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Date Posted: 03:50:12 06/11/03 Wed
Author: Kira
Subject: *Romance* Chapter 9~ Escaping Blame. Sad Chapter

This story is based on events that actually happened. I'm trying to keep it as realistic as possible. The events that take place in this chapter actually happened.

I hope this chapter says something.

Chapter 9~Escaping Blame

Blearily, Justin staggered to the doorway, sending a sleepy nod to Erick for driving him home. Unlocking the door, Justin trudged inside, dropping his backpack on the floor, closing the door behind him. He massaged the back of his neck, tripping over his suddenly enormous feet walked through the syrupy twilight. Justin massaged the back of his neck, fingers groping at the stony muscles.

The young man was spent, but euphoric.

Justin stepped into his elaborate bathroom, turning on the shower. Then, stripped out of his gray hoodie, tee shirt and jeans. He yawned, widely, his jaws aching at the pressure, tears bunching in his eyes as the bathroom because dusky with steam.

The waters washed over him as he climbed inside his elaborate shower, with two nozzles pounding him with nearly scalding hot water. He placed his hands on the off white tiles, bracing himself with his biceps. Closing his weary eyes and let the water cascade over his face, chest and powerful back.

He felt golden. Special in a way he usually didn’t allow himself to feel. He felt important and respected and loved and completely him. It was early September and his album wasn’t finished, yet it was anticipated, highly anticipated. The music community was curious as to what the white boy from Tennessee would deliver to the world. And Justin was finally ready for his voice and his ideas to be heard without stifling or filtering. The feeling, the colorful magic that danced inside him like the water coursing over his chiseled abs, was more than just from his musical career. It extended to his personal life.

Gavrielle.

She’d simply appeared and it wasn’t that he needed to be rescued, scooped up from the sea of loneliness and anger.. But after he’d met her, he didn’t have the urge to feel distant and grumpy and filled with an inner rage that scared himself even himself. He felt free. SINGLE. For the first time in the agonizing months since his betrayal. She was soft and tender, innocent in a way he wasn’t, beautifully naïve, yet strong in ways he wasn’t. She could still dream without limitations. She could send anyone a bright smile and mean it whole-heartedly. She could make his toes curl just by her delicate hands brushing against his. She gave him so much joy and contentment, when everyone just took.

Justin smiled, his body finally relaxed from the night of recording. He eased out of the shower, placing one large foot on the shaggy bathmat, pulling the towel off the shelf with his free hand. Scurrying on the tips of his toes, Justin flipped on the coffee maker on the small oak cabinet just outside of the bathroom and pranced back inside the spacious room to get dress in put on some lotion and dress in some comfortable sweats. He was tired, but the fatigue was welcomed. He’d spent the day recording and creating and although it left him sleepy and a numbing fog in his mind, he was still energized, wanting to produce more. He slipped a green skull cap over his damp curls, not bothering to deal with styling them then hopped into a pair of track pants and a long sleeve tee shirt. Justin poured himself a travel mug of java, sipping at it as he grabbed his bound book and cordless off the dresser.

Justin crossed the threshold of the French doors, leading out onto the luxurious stony balcony and leaning against the railings. The sunset reminding him of that wonderful Friday morning after the VMAs, that he spent with Gavrielle. Thoughtfully, he set his mug on the rim and flipping open his cell phone, heart beating impatiently. Buzzing torrents of lovesick energy through his body. He dialed, reminding himself to program Gavrielle’s number in his phone. “Baby, it’s Justin, I know you’re probably sleeping or whatever. I just called to say have a great day of classes and maybe we can have dinner together tonight,” he giggled into the receiver. “I’ll explain when you call me back. We gotta see about getting you a cell phone, because sweetie, I’m tired of getting your voicemail. Anyway…I’m done. So, um, bye.”

He picked up his coffee, taking a savory gulp. He stared out into the sky, awakening the world with a wistful symphony of purples and pinks and sighed.

Justin could feel that it was going to be an absolutely beautiful day.

