You wonder if she knows.  You wonder if she read your face like you think JC did.  You wonder what this will mean for you -- Britney and Justin, the couple.  But you shake it all off.  You don’t have time to think about it right then because things are really humming.  'N Sync is all over the place -- and Britney’s right there with you.  You take comfort in that.  At least at first.

She’s tagging along on yet another quick publicity tour for the new CD, but this time she’s not a comfort, she’s in the way.  You don’t want her to feel that way, but there’s no way she’s going to keep you from spending every moment you can with JC.  He’s your joy now, and has been since that moment amidst the mirrors.  You can see each other in each other now.  It’s deep.  It’s scary.  But it’s intoxicating.

So when Brit wants your time, you have to make excuses.  Writing songs is a good one.  It’s a private thing, so she can’t pry too hard.  And you do work with JC on song stuff, at least sometimes.  So it’s not always a lie.  But it usually is.

And you can feel her jealousy.

You’re all lumped together once more in the back of one of the busses watching a movie.  You snuggle with Britney at first since you’ve really been ignoring her lately, but when she gets up and leaves you cold and alone on the floor, you can’t resist when JC says, “Hey, Justin, c’mere.”  You’re next to him in a flash -- and when Brit comes back, there are flames in her eyes.  You don’t want her to see that those eyes burn you, so you turn back to JC.  It’s easier to hide in him than to face her.

And then, all of a sudden, it’s like she never existed.  You and JC have completely forgotten about the movie and are working on this song together, something you’ve been working on for what feels like years, but that may just be because when you’re sitting that close to JC, time stops.  You’re curled around each other, oblivious to the rest of the world, and JC is whispering ideas to you and you’re giggling and he’s scribbling and then you’re taking the pen and scribbling other things and he’s giggling and it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard.

You look down and realize your hand is on JC’s thigh -- and has been for quite awhile.  JC doesn’t seem to mind, so you try something else.  As he writes something new down, you run your fingers lightly over his arm.  He grins at you and your heart soars once more.

You’d be perfectly happy if it were just you and JC on this bus.  For all intensive purposes, it is just the two of you.

And then you remember your girlfriend.  For a moment, guilt stabs at you, but then you push those thoughts of her away again.  JC’s warmth next to you helps you forget.

It is a rare day off, and when you wake up, all you can think of is spending the day with JC.  You have all these great plans of how you and he are going to finish your song.  Maybe then you can catch a movie or something.  Spend some time together.  Some quality time.  You take a shower with a huge grin on your face.

JC shows up about half an hour later, and you work on the song for about five minutes.  Then JC gets a better idea.  Somewhere in the middle of him kissing you senseless, pushed up against a counter in the kitchen, you have a foggy thought of Britney.  You didn’t call her yesterday when you said you would.  You forget all about it, though, when JC presses his knee between your thighs and slides his tongue over your earlobe.

Though the kitchen would be kinky, you pull away from JC’s persistent kisses long enough to say, “Bedroom.”  JC obliges you, and he stumbles up the stairs to your room with you in tow.

He topples onto the bed, pulling you down on top of him.  You’re kissing his neck when he pants, “Justin...  Shouldn’t we...  The door...  Shouldn’t we shut the door?”

“Naw, never do,” you mumble between kisses.  And it’s true.

You don’t say anything else.  Your hands and tongue and fingertips do all the talking.  You’re naked in a blink, and so’s JC, and then in another blink he’s on his back and his legs are curved around you and you’re in him, and it’s blissfully hot and tight and mind-blowing and you’re lost.  You’ve never felt such need for another human being before.  You kiss him with everything you’ve got, wishing you could swallow him whole, but, knowing you can’t, you pound into him.  You claim him as yours.  And it’s fan-fucking-tastic.  Nothing in the world can break this euphoria.

Except one thing.

And she’s there, watching from your wide-open doorway.

You don’t know this yet, of course.  You continue to fuck JC like there’s no tomorrow, and there might not be, until you hear a few sniffles, a real-live sob, and then Lance is in the room and he’s pissed.  He chucks a pillow at you and JC, and you’re instantly snapped out of your bliss.

