Credit: rzrblade33@yahoo.com
Song credit: "Mama I'm Strange" by Melissa Etheridge
* * * * *
There was this little lie
They keep on telling me
It’s just another high
They keep on selling me
* * * * *
Britney used to love her hair. It used to be so full and shiny, and her mother once commented that she could be in a shampoo commercial. It used to take five minutes to fix, and she enjoyed that. She couldn’t stand girls who spent hours curling their hair in the morning.
Now she hates her hair. It’s frizzy and limp, and she doesn’t understand why they insist that she have that color of blonde. Britney thinks it looks fake. It takes hours to do her hair, and she doesn’t even do it herself. She has two hairdressers on tour with her, and a third in case one of the others gets sick.
Britney hates a lot of things about herself actually. Most people don’t quite realize it. They know that they would hate it, if they were in her shoes. But they all believe that she loves what she’s doing, who she is, and they think she’s disgusting for it.
She can’t remember non-manicured nails, and she wishes that she could. It used to be fun and exciting to get her nails done, but now it’s merely boring and bothersome.
Her management used to make her wear fake nails, all pretty and perfectly polished and horribly too long. They stopped after she tried to take them off herself and managed to rip part of her thumbnail off in the process.
Britney despises wearing so much makeup. The foundation is caked on, preventing anyone from actually seeing her real skin. Despite how hard she tries, she can never truly get all of it off at night, and she has acne from it. But of course, the makeup artist merely puts on more foundation, therefore hiding the problem.
She always finds herself with pink lipstick, and when she tries to say that she doesn’t prefer pink, that she’d rather have maroon or mocha or something darker, they ignore her. Sometimes they buy even more pink, just to provoke her.
Occasionally when she looks in the mirror after they’re done with her, she can’t help but feel like a whore.
Sometimes she’s convinced that she actually is.
* * * * *
I was only five
They fed me so much jive
They said just have a ball
Just be a Barbie doll
They churn and burn me out
Until they turned me out over and over again
* * * * *
Britney tried to tell her mother about it once. She explained how dreadful she felt all the time and that she wasn’t enjoying this anymore. Then she’d begged with her to get her out of it, even though she wasn’t sure how.
Her mother had laughed, causing Britney to clench the phone tighter in her grip.
“You’re just going through a little burnout, baby. It’ll get better, and I’m sure that in a few months you won’t believe that you ever wanted out of what you’re doing.”
“No, mom,” she muttered, trying to keep her voice under control. “I don’t think I will. I hate this. Sometimes at night I cry myself to sleep because I feel so horrible. You have to get me out of this.”
There was a pause and she could feel the anger pulsing through the telephone lines.
“Now Britney Jean Spears, you listen here. I will not let you quit, not now, not ever. People adore you. There are girls all over the world who would kill to be you...”
“Good,” she interrupted. “They damn well can be me, because I don’t want to be anymore.”
The phone let out a sharp ring when she slammed it down.
That night she wandered into a local tattoo parlor feeling alone, sick, and tired. She ended up getting a discount, probably because she was hardly wearing a shirt and the tattoo artist found it necessary to rub against her quite often.
Britney walked out with a horrid pain in her lower back, where she now had a fairy painted onto her skin. Somehow the pain was pleasant and reassuring, and she felt better than she’d felt in a long time.
* * * * *
Mama I’m strange
The thoughts and the wants are the locks on the back of my brain
I’m descending, pretending, I’m blending, I’m going insane
And they want me to change
Mama I’m strange
* * * * *
She got two other tattoos after that. And after each one, she called her mother to tell her about it and to apologize for it, even though she wasn’t at all sorry. And each time, she reveled in the sound of her mother’s disappointed voice.
Before long, however, her tattoos ceased to satisfy her. They didn’t seem to hurt as much anymore, and her mom began to expect them.
So when her friends asked if she wanted to get her belly button pierced with them, Britney jumped at the idea.
It hurt like hell. She remembered that much, but beyond that it was all lost amidst the rest of her memories.
