Brooklyn
"How's Justin doing?" Mom asked as she flipped two fresh-baked pancakes on my plate.
I squeezed the almost empty bottle of maple syrup over them, extracting the last drops. "He's... doing," I sighed. "Which I guess it's as much as you can expect."
My mom sent me a sympathetic look before returning to the stove. "I can't even begin to imagine how his mother must feeling, left alone with three kids under her wing... " she trailed off, shaking her head.
She'd seemed very affected by the whole thing ever since I told her. She'd made me bring food—good thing she was such an excellent cook—every time I visited Justin, which had resulted in their kitchen counter ending buried underneath plates and plates of homemade lasagna and cakes. I could tell Pattie appreciated it, for she wasn't really in the mood to cook. Rob, Justin's uncle, had been there whenever I dropped by. He seemed like a fairly nice man, but then again, we'd hardly shared a word in the time we'd know each other (which was barely a few days). Justin didn't talk to him much either, and Jaxon eyed him warily. The poor kid probably didn't even remember his uncle.
As for Jazmyn, nobody had gotten a word out of her since Saturday. It was Wednesday now. We were lucky she had finally left her room on Monday to take a shower and eat something. Justin had tried to get her to talk, but it was in vain. Pattie was worried she would go into some PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) after the loss of her father. I knew she was daddy's girl. I knew how that connection felt, and I couldn't even fathom myself in her place. She didn't want to talk to me either. She wouldn't even let us hug her, and if we started to open our mouth to protest against her mute strike, she would hide herself under the covers of her bed or lock herself in the bathroom. We had tried to avoid causing that. Pattie and Justin were scared she would try to harm herself. She hadn't gone to school or answer her friend's phone calls. She hadn't even left the house for fresh air. At this point, we were all remarkably concerned.
Justin was another story. I had seen him every single day after school when we both picked Tommy and Jaxon up from soccer practice, and then spent some time hanging out. I could tell he wasn't always with me, though. He hardly ever was, truth be told. He dodged the subject of how he was feeling as soon as I tried to bring it up. He was shutting himself in again, leaving me out of his little security bubble to try to decipher every look or thing he said. Unfortunately, he was disgustingly good at masking emotions. It was frustrating, knowing there was nothing I could do to bring his dad back—because that was the only thing I could do to make him feel better.
He'd made that clear the previous afternoon when I'd asked.
"Bring my dad back! That's the only thing that will make me feel better," he'd cried. Immediately afterwards, he had apologized for yelling at me. He had tucked me between his arms against his chest, and whispered that he was sorry again and again. I hadn't been as affected or hurt as he believed—any emotion he let seep through his walls was welcomed. Moreover, snapping was normal under these circumstances. I was oddly surprised he didn't do it more often. What worried me was the fact that he was crumbling down inside and he wouldn't let me help him.
I guess my little speech on Sunday when I'd found him playing basketball by himself hadn't had the desired effect. I'd just gullibly hoped it would. A very naïve part of me thought he might open up this time. But he was like an armored tank.
Now, I was terrified of how things could turn out to be. Because Justin wasn't good at channeling his emotions there was a pretty big chance that he would choose the wrong way to free them out. A way that involved weed and brass knuckles.
"I let a dress for the funeral draped over your desk chair," my mom said. I hadn't realized I totally zoned out, fork in the air and all. I nodded at her while chewing on my already lukewarm food.
"Are you coming?" I asked, chasing the pancakes with a good swig of coffee. I'd been needing it more than I'd like to admit lately, since sleep hadn't come as easy as it used to.
"Of course. I'll leave work early. Your dad is picking me up." She managed a smile as she packed a brown paper bag with Tommy's lunch. He would be going to a friend's house right after school.
"Oh, right," I mumbled. Dad was going to be there anyway. Something about him working for the government. He usually had to attend official funerals—basically the ones that involved deaths of people that worked for the country's defense such as police officers, ministers, and army soldiers too. I reckon he would have come anyway, just for me. I appreciated it, to be honest, especially when I knew he still was unsure about Justin.
