The smell of bacon in the morning was still irresistible to me. It always had been. And it was still morning, despite the sun being high enough in the sky to be bathing my bed in light. I hadn't even bothered to set my alarm, knowing there would be no run today. I'd almost hoped that I would wake up anyway, demonstrating that I was getting used to it, I was looking forward to it, but no. I'd slept straight through until ten and even Chris--or maybe Dani--was up before me.
I stumbled down the stairs--remembering to put a shirt on in case it was Danielle cooking breakfast, and since cooking was involved I almost hoped it was--but I found Chris standing over the stove, in jeans and shirtless, diligently watching the bacon sizzle.
"Don't worry," said Danielle, catching sight of me first. "I'm supervising." She was dressed in a bathrobe--Chris', unless she shopped in the men's department--and had a glass of orange juice in her hand.
"Wise choice," I told her, opening the fridge and taking out the carton of orange juice.
"Don't you dare drink from the carton," said Chris without even turning his head.
"Why not?" I laughed, bringing it over to the counter. "You always do."
"Yes, but I don't do it in front of you." I was raising the carton to my lips, but he grabbed my hand and forced it back down. "Stop that!" Laughing, I reached into the cupboard for a glass and filled it under his watchful eye. "That's more like it," he said.
"Your bacon's burning," I noted mildly as he watched me move back over to the fridge to put the juice away.
"Shit!" he said, turning back to the pan and fanning the tendrils smoke away.
As I turned away from the fridge I saw Dani look from me to Chris curiously, then walk over to her boyfriend. "Now will you let me do this?"
Chris sighed and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek as he moved away from the stove and let her clean up the mess he'd made of breakfast. "I tried," he said weakly, giving both she and I a sheepish grin.
"Thanks, Dani," I said, giving her what I hoped was a sincere smile. "I'll think I can keep this guy out of trouble for at least a few minutes."
"Just get him out of the kitchen," she said, turning to the fridge to find something for us to eat. I hoped we had more bacon; I was starting to look forward to it. "Love you, hon, but you're a disaster waiting to happen."
I steered him out into the living room and sat us down on one of the couches, my half-empty glass of orange juice still in my hand. He sighed and kicked back on the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table and lacing his fingers behind his head.
I watched him for a long moment, waiting for something I knew wasn't going to happen, remembering my anger and frustration at him. I didn't want to be upset at him--I hadn't forgotten everything he'd done for me--but it was rising anyway as more recollections of the previous day came, of things I'd pushed aside in my mind to be dealt with later.
"When were you going to tell me about the plans to go clubbing tonight?" I asked him quietly, articulating each word.
His eyes jerked toward me. "What are you talking about?" he asked.
"Don't, Chris," I said wearily. "Just don't. I don't want to have to fight you on this."
He sighed. "Who told you?"
"Does it matter?" I asked him. "I know I'm fucked up, Chris, but that doesn't mean I want to be left out of the look on stuff like this. And maybe I need help making decisions sometimes, but I at least want to have the choice. I was going to talk to you about this last night, but--"
"I wasn't here," finished Chris. "Sorry about that."
"Don't be," I said dismissively. I didn't want him to apologize for having a life outside of me; it made me feel guilty for wishing that he didn't. "I'm guessing that you and Justin are the ones who nixed the idea of telling me about it. Don't do that."
"Don't do what, exactly?"
"Cut me out. Pretend like I don't need to know things. Chris...fuck, I need you, okay? I can admit that. But I need you to be there with me, not instead of me."
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I just wanted...for you not to hurt. Is that so bad?"
"No, it's not," I said, reaching out to rub his thigh reassuringly for a moment through the thick fabric of his jeans. Inside I still felt flickers of anger, but they were more at the situation than at Chris. "But just talk to me, okay? Just talking to me isn't forcing me to do anything. And you should know by now that talking to you makes things easier for me to deal with." Damn, it really was a morning for admissions of need.
"Okay," he said simply, his body relaxing again. I looked him over again and decided to drop it. If I didn't, it was going to turn into a fight and I couldn't deal with that, especially first thing in the morning. And besides that, I think Chris heard me, really got what I was saying, even though he hadn't said much in return. I could tell him later that I was planning on going, and see what he had to say about it then.
"Okay," I repeated, trying to give the word a ring of finality to it.
"Um...while we're confessing things," said Chris unexpectedly, his voice a bit nervous. "I...I heard you last night, Joey. At my door."
"Oh," I said, knowing very well what he was talking about. "I'm sorry. I left right away."
"I just...I should have said something, before we came back," he admitted. "I'm sorry if we embarrassed you."
"I felt bad," I told him honestly. "But I wasn't embarrassed. I mean, the whole thing's so clinical for me now, anyway."
He turned to me and cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean?"
I hadn't meant to tell him this, at least not yet, but there wasn't really any reason not to. And it might make him feel a bit less awkward about the whole thing. "Chris...I pretty much don't have a sex drive anymore," I said, shrugging. I hadn't been embarrassed about seeing Chris and Dani together, but admitting something like this embarrassed me. The guys had known me as a walking hormone; that was another thing that was drastically different about me now.
"At all?" he said.
"Yeah. I guess you haven't had a chance to really notice," I said. "I haven't been aroused in...weeks. I hardly even remember what it feels like."
"I'm...sorry?" he offered.