Except of course for the fact that the owner of the small piercing store had offered her smack, which she would have taken happily had her friends not intervened.
Much later she would realize that he was merely trying to get her so high that he could bend her over his chair and fuck her into oblivion, but then she only saw it as her friends trying to run her life.
She told them that she hated them and never wanted to so much as look at them again. They had all protested, putting their arms around her, asking, “Britney, what’s wrong with you? You act so different now, nothing like the old Brit? What happened to her?”
She pushed them away from her and hailed her limo. Only when she was alone in her hotel room did she finally break down and cry. And when she was done, she tore apart her suitcase looking for her razor.
Britney cut herself sometimes, because it calmed her down. She couldn’t explain why she started or why she continued to do it when it marred her beautiful skin. She couldn’t explain the thrill she got from removing the blades from her razor.
She wanted to tell someone, although she couldn’t comprehend why. She wanted to show them her arm and ask, “Isn’t it pretty?” because she thought that it was. They’d say she was disgusting and only looking for attention. She longed for someone to talk to, not just about the cutting but about life.
Once she decided to confide in her friend.
“Maybe you should see someone,” she had said. “Maybe you have a chemical imbalance or something.”
Britney had grimaced at the idea, silently wondering if she really needed to. She didn’t see it as much of a problem. At least, she reasoned, it kept her stable.
Then her friend had twirled her hair around her perfectly manicured finger, reminding Britney of how much she hated herself. “I know that for some people it’s a disease. They can’t stop, and I don’t think that you’re one of them.”
“No, I’m not,” Britney agreed, although she silently began to wonder.
Sometimes it was all she could think about, the way the blood bubbled out of the tiny slice and the heavenly feeling she got after doing it. She couldn’t think clearly until she could taste the blood on her tongue. Sometimes she shook with the uncontrollable to rip her hair out, to smash her wrist on the table until she could see the bruise forming.
Sometimes Britney wondered if she really was as fucked up as she feared that she was.
* * * * *
I’m on a shaky walk
I’m tripping down the hall
And all the king’s men can’t, can’t sew me up again
I’ve got a leaky head
Don’t know the full extent
* * * * *
Britney used to be in love with Justin. He used to be the only person in the world who understood how she felt.
He told her how much he wanted to just shave his hair all off and paint his nails black. He cheered her up when he relayed stories of how obnoxious his fans were and how many pairs of his boxers had been up at e-Bay lately and how much they were going for.
When she cried about her life, he listened and offered small suggestions and little words of comfort. He held her when he could and kissed away her tears. If she were to comment on how horrid her mother was, Justin would always remind her that his father used to hit him.
And she’d feel better, because suddenly her life didn’t seem so dysfunctional anymore.
Britney sometimes felt like a slut after they had sex. She never could understand why though, because she always felt so wonderful when they were in the middle of it. When she was in his bed, she felt closer to fulfillment than she’d ever felt before in her life.
She was sure that she was in love with him and that she’d spend the rest of her life with him. She thought that he loved her too.
That was before she found out Justin was sleeping with one of her dancers. That was before her world fell apart and she felt even sicker than she ever had before. She immersed herself in depression, not knowing why she felt that she couldn’t smile.
The breakup was bitter, at least to her it was. Justin, however, didn’t seem to care. And Britney continually wondered how she had let herself fall so hard.
Days turned into weeks, which then turned into months. Before long it seemed silly to wallow in self-pity any longer. By the time of the VMAs, she felt healed and rejuvenated.
And when she saw Justin, with her dancer on his arm, at the post party, she was surprised at how calm she felt. She nodded her head slightly when their eyes met, and he returned the gesture.
For the next fifteen minutes she watched the two of them from the shadows. It was glaringly familiar. It seemed to her like watching a movie about herself, and she realized that in a year or so Justin would cheat on her too.
She wanted to drift over and give them both a piece of mind, for final sense of closure if nothing else. The urge was suppressed, however, and she wandered into the bathroom instead.