“What the fuck?” escapes your lips before you even know what hit you, but you’ve already rolled off of JC and are standing in the middle of your bedroom, naked.  And then you realize you’re fucked.  You’ve been caught.  You still don’t see Britney, but having Lance there is enough to throw you into several forms of panic.

You try to cover it all up, mumbling “What the fuck are you doing here?” and “It’s not what it looks like,” though everyone in the room knows that’s a huge lie.  When you realize you’re still naked and your excuses aren’t going over very well, you pull on a pair of boxers.

Still on the bed, JC tries to shrink.  You wish you could hide, too, but you can’t.  You’ve got to face the firing squad.  And it really is your own damn fault.  What the hell were you thinking?

Then Lance lays into you both.  “You stupid fucking idiots!  You fucking swore on your lives!”  You stand there and take it.  You still don’t see your girlfriend in the doorway.

But JC does.  “Britney,” he breathes, and you freeze.  You didn’t think it could get any worse, but it just did.  This is definitely worse.

You turn to face her, and she looks horrified.  And angry.  And hurt.  And ...  betrayed.  That last one’s the worst.  She takes a step backward, wobbling on her feet, and you dash towards her.  “Brit,” you call, but you know it’s going to take so much more than that.

She takes off in a run, and you follow her to the top of the stairs, but then you stop.  You don’t know whether to laugh or cry.  It’s that bad.

Lance looks disgusted when you walk back into your room, but he leaves without saying another word.  There is nothing left to be said.  You fucked up.  And you know it.

So does JC.  When Lance is gone, he whispers it, still hiding in your bed: “We fucked up.”

You go to him then, and you crawl in next to him, cuddling close.  “We did, baby, but...”

“But what, Justin?  That was your girlfriend in the doorway.  Brit saw us, saw everything!”

“Maybe it’s better this way...” you whisper, letting your voice trail off.  JC catches your eyes in his and the only thing you can see in his is his love for you.  Love you’ve always seen in Britney’s eyes but haven’t been able to reflect for way too long.  You reflect it for JC.  You say again, “Maybe it’s better.”

JC kisses you softly and says, “You need to talk to her.”

You know he’s right, though you’re not quite sure why.  You can’t just leave her, you’ve got to at least try to explain it all, at least, that’s what you figure.  You’ve never done this before.

“Will you come with me?” you ask JC.

“Why, Justin?”

“Moral support.  And protection.  She’s going to kill me,” you say, only half-joking.

“Then let’s go.”

When the two of you get to her house, it’s pouring down rain.  Sheets and sheets of rain.  You’re both soaked the minute you get out of your car.  You’re not getting any drier out there, so you meander through puddles up to her doorstep and knock civilly on the door.

She ignores you -- you figured she would -- so you knock harder.  And you yell, “Britney!  We need to talk!  Let me in!”

There’s a clap of thunder, then you hear her yell back from inside the house.  Her voice is muffled, but you make out, “No.  Fuck off, Justin.  I don’t want to see you.”

You can’t really blame her, but you’re not giving up.  You beg and plead to be let in, not really because you truly want to talk to her, but because giving up now would be a victory for her, and you’re not having that.  No way.

“Brit.  Please.  Just give me a chance to explain,” you call to her, not exactly sure what you mean by ‘explain,’ but figuring that maybe that will be the magic word.

She says, “There’s nothing you can say, Justin,” but you can hear her more clearly.  She must be near the door.  You figure you’ve almost won.  JC just stands there by your side, silently.  Each time you give him a look of desperation, he gives your wet hand a squeeze.

One try once more.  “Please, Britney, I need to talk to you.  Please.”

She yields and opens the door.  When she sees you, you can feel her love for you radiating out from underneath her pissed-off exterior.  But then her eyes light on JC.  And instantly the cold, cold glare is back.

You try to talk past it.  “Brit.  We need to talk.”  You feel like you’re saying it because JC told you to.  You’re not sure you believe your own words.

She’s not excited about it either, and she spits, “Not while he’s here,” in JC’s general direction.  Then, for good measure, she adds, “Get the motherfucker the fuck away from me.”

