Empty


"We never thought that you were
Gone until we turned the lights on, and spoke  
To your god..."

	Justin never said that he hadn't had sex. He said he was a virgin. And to him, he was. He'd fucked people, but he'd never made love. He'd never really wanted to. He'd gotten blow jobs from fans, like the girl between his legs while he was thinking about this. She looked to be about 16, with dyed blonde hair and this killer red lipstick that caught Justin's attention. 
	Justin lifted his head so he could watch her. It was obviously the first time she'd ever done this. She tried hard to bob her head quickly, and her tongue was moving clumsily over all the wrong places. "You're doing good," he mumbled, and dropped back on the pillow again.
	His hotel room was dark. All the lights were off. The girl had wanted it that way, and since it was the only request she'd made since he invited her into the limo, he supposed it wouldn't kill him. He closed his eyes and tried to think of something else. Imagine a prostitute who knew how to get him off in five minutes or less, or maybe a really fine guy with lips made for cock sucking. But eventually it became apparent that he wasn't going to come like this.
	He reached down and wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking it with a rhythm that he knew would give him the fastest orgasm. The girl extended her tongue to lick the head of it, trying to stay involved. Justin groaned a little and shot, looking down to watch the girl get out of the way. He should have warned her. She moved in again, looking like she intended to lap it up like she saw in a porn magazine, but after her first taste, she retreated again.
	She sat up, squirming up the bed a little like she expected Justin to do something else. Justin tucked his hands behind his head and smiled at her a little. "Thank you."
	"You're welcome," she said, biting her lip a little. "Do you want to fuck me now?"
	Justin sighed at the ceiling. "I don't really...do that." That was such a lie, but there was no way the girl would ever know that.
	"Do you want me to just..." She motioned toward the door, looking like she didn't expect the answer to be yes. But it was.
	"Yeah," Justin said. "I have to get up early tomorrow."
	She climbed off the bed, slipping into her platform shoes, her head down like she had expected a lot more out of this than what she actually got. Justin sat up and found his Abercrombie T-shirt next to the bed where he had left it this morning. "Hey," he said.
	The girl looked up expectantly.
	"Here," Justin said, tossing her the T-shirt. The girl caught it like the kid in the Pepsi commercial who gets the athlete's sweaty towel.
	The girl left just as JC came in. She stopped for a minute, eyes brightening like she was going to get a chance to talk to JC. But JC ignored her and shut the door behind him.
	"Have fun?" he asked.
	"No." Justin settled back against the headboard and watched JC's back as JC looked for something on the desk. "Want to have fun with me?"
	"No." JC moved some more papers, checked behind the telephone. "Where's that demo? I need that back."
	"It's in my bag."
	JC walked over and stuck his hand in Justin's duffel bag, feeling around a little until he pulled out a jewel case containing the lastest draft of songs for the new CD. The CD had "songs" written across it in JC's handwriting with black marker. Justin hadn't actually listened to it yet, but JC blew a gasket when all of the copies weren't within a two foot radius of him.
	"Thanks," JC said, not even looking over at the bed when he left.
	Justin sighed and stared at the ceiling. He supposed he should just go to bed, although it seemed like a waste of a night. But there wasn't much else to do.

***

	"Joey, are you going to do all of this shit yourself or are you going to leave some for everyone else?"
	Joey got to the end of his line and looked at Justin indignantly, rubbing his nose with his fingers. He passed the rolled-up twenty to Justin, who snorted his line quickly, moving the end of the bill along the mirror with a skill born from years of practice. He sniffled, tilted his head back, and passed the bill to Lance.
	"They're thinking about doing another HBO special," Lance said. When Lance first joined the group, he had sneezed and blown $50 worth of cocaine all over the place. Now he could almost talk while he snorted it. 
	"Yeah?" Chris said, taking the twenty from Lance. "That would be cool."
	"Yeah." Justin sniffled again. "The last one was fun."
	"Of course it was fun for you," Lance replied darkly. "You took up most of the spotlight."
	"It was a regular show," Justin argued.
	"Yeah. The regular Justin Timberlake show."
	"What the fuck..." Justin started. 
	But Chris finished his line and passed the bill to JC in time to interject. "Cut it out," he said. "An HBO special is an HBO special."
	"I agree," JC said, bowing down and inhaling.
	Lance looked at his watch and fished the vial out of his jacket pocket. "Show time's in 20 minutes. You guys want to do another one?"
	"I do," Justin said.
	The other three stood up. "You guys have fun," JC said, turning and swaggering across the room like he had already flipped on his stage persona.
	The show brought the same adrenaline rush it always did. They sang and danced and the sweat poured off them, and none of them wanted to leave. The crowd screamed and the lights sparkled. They raised their arms before they left the stage and the lights hurt Justin's eyes.
	Glitter. Sparkle. Emptiness. Encore.