The water was cold as she splashed her face. She felt tired and lonely, and all she really wanted to do was go back to her hotel and sleep away it all.
Britney grimaced suddenly when she glimpsed herself in the mirror, her hair mussed and makeup all but gone. This, she mused, was the first time in years that she had actually looked at herself like this.
She was vaguely aware of the bathroom door opening and the click of heels on the floor as the owner strode steadily inside, and she turned her gaze toward the sink and began to pretend as though she had been washing her hands.
The footsteps faltered in front of one of the stalls, and Britney was startled to hear the familiar voice that sent shivers down her spine.
“Hello, Britney.”
* * * * *
I’m drowning in my bed
I’m just an accident
They chewed and blew me out
Until they threw me out over and over again
* * * * *
Britney often considered the Mickey Mouse Club days to be the best time of her life. Maybe it was because she was carefree and young then, and the impurities of life had yet to touch her. Or maybe it was because Justin hadn’t been corrupted by stardom yet.
But she often thought that the reason she liked it back then was because of Christina.
She couldn’t quite describe it, that warm feeling she got in the pit of her stomach when she thought of the other girl. She eventually decided that it was hero worship, because after all Christina did have everything in the world that Britney wanted.
And that was fine with her. She didn’t mind the insane blushing and nervous giggling, as long as she got that warm feeling when it was over. It felt like being lowered into a large spa, with powerful jets massaging her and the water causing her skin to tickle.
After a while, Britney began to realize how weird it was to feel like that. It was her first taste of how utterly strange and different she was.
But she forced herself not to look into it, subconsciously knowing that the result might be disastrous. She decided that what she was feeling, she was feeling for a reason. And she hoped that one day she’d understand it.
Britney remembers the day like it was yesterday. She dreams about it sometimes, although she’d never admit it.
She and Christina were relaxing on the set, sipping their water, and watching one of the other kids make an idiot of himself for a few cheap laughs. Something about it made her sick, so she stood and told her friend that she was going to the bathroom.
“Wait,” Christina called after her. “I’ll come with you.”
The bathroom was cold, and Britney shivered the moment she opened the door. There were three stalls and two sinks, so she jumped onto the space between the sinks and leaned against the mirror, closing her eyes.
She could feel the other girl’s eyes on her, and her skin burned.
“Are you okay? You’ve been acting different these days.”
Britney opened her eyes slowly, and stared at Christina, surprised at how mature she looked suddenly with her arms crossed around her chest.
“No, I’m not.” She didn’t really think she’d actually spoken the words out loud for a second.
Then she heard, “Want to talk about it?”
Christina moved toward her and put each hand in front of one of the sinks, pinning Britney loosely in front of her. She could feel her knees pushing lightly into the other’s stomach.
“Not really.” Then she seemed to think better of her answer. “Well, my mom has been bothering me lately. She keeps pushing me, and I can’t stand it. Sometimes I just want to fall off the face of this earth it’s so annoying. And then…”
Christina kissed her.
Life stopped. Sound stopped. The earth paused and stood still in the few seconds that the kiss lasted. Everything around the two girls ceased to exist.
Britney went home feeling like she had glimpsed heaven that day. Her mother had sensed it immediately, put two and two together and got five.
“I know that look!” She exclaimed. “You’re in love. With who, baby? Oh, is it that darling JC boy? I so love him…”
She didn’t say anything, only grinned a little dreamily and left.
Later it would sink in that she’d kissed another girl, and she’d hate herself for it. But that would be months later, and at the time she didn’t give a damn.
* * * * *
Mama I’m strange
The thoughts and the wants are the locks on the back of my brain
I’m descending, pretending, I’m blending, I’m going insane
And they want me to change
Mama I’m strange
* * * * *
Britney blinked stupidly and stared at Christina. “Hello,” she stammered, immediately turning red when she heard the tremor in her own voice.