**

When Justin was young and hurt by the consequences of stardom, his mother found him hiding in closets. Knees huddled close to his cheeks, the pads of his pants damp with tears. As he sat in the dark, he remembered Lynn’s hands in his hair and her soft voice shushing him. A girl had been crushed at a general admission concert in Luxemburg. Justin caught flashes of the frenzy. Screams flung into the hot air. Bones snapping like popping popcorn. As their popularity grew, it got worse. Incidents were sisterly hidden, buried in PR doublespeak and hefty checks to grieving parents that had a child to bury.

He remembered, the macabre 15 year old who strung himself up, rope coiled around his newly installed chin-up bar, “Bye Bye Bye” the soundtrack of his demise.

And it happened again.

He was just miles away. A woman had been killed, gruesomely steamrolled by a drunk driver. Johnny had burst into burst into the studio, his usually nonchalant countenance displaced by a sobering grimace. His mouth was pressed into a firm line and Justin’s felt goosebumps eerily sprouted on his forearms and neck.

Johnny had told him, his words were slow, but he didn’t stall. He spit them out in a sluggish breath. Then, Justin’s legs would no longer support him and he was awkwardly assisted into his studio chair.

The rest was a blur. A swirl of faces, moving lips and reassuring gestures. He was sure that Johnny called his mother, despite his vague recollection of Justin beginning him not to.

He sat, slumped in the cold leather of his studio chair. His mind numb, but his heart was whirring beneath him, rushing his breath and deafening the world around him. His eyes closed. Mere seconds ago, he was enthralled and blissfully overwhelmed. He’d been free finally and now he was once again shackled by tragedy- the weight of loss of life was thrust on his shoulders and more importantly, his soul. He licked at the sandy dryness in his mouth, running his tongue over his teeth. The headphones were still clamp around his neck, cord, draped around his wrist to keep the ends from getting entangled. The room was silent.

Trace was standing to his left, hand on his shoulder. The ever-present digital camera turned off and resting on the soundboard. Justin rubbed at his eyes, blinking, then moistened his lips once more and sat up straighter, pressing his hands against his knees for leverage. “I need to write a statement,” he declared almost sleepily. His voice was husky and dark like a nightmare.

He weakly got up and shuffled towards the table, a legal pad tucked under his arm. Justin sat down and flipped past the pages of carefully written lyrics and poised the pen over a clean sheet of paper. He drew in a deep breath and blue eyes flicked to Johnny worriedly. “What happened exactly?” he said.

His stomach bunched with nausea.

Johnny stalled, thick fingers and manicured nails scratching at the thing whiskers of his mustache, then moving down to tug at the waist of his jeans. “I can write it if you want to take off or whatever. Lynn should be at your house by now.”

“I’ll do it,” Justin insisted.

“Justin.”

“What the fuck happened?! All I know is that I got to the studio to do a radio interview and three hours later someone is dead. TELL ME!” Justin shot to his feet, roughly banging his knees on the edge of the table.

Johnny scratched his cheek. “Calm down.”

Justin crossed his arms over his chest and sat bat and remained standing, setting his jaw. The ends of his mandibles jetting out angrily.

“Or not. The reports are sketchy at best. All they’re saying is that a man pulled up, probably under the influence of alcohol. The driver argued with some fans, then…um…backed up into the crowd and someone- a woman was pinned under the vehicle. Police arrested him sometime later.”

Justin braced himself against the table and slowly sat down. He swallowed. He breathed, greedily through his nose to quelling the molten burning in his stomach. Throwing watery eyes, he scrawled a block of words in small cursive on the pad, before getting up and staggering through the studio door. Trace following dutifully behind him.

“I got you a few days, J.”

The door closed without a slam.

**

Gavrielle licked at the smattering of raspberry smoothie smudged on the side of her hand, then lapped at pleasantly at the straw. It was a hot Chicago Wednesday. The sun was perched high in the sky, racing steadily across the blue, vaporizing clouds in its wake. The day was too beautiful to be cooped up in dirty classrooms, enduring tiring lectures about the Golden Age of Newspapers or the invention of the printing press. Gavrielle and Marta had quickly decided to skip their last class and enjoy the afternoon.