"I wanna go, too," Blake chipped in, entering the kitchen fully dressed and with his backpack slung over his shoulder.
I blinked over the rim of my mug. Blake had been avoiding conversation with me for almost two weeks. Now that I think of it, pretty much everyone had been doing that recently.
"What? I like Justin, and his sister is nice," Blake said as if sensing my surprise. "Kinda crazy, but nice," he added in a lower voice to himself.
"Okay. I can give you a ride after school," I offered, a smile tugging at my lips at the possibility of time to bond with my brother.
"Actually, I already asked someone to drive me," Blake replied, in my opinion, looking relieved that he'd had an excuse to avoid me again.
I bobbed my head up and down suspiciously. I bet that someone would be Mysterious Guy. Before I could even question him about it, Blake grabbed a pancake with his hand and scurried out of the house, throwing a "See you later," over his shoulder, while he munched on it. Now I was doubly suspicious. If Justin's situation wasn't enough to keep my worried-out-of-my-mind levels to the max, I also had a fifteen-year-old brother sneaking with someone I didn't know behind my back. How convenient.
Sighing, I quickly downed the remains of my coffee, and grabbed my jacket and purse.
"I'll see you later, mom." Kissing her cheek goodbye, I made my way out of the pad, wishing today didn't have to happen or that it could be over already.
Justin
Funerals fucking suck.
For starters, having to dress in black only makes the whole already dreadful experience even more depressing. This was the last time I ever wore this suit—the suit my mom had fixed from my dad for me to wear—because I wanted to strip off it in the middle of the graveyard. On the one hand, it was some kind of tribute to my dad, but on the other hand, the weight of it was too much for my shoulders.
You stand in front of a grave, watching someone that constituted a pillar in your life be buried six feet underground forever. The moment you see the coffin with whatever remains of the person that was once your father be lowered into the earth, to be eaten by worms, your whole world cracks.
I stood stoic in front of dozens of people I didn't even know, who had come because they supposedly had some connection to my father. That's another irksome thing about funerals. People feel the need to come and mourn the person that's died as a means to pay for not giving a shit about them during their life. I knew for a fact half of the people who'd shown up were old family friends or my mom's workmates who hadn't known Jeremy Jack Bieber at all.
Brooklyn held my hand during the whole service, squeezing it painfully while a bunch of men in uniforms folded an American flag over my dad's casket. The whole funeral seemed like a parade to me. Too many people, too much noise, too many pointless words. I had wanted it to be over before it began.
Another two men had died along with my dad. Their families clustered around us as a silent share of sympathy. I actually didn't care about those people and I knew they didn't care about us. If it was up to them, they would've killed my father themselves if that meant they could have their beloved one back. I know that because I would have done the same. As cruel as that sounds.
My mom wept during the entire ceremony. I didn't know where she got the tears from anymore, how she didn't run out of them. Jaxon was like a puppet, holding my mom's hand in his little black coat as he stared ahead not understanding why they were burying his daddy. Jaxmyn was hiding behind a pair of the darkest sunglasses I'd ever seen. Her face was pale, and her hands were inside of her jacket pockets because they were trembling. I had noticed, but I hadn't dared try to touch her for fear she would scream or cry or god knows what. She hadn't spoken since Saturday. She wouldn't even look at us. It was killing me inside. Even more so.
Brooklyn's parents and Blake had come, all offering their condolences. I could tell my mom appreciated the moral support—she even let uncle Rob hold her—but I didn't. All these strangers would never understand what I was going through inside my head. Not even Brooklyn or Tyson did. I had been aware of their sneaking conspiratorial glances and hushed words all week. I knew they both wanted to help me, the problem was they couldn't. No one could.
After the funeral was over, people started dispersing, black dots abandoning the grassy Calverton National Cemetery for Veterans to get back to their old lives, most of them probably unaffected. The one-hour-ride back to the city seemed impossible to conceive right now. I wasn't ready to leave yet.