But Christina merely giggled girlishly, a pleasant sound that soothed Britney’s nerves instantaneously. She cocked her head to the side and spoke softly, almost whispering. “What are you doing in here?”
“Going to the bathroom.” It seemed like an odd question to ask, given the circumstances.
“Hm.” Her eyes sparkled inquisitively. “For twenty minutes? Maybe you should see a doctor about that.”
Britney frowned and silently wondered why exactly her ex best friend was timing her bathroom visits. She was tempted to ask and almost did.
However, Christina seemed to read her mind. “I was worried. I saw Justin with Abby, and I thought that maybe you’d decided to drown yourself in the toilet or something.”
“Justin and Abby?”
“Mm hm,” she murmured, taking a step closer to Britney. “I know you saw them. You were watching them with a very intense look on your face.”
Britney froze and stared at the woman in front of her, unable to think clearly now that she could smell her perfume stronger than before. “I was,” she agreed, inwardly swaying unsteadily.
“I heard about your breakup. It’s fairly obvious what happened now.”
She nodded, causing a lock of hair to fall out of place. “He was sleeping with her. I left. I don’t like sharing my boyfriends, contrary to popular opinion.”
Christina frowned almost thoughtfully before reaching up to replace the fallen piece of blonde hair. Britney repressed a shudder.
“I’m sorry. Men are such pigs these days.”
Britney made a supportive sound in the back of her throat. “It doesn’t matter though. I realize now that I didn’t love him.” She paused to consider the words before she added, “At least not the way I thought I did.”
“Puppy love,” Christina remarked smoothly. “I could have told you that years ago, you know.”
“I wish you would have. It would have saved me a lot of trouble.”
She shifted and leaned against the sink, abruptly recognizing the position they were both in now. Christina seemed to realize it also, and she let her eyes roam downwards before carefully placing her hands on each side of Britney.
“Brit?”
“Mm?”
“Do you remember the Mickey Mouse Club?”
There was a sharp intake of breath. “Yes.”
“Can I kiss you?”
* * * * *
If I could tranquilize, I might just vaporize
They couldn’t supervise
They couldn’t criticize
I have no evidence
I have no reverence
It makes no difference
I have no innocence
* * * * *
Neither of the two women would remember the ride to Britney’s hotel room. It was a mix of soft kisses and gentle caresses. They held hands all the way through the endless walk through the lobby, not giving a damn who saw. The elevator was thankfully empty when Britney’s patience began to wane, and she pinned Christina against the wall and ravished her mouth. She slid her hands downward, meeting the other pair, and their fingers entwined. The elevator dinged, and Christina led her into the hallway.
Britney’s back was pressed against the door before she had even closed it properly. Gentle hands pushed her dress swiftly off her shoulders as lips caressed her neck. When they met her pulse they stopped to nibble on the soft skin.
A noise formed in the back of her throat as she clutched the back of Christina’s head and nearly swooned. Her body ached and every area that was pressed against Christina’s burned. It hurt, and she loved it. She felt alive.
Closing her eyes, she let herself be carried away by pleasure. She forgot about the VMAs, her next album, the plane she had to get on tomorrow morning. It all faded into the background, until the only thing she knew was the tongue dancing on her shoulder blade and the hands gliding across her hips.
When Britney finally reopened her eyes, she was amazed to see that she had been pushed onto the bed and somewhere in the journey both she and Christina had removed every single article of clothing.
Her legs were pushed open, fingers fluttered across her inner thighs while Christina’s head lowered to her breast. She gasped when a tongue flicked at her nipple and moaned when her whole mouth closed around it, sucking softly.
The fingers slid upwards even more, settling themselves between her legs, stroking lightly. Britney whimpered, inwardly begging for more.
Christina paused briefly to reach up and kiss her, and Britney responded passionately, grasping her hips and pushing the other woman into her. Both of their bodies burned at the contact.
“It’ll feel so good,” Christina murmured into her ear. “Trust me.” The warm air caused Britney to tremble and arch her back.