That one knocks you back a step.  You’ve never heard Britney say anything even remotely like that before.  When you get your senses back, you speak up for JC.  It’s the least you can do for him -- he didn’t have to come with you.  “Brit, you can't make him stay out here in the rain,” you plead.

She’s still icy.  “I fucking can.”  Her words are as chilling as the rain you’re standing in.

JC, trying to be chivalrous says, “I’ll stay in the car,” but you’re having none of that.  If Brit gets you alone, she may in fact kill you.

“No,” you say to him, shaking your head, “you'll get pneumonia.”  And you can’t live without him.

You figure Brit must’ve read your thoughts because she totally goes off and shouts at you, “You shouldn’t have brought him with you in the first place, should you?  You insensitive fucker!”

You figure you deserve it, but you try to cover your tracks again anyway.  You hope your desperation isn’t showing on your face as you say, “I thought we should talk this through.  Together.”

And once again, she’s not buying it.  Her eyes burn with cold fury, but she lets you both in out of the rain.  You’re not sure it’s an improvement.  All you really want is to be back in bed with JC.  But you got yourself into this mess, so you’ve got to get yourself out.

Britney leads you both into the kitchen, and she leaves you there.  Her condition for not leaving JC out in the rain is to lock him up somewhere in her huge house, so you watch as she takes JC and puts him into one of her myriad rooms and says, “Sit.”  She then comes back to you in the kitchen.  She tosses you a hand towel, and you dab at your soaking self with it, not daring to say anything other than a soft, “I’m so, so sorry.”

She almost spits at you when she replies, “Sorry?  Sorry?” in a one-syllable litany.  Then she says softly, her anger now burning quietly between the two of you, “Sorry is not enough, Justin.  How could you do this to me?”

You’ve got nothing to say but a repetition of the original.  “I'm sorry,” you say again.  You know it’s useless and hopeless and pointless, but your lips slip into your characteristic pout anyway.  You don’t mean to try it, it just happens.

But it has no effect on Britney.  If anything, it makes her more angry.  And you don’t blame her.

“Stop saying that!  It’s not enough!” she screams, and then she picks up a knife.  It’s just a bread knife, but you duck away anyway.  She waves the knife and hollers, “I want to know why!  How could you?”

Somewhere in the back of your mind you realize you didn’t expect her to be this mad when you told her about JC.  Then you realize that you planned on eventually telling her, not giving her a front-row seat at a live session of love-making between you and him.  No, that wasn’t in the original plan.  And it makes sense that she’s hurt.  And pissed.  And waving a knife.  You stumble over your words, and what comes out in a rush is, once more, “I don’t even know, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I was just -- I’m sorry.”  The understatement of the year.

Then she pulls the love-card on you.  “I love you!” she sobs.  “How can you hurt me like this? I would never do this to you!”  She pounds her fist on the table so hard that you cringe.

You’ve given up on the truth and have moved into the realm of saying what you think she wants to hear.  “I didn't mean to hurt you!  I was just stupid!” you wail, hoping for a better reaction that she gave you for ‘I’m sorry.’  There are tears hiding in you somewhere, but you’re not going to use them if you don’t have to.  You don’t want to cry in front of Britney.  You’ll save that for later in JC’s arms.  He’ll hold you while you cry.

As you fight your tears, you see that Brit knows there are tears there.  And her face softens.  It hits you -- she really does still love you.  That’s a punch to the gut.  ‘If this were JC, Justin,’ you tell yourself, ‘think how you’d feel!’  Ouch.

Then she asks the one thing you were praying she wouldn’t ask.  Almost inaudibly, she whispers, “Was today the first time?”  Her whispers drip with pain.

And you twist the knife in her heart as you tell her the truth.  “Brit,” you say, lifting your eyes to meet hers, and she’s there, studying you intently, and you can no longer look her in the eye.  Dropping your head once more, you kill her.  “No,” you whisper.  You want to disappear.  You want to run to JC.  That almost makes it worse.

She makes it worse.  “You fucker,” she whispers, almost a growl.  “God, I hate you!  I hate you so much!  You’re a bastard, Justin Timberlake!  How many times?”

