Beth:
"Aw, c'mon!" Justin barked a laugh as he carried on chasing after me around the small dressing room, making me feel like I was about to die, with my legs trying to bring me as far away as I possibly could from him. "Just one kiss, baby, just one kiss. Do you really want to do this to yourself?"
"Get the hell away from me, you Bieber," I warned, stopping in my tracks as my hands fell onto the nearest object I could find―the twirling chair―my breath seeming to grow shorter and shorter as I gasped for more air so that my lungs could cut me some slack. "And stop calling me baby, for God's sake!"
I will never kiss Justin Bieber, even if I was asked to, even if it was just on the cheek, even if it was for good luck just because he was going up stage for his performance.
Sure, he could dream about me doing that to him, but in real life?
N E V E R.
And like, no. Don't even go all 'Never Say Never' on my ass, that's, in case you hadn't already known, two years ago. Shouldn't you start saying, 'Believe' or hell, even better, I got it (blank blank), please believe it.
"You're so fucking. . ." He panted slightly, eyes squinted as his lips stretched into a wider grin, causing the dimple on his left cheek to make an appearance, causing me to purse my lips in for a second.
"Fucking what?" I asked with a hint of annoyance, resting a palm against my hip as I shifted my weight to a leg. "Fucking fat?" I suggested, lifting an eyebrow. "Fucking stupid? Fucking pathetic?" I offered, watching as he shook his head at all of my answers.
"You're not fat," he said seriously in an instant; his brown eyes, from where I stood and was looking into, turning a shade darker as I noticed his jaw clicking through my peripheral vision. "You know that, don't you?"
"Sure," I lied naturally, flashing him an easy grin without any hesitation. "I was just suggesting? Since you're a guy, and guys hold hiiiiigh expectations for girls, hm."
"Come here," he waved his fingers in the air, motioning for me to make my way forward, but I remained standing at my spot, still skeptical about something.
"No, Beth," he flatly stated, annoyance plastered across his face, "I'm not going to attempt kissing you, will you just chill the fuck out and stop being a paranoid fuck."
Nonetheless, even though I was still feeling thoroughly skeptical and suspicious about the entire thing, I eventually made my way forward because my legs were disagreeing with my heart as well as my thoughts, therefore bringing me closer to the awaiting figure.
"Look," I inhaled deeply, before sighing deeply, "if you're going to give me a lecture about how I'm not fat just like all those other people did, good try, you don't even need to open your mouth and say shit. Just do your push ups, a little more vocal warms up and get yourself ready."
Slowly tilting his head to the side, he allowed his arms to creep around my neck, settling themselves firmly above my shoulders whereas all I could do was stare―stare at him because all of the senses in my body had somehow flown all the way up to heaven, leaving me only the feeling of anxiety. . .
And leaving me breathless, even though I knew better than to be affected by his actions.
For once, I'm not even going to lie, I actually think I'm nervous as fuck and the cause of this, yet again I say, is Justin Bieber.
Oh, dear God, why.
"Tell me," he muttered lowly; his solemn, dark brown eyes looking deep into my very own (shocked) ones, probably solely searching my soul to see if he could manage to find any possible answer to his questioning mind. "Why, on earth, would you think you're fat?"
Feeling my eyebrows knitting into a slight frown, I forcefully averted my gaze away from his strong one in case I absentmindedly unknowingly spilt out what was meant for me to know, and forever, would only be me.
"You know," I sent a quiet, bitter laugh his way as I reached my hands up, pressing my cold palms against his warm, rock-hard chest, "most people actually have a limit when it comes to asking others personal questions."
Attempting to push him away, I knew at once that I had failed when his back came into contact with the wall, only pulling me closer into his body if it was even possible due to the sudden push and pull motion.
With a little grunt from him and a small gasp from me, the both of us quickly regained composure though―with the exception of the fact that he still had me pressed up against him.
Jesus Christ, what the hell was his problem?
"This is why I'm not like most people," he emphasized, tightening his arms around me as his muscles flexed against my body.