Gavrielle’s tennis shoes scraped against the gravel-littered sidewalk. She enjoyed the sun on her shoulders and luminant green, painting the sidewalks in leaf-mottled shadows. She was quiet, lost in constant thought and already sick of school, despite the fact that it began a week ago. She was restless and jittery, unable to concentrate on anything but her brief, sporadic phone calls with Justin and worrying about her bills. With a sigh, she closed her eyes, tipping her head back, drinking in the sun.

“Do you work today?” Marta asked, slurping on her banana smoothie.

Gavrielle rubbed her neck. “Nope. They’ve hacked my hours in half for awhile. I guess Gina isn’t going back to school, so I’ve been scaled down for a few weeks,” she rolled her eyes in disgust. “I bet if I was the six foot blonde with fake double ds, I’d get to pick my hours too.”

“I thought Boneque Catering was an equal opportunity employer.”

“Fuck that,” Gavrielle cursed with a hiss. They crossed the street, distancing themselves from the campus. “I’m about to work myself into a financial panic attack or something. I need to work more. I got my credit card bill yesterday…”

Marta pushed up her pink-tinted sunglasses and gasped sarcastically. “Oh no, you weren’t able to pay it off right away? Girl, you always trip over little stuff.”

“It’s over $800. From the hotel in LA and the shopping and meals in New York. It’s bad.”

Marta nudged her friend reassuringly. “It’ll be all right. Pretty soon Justin will be paying for those lovely trips, right?” she wiggled her eyebrows as they rounded the corner. “Speaking of Mr. Wonderful, when was the last time you talked to him?”

Gavrielle squinted against the bright sun. “Um…like four days ago? He called me at like 5am. Then we had dinner later that night…together.”

“Explain?”

“We ordered out for pizza. Well, I ordered out for pizza and he had a salad and we ate and talked on the phone together,” Gavrielle grinned at the warmth in her cheeks. “It was a cute idea.”

Marta shook her head as they hopped up the old concrete stairs to Gavrielle’s apartment building. It was a large Victorian house that had been remodeled and divided and held four modest apartments.

There was a long-legged man sitting meekly on the squeaking porch swing. Nike Tennis shoes planted against the floor, knees working smoothly under black track pants to guide him slowly over the wooden porch. Marta ignored him, but Gavrielle frowned, grabbing Marta’s sleeve as she proceeded into the house. She studied the man, the familiar slump of his shoulders, the well-worn hat pulled down tightly over brownish curls. With a muffled scream, she covered her hands to her mouth and stumbled forward. “Justin?” she whispered nervously.

The stranger lifted his head, long face and melancholy eyes covered in dark shadows cast by the brim of his hat. He rose slowly and silently and walked over to Gavrielle and hugged her to him hurriedly. Confused and enthralled, Gavrielle squeezed him lovingly, hands curving up his back.

“What are you doing here?” she breathed in his ear.

Justin mumbled into her shoulder, distressed vibrations rolling through him and Gavrielle stumbled back sharply, taking his face into her hands. Smiled died on her lips as she saw the pain in his face. He sniffled and wiped his nose. “Um…I…I got some days off. I thought I’d come here,” he answered. “…is that okay?” he added wistfully.

Gavrielle nodded. “Of course, yeah.”

Marta cleared her throat and backed down the stairs. “I can just go…I’ll try to find you at the vigil tonight, if you come.”

Startled, Gavrielle turned towards her friend and mouthed “thank you.” Marta winked and trotted down the block.

She turned back to Justin and watched him as he stood on the porch, looking lost, his fingers clutched hers sloppily, a spidery tangle of digits that bounced against his thigh. He surveyed Gavrielle’s surroundings the tall trees and wonderful old houses. An smile played at his lips, “so this is it? This is nice.”

“Thank you. You wanna come in?”

“Yeah,” Justin replied softly, then headed back to the swing to pick up a small bag.

“You haven’t been waiting long, have you?”

“Not long, no.”

“Where’s Erick?”

“Back in LA.”