***

"You push it most days when you're young
And then one day you grow up
And everyone's wrong..."

***

	"JC, where are you going?" Justin stumbled down the hallway, following the narrow back in the new Gap shirt. 
	"To bed," JC said without turning around.
	"You always want to go to fucking bed," Justin said, trying to navigate his way down the tilting hallway. He bumped into someone's door and mumbled an apology.
	"You should go to bed, too," JC said, taking long strides. Justin thought for a second that JC was doing that on purpose, hoping Justin couldn't keep up with him.
	"You are such a fucking lamer," Justin said, fishing in his jacket pocket for his key card. "You never want to do anything fun. You just write music and write music and write music. Do you ever actually fuck anything?"
	JC turned his head and smirked. "I fuck. I just don't fuck you."
	"That's because you're scared," Justin said, following it with his best chicken impersonation.
	"You're drunk."
	"You're a fucking genius."
	JC stopped and pointed to one of the doors. "That's your room."
	Justin leaned heavily against the door, trying to figure out which way the key card went in the slot. "Want to come in with me?"
	"No."
	"No," Justin mimicked, finally turning it the right way and sticking it in the slot. The red light flashed and stopped. He tried it again and still got the red light. "These fucking things never work right."
	JC took the card out of Justin's hand. "Move."
	Justin used the door to push himself into a standing position. JC opened the door on the first try.
	"Wow," Justin said. "You *are* a fucking genius."
	"Thank you." JC turned and headed to his room.
	"Goodnight JC," Justin called down the hallway. JC didn't turn around when he did a little flippant wave.
	"You are such a queen," Justin mumbled, knowing JC couldn't hear him now. He stumbled to the bed and flopped onto his back, tucking his hand in his pants, fully intending to masturbate but falling asleep before it actually happened.
	Clubbing. Drinking. Rejection. Encore.

***

	"I think the main thing is that we interact with our fans," Lance was saying. Carson Daly sat across from him in a killer leather jacket. Justin wanted one.
	"Yeah," Justin said. "We just want to, you know, keep it real. We don't want it to be like us on one side and them on the other side." He smiled one of his trademark smiles and caught a glimpse of himself in the monitor. 
	"That's why it's really important for us to put on a great show," JC added, his hand punctuating his words in true JC style. "So we can keep it fresh. Keep surprising people."
	Justin watched JC's lips move - so full and pale, like all they needed was a coat of red lipstick. JC looked back at him, caught his glance and held it for a moment.
	"Actually," Chris cut in, "we paid all those people out there to, like, come down and pretend we were cool." He motioned to the window where a few floors down, girls in *NSync shirts, *NSync body paint and *NSync signs were screaming for their attention. "Those are actually all of Joey's relatives."
	Justin laughed. JC laughed. The crowd laughed. Everything Chris said was funny. Everything JC did was sexy. Everything Justin did was adorable. Justin had tried to avoid thinking that way. When he was 16 he made it a ritual for about three months to look at himself in the mirror before he went to bed and tell himself that he sucked. But that was just the way people thought, and Justin had come to accept it. Chris was funny. JC was sexy. Justin was adorable. As long as he wasn't a prick about it, he was okay.
	They agreed to drop off the new video off as long as they didn't have to perform. The MTV execs assured them that they wouldn't have to, although they might have to sign a few autographs and interact with the fans a little. The interview ended and Justin stepped down into the audience, cracking little jokes on the way in to the crowd. He liked this. He liked the frozen smiles. He liked the screams. If he didn't, he would no longer be down to Earth. And if he wasn't down to Earth, he would be a prick.
	He brushed against a girl in raspberry lipstick and grinned at her, poking her in the stomach. Every girl within two feet of them giggled too, like he'd just done it to all of them. The girl smiled back at him like she understood why he'd done it, like she'd seen the look in his eyes that told her that he was doing more than just being nice. But there was no time to do anything about it, because the crowd pushed him on.

