another person, well then, I better get over there quickly.

“Sit tight. I’ll be there within an hour. Just sit down on the couch, stay away from razors, guns, heavy machinery, and any alcoholic substance and I’ll be right there,” I say quickly before I hang up the phone and rush off towards Bentley. No good can come of this, none.

***

His house is dark again and now my nerves are at an all time high. For some reason I know he isn’t inside trying to light candles or set up mood music to entertain Melissa. No, there is a sad and hurt individual inside that house and apparently I’m the only person who can set things right. I don’t know why he isn’t talking to Melissa about whatever it is he’s upset about and he could just call Trace but seeing as he’s about a thousand miles away it wouldn’t be the same as talking to someone face to face.

Turning off Bentley, I rush towards his front door and let myself in. There’s no mood music this time and the house is eerily silent. I’m afraid something terrible has happened while I was driving like a bat out of hell to his house and those feelings are warranting true when he doesn’t answer my first round of calls. 

“Justin?” I try again as I walk towards the living room. I told him to sit on the couch and stay put until I got there but when I see that he isn’t there, my heart leaps into my throat, “Justin come out, this isn’t funny.”

I hear floorboards creak behind me and I turn around quickly to see Justin leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed against his chest and looking down at the floor, his eyes listless and dull. I take a tentative step towards him and he looks up at me with a heartbroken look.

“Are you okay?” I ask him and he shakes his head before he closes the distance between us in four easy steps. Next thing I know, he’s hugging onto me so tightly I can feel the breath leave my body for a split second. He’s got such a secure hold on me that I can hardly move within his grasp and it takes a few seconds for me to realize that he’s on the borderline of sobbing.

What the hell?

“It’s okay,” I say awkwardly as I try to pry an arm loose so I can pat him on the shoulder. He isn’t letting up and so I gently push myself away before he reaches out for my arm and holds onto it. Apparently he needs human contact right now and I don’t argue about it as I lead him over towards his couch and sit down with him, his hand still wrapped around my upper arm. 

“You aren’t hurt, are you?” I ask him and he shakes his head before he rubs his face with his free hand, looking dejected and upset. Good God, did someone die?

“She’s gone,” he states simply before he falls back onto the cushions of the couch and sighs heavily, “She’s gone.” Now he’s being a little drama queen and I’m quickly becoming annoyed with his murmurs and desperate attention.

“Get a grip on yourself and tell me what happened,” I say firmly and he looks at me with tear filled eyes before he takes a few deep breaths to control his emotions.

“Melissa, we broke up.”

I try not to laugh out loud at his sudden confession and I quickly turn my head and cough despite the fact that I think he knows I’m trying not to laugh in his face. He’s getting all this worked up over a girl? The whole theatrics of crying and acting like his world is ending really had me going there for a second and I continue to hold back my laughter.

“It isn’t funny,” he says coldly and his hand lets go of my arm as I lean back on my side of the couch and look at him.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting all upset over Melissa breaking up with you?” I ask him and he shakes his head.

“I knew you wouldn’t understand. I should have called Trace…”

“Why so you can sit here for two hours and talk trash about my best friend and the rest of the female species?” He opens his mouth to argue what I have to say but he stops and lets go of my arm before he reaches out for a pillow and draws it to his chest. At least I managed to stop his pitiful crying. Of course I probably pissed him off but I don’t care. I don’t do well with people spewing all their feelings out at me and I would rather have him berate me about it instead of having him cry.

“I gave her every bit of me for the past three months and this happens,” Justin mutters while I roll my eyes. He’s really laying the dramatics out thick and I want nothing more than to smack him across the face and tell him to get a grip on himself.

“So move on,” I state with a shrug and he looks at me incredulously.

“It isn’t that simple. I think you forget what its like to feel like you’ve found everything in a single person and then have it yanked away from you without warning.” He’s right. I don’t know what it feels like because I’ve been in a high profile relationship for the past three years. A relationship, I might add, I’m not celebrating right now. “And you should know that I don’t take rejection very well.”

And he’s off again; the tears falling slowly down his face. I have a feeling Melissa isn’t taking this breakup as hard as her now ex-boyfriend is and truth be told I’m a little freaked out that Justin is acting this way. The only other times I’ve seen him cry are when he’s watching Disney movies and even then I think he’s overreacting. But he doesn’t lie when he says he doesn’t take rejection very well. At least he’s telling the truth in that retrospect.

“How could she do this to me? Doesn’t she realize that she’s my whole world? I mean I thought things were going so well…”

“Maybe things were going well for you, but not for her…” Jesus, the last time I checked I wasn’t getting paid for therapy and it seems like I’m on the fast track of becoming Justin’s personal shrink. I can’t even deal with my own mind, how am I supposed to deal with one as crazy as his?

“We were happy. And she pushed me away…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake Justin!” I snap as I pull the pillow away from his chest. He’s starting to cry again but thankfully my small outburst stops his tears, “Would you get a damn grip on yourself and take this like a man?” Speechless. The silence is deafening and I realize that I finally have the chance to speak and tell him what’s on my mind for the first time in a long time. Thank God.

“You did this to yourself. You can sit there and cry and blame Melissa for your misery but really you destroyed this relationship. And I can make that assessment because I’ve watched several of your so called ‘high profile relationships’ crash and burn and each one has ended with you blaming the other party. You aren’t afraid of rejection at all. Last time I checked you had no problem getting the brush from some slutty dancer at a club because there’ll always be another one right behind her to spread her legs so you can get your fun. But woe betides the girl who manages to capture your heart and break it within the span of more than a month…” I can tell my words are affecting him because he’s looking down at his lap and gripping onto his knee with his left hand. I have a feeling that he’ll explode at any moment but I don’t care right now. I’ve wanted to say this for a while because it’s the same vicious cycle every time Justin goes through a breakup. He cries about it for a little bit, writes songs about how the girl was a two-timing no good cheater who broke his heart and ran away with his dignity and self worth, and then he parties it up and tries to sleep with as many girls as he can. He did it with Cameron and I have a sinking feeling that the same cycle will continue in a few days. Great.