"Don't be," I told him sincerely. "It's been easier to work out the other stuff, without that to contend with, too. And wasn't it my dick that got me into so much trouble in the first place?"
He laughed a little at my bluntness and gave me a sidelong look. "I wouldn't put it that way, but..."
"It certainly didn't help," I said with a smile, happy to be a bit more relaxed with him now.
I'm not sure how long we sat there, both of us lost in our own thoughts, but I came to the realization that I no longer heard the sounds of cooking right around the time that Dani walked into the room to get us. She looked back and forth between us before she said anything, and I quickly whipped my hand off Chris' leg. Dani was a friend, but it wasn't her business how vulnerable I was right now. There were very few people I felt I could trust with that.
"Food's ready," she said, simply, giving us a cheerful smile. Chris got up before I did and wrapped his arms around her briefly, whispering something in her ear before walking past her into the dining room.
"Thanks," I said, slowly getting to my feet and following them. My stomach was rumbling hungrily as I smelled the bacon and eggs and toast that she'd made for the both of us. I doubted she'd even be having any of it, which made the gesture even more noble.
I sat down at the table, my eyes carefully avoiding watching Chris and Dani as they sat together and kissed and touched and did everything they should be doing, and focused instead on my food, eating slowly until it was all gone, trying not to think about what was to come this evening. Once I would have looked forward to going out, now it was something to be endured, something to make me stronger. I hoped.
I hadn't really wanted to be watching soaps up in my bedroom, muting the television and trying to find something that was at least tolerable, but I'd had the altruistic notion of giving Chris and Danielle a bit of time together where they didn't have to worry about me wandering in. I'd hoped they would take advantage of it, and not just because I really didn't want to see them all over each other later on that evening.
Daisy and I had been like that, all over each other all the time. That was even why we'd had to go public with the relationship--because we couldn't keep our hands off one another when we were out in public. Most of the time we'd been too fucked up to remember that we were supposed to in the first place.
I remembered one time that she'd taken me to this dive that she'd used to frequent before we'd met. It was really seedy, part drug den, part S&M club. She'd scored something inside--I never did find out what because she hadn't offered me any--and had practically fucked me up against the outside wall of the club. Me in a studded collar, her in a black leather dress. Pictures of that excursion had made the tabloid rounds the next week; management had not been impressed.
Neither had the guys for that matter, and I mentally slapped myself for thinking that a good girl like Dani would ever act the way with Chris that Daisy had acted with me. Of course, I'd known that all along, really, but I still didn't relish the thought of seeing them together.
It was because I had the TV on mute that I heard their fight; after I heard the beginnings of it I should have just turned up the volume or gone and taken a shower or *some*thing besides listening, but I couldn't help myself. A voice in the back of my head was telling me that it was probably all my fault, and that I needed to see what I could do to make it right.
"Chris, I have to go," said Danielle, her voice carrying upstairs to my now-open door. "I wish I didn't, but I do have a life outside of us, too. This audition could mean something big for me. You could come with me, you know."
"To California?" repeated Chris. "No, I can't, you know that. I need to be here."
"With Joey?" she said, practically spitting the words out. "He doesn't need you with him twenty-four hours a day, Chris. You can't take even one day to come home with me, to spend some time really alone?"
"Not right now," he said firmly. "He hasn't even been out a week, Danielle."
"So when's it going to be time for us again?" she asked. "After another week? Another month? Maybe after the tour is finished? When, Chris?"
"You think it's easy for him, seeing everyone again, trying to deal with everything? Do you really think I can leave him alone for all that?"
"Then maybe he shouldn't have become a fucking addict!" she shouted at him. "Shit, Chris, he's not a child, make him take some responsibility for himself!"
"You did not just say that," said Chris, his voice suddenly very, very cold.
"Chris, I didn't--" began Danielle apologetically, but Chris cut her off.
"You have no idea how strong he's being," he told her forcefully. "You have no idea what he goes through, every day, trying to stay clean, trying to get his life back together. Yeah, maybe he fucked up, but it wasn't entirely his fault, Dani, and he's working so damn hard to make things right again. I think he's paid enough, don't you?"
"I'm sorry," she said. "You're right, I shouldn't have said that, but still..."
"He's my best friend, Dani. He needs me right now more than anyone ever has. I can't leave, I can't abandon him. Why can't you understand that?"
"Understand?" she repeated. "I've been understanding that for the last two months. I've been waiting for you, like I always do. And you haven't even been gone on tour or on promotions or on anything else that would have been easier to accept. You've chosen to be away from me, Chris. You've chosen it."
"You're right," he said. "I chose it, Dani. I love you, but right now I have to choose this."
"Fine," she said. "Whatever. I need to get my things, Chris, my flight leaves soon and I still have to pick up my tickets."
"I'll help you," he offered, a conciliatory gesture.
"No, don't," she snapped. "Just call me a cab. And maybe spend a few minutes remembering that you aren't Joey's only friend." She slammed the door to Chris' room and I quietly closed my own door. I didn't need to hear any more; I'd already heard too much.
"Are you sure about this?" asked Chris one last time, his hand poised on the door handle. I could hear the music pulsing from inside, and already my body was responding to it--I was swaying slightly and my insides were knotting up.
"As I am about anything," I replied, relying on the non-answer that had been serving me so well these days.
"For what it's worth, I really am sorry," he said sincerely. "I didn't think you'd be up to it, Joe."