***

	The nightclub was still swirling and throbbing, and there were still more girls to dance with and grind against and more people to make contact with so they'd feel special. But Justin couldn't do it anymore. His limbs ached. His head hurt a little. He squeezed into the VIP room and found his gin, which he'd started drinking when he heard somewhere that gin was the least fattening liquor. JC sat in the corner of one of the plush leather couches, a beer tilting lazily in his hand. He wasn't really talking to anyone. Just sitting.
	Justin flopped down next to JC and put his arm around him, flashing him a grin. "Whatcha doing?"
	"Nuttin'," JC replied, grinning back in a way that made Justin want to look around to see if there was a camera on them.
	"Want to do nuttin' with me?" Justin asked, sliding the straw in his drink across his bottom lip.
	The glimmer left JC's eyes as quickly as it had appeared. "No," he said, still using the silly tone, but it was obvious that whatever moment they'd just had, no matter how small or how guarded, was gone.
	Justin sighed, letting his head fall back on the couch. "Why do you hate me?"
	"I don't hate you," JC replied, picking at the label on his beer bottle. 
	"Then why won't you, like, fool around with me a little?" Justin asked. "I know you're gay."
	JC took a deep breath, still concentrating on his beer. "It's just...not everybody in the whole world wants to sleep with you, you know."
	Justin sat up straight and took his arm away. "I don't think that."
	"Give me one reason," JC said, raising his head and looking Justin in the eyes. "Give me one reason why you suddenly want to sleep with me so badly. Why all of the sudden? After all this time?"
	Justin shrugged into his drink. "Cuz you're hot."
	"Cuz you're empty," JC replied, setting his beer bottle on the table and standing. "Which is also the reason why I won't sleep with you."
	Justin watched JC stride across the room, his body like a ballerina's, and scratched his head.
	
	
***

"You circled 'round odd fallen stars
And reached out 
For the lightning until you were stung..."