I stood still, watching the patch of uneven soil I had helped throw on top of where my dad now lay. It had been hard to throw the fist of damp sand. It was hard to see it now. I had to clench my jaw so tight I thought it might snap in order not to break. Brooklyn remained with me, her own eyes glassy as she hid her face in her scarf. The weather was nice except for the chilly temperature. I laughed out loud because it hadn't been one of those movie scenes where a storm breaks dramatically during the funeral, and there's a creepy guy hiding under a black umbrella. Actually, the sun was shining down on us with a diabolic smirk. It seemed totally undisturbed by the fact that three people had been buried today. I felt a stupid pang of hate towards it for that.
"Do you want me to leave you alone for a while?" Brooklyn's soft voice disrupted the silence.
I looked down at her hand in mine and then up to her eyes. She was wearing sunglasses too.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. She looked so broken—whether it was because of my dad of because of me or both I did not know—that I couldn't keep looking at her, even if her eyes were concealed behind her Ray-Bans.
"Okay, I'll be in the car. Take as long as you want."
She gave me a light hug before disappearing. I felt bad for how I'd been treating her, but I knew if I started spilling whatever twisted thoughts I had in my mind, I would only hurt her more. I needed to sort through them myself first.
The wind blew soundlessly around me as I stood there alone. No one else was around. I don't know how long I just stayed there, staring at the headstone with my father's name carved on it. It only made reality more real, which sucked.
Jeremy Jack Bieber
1975 - 2013
Loving father, husband and warrior.
They scribbled something else related to his military service, but it meant nothing to me. That had been what killed him.
Minutes ticked by as I wondered what I was really doing there. I wasn't even trying to talk to my dad—not that I wanted to, it'd be worthless.
A hand on my shoulder startled me. I whipped my head around to be met with a black patch covering what used to be an eye. I hadn't seen Anthony here before. It never even crossed my mind he'd come or why he'd come.
"Want one?" he asked, taking a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.
I hesitated for a moment. It's not like I hadn't smoked lately—I had desperately needed it more than a few times—but I didn't like accepting things from Anthony. It usually meant trouble and debts and more unnecessary shit I couldn't deal with in my life right now. I had enough as it was. Maybe I was an idiot or I just really regretted having left my own pack in my drawer at home, because I took one cigarette and lit it up.
Anthony gave me his distorted version of a smile. It was awful and made my skin crawl. We smoked in silence, lost in our own thoughts. At least I was. I could sense Anthony observing me, and it was driving me up the wall. Two of his men had come—how rare—and were a few feet away watching us. I felt a bit trapped and outnumbered, that's why I decided not to punch Anthony in the face.
"I lost my father when I was a kid, too," he said, suddenly.
I don't care, I thought, and I'm not a kid.
"We never had a good relationship, but I know you and your dad did."
He knew nothing.
I didn't reply, instead focusing on finishing my smoke. Was smoking even allowed in cemeteries? Again, I didn't care. I found myself caring about less and less these days.
"Did he leave a good inheritance?"
Leave it to a cold-blood gangster to ask about that in that precise moment.
"We never had much to begin with. The government is giving us some, I guess. 'Sorry for your loss,' and all that crap." I rolled my eyes. No amount of money would help my shattered family.
Anthony nodded dryly. I supposed he was happy that I didn't have an excuse to quit. To be honest, I wouldn't have done it anyway. My family was gonna need the money as much as I wanted to deny it, especially if Jazmyn ended up in therapy. Any income was welcome, even if it came from the arrogant, despicable man standing next to me.
"You gotta look ahead now, kid. You're the manly figure for your family now," Anthony said, patting my back. I felt the urge to punch him all over again. If I hear those words one more time... I clenched and unclenched my fist, throwing the butt of my cigarette far away from the tomb.
I thought he'd leave me alone then, but of course, Anthony never does anything selflessly. There's always an intention behind his actions. He'd made that clear on Monday when he sent Tyson and I on one of his little missions. In a way, I had been grateful for the distraction. Threatening someone with a knife if he didn't pay the 500 bucks he owed the boss made me forget about my own demons. That's why I had done two jobs in three days, a record I didn't break since I was 17. I knew I was getting myself into the deep shit it had taken me so long to start coming out of, but what else could I do? At least now I knew no one expected me to be a happy, responsible, good boy. They'd cut me some slack.
