“Where did you go?” I couldn’t bring myself to turn around and look at him in the face. He disgusted me.next“You were boring.”
“It was Britney.”
“I’m… bored of her.” I could hear him move around the room, stepping closer to me ever so slowly.
“Justin?” He wasn’t making sense.
“Bored again.”
“Who died?” The smell of blood rising from him was too strong. I imagined him standing there in his jeans and T-shirt covered in thick blood. I thumbed through the Bible. A picture of Gennie fell out. I picked up quickly. Damn… I miss her.
“We need a new wardrobe coordinator.”
I pocketed the picture of my… his… out ex-girlfriend. “You’re so fucked.”
He sat down on the bed directly behind me. “And you’ll be too if you don’t return that picture.”
“She was mine before you killed her.”
He let out a rough sigh, “She was mine. You stole her from me. Now… She’s alive and at home.”
“Justin said --”
“Justin is Justin.”
I finally forced myself to look at him. A few splatters of blood were on his jeans, but his white shirt was crisp and clean. Old stains… did he kill? Or did the blood sink into his pores so he forever smells of death? He just stares at me. I can’t help but believe him when he speaks of her. He was the one that loved her. I just… she used me. Pulling out the picture, I throw it towards him as he quickly picks it up off the floor. I walk away.
The minute I close the door behind me, I hear him break down and cry.
Lying bastard.
I need a drink.
Wandering down the long hallway towards the elevators seems to take forever. Step after step. I’m supposed to feel as if I’m coming closer to my destinations, but I feel as if I’m walking in the same spot over and over while the elevators are being pulled away from me.
Fuck it. I stop walking and take a seat on the floor. I lean against a door and pull out a half smoked cigarette I picked up from the parking lot. I don’t smoke… reminds me too much of him.
I pick at the paper until its insides fall out onto the carpet. Would anyone care if I burned this floor? Reaching for my lighter…
The door I’m leaning on opens and I fall backwards. Why is this reminding me of “My Best Friend’s Wedding?” I look at up and see Justin staring down at me. You know, he could spit on me and I would do nothing.
He instead kneels down and helps me sit up. He just stares at me. What is he doing? I hate you. Leave me alone. He’s crying. Still.
“Chris is in the hospital.”
“So?”
“The press thinks he hurt his leg. He took too much ‘cid. We have to at least show up.”
I stand up. My shoulder is killing me. “I’m not going.”
“He’s your friend too.”
“I hate him.”
“I hate you, but we can’t just not show up. You want the press to hound your ass?”
I’m about to slap him, but I’m so easily distracted. I see JC step out of his room and walk right past me. I pull on his arm, he pushes me off. “Where you going?”
“Hospital.”