"Maybe I'm not," I admitted, "But I told you, that has to be my decision to make , or I never will be ready for anything."
"Karen again?" he asked with a small smile, his hand still on the door.
"No, that was all me this time," I said. "Look, it's how I feel, Chris. We've been through this. Yeah, I get scared, but I need to think for myself." I put my hand over his for a moment, preventing him from opening the door and cutting off my speech prematurely. "I do forgive you, Chris. I know you were only looking out for me. But next time talk to me about it, okay? I am capable of saying no, if I'm not ready."
"Are you?" he said. I felt a flash of anger, then I looked at him and realized he wasn't doubting me, he just wanted me to really think about what I was saying.
"More now than I have been for a long time," I told him firmly. "Let's talk this stuff out, okay?"
"Okay," he agreed, and I slid my hand off his. He took that as a signal and opened the door to the club. We were immediately whisked away to the VIP area by the two bodyguards who had been waiting there for us.
JC and Justin were already there, waiting for us, sipping their drinks and looking at the dance floor yearningly. Justin was tapping his fingers against the table and JC was tipping his chair back, his fingers gripping the railing.
"'Bout time you guys showed up," said JC, grinning at us. "I was starting to think you'd changed your minds."
"Nope," I said, claiming an extra chair across the table from them and looking around the club. "It's not so bad." I'd known that being in a club was going to bring back memories for me, but I hadn't realized it would be quite so many. I sat perfectly still as they washed over me, struggling among themselves for my attention.
I felt Chris tugging at my sleeve and looked up at him. "You want something to drink?" he asked me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Justin become wary at that question, and sighed inwardly.
"Coke, please," I said, turning to smile at Justin. It wasn't malicious, but I wanted him to know that I could still see what he was doing. I wanted to acknowledge it.
"I'll get it," said Justin, meeting my eyes, standing up and putting a hand on Chris' shoulder to make him sit.
Chris shot a look at me, then looked back at Justin again. "Thanks, Just," he said, sitting down. "Can you get me one, too?"
"A Coke?" repeated Justin, to be clear.
"Yes, a Coke. Thank you." As Justin moved over to the bar, followed closely by a bodyguard, Chris turned to JC. "Tate not here tonight?" he said.
"He has an exam Monday," he explained, sighing slightly. "He practically threw me out of his apartment this afternoon. Apparently I was 'distracting' him, whatever that means." He gave us a sheepish grin and downed the rest of his drink. "I hope Lance gets here soon. I want to dance."
"Go ahead," said Chris. "We'll wait here for him. Right, Joey?"
"Sure," I said, shrugging my shoulders. "It's not like I'm going anywhere."
"You aren't going to dance?" asked JC curiously. Then his eyes softened and his voice lowered. "It'll be cool...we're all here with you, if you feel like something's gonna--."
I smiled at his gratefully but still shook my head. "Thanks, JC, but I'm not feeling like it tonight. Maybe later." For no particular reason, this club reminded me of the one that I'd met Daisy in, all those months ago. It wasn't even remotely similar. Maybe it was the music, or the heat, or the scent of alcohol that permeated everything. Or maybe I just had Daisy on the brain, still.
But that night the guys hadn't been with me. I'd been out alone, as alone as I ever got, getting sloshed in a dark club and dancing with just about anyone who would move with me. She'd come up behind me, slipped her lithe arms around me and had bit my neck teasingly. And I was gone, totally gone for her, within five minutes.
That night had ended with us snorting coke in the bathroom of my hotel room. I knew that no night would ever end like that for me again, but still I shivered involuntarily. The memory was more vivid for me now than it had ever been.
"Joey?"
I turned my head to look at Chris, who had a concerned look in his eye. "Yeah?"
"Are you okay?" he whispered, his lips close to my ear to be heard. "You weren't with us there for a minute."
"Just remembering some stuff," I told him, sighing and focusing my attention back on my friends. I didn't want to be thinking about that stuff anyway. I wanted to be spending time with my friends and enjoying myself and learning to get by in the atmosphere that I was going to be immersed in once again when the tour started up. Easier to start small and work up to that.
I hadn't forgotten what it was like to be on the road--the endless after-parties, the flocking women, the ability to indulge in any vice I could imagine as easily as breathing. I didn't delude myself into thinking that the other guys were going to be abstinent for me, and I wasn't just talking about alcohol. It was a whole lifestyle, and something that they were pretty comfortable in. My stint in rehab might have thrown a bit of a scare into them, but it wasn't going to change the way things were on tour; it would take a lot more to accomplish that particular feat.
"Hey guys!" said Lance, bumping against the table accidentally as he came up to us. "Where've you been?"
"Waiting for you," JC pointed out, standing up to give him one of those false, showy hugs that photographers loved to snap pictures of. "Who's this?" he asked, looking pointedly at the woman at Lance's side.
"Oh, this is Randi," he said casually, throwing an arm around her waist. "We're going to dance now. Anyone coming?"
Chris looked at me again, but I shook my head. "We're just gonna stick around here for a while," he said.
"I'll go," said Justin, returning to the table and putting our drinks in front of us. Being waited on by Justin Timberlake--man, if the fans could see us now. "I've been waiting for you to get here, man."
As quickly as they'd come, the three of them vanished down through the throng of people and onto the dance floor. JC gave us a long look, then winked and vanished himself. I knew he couldn't last long; once the music got in him he had to do something about it, whether it was sing or dance or mix or compose or whatever.