"If there's any way I can help, son," Anthony started. Bile rose in my throat at what he called me. Good thing I had eaten nothing today or I would have thrown up all over him. "You can come to me. I can get you more deliveries, more cash." He shrugged like he was offering me a job as the pizza guy.
I almost said thank you, but then I realized he wasn't doing me a favor.
I stole one last glance at my dad's headstone, knowing I wouldn't be able to stand the disappointment I knew he would feel after knowing what I had in mind. I would probably regret this later, but as I turned to face Anthony completely I wasn't sure I hadn't fucked my life up for good already. One more thing sure wouldn't hurt. At that moment I didn't think of all the damage it could actually do, to my girlfriend, to my family, to myself. Because I was selfish, and lost, and reckless. And a big-ass moron.
"I think I will take you up on the car races, if the offer is still up," I said, my voice tight with the realization of what I was getting myself into. Definitely a big-ass moron.
Anthony smirked, as if he had been hoping I'd cave in all along. "Of course, son. Of course."
Brooklyn
I watched Justin tip his head back to down yet another shot of Jack Daniels. I didn't feel like drinking anything other than water. It still bugged me that this was the way Justin had decided to spend his 20th birthday, getting drunk at some hellhole club while other girls undressed him with their eyes. I hadn't realized I was holding my cup too tight until the plastic snapped. Fortunately, it was empty.
"Cut him some slack, B," Kelsey said by my side. We were leaning against the bar counter as everyone else danced to a song I once again didn't know. "You can't blame him for wanting to forget. Besides, he would've gotten smashed anyway. It's his birthday after all."
I gave her a sideways glance. "That's no excuse. He's only gonna feel worse in the morning." I shook my head.
I had assumed we'd be partying for today—even if it had only been 6 days since Saturday—because Justin needed to go out with his friends, and he deserved to have fun. What I didn't expect was for him to chug shot after shot of whiskey and practically ignore me. Everyone was wary around him, careful not to push the wrong buttons or say something inadequate.
"I'm sorry," I sighed. "I'm keeping you from having fun," I told Kelsey with an apologetic face. "Go dance with Tyson." I motioned to where he and Justin were doing some weird moves on the dance floor.
"It's okay. I just don't want you to be a sourpuss over here. Come dance with me." She tugged at my hand. "And you may want to mark your territory because there're flies hovering around your man." She pointed at where a cute girl that didn't look past sixteen was trying to flirt with my boyfriend.
I made a very un-lady-like sound, letting Kelsey drag me the rest of the way to our friends.
"My t-shirt says hi to you," Justin slurred with a huge grin as I approached him, turning his back on a very annoyed man-stealing girl. She eventually sauntered away when she realized she wasn't gonna get anywhere with Justin.
I laughed despite my hissy fit. Justin had had a strict no-presents policy for his birthday. He had made us all promise—even his mom—that we wouldn't get him anything. He had been pretty serious about it, which was weird, because why would he want nothing? His excuse was that he didn't deserve it. In any case, I had gotten him that Brooklyn Nets t-shirt that said "Hello Brooklyn!" just because it looked funny. He had grudgingly accepted it only because "It has my two favorite things in the world: basketball and you."
I had given him a long kiss after that, being the gooey girl that I am.
"Justin, you should stop drinking," I suggested, holding myself on his upper arms as he encircled my waist.
"You haven't drunk at all." He pouted, looking down at me with dilated pupils.
"Someone needs to stay sober to drive later," I said, biting on my bottom lip.
"You're not having fun," Justin stated more than asked, loosening his grip on me.
"I am," I assured him, even though it wasn't completely true. I had this feeling that something else was wrong and that was why Justin was trying to get intoxicated. "I'm just worried about you."
Justin shook his head a little and raspily said, "You don't have to worry about me, babe. I can take care of myself."
Yeah, sure.
I gave him a knowing look, but his adorable smile melted away my bitterness.