God, you don’t want to tell her.  You want to run and hide.  But you face her like you should.  Sort of.  You study the table as you say, “I don't know.  Two or three.”

Her eyes blaze.  “You fucking idiot which is it?”

“Three.”  You’ve just lost all your self-respect.  Somewhere deep down inside, your ego grumbles the phrase ‘I hope she’s happy.’

Brit loses it.  She breaks all manner of things in her own kitchen, all in her rage at you.  You feel about two inches tall.  And you know you should feel even smaller.  Because at the end of the day, you’ll go home with JC.  And she’ll be alone.  God, you feel awful.  But you feel worse for her.  When she’s done smashing things, you see that she’s cut herself.  That scares you.  Do you look as pale as you feel?

She comes near you, and you try not to flinch.  That’s the last thing she needs.  She needs you to be strong, but then, all of a sudden, the outburst is back.  “You bastard!” she shrieks.  “How could you?  Three times!  And you didn’t once stop and think, ‘Hey, I’ve got a girlfriend!  I’m straight!  I’m not supposed to do this!?’ ”

You let your eyes drop once more, this time almost in shame, but not quite.  You can tell she’s on the verge of tears as you say, quietly, “Yes, of course.  I wanted to tell you.  I was going to tell you.  But I knew you’d be upset, and I didn’t think it would happen again -- I was trying to stop.”  You can’t meet her eyes.  She’ll see right through you.  She’ll see that lie for what it is.  You were never going to stop.  You are going to be with JC forever.  He owns your soul.

She looks almost haunted as she says, accusingly, “You cheat on me with your best friend.  How perfect!  Bet MTV would love to hear about this!  Movie of the week, this’ll sell your fucking newspapers!”

When you don’t respond, she tries again.  “When was the first time?” she asks, rubbing at her eyes.  If you loved her at all anymore, this would be the moment you’d feel it.  You know that.

You feel nothing.

So you tell her the truth.  “About a month ago.”

You can see her going over the past month in her mind, counting all the time you and she were together.  All the times you told her you loved her.  All those lies.  You feel awful.  But you know she feels worse: used, dirty, discarded.  You wouldn’t wish that on a snake, and here you are, you did this to her.  You feel like shit.

Having cataloged everything, Britney throws up her hands.  “A month!  And what, you didn’t get a chance to tell me?  Too busy working on your dear song!  What is that about anyway? ‘Haha -- look at Britney, she thinks I love her but guess what I'm fucking another guy.’ ”

You swallow hard.  “No,” you stammer, “it’s not like that.  I felt awful.  Really bad, every time.  I wasn’t laughing at you or trying to hurt you.  Never.”  And then your tears come.  You wanted to save them for JC later, when he could kiss them away, but now it’s too late.  You sit there and you cry.  And you can feel Britney wishing she could still kiss them away.  But it’s too late for that, too.

She bites back bitter tears of her own and says, “Yeah right.  I mean, how did this happen?  Were we not happy?  Am I delusional or something?  Because, you know, I thought we were in love, but look at that!  You obviously weren’t because you ended up in someone else’s bed!  How did it happen?”

“I don’t know,” is all you can manage.

There’s a long pause where the only sound is you sniffling.  You trying not to cry.  And then she loses it again.  “Justin!” she shrieks, and then she bursts into sobs.  And she cries.  And cries.  And cries.  And there is nothing you can do.

So you lie some more, you make up some more excuses.  You stutter, “I was drunk -- it just happened!  I didn’t even stop to think until it was too late. We tried to spend time apart but it didn’t -- I'm sorry!  I didn’t mean to hurt you.  I don’t even -- Britney.  Please!”  Anything to make her stop sobbing.  Anything.  Anything but the truth which was that the first time had been gorgeous, perfect, blissful love-making.  They had been totally sober.  And Britney had been in the room next door.

“You bastard!” she yells again, “God I hate you.  I hate you so much!  I could kill you now, you know that?  Fuck, Justin!  You’ve made me feel stupid and embarrassed, worthless and hurt, about two fucking inches tall.  What do you think that was like for me to see you with him?  Do you have any idea?”

You can’t even start to imagine it.  Don’t want to.  Won’t.