Christina’s fingers slipped inside. Britney spread her legs wider and moaned, pulling Christina in for another kiss. She struggled to force their bodies together so that every part of her skin would touch Christina’s. They weren’t close enough, although she understood that they couldn’t get any closer than what they already were. Britney realized, in the dense haze that she was in, that even if she could somehow take Christina’s soul and place into hers, they still wouldn’t be close enough.
It didn’t matter though. Britney slid her hand between Christina’s legs and started mimicking her earlier movements, only much harder than Christina had done to her. The fingers inside her faltered for a second before continuing with considerably more vigor. Britney began to thrust back against those fingers, listening to her own moans that echoed through the room. Christina was also groaning and gasping into her ear, grasping her hand and helping her, showing her how.
Feelings flew through Britney so quickly that she couldn’t decipher them. The only thing she knew was the woman on top of her, inside of her, rubbing her, kissing her shoulder. It was too much for her to handle.
Britney came with a loud cry, her eyes closed and her free hand clawing into Christina’s back. Later she would realize that this was what all those romance books were talking about. The waves of pleasure, the flashes of light, the reason to continue. Suddenly, they were no longer foreign to her.
She felt Christina convulse suddenly and the grip she had on Britney’s hand tightened, adding more pain to her already cramped fingers. It didn’t faze her though, as she knew it wouldn’t. Britney sighed contently and nuzzled her new lover’s neck. She continued to stroke Christina’s clit, although now it was much gentler and comforting.
“I knew it would feel like this. I always knew,” Christina whispered. Her voice was soft and faraway. “And now you do too.”
* * * * *
Mama I’m strange
The thoughts and the wants are the locks on the back of my brain
I’m descending, pretending, I’m blending, I’m going insane
And they want me to change
Mama I’m strange
* * * * *
“What does this mean?”
Christina glanced up at Britney with a reflective look on her face. “Whatever you want it to mean.” She leaned back down and resumed pressing light kisses to her stomach, pausing only to lick her belly button, teasing the small ring.
Britney’s breath caught in her throat, and she ran her fingers through Christina’s blonde hair. “What if I don’t want this to be a one night stand?”
“Then that’s all right.”
She gently pushed her away from her stomach. “Is it?”
Christina licked her lips and stared at her, watching Britney’s eyes attempt to refocus and her fingers trifled with the sheets below her. She scowled and moved so that she was lying next to Britney.
“What do you want me to say, Brit? Do you want me to tell you that I love you? That I always have and probably always will? Do you want me to confess that I can’t live without you? Or that I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything in the world? Do you want me to ask you to be with me?” She reached a hesitant hand out to caress her cheek softly.
Britney leaned into the touch unconsciously. “What does it make me if I say ‘yes’?” she asked breathlessly.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Christina brushed her lips against Britney’s.
“So this doesn’t make me abnormal, being with you?” She pressed herself against Christina once again, letting her hands roam across her skin.
“You’ve listened to your mother for far too many years. There is no such thing as normal, Brit. It doesn’t exist in this world,” she muttered against Britney’s lips, leaning into her embrace. “Everyone is strange.”
“Mm.” Britney kissed her again and let herself fall into a blissful haven, where nothing else existed but her and Christina.
“You need to sleep,” Christina said, pulling away. “You have a flight in a few hours, and you need to get at least some rest.”
Britney opened her mouth to protest but found it covered by a pair of lips before she could utter a syllable. She tried to deepen the kiss, and sighed when the other woman pulled away again.
“Go on,” she said, allowing her voice to lower to a whisper. “I know you’re tired. I’ll wake you up in an hour or two.”
Britney groaned but closed her eyes when Christina snuggled next to her. Suddenly she realized just how exhausted she was, mentally and physically. The last thought she had before she drifted into the arms of sleep was that they were wrong, all of those people who tried so hard to fit in and blend into the background.
And Britney wanted to find them all and tell them.
Strange is beautiful.
* * * * *
Help me Mama, help me now