"Dance with me," he whispered in my ear, picking my hands to put them around his neck. To my utter surprise I may confess, he didn't start grinding on me like he usually did when we were at the club, above all considering the kind music that was blasting through the speakers.
He held my waist, humming in my ear. "You look stunning," he said.
"Thank you." I pressed my lips to his cheek. He was coated on a thin layer of sweat from the warmness of the club and the alcohol. I would be lying if I said he didn't look damn right edible.
My red short dress kept me cool, but soon the heat of Justin's skin was seeping through mine. The song changed to a faster beat, and Justin started swaying me from side to side, his face nuzzling my neck. I could feel his hot breath on my skin, giving me chills.
Without me even realizing it, I was being pushed back to the wall. Justin had expertly opened a path between the bodies for us. The wall was cold against my bare shoulders and the back of my calves. I became more aware of Justin's rapid breathing and his hands lowering down my spine.
"Justin," I said warningly, but he must've mistaken it for a free pass to attack my neck because he started kissing it hungrily. I swear I was gonna stop him but my hands fell limp at my sides, a moan escaping my lips. He was so good.
"God, you're so hot, Brooklyn," Justin breathed in my ear, pressing me further against the wall. He sucked on my earlobe, making my arms fly to his head to cradle it against my neck.
His lips left a wet trail from the base of my throat to my jaw. I was starting to catch on fire somewhere. This wasn't normal. When Justin's mouth reached mine I was a bit put off by the smell of his breath: whiskey and cigarettes. I pushed him back. "Give me a second, okay?" I pleaded. I needed to even my breathing before my sober brain decided to shut off and stop making smart decisions.
Justin looked at me confused, his eyes burning with desire, and his hands still attached to my hips.
"Don't be a tease," he murmured, giving me a look that could have scorched my panties to ashes.
I opened my mouth to stop him, but Justin was faster and covered it with his. I lost any ability to speak as I let him kiss me. He was being urgent and wild, tilting my head to the side with a hand on my nape so he could kiss me deeper. His knee parted my legs, and he pulled away enough to talk. "I need you." He kissed me again. "Make." Kiss. "Me." Kiss. "Forget." Kiss. "Please."
His voice was hoarse and needy and I was overwhelmed, but I knew what he meant by the way he was bucking his hips into mine. I couldn't do it. I couldn't be a mere distraction while he was drunk. So I managed to push his shoulders back and away from me. My red lip gloss was probably all gone. My lips actually hurt from the force of his kiss.
"Justin, I'm not gonna have sex with you," I said breathlessly.
He closed his mouth, jaw taut. He seemed more angry than disappointed. "Why not?"
"Because you're drunk and we're in the middle of a club," I snapped. I hadn't meant to but I couldn't be sensitive when he was acting like such a jerk.
"Shit, Brooklyn. I'm sorry."
The wall next to my face trembled under his fist. I took his hand and pried his fingers open to keep it from getting damaged. Justin met my confused eyes, licking his lips.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—You're right," he stumbled over his words, suddenly seemingly less inebriated. "I don't want to have sex with you like this, either. I'm just... "
"Not in your right mind," I finished for him. He didn't correct me, but his eyes looked sorry. I caressed his cheek. "C'mon, you need some fresh air."
I intertwined our fingers and walked us back to the bar, where I ordered a bottle of water for Justin. He sipped from it without complaints. He truly seemed to be feeling like crap, and I didn't need him to blame himself for yet anymore stuff.
"Hey, it's okay," I said truthfully, running a hand through his hair. He smiled down at me, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
Tyson and Kelsey met us at the bar. They ordered Tequila shots for everyone, but to my happiness, Justin declined the offer. Kelsey winked at me.
Tyson tapped my shoulder so I turned my face to him. It was so loud in this part of the club that you had to literally shout in peoples' ears.
"Are you okay?" Tyson asked me.
I nodded my head. "Yeah, I think I'm gonna take Justin outside. He's had too much liquor."
