Claimed ~ Justin Bieber

Chapter Thirty-Three

Songs for this chapter are:

Beautiful - Carly Rae Jepsen & Justin Bieber

Secrets - One Republic

Up - Justin Bieber

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Brooke's POV

"I think it's time we head home," Justin suggested. Brandon and Jamie both agree, still cuddled in one another's arms. "And Brandon, take care of her, you won't want Brooke to yell at you again." Justin teased.

"Bye man," Brandon chuckled, hitting his fist against Justin's. I gave Jamie one last hug, giving her a bright smile.

Justin and I walked out of their house, slumping into the cold leather seats. Justin loosely hung his left arm over the wheel, letting out a strangled sigh. He stuck the key into the car, and was about to pull out of the driveway when he froze.

"Are you okay?" I asked suspiciously. Justin seemed so agitated lately, and I'm starting to think it's not only because of Brandon.

"Just dandy," he snapped. I stayed silent, my mouth twitching to the side. Suddenly, he reached forward into the glove department in front of me, pulling out a box and a lighter. I immediately realized they were cigarettes.

"You smoke?" I asked. He nodded, pushing the white stick between his lips. His hand cupped around the front, skillfully lighting the white stick. He took a long drag of it, blowing out perfect smoke rings into the confined area of the car. I coughed, crinkling my nose at the scent. I always hated smoking, the smell was disgusting. My dad used to smoke all the time, stinking up our whole house. Luckily, he quit the addiction before he was diagnosed with any lung cancers of the sort.

"When did you start smoking?" I asked, suddenly becoming interested.

"Since I was thirteen. My dad smoked all day, every day, and my mom didn't give a damn about me. I don't have an addiction, I just smoke when I'm stressed." He told me, blowing more smoke out, fogging up the glass. He started smoking when he was thirteen? That's insane!

"Those can kill you," I pointed out, and he laughed loudly.

"You think I give a shit?" That certainly shut me up, my shoulders slumping against the car chair. How can you not care about death? Although, putting yourself in a gang is basically putting your life on the line.

"I care."

His head cocked up quickly. His eyes bored into mine, drinking in the emotion coming out of my blue eyes. Finally, he sighed, throwing the cigarette out of the window.

"Only because you're here," he shoved the box back into the compartment. "If you weren't here, I probably would have smoked that whole box."

"I hate smoking," I feel the need to tell him this, I don't want his health in danger just because he's feeling stressed.

"I only smoke because I need some kind of anti-depressant. And I'd much rather smoke a cigarette then get drunk and have a massive hangover in the morning." He puts the car in reverse and backs out of the driveway. The smell of smoke still lingers in the air, and I definitely won't be sleeping in Justin's shirt tonight.

The car ride is only filled with the quiet, music coming out of the radio. I slowly start to sing a long to What Hurts the Most by Rascal Flatts.

"Sing," I demanded. Justin looked shocked from my command, but joins me anyways.

"What hurts the most, was being so close. And having so much to say, and watching you walk away." I can't believe that Justin would say he couldn't sing. His voice is so fragile, yet loud and forceful.  "And never knowing, what could've been. And not seeing that loving you, is what I was trying to do." Justin's eyes close as the words fall out of his lips. They seemed to take a toll on him emotionally.