I took a sip of my Coke, moving the tiny, blue, useless straw out of the way, and stared off into the distance again. I could feel Chris' eyes on me, but I didn't look in his direction. Couldn't look in his direction. Didn't want to see the sympathy that I knew would be there now.
This--right here, right now--was where I would have been truly in my element before. Whipping back drinks, tearing up the dance floor, flirting with any girl who looked in my direction. It was one thing to see me at home, or at Jive, where its wasn't such an anomaly too see me a little more relaxed than my public, outgoing self. It was another thing entirely to see me here, in a club, quietly sipping a drink while the rest of my bandmates partied.
"Why did you come?" asked Chris as quietly as he could, trying to keep our conversation private. "Why did you want to come here, anyway?"
"I had my reasons," I told him, sipping my drink again. "We can talk about it later."
"Why not now?" he insisted, briefly grabbing hold of my arm. "It's not like we're doing anything else."
I looked around and sighed and wondered if that was a bitter comment on the fact that because I wasn't doing anything, he wasn't doing anything either or if he was simply stating the situation. "This is what it's going to be like," I told him finally. "On tour. I can't avoid it the whole time." "You could, if you wanted to," he said.
"Maybe," I agreed. "It's possible. But that would mean spending most of the tour not seeing my friends, and I don't want that either."
"You just...you looked really, really uncomfortable, Joe."
"I feel really, really uncomfortable, Chris," I told him. "Look, I've been frank with you about everything I've been feeling so far--which is more than I've done with anyone else--so I'll tell you flat out that I'm scared of myself here. It'd be so easy to slip." I pointed across the table. "JC's drink, for instance. You'll notice that it's not empty. I could just reach out and take it and that would be that."
"But do you want to?"
"Yes," I said. "And no." I sighed again as I tried to put the right words together--some words I'd used when I was in rehab and some words that were just for Chris. "I had a lot of reasons for drinking. One of them was to calm me down in stressful situations...so I have this instinct now to just down that drink to calm my nerves. But the rational part of me knows that drinking that drink will do a lot more to me than calm my nerves. That's the part that's saying no. And thankfully, that's the part that's winning."
Chris paused long enough for me to turn and look at him, to see what was wrong. "And if I wasn't here with you?" he said finally.
I shrugged. "I'd like to think that I'd be doing the exact same thing. Sipping my Coke and telling myself that I really don't want that drink. But it's easier with you as a safety net." On impulse I started reaching my arm out across the table towards the drink; Chris' hand shot out to stop me. "See?" I said calmly. "Even if I can't trust myself, I can trust you."
"Don't scare me like that," he said, almost inaudibly, and I immediately regretted proving my point the way I had.
"I'm sorry," I assured him. "I just wanted to...you know."
"I know," he said. "It still scared me. Wouldn't it be better if we just...got away from this table? Danced a little? You can't be scared of dancing."
"No, just of the people I hook up with when I do."
Chris grinning. "Don't worry, then. You'll be dancing with me."
I looked at him incredulously, then laughed. "What, so management can stop worrying about whether JC is going to accidentally out himself, and start worrying about us? I think, when it comes to me, they already have quite enough things to worry about without inventing a few new ones."
He punched my arm lightly, still grinning. "You know what I mean, Joey. I'll be your safety net. Come on, maybe it'll get your mind off things."
He wasn't pushing, but Chris' encouragement made me think maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe I'd even rediscover fun. I stood up and his grin widened as he let me out to the dance floor.
We were the last ones back to the table, sweat making our foreheads glisten and our faces redden. I can't say I had fun, exactly--trying to appear normal was more work that anyone could have guessed--but it wasn't a nightmare either. Not as much as it could have been. Not as much as it had been in the past.
I grabbed my drink and noted that the level was a little lower than I'd left it, noted the satisfied, secure look and Justin's face, and shrugged. If that's what it took to keep him happy, it was a small price to pay. I drained the glass and pushed it away from me, settling down in my seat.
I didn't expect I would be getting up again before we left and I didn't, though everyone else did. I even convinced Chris to go back out there, with JC staying behind at his insistence to 'keep me company'. I'd been approached out on the floor a few times, both by girls who hadn't heard and wanted to have a good time, and those who had and wanted to 'comfort' me. I'd managed to decline them all without completely breaking down into flashbacks of the dozens--hundreds?--of times the evening would have ended differently. And that was a good thing, really, even though each one took a little bit more out of me.
JC was the first to take off, hoping to make it back home before Tate called it a night. Then Lance took off, surprisingly without Randi at his side, clearly drunk but still insisting that he had work to do before he could sleep. Then it was us, leaving Justin on the dance floor where he surely wanted to be, foregoing the limo to catch a nice, normal cab home and indulge in our nightly ritual before crashing.
"Have you forgiven me?" asked Chris tentatively as we stepped out onto the deck.
"About the club thing?" I asked, sliding the door shut. "Of course I have, Chris. We talked about this, remember?"
"I know we did, but...I don't want you to think I don't trust you. And I don't want you to think you can't trust me."
"I trust you," I reassured him, sitting down in my chair, enjoying the now-familiar feel of it. "I don't think you entirely understand what's going on inside my head most of the time, but I trust you with it."
"I don't understand," he told me, smiling a little as he, too, sat. It was routine now, to come out here to wind down from our days, and I was going to miss it when we inevitably had to abandon it to go back on the road. "I've never been where you are. But I'm trying."