Tyson agreed, but grabbed my arm softly. "Brooke," he said. "If he screws up sometimes, don't hold it against him. He's trying to work things out his way, but he'll end up trusting you to help him eventually. He just needs some time."
I sighed. "I know. I just wish he'd let me in."
After my sort conversation with Tyson, I led Justin outside into the nippy first night of March. Well, I wasn't sure it wasn't already March 2. The freezing air seemed to wake both of us up with its fiery claws.
"Wanna go to my car?" Justin asked, rubbing my bare arms for some warmth.
"Please." My teeth chattered.
The way to the car seemed to take hours, but it wasn't longer than a couple of minutes. The sports car was parked on the very back of the club's small parking lot, the only free spot we'd found when we arrived. It was eerily silent and dark, like they couldn't afford a few street lamps. I was afraid a zombie would jump at me at any minute.
Justin insisted we got in the backseat so we could cuddle, and how was I going to refuse that? Exactly, I wasn't.
Justin blew on my hands until they regained their feel, no longer numb.
"You better?" I asked. He'd slurped the whole bottle of water down, so I assumed he wasn't so lightheaded anymore.
"Yeah, I had expected to get so wasted that I wouldn't even remember my own name, but no such luck."
I gave him a scolding look. "I like you better when you can walk a straight line."
Justin chuckled, popping a Tic Tac mint into his mouth. I took one too. The silence in the car was ear-splitting. I felt like we were in the middle of the Sonoran Desert.
Putting my legs over Justin's lap as I reclined on the backseat, I asked. "Has Jazmyn said something?"
Justin shook his head sadly, blowing a deep breath between his lips. "My mom's making her go to school on Monday, though. Says she can't just stay home doing nothing all day."
"She'll come around to it. She just needs more time." I squeezed Justin's hand. I knew how hard this was being on him. He had a soft spot for his sister.
"I hope so," he said.
Truth was, if she didn't, they would have to take her to some psychologist. The last time I'd seen her was at the funeral, and she was looking like a ghost. It was heartbreaking.
"Justin," I called quietly after a few moments.
He looked up at me through his lashes. "Yeah?"
"I know you're not big on talking about your feelings." Before he could cut me off, I continued, "Hear me out. If there's any way that I can help you that doesn't involve talking, you know, you just have to say it."
I scooted a little closer to him, making him suck in a breath. I was being completely serious, though.
"Jesus, Brooklyn. What are you trying to say?"
"You know what I'm trying to say, Justin," I purred, not seductively but bashfully.
His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard.
"If you need me, in any way, I'm here. I'm your girlfriend, and I will do anything in my power to make you feel better," I said, inching yet closer to a gaping Justin.
"You don't have to—I was drunk. I didn't mean to—"
This time I did interrupt him. "Damn it, Justin. Don't make me talk anymore." I blushed furiously, although I doubted he could notice. I could hardly see the outline of his features in the dark. "Just take what you need," I whispered the last part close to his ear because I couldn't look him in the eyes while saying it. I was that embarrassed about what I was implying. If I hadn't thought it would help, I would've never gone through the mortifying process.
"Damn it, Princess. You're making it really hard to resist you," he muttered, his hands finally touching me. They settled heavy on my hips, his breathing fanning over my face.
"Are you sober?" I asked, lowering my gaze to his parted lips.
Justin pulled me into his lap. "I thought I was, but you're intoxicating me all over again."
I smiled mischievously. "I just wanna help take away your pain," I said, brushing my lips with his.
"We're in a car," Justin noted shakily.
"I don't care." I pressed my lips to his, savoring the minty flavor of his mouth. "I just wanna help you, Justin," I said, trailing my wet lips down the side of his neck. His fingers dug into my sides pulling me closer to straddle him.
The skirt of my dress rode up, pooling around my hips as I kept kissing Justin desperately, hoping to take a small amount of his hurt with every swept of my tongue, every caress of my hands. I was anxious. I needed to feel like I could do something to make him feel better. It made me feel useless to sit around while he was aching. I needed to let him know I was there for him. I was always there for him.
"Let me help you forget," I barely whispered against his lips before I sank into him.