 “You aren’t afraid of rejection at all,” I explain to him soundly as I get up out of my seat and start to pace around his living room. “You are absolutely petrified that you’re going to wake up and see the girl lying next to you and realize that you’ve succeeded in procuring a healthy and mature relationship. You’ve done it with all your other girlfriends so why should Melissa be any different? Oh that’s right, you told her about the Disney obsession and you take the time to consider what fragrance turns her on, and that requires her to become your entire world. No wonder why she broke things off with you. The way you’ve been going on, you sound like some psychotic, lovesick man who can’t get enough of the girl he’s seeing. You need to come to your senses and realize that maybe your significant other doesn’t want to be the center of your world; she has her own to deal with and you just happen to be a big part of it.”

“You don’t leave much room for sympathy, do you?” he asks dryly and I shake my head before I shrug my shoulders and lean against the cabinet that houses his huge television and various game consoles. When it comes to talking some sense into Justin Timberlake, you need to be very blunt and straight to the point with things. Otherwise, he won’t listen to a damn thing you have to say. “I thought I could talk to you like I could talk to Trace. You know, a friend…”

“Please,” I start with as scoff, “Trace may sit there and sympathize with you but most of the time he blows smoke up your ass and tells you that everything is going to be okay and you’ll get over it with time and the right amount of booze and girls. That’s one friend you can have and then there’s the other one, the one I’m being right now…” What the hell am I saying? Being a friend to Justin? Last time I checked a friend wouldn’t call another out of their three-year anniversary but I guess Justin and I have different definitions of the word ‘friend.’

“And what kind of friend is that?”

“The kind that will tell it to you like it is and forget the rose colored bullshit. This is real life; the honest to goodness, kick-you-on-your-ass stuff that you need to deal with head on instead of running away from like a little girl. Be a man and deal with the issue at hand. She dumped you, and while your ego suffered a devastating blow I have no doubt that it will make a miraculous recover.”

“Okay I get the message, you don’t have to be a smart ass about it,” he says holding his hands up in defeat. I want to sit down in shock because for the first time he’s actually listening to what I have to say. Good God hell must have frozen over.

“Glad we could have this chat,” I say with a roll of my eyes before I walk over towards the front door of his house. I dig into my back pocket for Bentley’s keys and it isn’t until I stop at the foyer to unlock the door that I realize Justin has followed me.

I turn around to face him and he stares at me with this look on his face that I can’t read at all. His hands are shoved down the front of his pockets and he’s biting his lower lip, something I find extremely sexy, but only when Neal does it…

Oh God, Neal. In my blunt ramblings at Justin I completely forgot that I’ve left Neal at home for a grand total of four, almost five, hours. So much for being right back. He’s going to kill me; I wouldn’t be surprised if I get the silent treatment for a couple of days. And Justin is still staring at me. Do I have something in my teeth?

“What?” I bark at him as I jingle Bentley’s keys in my hand. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me as if he’s just remembered something by looking at my rather pissed off and annoyed face. I don’t know why he won’t stop looking at me and why he won’t freaking say anything but I’m getting upset. If he continues to stare at me I’m just going to turn around and leave.

“Thanks for checking up on me,” he says quietly before he looks down at his feet. Did Justin Randall Timberlake, Asshole of the Year, just thank me? He shuffles forward a few feet and opens the door for me, his eyes still holding their gaze on the marble floor. “And sorry for spoiling your night.”

“Yeah, well…” my voice fades. I’ve had dreams about this moment, when he apologizes and thanks me for all my hard work. Usually it ends with me doing a dance around him and yelling at the top of my lungs while I call him all sorts of names and laugh insanely before I jump into Bentley Lexus and speed off into the sky a la John Travolta and Olivia Newton John in Grease. It doesn’t end with me standing on the front stoop of his house at a complete loss of words.

“If you want I can call Neal and explain what happened,” he added with a sniff. I look up to see if he’s crying about having to explain to another person that he was in the wrong but soon I realize that looking at him was a big mistake.

His eyes are two big pools of … I don’t know how to quite explain what they look like but I can slowly feel myself starting to forgive him for all the problems he’s caused tonight. I soon find myself saying, “You don’t have to do that,” while my brain is screaming at my mouth to say ‘Yes! You call him up right now and tell him that you were being a conceited asshole and wanted to ruin your Personal Assistant’s night but she ended up saving your ass and talked some sense into you!’

“Well...uh, drive home safe,” he offers lamely and if I wasn’t so intent on being upset with him, I’d find his small, timid voice kind of cute seeing as it’s a rather foreign side to the Justin Timberlake I’m used to seeing. I nod in agreement and the next thing I know he’s awkwardly putting his arms around my waist and pulling me into a gauche hug. I find that the only thing I can do is stand there as he hugs me goodbye and I start to get lost in the smell of peppermint, aftershave, and…

You. Have. A. Boyfriend. This. Is. Your. Lame. Ass. Boss. Now who’s the one who needs a grip on themselves? I push myself away from him and hold onto Bentley’s keys tighter before I turn around and practically bolt for my vehicle. And as I’m driving away there’s one simple phrase running through my head:

What the fuck was that?

***