"I know," I said quietly. "Thank you."
My mind was still on the club, and what it had been like for me to be there. I felt a niggle of worry for Lance, who had been the only one of us to actually get drunk, but I forced it to remain just a niggle. Karen and I had talked about this, about the habits of my bandmates and how I couldn't compare them to my own experiences because we were all individuals. If I saw a pattern of behavior, then I would have grounds to worry, but one incident was far from enough.
I think I was more worried about myself, though. Worried that I could hardly make it through without memories and cravings overwhelming me, and what was I going to do when I was faced with this every night.
"Are you and Dani going to be okay?" I asked Chris finally.
"Hm?" he said, probably surprised to hear me speak. "Oh, we'll be fine," he assured me. "It's not the first time we've fought, Joey, and I'm sure it won't be the last."
"Okay," I said, accepting his answer at face value even though I still harbored doubts.
Thinking about Danielle always seem to bring my back to Daisy, Daisy who'd been foremost in my thoughts for hours now, since we'd entered the bar and before. Karen had encouraged me to talk about certain things, mostly things having to do with Daisy, whenever I felt comfortable enough, and right now seemed like an appropriate time. If getting them out would purge them from my thoughts, then it was worth it.
"Do you believe in ghosts?" I asked Chris, staring up at the nighttime sky as I spoke. You couldn't see the stars from where we were, but I still imagined them up there.
"What, you mean, like, the spirits of dead people?" he asked, looking up as well. We'd both hung our hands off the side of our arms rests, and every time we shifted they brushed against one another briefly. Even when they didn't, I swear I could feel him there, the energy his body gave off making the hair on the back of my hand stand up.
"Yeah," I said. Abruptly, I wondered if I was going to be able to do this after all. It had seemed like such a good idea a few moments ago, to get this off my chest. And there was no one I could tell this to other than Chris. But now that we were here, and the opportunity was upon us, the words were sticking. "I...there's something I want to say to you," I got out, awkwardly.
"Yeah, I kinda thought there was," he said softly, turning his head to look at me. "What is it, Joe?"
"There's something that happened about six months, ago," I said haltingly. "That I haven't told anyone. Just Karen. No one else."
"I'm listening," was all he said when I'd paused for too long. If he'd said anything else I might not have been able to go on. I wasn't ready for pressure, for questions, for sympathy. I just needed to know that he was there with me to be able to say it.
"You won't remember the time I took off all day and all night," I said. I couldn't look at him. My only option was just to keep talking. "There were so many of them, after all. But it was when we were in New York. I--" I couldn't go on. Chris didn't say anything this time, he just reached out and took my hand. I found the words again. "We'd found out Daisy was pregnant a week earlier. I know we talked about what we were going to do...but...she didn't tell me when she decided to have an abortion. She just called afterwards and asked for a ride back to the hotel."
"Shit," swore Chris softly. I clutched his hand like a lifeline.
"I dropped her off and then I just left. I went on a binge. I don't even remember most of that night, other than the fact that I was back in my bed some time around dawn. I think I blew off three interviews and a photo shoot that day. I remember you guys being pretty pissed."
"Yeah, I remember that," whispered Chris. "Damn. Are you okay?"
"I...yeah. Thanks." I could feel my eyes welling with tears, and I knew that if they fell Chris was going to be right there, holding me and letting them, but I wasn't going to let them. I hadn't cried over this before and I wasn't going to start now. "Fuck, I should have been there for her, though. I shouldn't have fucked off."
"Yeah, maybe, but that's in the past, Joey," he said, offering what little comfort he could. "I don't know what you're going through," he admitted. "But like with everything else, I'm here for you, okay?"
"It's okay, Chris," I told him. "I'm getting over it. It's just...ever since then, out of the corner of my eye, I sometimes see a little girl. And I know she's not really there, but I wonder if that's her. I wonder if that's the ghost of the child I would have had."
"I think," said Chris softly after a long moment of silence, "that's a different kind of ghost than we were talking about."
"Yeah," I admitted, equally softly. "I think you're right. That's why I told Karen about her last time I was there. Because I know she lives inside my head, Chris. I know that. And I know she's part of why, every day, I want to have a drink or ten. To make her go away." I didn't need Chris to tell me that that wouldn't help, and he didn't. "But I want to put her to rest for real. I...just thanks. Thank you for listening."
"You don't need to thank me every time I'm here for you, Joey," he told me. I finally looked at him, and saw how serious he was. "You're my best friend. The best friend I've ever had. I'm exactly where I want to be, right now, okay?"
"Okay," I answered him. He was still holding my hand, and for the life of me I didn't want him to let go.
Conversation fell away again, but the silence wasn't awkward. I was letting my emotions settle down again after riling them up so thoroughly, and I'm sure that Chris was processing what I'd just shared with him.
There had been a feeling building in me, probably from the moment I'd stepped out of the hospital and into JC's jeep with Chris, or maybe even before. So many of my problems seemed to come down to one relationship, one person, one thing in my life that had had no resolution, no chance at closure. It wasn't enough just to deal with the issues in my own head--I needed to find Daisy, and I needed to talk to her, and I needed to end this. For good. The right way. It wasn't just an idea anymore; it was a necessity.
The night grew later, and suddenly I felt Chris squeezing my hand and letting it go. I'd almost forgotten he'd been holding it.