Gavrielle arched an eyebrow as she opened the front door and lead Justin up a grand staircase and down a corridor lined in pristine wood. Justin brushed his fingers along the railing, looking down to the floor below, studying the glimmering brass chandelier. Gavrielle placed her hands on his chest and leaned forward, taking his bag from him. “Can you wait here for just one second?”

Justin nodded stiffly. “…yeah, sure.”

Gavrielle slipped through the door and dropped his bag on the beige couch, her eyes frantically combing over her apartment, making sure it was clean enough. Trotting into her bedroom, she picked up the discarded underwear and pajamas from the floor and tossed them in the hamper in the corner of her room. She quickly crawled across her full bed, pulling the mint green comforter over her sheets and tossing the shams on top. Darting from the bedroom, she slipped into the bathroom, wiping the bits of hair off the sink, putting her personal items in the bin behind the door. Flipping the lid down, she ran back out, peeked into the kitchen before running to the door.

“Okay…” she panted. “All clear.” Justin entered quietly, shoving his hands in the pockets of his pants as he admired her apartment.

Her home was a bit cramped, but inviting. He ventured down the short all way and sat down on the beige sofa, stretching his legs out. They bumped the small coffee table in front of him. Looking around the room, Justin admired Gavrielle’s apartment. Her computer was on the far wall. Candid photos framed and arranged on the sill of the picture window. The kitchen was tight, a simple wall of cabinets interrupted by a big sink. The stove was in the corner, nestled against the fridge. She’d managed to fit a small table in bit of space left over. “Oh this is cool,” he complimented as Gavrielle closed the door and locked it reflexively.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s cozy.”

“It’s small, but it’s mine,” she replied, leaning against the windowsill. “You can sit down. You want anything to eat or drink?”

“Um, no thank you.”

Gavrielle smiled shyly and sat down beside him. “It’s a good thing I skipped that last class today.”

“You skipped a class?”

“Yeah. Just a lecture. The first week always sucks,” she answered, playing with the tassels of her pink velvet pillow.

Her sofa was a putrid, stale beige, but she did her best to disguise it with colorful pink pillows and large throws.

They sat in a clumsy quiet, ringing their hands nervously. Gavrielle sat back against the couch, toeing off her tennis shoes and peeling off the pantyhose liners, tucking them in the bottom of her shoes.

“My mom wears those,” Justin said softly. “What are they?”

“Annoying little things that keep the inside of my shoes cleaner.” Gavrielle played with her fingers. “What are you doing here?” she blurted out suddenly, twirling the thin band of silver around on her thumb.

Justin squirmed in his seat and stood up, moving towards the window, sill lined with pictures. Bright smiles and candid moments.

“I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that, but what’s going on, Justin?”

He brushed his fingers gently across his lips, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m…I just wanted to see you…”

“You saw me, like, a week and a half ago,” Gavrielle prodded.

“And I can’t see you again?” He rolled his shoulders. “I think I’m a little hungry. Um, you want to go out somewhere?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but quickly closed it, teeth snapping together with a muted
click. Crossing her arms over her chest, Gavrielle slouched back against the bundle of pillows. “You don’t have a bodyguard,” she grumbled, abandoning the blatantly avoided question.

“Believe it or not, I can go out without one.” A large hand grabbed at the pinching between his shoulder blades. “I can even take a piss on my own and put on my own clothes too…” he laughed dryly. “Who would have thunk it.”

Gavrielle pushed her lips into a firm line and stared at him meticulously. He wasn’t the man she’d left in New York with a lazy smile on his lips and a deliciously wild glow in his eyes. The energy had vanished, replaced by stony sarcasm and chilling distance. Gavrielle didn’t know Justin well enough to decipher his moods or actions. She’d never seen him so drawn or rumpled.

“I could make you something,” she said to Justin’s back as he gazed out the window, watching students trickling home from the campus. Watching the world continue, move forward.

“There’s a little sub place up the street,” he said quietly. His breath fogged on the mirror, smudging his view of the tranquil day. “We can go there.”

