The Boy Next Door > jariana (ON HOLD)

seventeen

Justin

Arriving at JFK airport at the hour of five-thirty a.m. wasn't something I dug. I was tired. My bedtime on any given day was about three a.m., so going to sleep wasn't an option. Ariana was finally graduating from high school, and I was going to surprise her. The only person who knew I was coming was her brother, Kyle. Four months had gone by since I'd last seen her, and I couldn't wait to feel her again. Daydreaming of our time in London made my blood rush. I squirmed in my seat, tugging at my pants, adjusting myself. Before that, I hadn't seen her for nearly three years. What was the point? I'd been thrown in jail for not staying away from her, amongst other humiliating reasons.

The band and I moved to New York, and it was the best thing for us. Ariana and I were both a mess. We were both so caught up – her grades and sport paid a high price, as did my band and my relationship with my mother and surrogate father and manager, Notting. Our relationship had become volatile, with me slipping back into using drugs and booze to mask the pain of all the bullshit.

The last straw was the meltdown with Mike drugging Ariana and the epic battle that followed, landing my ass in jail for the second time. It took her months to get over the fact that I chose to leave. She felt abandoned and lied to. Everything had gone up in smoke, and she hated me. I was heartbroken, but something had to change. Everything was slipping away, from the both of us.

I'd kept tabs on Ariana through her brother, Kyle, and found out it took months for her grades return to normal. I hadn't realized the impact our breakup had on her. After six months of not talking, we began again and maintained a virtual love affair for three years, until London. She'd come to London for her eighteenth birthday. I was what she wanted, and she'd gotten what she came for.

I'd stayed in Europe touring for another two months after our rendezvous. With Dump being sick, finding a fill-in drummer had been a challenge. Dealing with my mother and her overextended visit to London was less than ideal. She'd smothered me with love and attention and I still didn't get it. Thank God for Notting, my constant buffer. I seriously had no idea how he put up with her. Coming back to the States meant another round of touring and recording. Ariana being three thousand miles away and with her volleyball schedule and school made it impossible for us to see each other. I wanted her more than ever, now that I knew I could have her.

Sitting in my first class seat, I took my sunglasses out of my jacket and put them on. I closed my eyes, recalling our last encounter that cold February day.

Seeing her standing curbside at Heathrow was hard for me to believe. She was bundled up in a snug-fitting black wool coat. Her head was down, and she didn't notice me pulling up. She looked different, taller and more beautiful than I'd imagined. She wasn't the tear-streaked girl I left standing in the driveway. Her face had thinned out a bit and her hair was lighter and longer. She'd grown into herself, and the picture and video chatting images only told half the story. She was radiant. I sat there staring at her for several seconds. I had to admit I was nervous. This was her idea. I knew the inevitable was near, and it had me locked in. Knowing nothing could keep us apart had my mind spinning out of control with the possibilities of our future and the little box sitting in my nightstand drawer.

"Hey Ariana." I got out of the car. She didn't hear me at first. "Aricat!" I said louder.

"Oh my God, Justin," she said, breathless. She beamed and my knees went weak. I was shaking from the excitement.

As if no time had passed, she threw herself onto me, hugging me tight. I took her face into my hands. The sound of her sigh made me want to take her right then and there. We stood, making out, until the airport cop pulled us from our love-drunk haze.