"I think it's time to go in," he said when I looked at him. "Get some sleep. We have to go to Lance's tomorrow, remember?"
I had, in fact, forgotten about the questionnaires that we were obligated to fill out. We'd made them into a game, a long time ago, to keep ourselves sane. Answering the same questions over and over, answering the questions for each other, sometimes, just to keep it interesting, answering some of the stranger questions aloud and making everyone participate. That's why we did this together, instead of just holing up somewhere and filling in sheet after sheet of answers to such inane questions as "what's your favorite colour?' and 'would you ever date a fan?' time and time again.
Reluctantly I got to my feet and followed Chris back inside the house. He quickly veered towards his room so I sighed and headed straight for the stairs up to my own bedroom. I hadn't thought he was quite so eager to get away from me.
"Hang on a sec," said Chris hurrying back over to me before I could start up. "There's something...um..."
"What, you want me to tuck you in?" I grinned, trying to ease some of his obvious tension. He smiled back, but it was nervous. "Are you still upset about your fight with Dani?"
"Huh, Dani?" he repeated, as though he had no idea what I was talking about. "No, not at all. I mean...I already said we'd work things out. I'll call her."
"Okay," I said, gripping the railing as my back foot tilted up against the bottom step. "What's up, then?"
"I just..." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. "When I went shopping for Dani yesterday, I picked up something for you, too. And I've been trying to figure out the right time to give it to you, but then I told myself to just do it, you know? So...this is for you."
I took the box from him and stared at it uncomprehendingly for a moment. "For me?" I repeated, looking up at him. "What is it?"
"Well, open it," he said, laughing nervously. "I'm not gonna tell you."
I looked down at the box in my hand again, then lifted the lid off of it. Inside was a lightweight silver chain with a tiny superman pendant on it. I smiled a little, speechless, and looked back up at him again.
"I know, I know, you have tons of Superman stuff," he admitted. "But I was looking and looking for something to get you--you know, as kind of a welcome home present?--and then I found this and it just jumped out at me. It's like...it's not just because you like Superman. I thought of you because, no matter how much trouble you're having with stuff, every day you show so much strength it amazes me. So it reminded me of you."
The guy could have gotten me a snake in a can and I would have been thrilled, but this? "Chris..." I began, but there weren't any words. I reached out my hand and cupped it behind his neck and pulled him into a soft kiss, because there was just no other way I could think of to express the emotion inside me. As I closed my eyes I saw his widen, but then he began to kiss me back.
We must have stood there for five minutes, kissing, tonguing, nibbling at swollen lips, then we both pulled away as the shock hit us. My hand fell to my side again and we just stood there, staring, wondering where our voices had gone. Kissing Chris had seemed the only logical thing to do in that moment, but now...now I wondered where the hell the notion had come from. And I wondered, too, now that that perfect moment had passed and I was thinking at all, what reasons he'd had to kiss me back, and if they were the same as mine.
"I should get to bed," he said finally, clearing his throat as the words came out scratchy and weak.
I nodded. "Me too," I agreed. I looked at the box in my hand and then back at Chris again. "Thanks," I said, inadequately. "This is great."
'You're welcome," he said, still wide-eyed and flushed. We both needed to get away. "Good night, Joey."
"Good night, Chris," I said, and started up the stairs.
I lay in bed for a long time, knowing I should get up, knowing that Chris was already up and moving around downstairs, but not really wanting to move a muscle. There was no smell of bacon this morning, no worry about running into my best friend's lover in the kitchen, no eagerness to see a smiling face. There was only the heart-pounding remembrance of something important that had happened, something I wasn't prepared to face.
Finally I dragged myself out of bed, finding a pair of clean sweats and jogging down the stairs, trying to convince myself that I had energy and I was feeling fine and that nothing at all had changed.
Chris was sitting at the kitchen table, picking half-heartedly at a piece of now-cold toast. "Good morning," I said, opening the fridge and tracking down the remaining orange juice. My voice sounded bright, but my expression was a bit more conflicted. I watched Chris watch me out of the corner of my eye, both of us trying to look like we weren't looking.
"Are you up for a run this morning?" I asked, trying to sound casual, as I pulled the orange juice out, drinking straight from the carton again. I finally turned to look right at him, braving whatever reaction I might see.
"I was hoping we would," he admitted, frowning at the remains of the toast, then tossing it into the trash. "Rehearsals start tomorrow. I'm not ready."
"Rehearsals," I repeated, the word almost foreign to me. I don't know how, but I'd almost forgotten. "Right."
"And...I really need to run," he added. An admission. I looked at him for a long moment, trying to puzzle out just what that meant, whether he needed to run, the escape, for the same reasons I did, or whether his motives were entirely different, but nothing jumped out at me. Then, suddenly, he smiled. Shyly and reassuringly.
"Me, too," I said, breathing a sigh of relief and smiling back before replacing that orange juice. We obviously weren't going to talk about what had happened, not yet, but the smile seemed to mean that everything was okay. We were okay. And that was enough for now.
Lance's place was pretty big. Not as palatial as the one that Justin had his eye on, but a lot grander than my modest three-bedroom home. I'd had more than enough money to get a pretty grand place of my own, too, but I honestly liked the house I'd settled on, liked having a place to come back to that felt like a home and not a showpiece. It might have been the one good decision I'd made over the past year or so.