“Fine. Since you’re in such a delightful mood, I’ll treat.”

Gavrielle slipped on her tennis shoes and stood up, tugging at the waistband of her teal capris. She grabbed her purse. “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

Their lunch was quiet. They ate quietly, nibbling on salty potato chips and large turkey subs packed with too much lettuce. They sat in the shadows, facing the door, the brim of Justin’s baseball cap low over his eyes. Gavrielle unwrapped her cookie. She was uncomfortable, almost nervous as they ate. She was anxious, jittery. She’d never been out in public with Justin before and she’d heard stories of how rambunctious and dangerous when encountering celebrities. Justin’s sullen demeanor just compounded her fears.

She looked at him, over the tops of her glasses. He was unfazed by his sudden vulnerability. His shoulders hunched over the table, his head now resting in the palm of his hand as he took his sandwich apart. Plunking the pickles in a neat pile, next to the tomatoes. The meat and lettuce still lined the thick sub roll. Justin lifted his head, closing his pink parted lips. He offered Gavrielle a sloppy half-smile before returning his attention back to his culinary dissection. He salted is neat stack of tomatoes, added a bit of pepper and ate one, chewing slowly. Gavrielle slid her discarded tomatoes towards him. “Go nuts,” she said quietly. The first words uttered throughout the meal.

“Thanks,” Justin replied.

She nibbled on her dry cookie, eating the last of her chips. “Did you get a hotel?”

Justin ripped off a piece of bread with a lion-like yawn. “Fuck! No, I didn’t…can I just crash on your couch or something?”

“Oh…um…yeah..of course. That’s fine,” Gavrielle slurped her soda, chewing on the straw.

“Thanks.”

Gavrielle waved him off. “You wanna go?”

“Yeah, I’m done.”

“You only ate your tomatoes.”

“That’s the best part.”

**

Justin napped on the floor. Lanky body spread out on the sandy carpet. His hands was flat against his stomach. His tee-shirt rucked upwards sometime during his slumber, exposing a luscious band of ivory skin, untouched by sun’s rays. Milky and taut. He’d opened the window, pulling up the blinds allowing the warm air to waft over him, hoping to ease his slumber, stave off the nightmares.

Gavrielle sat on the couch and attempted to study. The televisions playing softly. With a highlighter perched between her teeth, Gavrielle worked slowly, her eyes flicking over to the man sleeping under her window. He hadn’t moved. He must have been exhausted. He slept like lead, heavy and still. Breaths deep, face locked in a dream-induced frown. Her attention returned back to her psychology textbook. She read the bland text, checking on the smooth plastic until she was heard Justin’s name lowly spoken on the television.

“The driver, who was reportedly intoxicated was caught shortly after the backing over and killing one fan waiting outside KISS studios. Justin Timberlake, who has been since contacted by Record Artists Against Drunk Driving, issued a statement early Tuesday morning saying, ‘I am horrified to learn of the senseless death outside KIIS-FM last evening, and my family and I wish to express our deepest sympathies to the family and friends of the victim. Our thoughts and prayers are with you.’ I’m John Norris from MTV news. Catch the must currents new at 10 to the hour every hour, right here on MTV. For more news and round the clock updates on this and other music news, go to mtv.com.”

Gavrielle set her book aside and stared at the television. It all finally came together. Justin’s abrupt and haggard appearance. His sadness. She looked over at him and stood up when she noticed he was gaping at her. His eyes were glowing with pain and grief. “Justin…”

“No. I just…I just wanted to…make it go away for awhile.”

“What happened?”

Justin crawled over to the television, angrily pulling the cord from the wall. “I couldn’t drink…because she…” He rubbed his face and ran the tip of his tongue over his upper lip. “Some fuckhead was drunk…and arguing the kids still waiting outside KISS Studios on Monday…and he…” he visably paled, closing his eyes. “…he backed into the crowd and killed a fan. A woman. Younger than me…”

Gavrielle shook her head, wincing. “Why didn’t you call me? Where were you yesterday?”