I was bothered.
No, not because the both of us were invading each other's personal space, but because I'm pretty sure he was able to feel every inch of fats on my body―that's a simple boost to my insecurities.
And in spite of all the smart comebacks I'd managed to gather up in my head, an overwhelming feeling of suffocation washed over me, making me squirm in his arms that weren't getting looser, and looser.
In fact, he never did move an inch―he remained a statue, that made me feel claustrophobic to no extent.
"Justin," I sucked in a breath of air, "let me go."
"What's wrong with you?" He questioned, pushing himself off the wall to straighten his body against mine. "Babe, are you all ri―"
"Let go of me," my chest felt so tight that I couldn't even fight my sober state. Pushing him backwards, I took three staggering steps behind me as my heart began thumping, hard, against my chest.
This needs to stop happening to me.
Giving my head one small shake, my eyes fell to the ground as I spun around to walk away―but it took less than a second for me to be held back by my wrist.
Justin:
"Can you just fucking tell me what's wrong?" I growled in frustration, trying my hardest not to insert more strength to the grip I had on her wrist because the last thing I wanted to do, was to hurt her in any way and leave a bruise on her skin.
Snatching her hand back away from me, she craned her neck just enough for me to catch one of her eyes glaring right at me.
"Don't fucking care about me," she hissed, making me ball my fingers up to fists at my sides. "You're not different from anyone, you're just like them and you don't even need to deny anything."
Feeling the blood beneath my skin starting to boil, I looked away from her for a couple seconds as my bottom row of teeth met my top as though magnets attracting each other.
Evidently, I was pissed.
I was pissed, not because she judged me, but because she assumed the kind of person that I am without even trying to get to know me.
By right, I shouldn't even feel mad about it, considering I've been unmistakably misjudged these past six years of my career.
It was tough, I'm not going to lie, but now that I'm older and I have more responsibilities on my shoulders, everything's twice as tough as compared to the past, making everything in my life take its toll on me.
Not to mention the media thinks it's funnier now, to twist facts about me, thinking I'm able to handle the pressure, the hate, the negative spotlight.
Anyone could criticize me or insult me before my face, but Beth. . . Goddammit, why am I even feeling hurt? Huh, oh aren't I something different―unique.
No.
Motherfucker.
"Justin, you're up for stage in less than ten minutes. Get yourself ready and meet me outside so I could get your mics fixed!" Scrappy informed loudly from the otherside of the door, making me nod once, small, even though I was more than aware that he wasn't able to see it.
There goes my damn mood.
Without glancing over a second time at the girl standing before me, I pushed myself further away from the wall, close to her but not enough to touch her before moving past her figure, careful not to make any physical contact.
I'm so fucking done.
I know guys should never get on a girl's bad side, but wasn't I being nice?
Was I fucking being ignorant to her?
All I was trying to do, was break through her walls because I cared. I fucking cared about her but she didn't want me to. Why? That's the question. I've never cared for anyone as much as her, except for Caitlin, but I don't even care about her anymore.
And great, this had to happen.
Fuck everything.
Leaving the room, I pushed past everyone, shoving my way through to the usual spot before running up to stage. "I'm here, Scrap. Do this quick, I don't even want to stand here any longer―I'm craving for the stage right now."
And quite honestly, I wasn't lying. It's the truth. Whenever I'm unhappy, I sing. I sing my heart out because that's what I love doing, and I love doing what I love―it's the only way for me to escape from my every frustration; my only resolution.
Other than that, I enjoy being the guy I am: apparently also the guy that most people claim for me to be, even thought it's plainly just a part of who I am.
"Earth to Bieber!" Scrappy exclaimed loudly, bent over as he fixed the microphone wire that lead from my belt hoop to the tiny microphone itself that was fixated a couple centimeters from my lips. "I asked, what's up with you?"
"Sorry," I muttered quickly, huffing out air. "Just. . . stupid, pathetic, useless problems."