"Hey," said Lance when we got there, flinging the front door wide and ushering us inside. "They faxed over the stuff about an hour ago; Just and JC are already in the den." Surprisingly, he showed no signs of the hangover I'd been expecting.
"You didn't start without us, did you?" said Chris disappointedly, shaking the rain out of his hair and hanging up his coat. Chris probably got the most into this game of all of us; he always had.
"Only the basic stuff," said Lance. "You know--name, age, birthday, star sign."
"Star sign?" I repeated. "They actually asked for that?"
"Yup," he said, taking my wet coat from me and hanging it on the hook next to Chris'. "They're long this time, too. Should be entertaining."
I ran my hands through my hair; any styling I'd done this morning had been trashed by the rain, and my hair now hung down limply around my face. Chris had already dashed into the den ahead of us, and laughed when he saw me.
"Shit, Joe, you look like you drowned out there," he said, reaching into my hair and trying to spike it up again with his fingers.
"It's not like you look much better," I countered. I reached for his hair but he kept swatting my hands away until finally I gave up and faked for his waist as though to tickle him. As he reached down to save himself, I mussed up his hair as best I could before he came back at me. Still laughing, he grabbed my wrists and pulled me closer to him until JC cleared his throat.
We both turned our heads to see the amused expression on his face. "Nice of you two to finally show up," he said. We pulled apart swiftly and awkwardly and sat down on opposite sides of the room. "We were just getting read to fill out the damn things for you."
"Nooo!" said Chris eagerly, leaping up again and snatching the paper that JC was taunting him with. I watched him in amusement, sitting almost perfectly still until JC gave in and moved over on the leather couch to hand me mine.
If I'd become comfortable with Chris' omnipresence before, I was hyperaware of him now, and from the way he looked it was the same for him. They must have noticed we were awkward with each other, alternating between not touching each other and touching each other too much, but no one said anything about it.
We took turns asking the questions that we found on our sheets--most of them duplicated but some of them not--and gave some of the most ludicrous responses they could come up with before jotting down the same old trite answers as they always had before.
"My turn," said Justin eagerly, flipping onto the second page. "Oh God, listen to this! 'If you were a fish, what kind of fish would you be?' What the hell kind of question is that?"
"One you gotta answer," laughed Lance. "What kinda fish, Justy? I'm thinking maybe...piranha."
"You're the piranha," he said, pouting a little. "The businessman who eats people alive. I'm more like...an angelfish. They're the prettiest, right?"
"Don't be silly," said Lance. "Angel? Whatever! We all know Chris is the true angel around here, man. You can be a goldfish or something. They're not bad."
"Goldfish?" he scoffed. "They're way too common. I'm not common."
"Ego much?" said JC, grinning at him, then at me. "Joe, you should be the goldfish. Everybody likes goldfish."
"Are you telling me I'm common?" I joked with him. "Besides...I hardly think the 'well-liked' label fits me anymore."
"What, are you kidding?" said JC before the mood could even begin to go downhill. "After all those letters and cards? Trust me, you've still got what it takes in that department."
"What are you talking about?" I asked, frowning at him a little.
"I haven't shown him yet," said Chris quietly from where he was sitting.
"Shown me what?" I asked. I'd been lying flat on my back on the floor, staring upwards at my paper for the last ten minutes or so, but now I sat up so that I could look at him.
"You've got mail," answered JC. "A lot of it."
"We always get lots of mail," I replied, still confused.
"No," said Chris. "You've got mail. They've been waiting for a good time...I'll show it to you later." There was an awkward silence for a moment, then I nodded and lay back down. "How about a guppy?" asked Chris finally. "Are you the guppy type?"
"I think JC is more guppy-esque," said Lance thoughtfully. "We still haven't figured out what you are, Just. Maybe a shark or something, cause you think you're so badass."
"What do you mean by 'guppy-esque'?" interrupted JC defensively.
"Aren't guppies the ones that kiss?" asked Lance of nobody in particular. "Cause that's what you do, like, all the time now. You're such a sap."
"Whatever," said JC, but he was smiling.
"Hello?" interrupted Justin impatiently. "Fish question? What should I put?"
"Put shark," said Chris. "Nick Carter likes sharks, too. It'll fuck with people's heads." Justin laughed and penciled it in.
I read the next question on my sheet and frowned uncomfortably. "Um...who came up with these questions anyway?" I asked.
"They're fan-written," answered Lance off-handedly. "Why else do you think some of them are so freaky?"
"What's your next one, Joe?" asked Justin curiously.
"It's just..." I shook my head. "I don't think I want to play anymore," I said, sitting up. "Is there somewhere else I can go to finish this up?" Before I could get up, Chris was on his knees beside me, with his hand on my arm.
"What's up?" he asked me quietly.
I shook my head again. "I just didn't get the fun questions this time is all. I should have been expecting that." I dropped the pages on the floor, knowing that was as good as an open invitation for Chris to pick them up.
"This isn't so bad," he said quietly. I knew it was meant for my ears, but everyone else had quieted to the point where they could hear every word, every breath, every movement of our bodies. "It could have been worse."
"I know," I replied, closing my eyes. "But they don't make for a riotous good time either."
It was so quiet, I could hear him nod. "What did you miss the most when you were in rehab, Joey?" he asked after a long, silent moment.
I shrugged and didn't answer. Couldn't answer--there were too many responses all twined together to give some kind of flip or even succinct reply. Unless they wanted to get an essay out of me, they weren't going to get a real answer to that one.