“With my mom. I need to not be Justin Timberlake for awhile. I need to be away for that. I can’t sleep, Gavrielle. I always wake up. Like…I don’t know if I dream, but I always wake up scared. I just want to be no one for awhile.”

“You can’t just escape this, honey. You can’t.”

Justin sat up, his face long and pale. “Turn off the lamp please,” he muttered.

“What?” she asked, but touched the lamp, extinguishing the light.

Darkness cascaded the living room, draping over them quickly, drowning out colors and faces. She could hear hurried pants and teary sniffles. With a sigh, she stood up and maneuvered through the dark, kneeling in front of him. Carefully, she placed her hand on his back, rubbing gently.

“She was a person…a real person and someone killed her….”

“But not because of you.”

“YES! Because of me!” Justin whimpered. “Because of me.” Gavrielle felt him shaking as she tried to comfort him. Trembling as he finally began to open up.

Gavrielle scooted closer to him and planted an angelic kiss on his forehead. “Were you driving the car?”

Justin pulled his knees up to his chest and shook his head.

“Were you drinking?”

His face cracked, crumpling into a silent sob. “No.”

“You didn’t kill her, Justin. I know you feel responsible, but you didn’t. You’re allowed to hurt, but DON’T, for a minute, blame yourself, okay?”

“That’s what my mom said.”

“Well she’s right, honey,” Gavrielle wrapped herself around him, pulling him close.

Justin leaned into her. “I can’t deal with this now. I can’t. It’s too much. I just wanted to…get away, but I can’t. I can’t.”

Gavrielle swallowed and closed her eyes as Justin clutched on to her tightly. “Shh…”

“Make it go away…”

A tear dripped onto her cheek. “I can’t, Justin. I would if I could.”

“You can…” He nearly climbed on her lap and Gavrielle touched her lips to his softly, taking a salty kiss. He pressed her forehead against hers. His breath feathering over her face, warm and sweet. “You can,” he whispered.

“I ca…” Justin’s covered his lips with hers. Face still covered in tears.

He kissed her with a slow urgency, wanting to savor the feeling of something other than pain- the sensations of her body pressed against his and the smell of her perfume. His tongue slid into her mouth. Gavrielle fisted the back of his shirt. Her hands roaming into his hair, tangling his curls. Justin shifted his weight, slowly laying them down on the floor. His leg naturally moving over her thighs. He caressed her them bruisingly. Fingers rubbing over the curves. Then, hand slipped between their bodies. He skillfully unbuttoned her capris, working down the zipper before sliding his hand under her shirt, cupping her breasts in the lacy blue bra.

Gavrielle moaned as he kissed her neck. Her hands grabbed at her shirt, clawing at the buttons. Justin worked down her chest, lapping at her supple skin around her lacy bra. Kissing the patch of sacred brown between her breasts.

He worked on her pants, trying to pull them down. He tugged at them with a grunt.

Gavrielle lifted her hips and helped him slide them down. Panting, she lay on her back, lost in lustful sensation as Justin kissed her thighs. She felt the tears on his face smear against her. She closed her eyes as her mind cleared and logical thought resumed. He wanted an escape. A few moments free of pain. It wasn’t as it should be. It wasn’t what she sincerely wanted. But his lips and hands on her skin felt right in a way she never imagined. Justin was shirtless and on top of her, his weight erotically comforting.

He was back at her lips. Gavrielle indulged in another passionate tangle of tongues, but her hand came up, pushing at his shoulder. “Stop…” she mumbled as Justin caught his breath.

She pressed both hands on his chest and heaved him off of her. “Stop for a second.”

“I’m…”

“I’m not…doing this with you because you’re upset, Justin. ”

Gavrielle licked her swollen lips and pushed at him again until he climbed off of her. She stood up on her knees and grabbed her shirt, then her pants and slowly got to her feet. Holding the clothes in front of her almost naked body, she remained still unsure of what to do or say. Her face was hot and her hair was fuzzed, falling messily in her face.

Justin licked his red lips and eyed Gavrielle as she walked past him. “I’m…Gavrielle…don’t…”

She stepped into her bedroom and closed the door…

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