***

	Justin sat across from Lance at a desk in a new town and a new hotel room. Lance had dragged the desk in front of the window so he could get more sun. His laptop was placed carefully on the bed now, his cell phone still on and sitting next to the new lines he'd just made.
	Justin did a line and closed his eyes. "This is great shit. Where did you get this?"
	Lance looked up from the mirror that he kept tucked in the inside flap of his suitcase, wrapped in cheese cloth. "Canada." Deep snort.
	"No kidding. When you were scouting locations or something like that?"
	"Yep." Lance sat back in the chair and stretched.
	"How did you get it across the border?"
	Lance smirked. "You don't want to know."
	Justin tapped his fingers on the desk, feeling the familiar twang of nervous energy. "Is this the same stuff from last night?"
	Lance smirked yet again. "*That* shit, my darling, is long gone."
	Justin laughed. "You're going to burn the shit out of that...what's that bone in your nose called again? That skinny one in the middle?"
	"Cartilige?" Lance offered.
	"No."
	Lance tried again. "Septum?"
	"No."
	"Inner septum?"
	"No!" Justin said, and they laughed.
	The truth was that this stuff burned his sinuses a little, but Lance always provided and never asked for anything in return except someone to sit there and do it with, so Justin wasn't going to complain.
	Lance was already a line ahead of him, but he leaned in and did another one. Justin watched the top of Lance's head as he did it - the light brown roots matching almost perfectly with the blond streaks. "You have good hair," Justin said.
	Lance snickered. "Thanks."
	"So what the fuck is with JC lately? He's being a bitch to me."
	Lance sniffled and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. "It's just because you keep trying to sleep with him."
	Justin rolled his eyes. "I'm not *really* trying to sleep with him. I just bug him about it."
	Lance smiled his slow, knowing smile and Justin rolled his eyes even more. "Okay," Justin said, "maybe I wouldn't mind going a couple of rounds with him, but it's not like I stalk him or anything. I just think he has a huge cock."
	Lance laughed right out loud at that one. "You do, do you?"
	"Yeah. I mean, come on. You've seen it, right? Or, like, caught a glimpse of it? He's hung like a horse."
	Lance used his gold card to shuffle the stray grains into a manageable line. "I've never really thought about it."
	Justin stared at the mirror. "Are you going to do that one too?"
	Lance motioned to it politely. "Would you like it?"
	"No." Justin shook his head hard. "No. I need to piss." He slid out of his chair and went into the bathroom. 	The bathroom was immaculate - gold gleaming faucets, sterile white walls, porcelein sink and tub. Lance had barely touched it yet. Everything was still wrapped in paper, from the soaps to the drinking glasses. Justin almost felt a little bad pissing in the toilet.
	When he was finished he ran the water, running his finger under it until it was cool and scooping some of it into his hands. He bent over and splashed it on his face, looking in the mirror in time to see drips of water sliding down his skin. He looked wasted - pupils like black marbles, reddenned nostrils, clammy skin that thanks to the beauty of make-up would never be visible to the world. His hair was clipped short, something the fans were bemoaning because they liked "the afro." Well, the fans had never had to take care of it.
	He wiped his face on one of the clean white towels and tossed the towel on the counter. When he opened the door, Lance wasn't sitting there anymore. 
	"Lance?"
	No answer. 
	Justin caught a glimpse of a shoe and bent down quickly. "Oh fuck." Lance was trembling like Jell-O, like every nerve in his body had suddenly shattered. And the blood seemed to be everywhere - his face, his nose, the front of his shirt....
	"Ohfuckohfuckohfuck." Justin raced over. "Lance!"
	No answer.
	Justin almost tripped over the chair as he rushed to the door. He flung it open and leapt into the hall. "Help!" he screamed, knowing he'd wake up the entire floor but not really giving a fuck. "Somebody fucking help me!"
	Joey was the first to pop his head out of the door. His eyes were already nervous. "What's going on?"
	"Lance! He's on the floor and he's...."
	By the time Justin could finish the sentence, Joey was already down the hall and in Lance's room. Next it was Chris. Then JC.
	JC stopped at Justin. "What happened?"
	"I don't know. I just went to the bathroom and I came out and he was on the floor."
	JC literally shoved him out of the way, back into the door frame, and pushed past him. Joey was on the floor, on his knees. "Call an ambulance," Joey boomed.
	"Justin," Chris said wildly. "Call an ambulance."
	Justin froze. He thought he might be hyperventilating. Nothing was making sense. 
	JC turned and looked at him in disbelief. "Call a fucking ambulance!" In less than a heartbeat JC strode quickly to the phone and called himself. "How do you dial out of here?"
	"Nine," Joey said, like he couldn't get the word out fast enough. Then he stood up, letting Chris take his place on the floor, and came over to Justin. "Where's the rest of it?"
	"I don't know." It wasn't until he said it that he realized he was crying. "I thought he just had what was on the table."
	Joey reached in Lance's suitcase, running his arm down the side pockets, turning over all the neatly folded clothes. Then he grabbed Lance's jacket off the hook and fumbled through the pockets. When he came up empty he bent over Chris and checked the pockets of their trembling group mate. 
	"Got it." Joey jumped over Chris and flung open the bathroom door. A second later Justin heard a toilet flush.
	"You think we should do that?" Chris called. 
	Joey came out, wiping his hands on his pants. "He doesn't need this and getting charged."
	"Split second decision," JC said. It was the first time he'd spoken since he called the ambulance, and Justin looked over. JC sat on the bed with sad eyes, slumped down a little.
	"Oh my God."
	Justin spun around to find their tour manager standing there in boxer shorts and a bathrobe.
	"What happened?" he asked.
	"He was..." Justin said. "We were just...."
	"If any more of you have a bag of goodies, I suggest you get rid of it."
	Chris's head popped up from behind the desk. "He is *dying* here!"
	"Did you call an ambulance?"
	"Yes!" they answered in unison.
	As if on cue, there was a new deep voice from the hallway that said, "Out of the way," and two guys came in with a stretcher. Joey and Chris stayed on the floor. JC got up slowly, walking across the room like all of his energy was gone, and took Justin's arm. "Come on."
	"I want to stay...."
	JC's fingertips dug hard into Justin's arm. "Come on," JC hissed, using a stage whisper. "You're almost as fucked up as he is."
	Justin let himself to be pulled out of the room and down the hallway. JC dragged him all the way to his room and shoved him in so hard that Justin almost bellyflopped on the carpet. He caught his balance and turned in time to see JC slamming the door shut, leaving Justin in the room alone with shattered nerves and a huge mirror on the wall. Justin stared at the mirror, the reflection wiping its eyes with trembling fingers, its body thin and white and almost ghostly. "You suck," he mumbled, and he sobbed so hard that his lungs ached.

