Literature

by >>Jae

He brought Britney back late one night, and her assistant whispered urgently and pulled her away as soon as they got in. Justin sat on Brit's bed to wait. He checked his messages. He had fifteen, all left within the last three hours, all management. None of them said anything real, just told him to contact them as soon as he could. Before he got a chance, Brit called out for him from the other room. Her voice sounded strange.

Britney was standing behind a table with a paper in front of her, hugging herself and rocking a little. He thought she looked scared. He started to ask her what was wrong, and she looked up and said, "I didn't. It didn't come from me, I swear to God. It didn't come from me."

"Of course not," Justin said soothingly. He thought, Shit shit shit. He tried to think where they could have gotten it. He thought he and Chris had been careful, but they'd gotten comfortable lately, and it was so hard to remember all the time. He didn't reach for the paper. As long as he didn't look at it, it was almost like it hadn't happened yet.

"Look," Justin said, and Britney started. "Hey, it can't be that bad. No one believes what those tabloids print anyway."

"It's not," Brit said. She pushed the paper toward him. "It's not a tabloid." He looked down. It wasn't. Shit. "It's. It's an advance copy. It's tomorrow's." She walked around the table toward him, then stopped. "I'm sorry," she said.

He sat down and pulled the paper toward him. It was already open to the right page. There was a big picture, but it was of him and Brit. A premiere a month ago -- he recognized her dress. "What?" he said in confusion. "What is --"

"Read it," Britney said.

Justin read it. He relaxed a little as he did. It wasn't good, but he could clean it up. He read it again, more slowly this time. He looked up at Brit and smiled. "Well, we know it's a lie," he said. "I'd never give you such a small diamond." Brit smiled nervously back at him. "C'mere," he said, and pulled her down into his lap. "No one blames you," he said. "They just make this stuff up every once in awhile, you know that. It sells papers. We'll each issue a denial tomorrow, and nobody will believe it, but eventually they'll have to, when nothing happens. We'll take care of it. Easy as pie." He felt Britney snuggle back closer to him.

"What about Chris?" she said. He twisted a loose strand of her hair around his finger and kissed her neck.

"I'll take care of Chris," Justin said, a little more confidently than he felt. He patted Brit's thigh until she stood up. "I better go do that now."

When Justin got home, the house was dark, but it didn't feel peaceful, like everyone was asleep. He could feel something dark and angry vibrating in the air, and he knew Chris had heard.

Chris was sitting at the kitchen table, the paper spread out in front of him, an empty bottle next to him on the floor. Justin knew before he saw it that Chris was drunk.

"Chris," Justin said, leaning against the doorway.

"Well, look who's home," Chris said. "Sit down. I'm just reading the papers. Gotta stay informed, you know."

"Who told you?" Justin said.

"Johnny. He wanted me to hear it from him first. He seemed to think I might find it upsetting for some reason. That Johnny. He's always looking out for me."

"Chris," Justin said again. "Why are you letting this get to you? It's nothing. You know it's not true."

"Do I?"

"Oh, fuck you," Justin said. He closed his eyes. "After all this time, you still. How can you think. Goddammit." He was so angry he wanted to hit something, or cry. He opened his eyes. Chris was watching him, and there was something in his eyes that made Justin's voice soften. "You know," Justin said. "You know, you know, I know you know. I don't know how else to make you. I can't believe you think I'd do that to you. Ever. And that I'd let you find out that way? God." He ran a hand over his head.

"How would you let me find out?" Chris said quietly.

Shit. He'd walked into that one.

"Chris," Justin said desperately. He climbed onto Chris' lap, wrapped his arms around Chris' neck. Chris sat back and let him. "Chris, it's not true. It's not, you know it's not. I don't. I'd never." Chris didn't move. "I love you."

"You think that fixes everything," Chris said. "You love me -- "

"I do," Justin said. "I do."

"Oh, I believe you," Chris said. "You love me, and you love your Barbie doll girlfriend, and you love, oh, I don't know what else. Harleys? Puppy dogs? Jesus? God, you're so fucking shallow."

Justin bit his lip. He thought maybe he was shallow. What he wanted, he asked for, and what he loved, he tried to keep. He had never been able to learn another way.