She yells again, “My boyfriend is gay!  And not only that, he picks JC out of the whole world to break my heart with.  JC!  Why JC?”

You have nothing to say to that.  Nothing at all.  So there is silence, long and dull and aching.  Then, unable to lie any longer, you drop your head once more and mumble, “I love him.”

She reacts as you knew she would, with a mixture of shock and horror.  “Oh God,” she says.  “Just fuck it, Justin!  You love him?  Look at me!”

You look up.  You say it again, the truth.  “Yes.”  In her eyes, you see that she knew that already.  You swallow hard again as she looks at you with daggers in her eyes once more.

And then she runs.  Out of the kitchen, down the hall ...  ‘JC!’ you think in a panic, and you take off after Britney.

“You fucking asshole!” you hear her yell at him, “You fucker!”  And you can hear her hitting him, trying to punch out her hurt, trying to make you hurt as much as she does by striking the one you love.

You beg Britney to stop, grabbing her shoulders and tugging her away from JC, away from her fury, but she lands one last punch.  She smacks JC in the face.  Instantly he begins to bleed, and you nearly freak out.  It’s a reaction of pure love, one you couldn’t stop if you wanted to.

You drop to your knees, next to JC’s crumpled form on the floor, and you cry, “Brit!  What did you do that for?” even though you know the answer.  You’re covering your fear.  You start mumbling again, “Shit.  You shouldn’t have -- we have appearances!  We have MTV!  Brit -- Shit.”

Britney sneers, “He deserves it.”

You’re still in a bit of a panic.  You didn’t want JC to bleed.  He came to help you out, not to get his ass kicked by your girlfriend.  Ex-girlfriend?  You don’t want to think about that, so instead, you repeat, “You shouldn’t have done this” over and over, trying to clean JC up with your shirt.  You’ll worry about the blood stains later.  If at all.

So once again you’re wrapped up in JC and you forget all about Brit until she screams, “Get the fuck out of my house!”

You don’t know what to do.  You won’t leave JC’s side again, not when Britney is still so angry, but you don’t want to leave Britney like this, either.  You want to assuage her pain.  But you know you can’t.  So instead, you lie some more, begging her to let you explain, pleading for forgiveness that you’re not even sure you want.  You pull JC to his feet and wrap an arm around him protectively.

Britney takes it as a slap to the face and storms out of the room.

“Wait, Britney,” you call after her, but she’s as good as gone.  She holds the front door open, and the storm outside bursts into her house.

“No.  Get out, both of you!  I hope you’re so fucking happy together!  I don’t ever want to see either of you again.  You hear me?  Get out!”

You and JC go out into the rain.  You turn, one last time, and catch the eyes of the girl you used to love.  ‘Used to?’ you ask yourself.  ‘Did I ever really love her?’  You shake away the question, and she burns you once more with the white-hot anger of her gaze.  She thinks you’re asking for another chance, but you know it’s long gone.  You didn’t really want it anyway.

She breaks the silence.  “Get out.  Now!”

You keep begging her to listen to you to cover the pain of leaving her behind.  You have JC now, but you know, you can’t forget, that that means you’re leaving her alone.  Whatever you used to feel for her has dissolved into pity.  You let JC, with his head down, lead you to your car.  Britney slams the door.

You and JC go home.  Together.

Much later that night, you’re lying there, cuddled in bed in JC’s arms, and all seems right in your world, but you can’t stop the tears.  The more JC tries to kiss them away, the more freely they flow.

Sniffling, you try to explain it all to your boyfriend.  You feel like he already knows, he has that way about him, but you still want to hear yourself say the words.  You feel like you owe yourself something.  You say, “I did love her, JC.  I did.”

He shushes you and kisses your forehead and whispers, softly, “I know you did, baby.”

“And I never meant to hurt her, not now, not ever.”

“No, Justin, you never meant to.  Sometimes these things just happen.”

“But now she’s all alone....”  Your voice dissolves into a new fit of tears.

“Shhh,” JC says, rocking you in his arms, “she won’t always be.”

“But,” you sob, “but right now....”

“Yeah, baby, right now hurts.”