"Problems with Beth, I perceive?" There was no way I could graze past the hint of tease behind his voice. Grumbling as an indirect response, I ran my fingers quickly through my hair before sighing deeply. "Trust me, big boy, things will be better."
"She means shit to me," I affirmed as I rolled my eyes. That's such a lie, and I'm even admitting it. "You don't have to cheer me up or anything, I don't need it."
"Justin," Scrappy began with his low, friendly and warm tone as he stood up straight, facing me. He placed a hand on my shoulder, giving me a light pat, "you try too hard for one who falls every blue moon."
Letting out a laugh at his words, I dusted my clothes before raising my eyebrows mockingly at him, "But you do know that people usually―"
"Yeah, yeah," he whined in complaint, waving his hands dismissively between us, "the sentence should be 'one who falls too easily' but then if I did say that, it wouldn't even apply to your situation, so, you know what, just go along like you always do, got it?"
"Damn well," I laughed again.
"Justin!" Scooter's voice made me turn around to face him. "The countdown's just begun, and. . ." He waved me forward, which I did so without a word. "As clueless as I am about the happenings between the both of you, Beth told me to convey an apology to you."
And my mood instantly went from. . . Well, let's just say: ☺ - ☹
Not so fun, not so funny anymore.
Tightening my jaws, I flashed him a sadistic smile before bring to fingers in the air, acknowledging his words as I threw my head from side to side, loosening every knot that was hiding themselves. When I heard my annoying manager's footsteps approaching me from the back, I groaned in irritation.
I hope what I think isn't about to happen.
"Justin, she seemed genuine about it," Scooter attempted convincing, making me let out a humorless laugh. "I'm serious."
Fuck.
"And I wasn't being sarcastic," I rolled my eyes. "Whatever, man. You conveyed it and I received it, and I heard it and you saw it, and whatever the hell it's just gone through―just tell her, the next time someone cares, don't fucking push them away. When she realizes her mistake, it'll be too late."
And I'd like to say it's already too late, but I'm not one who gives up easily so despite of how upset I am, I'm not going to leave her alone, just because.
Although, I admit I'm still childish to the extent where I'm going to give her silent treatment until I'm satisfied and she knows it.
I groaned again. And this time, I did it for my stupid weakness. Her. Fuck man, every little thing sums up to the biggest complication known in my life ever since she stepped inside. It's almost like, she's a. . . ugh―I'm not even going to say it because it'll turn me into some messed up idiot.
Goddammit.
Deciding not to give Scooter a chance to respond, I allowed my eyes to roam around the room so that I could find my perfect pair of metal wings and, the moment my eyes went across something reflective and round, I knew at once that I had to go there.
And run the fuck away from Scott Braun.
And perform for my perfect fans.
Beth:
"All around the world, people want to be lo―"
"That's it," Scooter's abrupt need of speaking up made me jump probably ten feet up the air, "what the hell went on between you and Justin?" Before slamming the door shut, he swiftly and conveniently threw a crushed paper ball into the dustbin next to Justin's wardrobe.
Throwing my hand over my heart, I clutched it tightly before heaving a couple of breaths.
Is it just me or is my heart a glass bottle that's currently feeling like it's being filled up with guilt as wine? Oh. . . wait, I think it's me and that.
"Nothing," I lied, pulling a tight grin, "we just had a playful quarrel. That's all."
"Oh, really?" Scooter nodded with his lips curved downwards. "Then why was he so serious when he said and I quote, 'the next time someone cares, don't push them away. When she realizes her mistake, it'll be too late.' hm?"
As my heart squeezed tightly and uncomfortably in my chest, I let out a heavy sigh. I should've seen that coming, I should've thought before speaking. I shouldn't have done what I did―I know he has a huge ego but that didn't mean I had any right at all to crush it just like that.
If I had a limit, that means he did too.
God, I'm such a bitch. A heartless, goddamn, bitch.
"Okay," I slowly began, pushing my gaze away from Scooter's huge demanding ones, "we had a fiight. . . He was asking me questions but I refused to answer him, and to top it all off, I said really mean things about him right before his face."