Chris pushed at him impatiently, and Justin clung harder. He didn't know what else to do. He didn't know what else to say, other than the truth. "I love you, you know that, I know you know that. I love you."

"You love everybody," Chris said.

"Not like you," Justin said. He kissed Chris' mouth, his throat, ran his hands down Chris' arms frantically, tried to pull them around his waist. "Nobody like you, never, nobody like you." When he let go of Chris' arms, they fell back to his sides. "Only you," he said into Chris' skin, chanting it again and again, like if he said it often enough it would finally sink in. "Only you."

"Leave her," Chris said.

Justin froze. "Why?" he said. Chris didn't answer. "Chris, you know she didn't. She didn't have anything to do with that." He waved vaguely toward the paper behind them. "It's not her fault."

"I know," Chris said.

"Well, okay," Justin said. "It's just. Chris. You're drunk, and. You don't mean it."

"No," Chris said flatly. "I guess I don't."

Justin looked at him. "I'll do it," he said wildly. "I will. I'll do it right now, if you want."

"It's too late."

"It's not," Justin said. "It's not, I'll do it right now. Right now. I will."

"Why?" Chris said.

Justin stared at him. "Why what?"

"Why will you leave her?"

"Because. You just told me to," Justin said. "You just said. And I will, I promise, if that's what you want."

"No," Chris said. "No."

"But you said -- "

"No," Chris said. "You're right. I'm drunk, and I'm stupid. No." His hands moved up to Justin's waist, then slid down over his ass, warm and familiar. Justin curled closer to him. "I love you," Justin whispered.

Chris lifted him suddenly and then dropped him so his ass was on the edge of the table. He pushed him backwards, and Justin's shoulders and head spilled off the other end. Chris put one hand on Justin's stomach and stripped his jeans off with the other. Justin smiled and groped awkwardly for the table legs for balance. Chris ran his hands roughly up the backs of Justin's thighs and shoved inside.

It hurt a little, and Justin squirmed, trying to find a better angle. Chris thrust again, and again. It was hurting more than a little, and Justin said breathlessly, "Chris. Wait. Fuck. Ow. I said fucking wait -- " He was struggling up on his elbows when Chris slumped over him. Chris kissed his stomach, then laid his cheek against it.

"I'm sorry," Chris said. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Hey," Justin said. "Hey, Chris, come on. It's all right. It's nothing. It's okay. You're just drunk, that's all. It's okay." Chris stood up and stepped back, and Justin sat up and got carefully to his feet. He winced before he could catch himself, and Chris said, "I'm sorry."

"It's nothing," Justin said. "Come on. You'll make it up to me in the morning, all right?"

Justin put out his hand and Chris took it obediently. He followed Justin upstairs, then went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Without saying a word, he pulled off his clothes and then drew Justin inside. Justin stood under the warm spray and let Chris gently wash his face, his arms, his chest, stopping every now and then to kiss his work. Justin smiled. Chris drunk could be a pain, but it was worth it.

Chris turned him around and washed his back, lips moving softly down his spine. Justin sighed. Chris' hand trailed over his ass, then stroked a little more insistently. Justin said, "Um, Chris, I'm kind of -- "

"No," Chris said. "It's just. You've got newsprint on your ass."

Justin laughed and craned his head, trying to see. "What does it say?"

Chris kissed his shoulder. "It's nothing," he said.

They got out of the shower and Chris dried him off carefully, pushing Justin's hands away when he reached for the towel. They got into bed.

"I'm sorry," Justin said. "About the thing. I'll have them fix it tomorrow, okay?"

"Shh," Chris said. "Go to sleep."

"Love you," Justin said as he closed his eyes.

"Go to sleep," Chris said.

When Justin woke up the next morning, Chris had already gotten up. He lifted his head for a minute, listening for the shower. He didn't hear anything. He shrugged, and stretched out into the empty space.

When Justin woke up again, he still didn't hear Chris. He pulled his sweatpants on and went to brush his teeth. Chris wasn't in the bathroom. He wandered downstairs and made himself a bowl of cereal. Chris wasn't in the kitchen. He sat in front of the TV and turned on cartoons. Chris wasn't in the living room. On his way back to the kitchen for orange juice, he stuck his head out into the garage. Chris' car wasn't there. There was a sheet of paper on the kitchen table.

Chris was gone.