Justin And Britney: A Continuation

Chapter 1

I tapped on my dashboard with angst. Everything in front of me was familiar. The same pillared mansion that her mother let her stay in sometimes. The same shiny red Lamborghini that was recently fixed after the accident was parked inside the open garage. The same silver Rolls Royce that belonged to her brother was neighboring it. The same flowered curtains peeked at me from behind the sparkling windows, daring me to knock on the equally shiny oak door.
But I held myself back.
I would be told the same lie again, because I was the same man that disappeared for 8 months and was magically healed. Yet I was still the same as the pleading fans and paparazzi and the same secret would be still hidden from me. The same weeping woman would answer the door and tell me the same thing-
Britney was dead.

I knew that this wasn't true, and I knew that I thought this not due to mourner's denial, but because Britney was definitely not the type to commit suicide. Sure, she loved me, but she would never risk her own life and leave her family behind just like that.

It took me all of my willpower to open up my car door and step onto the hot July pavement and to push myself past the flock of camera men, yelling loud questions and trying to get the my insight.
It had been two and a half weeks since I decided to demand the truth on Britney, and two and a half weeks later I still didn't have the answer.

A gust of wind blew into my face like a formidable giant's hot breath. I pounded on the door, perhaps with more force than what my heart was beating with in my chest. I knocked with a face that had more courage than I had on the inside.

Lynne Spears, Britney's mother, answered the door. Her red eyes darted from me towards the paparazzi outside. "Hurry in, sweetie." She tugged on the collar of my shirt.
I inhaled the smell of a burning candle, which soothed me slightly.
"Do you want anything to drink? Water? Lemonade?" Lynne tried to cover up her grieve.
"No, no thanks, Lynne." I shook my head and took off my sunglasses that were a failed attempt at being a disguise.
She brought in a sterling silver tray with cookies on it and set it upon the coffee table. I stared around the room. As welcome as this house had used to make me, I no longer felt the warmth and happiness from the chocolate brown and Tiffany blue walls that used to invite me to stay awhile. Now an eery vibe seemed to fixate itself upon me and the rest of its inhabitants. Maybe this feeling was just because Britney was gone. Or not gone, but missing.

"What brings you back to my humble home?" Lynne barely mustered a smile.
If this was considered any more humble than when I had left, I must be missing a heck of a lot of it.

"Actually, I wanted to speak to you about-" I swallowed down the knot in my throat. "-Britney." I let out a deep breath, yet my heart kept beating as strong as before.
"Honey, I'm sorry, but she's not coming back." She was obviously holding back tears, which led me to believe that she was in deep sadness and confusion over it all. But I knew that this was not because "Britney committed suicide." No.
It had been almost a year since she was missing. By now, Lynne would be still sad, but she probably would've been able to bring herself to move on and focus on other things.

Why was she still sad, then?

Because of the truth. The truth wasn't that Britney was even dead at all, or at least that we know of. It's that there's a possibility that she's still alive but she refuses to come home.

Britney was in hiding.

Why would she do it? I had no idea. I was just as confused as the public was with why she "killed herself."

Hiding was a very Britney thing to do. She would take drives all the time and leave without a trace. Her mother would get worried about her, and then the next day she would be back before the police were called. We never knew why she did it though, we reasoned that the media and the press would push her to her breaking point because it wasn't uncommon for her to have a panic attack from it all.

But leaving for an excessive amount of time was what made everyone scared. She loved her family too much to leave for this long. So everyone thought that this time she actually killed herself because of me. Because I "died".

"See here's the thing, I don't think that is the case." I began feeling uneasy in my seat. The swelling that had originated in my throat eased its way into my stomach, causing an unpleasant sinking feeling.

"Justin.. She l-left her c-ca-car here. The police told me her apartment looked like a - a-..." Lynne paused and quickly inhaled.
"...-a suicide  scene." She concluded her thought with a deep breath.
"Are you serious?"
Lynne puffed out her cheeks like a toad and showed me a small photo that was obviously Britney's apartment. Blood stained the carpet in a red pool, with a pistol just inches away from it all.

Maybe it all was true. Maybe I was in denial of it.

A black cloud of shock fogged up my vision, yet my eyes were wide open. I felt the panic rush from the pit of my stomach and it started to rise up to my head, then fall back. I began to feel light headed as I uncontrollably rocked back and forth in dizziness. A distorted version of Britney's mom's voice beckoned, "Justin!" It sounded like she was screaming in slow motion. It seemed like all of the blood in my body starting pulsing, causing me to tremble. A hot hand grabbed my ice cold arm, and it quickly tossed me off in surprise.
Why was I feeling this way? I never got like this.

After what had seemed like maybe 50 years of this constant sea- sickness feeling, my body jolted to a stop like a fast car slamming on the brakes. I was out cold, and I didn't remember anything past that moment.

I awoke on my couch in a cold sweat- palms wet, yet shivering. My heart rate was extremely fast as if I just ran a 5k. A shockwave of relief threw itself into my senses, and I felt cured from a terrible sickness that had taken over my body temporarily.

As I regained stability, I quickly realized that I had yet to go back to Lynne's house and speak to her. The thought of confronting her about Britney again for the first time in almost three weeks frightened me; the last time I did so I passed out when she showed me the suicide scene photo.

Ever since, I've had reoccurring nightmares about the same event, and simply going back was so difficult presuming that the memories from the last time haunted me in the dark nights I spend alone.

And I would eventually have to face the truth.