Call Me A Liar [Book 1] (Justin Bieber Love Story / Fan Fiction)

29

Nothing more is said between for a while. Verbally, that is. We communicate best through deep kisses and muffled whimpers like we always have.

When he's gone to the kitchen to get us some water after several hours of what we shamelessly know as communicating, I reach for my phone on the side of the bed I often lay.

My heart still aches for the man a room away, his words replaying in my mind about how I'm so concerned hiding him from everyone and how he thinks I wouldn't stick up for him if it ever came down to it. It pulls at my insides, guilt viciously lacing my every being because it couldn't be farther from the truth.

I'm not the one that's embarrassed of him. In fact, I'm filled with rage and disgust that I can't share how much I like him with people that matter most to me. But it's those that matter most who would be embarrassed of him.

And I hate them for it.

I want to prove to him that I'm not like them. I want to take this seriously and do what I can to make him feel appreciated and cared for to the best of my ability. I want to spend time with him so he knows I'm not just in this for the sex anymore. That ship sailed for both of us long ago.

Comfortably wrapped in the rose-colored haze that I always feel from Justin, I make the quick decision to text Birdie.

Me (8:06 PM): If Patrick or my parents ask where I am tomorrow, can you cover for me?

Birdie (8:07 PM): Sure. But where are you?

Me (8:07 PM): I'll tell you in person.

Birdie (8:08 PM): Are you with Cole...

Me (8:08 PM): I promise I'll tell you in person!

I lock my phone and flip it over, resting it on the nightstand beside me. Dare I call it my nightstand, for I'm always laying on this side when we fall into deep slumbers together.

As if on queue, Justin arrives with two glasses of water in his hands. His body glistens from the warm light in his room, a layer of sweat lining his body like it always does when we're together. He appears to be glowing, which only adds to my excessive admiration.

"Here," he places it on the table for me, taking one last gulp of his water before leaving it beside my full glass. It's the first thing he's said coherently since we were at his front door.

He crawls back into bed, the front of his warm body pressing to my back when he pulls me close to him. His strong arms wrap around me beautifully, making me feel so safe. Gentle kisses on my damp skin come next, my neck first and then my shoulder.

We lie together in silence, our heads comfortably resting on the same pillow. I can feel his heart racing in his chest, so I squeeze his forearm in my hand to hopefully calm him.

"I don't like seeing you cry," he nearly whispers, pouted lips resting on my shoulder. "Especially over me."

"Well then don't make me cry," I joke.

"Jane," he sighs.

"I know," I close my eyes.

"I know neither of us are at fault. I know you're doing your best, okay? I know that," he instinctively kisses my skin again. "I just hate that we have to hide all the time. I don't want to hide you from anyone. Ever."

Warmth spreads over my complexion, paired with a smile that I try to suppress though I know he can't see it. I love when he talks to me this way, so candidly and truthfully. It's rare between us, but it's certainly becoming more standard. Yet another layer added to our situation.