|
Chris felt no compunction whatsoever about sneaking into JC's bedroom, stealing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, and borrowing some money for a cab. He wanted to get home, immediately, without seeing anyone. It never even occurred to him to leave a note until he was awakened the next morning when Joey burst into his bedroom. "Jesus, Chris, scare the fuck out of us why don't you?" Joey said, and hugged him. "Welcome back." "Fuck off," Chris said. "What?" "Fuck. off." "I don't -" "Go away, Joe. Leave me and my misery and my little shiny pink headband alone with our shame. Get out." "Chris," Joey said, and tried to hug him again. Chris squirmed away. "Fuck *OFF,* Joseph." "What's the problem, man? It was only two days." "Yeah. Two miserable, awful days. What the fuck were you thinking, anyway? Let's let Chris watch lots of MTV. That won't be too embarrassing for him later. Oh! I know! Let's buy him frilly, sparkly clothing and a fucking *diary* and let him mack all over Justin. Ha ha - isn't that a great idea?" "Chris -" "I said get out of my house, Joe." "I'd like to see how *you* handled a 12-year-old girl - pardon me, 12 years and 26 days." "Actually," Chris said quietly, "I handled four of them. And I never, not ONCE, let them wallow in the illusion that Ashley Angel is hot!" "Okay," Joey said, "I think you need to calm down." "Calm down? Calm *down*? Do you have *any* idea what that *did* to me? Fuck, Joe, I." Chris paused, and ran a hand over his head. "You should've stopped it." "Chris, what is this about?" "Nothing," Chris said. "Just. I'll be at rehearsal tomorrow, okay?" Joey nodded, and turned away. As he left the house, he noticed Chris' diary, dropped carelessly on the living room table. Underneath it were a few pieces of paper, covered with idle doodles. Joey picked one up, and stuffed in it his pocket to show JC. "Christopher and Justin Timbertrick, indeed," he thought. "Sure,
Chris. Nothing's wrong. And I'll be singing lead on our next album."
|