Justin snorted. "Put ice cream, or something stupid like that," he said. "That's none of their business anyway."
"I'm gonna put something," I said. "I don't know what yet." I'd made the promise that I wasn't going to lie about things, and I wasn't going to go back on it now, but I wasn't going to spill my guts to them either. "Maybe I'll put 'my friends and family'...do you think that's vague enough?"
"Is it true?" asked Justin.
"It's true," I said. "It's a very small piece of the truth, but it's true." I suddenly realized Chris had been stroking my arm the whole time, and resisted the urge to jerk away. Fortunately, he seemed to realize around the same time and backed away a little, though he remained sitting on the floor nearby.
"You want to talk about it?" asked Justin while the others remained silent.
"Not right now," I said, shaking my head one last time. "Let's just finish these damn things and fax them back." I took the pages back from Chris and wrote in my answer quickly, surely, knowing that they might use this as a !!Special *Nsync Handwriting Bonus!! and not wanting to give away my state of mind.
There wasn't much more chatter as we all decided to just fill out the remaining questions as quickly as we could and be done with them. Well, except for when Lance came across that question 'Where was the kinkiest place you ever went without underwear?' and didn't have the first clue how to answer. Chris managed to convince him to write down 'midnight showing of Citizen Kane' and let the teenyboppers use their imaginations.
I wasn't much in the mood to hang out anymore, which was probably obvious to everyone. Justin and JC had disappeared into the game room for another rematch in their ongoing pool battle and Lance practically had my coat ready before I even said that I was ready to go. I gave him a quick goodbye and a promise to call, then Chris and I stepped out into the driving rain again.
"What was the deal with JC talking about our fan mail," I asked as I got into the passenger side of my car, aware of the fact that I was already soaked through and would be leaving a large wet patch where I sat. "That was a little weird."
Chris sat down but didn't start the car, his hands resting on the steering wheel. "You have to know that we got a lot of mail when you were in rehab..." he began uncertainly.
"Yeah, and?" I said. "Look Chris, I know how much mail comes in for us every day. And I know that some of it's going to mention my stint in rehab. I'm okay with that, really I am. I even talked about it with Karen, and--"
"It's not 'a few' or even 'some'," interrupted Chris. "There's a lot. Cards, letters, gifts...all just for you. We tried to go through it but there was just too much, and there wasn't time. I'm sure there are some in there that aren't going to be nice, but...well, just about every one we looked at just wished you well, Joe."
I looked at him dumbly for a moment. "Why didn't anyone tell me?" I asked finally.
"Because there's no time to deal with it right now," he said. "Because we don't know what's in there. Because you have more important things to deal with."
"Because you didn't think I could handle it," I said flatly. "Wow, there's a surprise."
Chris reached out to grab my chin and turn my head so I was facing him. "I want you to know it wasn't my call this time," he said. "I was asked quite firmly not to mention it to you yet. And you know what? I hadn't even thought of it until JC brought it up. I knew they were still collecting it, but...I had other things on my mind."
"I want to see it," I said quietly, reached up to put my hand on his wrist, to loosen his grasp on my face so I could turn away. "I can't believe...I've been so worried--so obsessed--with how the fans were taking this, and there were answers all along?"
"Look, don't pin your hopes on finding answers," he said earnestly. "I wish I could say they were in there, but everyone is an individual and--"
"Just drive," I said, nodding towards the keys that he held in his right hand. "Take me there. Show me."
"Fine," he said, sighing as he started the car and drove us to the Jive offices.
I didn't say a word the whole way, lost in my own thoughts. Why had this wealth of information been kept from me? Information that might have made me well again? Why did they want me to suffer more than I already had, more than I needed to?
I pulled myself up short as that thought echoed in my head. No...no...not something that would make me well. That had been drilled into me time and time again, that there wasn't some magical cure that would make me well, that I had to work at it, that I had to want it. I was impressed with myself for recognizing the trap for what it was, and scared to death that I'd been on the brink of falling into it.
But still...to not have been shown. To have been left to wonder and obsess and panic and let the worry gnaw at me...it just didn't seem right.
Chris led me down the twisting corridors of the lowest level of the building, corridors I was somewhat familiar with, but not to the extent that Chris seemed to be. We stopped in front of a door marked, simply, '569b - Storage' and he held both my shoulders firmly in his hands. An involuntary shudder went through me at this touch, and I looked at his face intently.
"Last chance," he said. "Just tell me yes or no, Joey. It'll always be here. We can always come back."
My mind jumped to that moment two days ago, when that young woman had looked at me with her big expressive eyes and expressed concern about me. Concern, not pity or adulation or condemnation. Concern. That was what I was going to be finding here. It had been hard to deal with face to face, but these were letters. Black writing on pink, perfumy slips of papers. Ones I'd seen a thousand times before. This would be different. This was what I needed.
"Yes," I said confidently. "Open it up."
Chris opened the door and flipped on the lights, then stepped back so I could walk inside. I did, the full impact of the sight not hitting me right away. About ten steps in I just froze, my limbs becoming numb with shock, and I knew why they'd kept me away. I was surrounded, not by stacks or piles, but by mountains of letters, filling all the free space in the cavernous room. All for me. All because I'd fallen.
My mouth fell open and I wanted to call for Chris or scream or cry or something but nothing came out and all I could do was stare.