"And why is that so?" Scooter inquired, tilting his head to the side.
"I thought he would shut up and leave me alone, but then I was. . . wrong," I squeezed my eyes shut. The bloody guilt is chewing me, burning me, killing me. "I feel bad enough, I'm lost at what to do. He looked so mad when he left the room, I just―god damn it!"
"Yeah?" He let out a small laugh. "He was mad before going up the stage. You teenagers and your complicated problems," he laughed again, this time, louder making me mock him with a bitter expression. "Okay, sorry. But really, what about trying to seduce him?" Scooter suggested playfully, making me groan.
"You're not serious," I shook my head, "no."
Raising his eyebrows at me, he crossed his arms over his chest before scoffing. "And you would know I'm not serious, how?"
"Oh, God!" I cried out loud melodramatically. "I need to use seduction as a form of apology! Oh, God! What has this world come to―"
Doubling over, Scooter cut me off with a, "Enough!"
"It's okay though," I laughed quietly at my comical words. I'm so stupid, "I got it. I'll think of another way to earn his forgiveness again."
"Don't even bother," Scooter coolly responded, turning around to walk out of the room. Though, he turned back for a brief second, "That kid never stays mad at girls―especially ones he actually cares for. I'm not stupid," he defended himself instantly, when my eyebrows lifted.
Pulling out my phone, I decided to message Lana for help. She's always been great with guys; the DOs, DON'Ts―everything.
"Bitch, I need help. Quarrelled with Justin, ugh what the hell am I supposed to do? Reply soon!" I typed very quickly, fingers slightly shaking as my heart seemed to have shrank due to the overwhelming feeling of regret. After hitting send, I decided to vent a little, so I typed again,
"The goddamn remorse is slicing my heart into pieces YELP"
And as asual, I didn't even need to wait in panic for more than five minutes―her replies were as soon as a strike of lightning.
"Since when did you EVER feel bad about hurting Justin Bieber in any form?" Lana typed back, with a smirking emoticon at the back of the sentence. Not long after though, she replied again, this time, frustrating me to no extent. "Finally fell in love with Mr. Popstar hmmm, darling?"
"I shall not insult you for you're a dog and if I did that, I'd be committing verbal animal abuse. Just bloody tell me what to do! Time is running out therefore I'm panicking and d.y.i.n.g." And, as though I had forgotten to say something important, my fingers flew over the keypad once again, typing out another message. "And no, you stupid ugh! I don't like him, so we may not be on the worst terms anymore bUT."
Messing my hair up in grievance, I squeezed my eyes shut before hearing a tiny pop from my phone, indicating a text message.
"Chillax, gurl, don't know what the hell he did to you but he sure as hell has an effect on you. Anyway, I got it. You don't like him and he doesn't like you. But, it'll happen soon. Just you watch. ANYWHORE, easy. Do what he usually does to you. . . #seduce"
Resisting the urge to punch something, I drew in a deep breath before thinking of a response. "Ha ha so fucking helpful ha. No. NO. And I thought you would be able to help, seems like a no now. Thanks." I added a glaring emoticon at the back, before throwing my phone down on my lap.
Hearing yet another pop, I unlocked my phone and read the message.
"Okay" was her first message. "You know what, just talk to him. Say sorry. Be like, "Justin, I'm sorry about blah blah blah. If he's petty, he obviously won't even answer. Otherwise you two would go back being lovey dovey so fear not, child."
"You're the biggest cunt in life." I poked send, before typing a second message. "Thanks" and with a smiley face at the end, I had it sent before locking my phone, shoving it into the pocket at the back of my jeans.
I pray to God that he'll actually forgive me.
And no, I do not like Justin Bieber that way.
Lies. Stop lying to yourself! It's not that difficult, geez!
How is that lying to myself?
You like him!
Refusing to argue with my inner voice, I threw my head back on the couch before closing my eyes to rest. Seventh day, and. . . "I don't like him that way," I said. "I never will like him that way," I said again. "I hope."