***

	Justin turned all the lights off in his room and curled up in his bed. The noises in the hall had faded. He wasn't even sure if the guys were in the hotel anymore. Maybe they'd all gone to the hospital with Lance and left Justin there, not feeling the need to call and update him on whether Lance was dead or alive. His eyes were half closed when blurry light from the hallway sliced the room, and a thin figure stood in the doorway. 
	JC's voice was a notch deeper than usual. "Are you asleep?"
	"No," Justin said, sniffling hard. The skin around his eyes was red and raw from the crying, and it hurt a little when he ran his fingers across it to wipe away more tears.
	JC walked in and closed the door, crossing the room in darkness and sitting on the edge of Justin's bed. "Justin."
	"He's dead, isn't he?" A fresh wave of sobs came and seemed to make the rest of his body seize. "Oh God, please God, please, oh God no...."
	JC's hand rested on Justin's arm, the skin warm and soft. "Justin, he's not dead."
	The relief came in such a rush that Justin cried even harder. "Oh, God, JC, are you sure?"
	"I'm sure."
	Justin felt JC's eyes on him, scrutinizing him, but he couldn't stop crying. It was like a dam had burst, rushing forward and flooding him with emotions, and there was no way to stop them. 
	"Come here, kiddo," JC said quietly. Justin felt JC's hand on his shoulder and sat up. JC's arms wrapped around him and pulled him into a hug. Justin let his head drop on JC's shoulder, his tears soaking JC's shirt, the arms around him like a cocoon of warmth. Part of him thought it was completely unlike him to cry on someone's shoulder like this, but he couldn't really remember if this was out of character for him or not. The usual Justin, who reacted to things a certain way and held a certain set of beliefs, had kind of died with the first album, and it was hard to hang onto it when he didn't know where it was.
	JC ran his hands down Justin's back, kissed the top of Justin's head. "Stop crying," JC said. "Everything's gonna be okay."
	Justin sniffled and pulled back a little. "You shouldn't get this close to me," he said, forcing a smile. "I might try to sleep with you or something."
	JC focused on the top of Justin's head, running his hand along the short hair there. "Maybe someday." 
	Justin smirked and wiped his eyes again. "Actually, I wouldn't mind if you slept with me tonight. Like, slept in here. I don't really want to be by myself." He inhaled sharply to block more tears from coming and only partially succeeded.
	JC crawled across Justin and laid down, leaving his clothes on and pulling the top sheet over him. "Go to sleep," he said when Justin laid down next to him. "Trust me. Tomorrow is gonna be crazy."
	Justin rolled onto his side and settled comfortably under the blanket. "I know."
	"It's a whole new ballgame now."
	"I know," Justin said sleepily. And as he drifted off to sleep, he couldn't decide if he was afraid of it or counting on it.