Turbulence - (18+)

46.

GATE C41 SHAY

New York (JFK)

I took a cab to Justin's apartment around three in the morning, my heart unable to stand being ignored by him for another week. As the driver carelessly sped across the city streets, my anxiety rose with every click of the running meter.

"You alright back there?" the driver asked. "You like you're about to vomit in my car."

"I'm not going to vomit in your car."

"You better not." He eyed me through the rearview mirror. "I'll have to charge you double for that. No, triple."

I let out a sigh and kept my head turned toward the window, attempting to focus on the sight of Manhattan instead of my emotions.

When the cab finally pulled up in front of The Madison, I handed the driver a couple twenties and rushed right up the steps.

"Wait a minute, Miss." Jeff held up his hand, not opening the door for me. "How may I help you tonight?"

"I'm here to talk to Justin."

"I don't know a Justin."

"Mr. Bieber, Jeff," I said. "You know who I'm talking about. I need to see him."

He gave me a sympathetic look and slowly shook his head. "He put you on his 'Not Welcome' list."

"What?"

"You've been on it for weeks. I'm not supposed to let you in, and you're actually banned from the property. Would you like me to arrange another cab for you?"

I was silent. I wasn't even sure what to say.

Near tears, I took a couple steps back, but Jeff began to open the door for me.

"Hurry up," he said, looking away and giving me a chance to rush inside.

I headed straight for the elevators, using the key Justin had given me to get up to his floor-hoping like hell it still worked. When the car began to move, I breathed a sigh of relief.

With every floor that passed, I attempted to calm my nerves, but it was no use. By the time I arrived to his level, I was an even bigger mess of emotions.

I walked over to his door and knocked five times.

No answer.

I knocked five more times, a little louder.

No answer.

I kicked at the door a few times-saying his name, and Justin finally answered, wearing nothing but a pair of lounge pants. Looking as if he'd just gotten out of the shower, water from his hair dripped onto his bare chest, and the familiar, intoxicating scent of his body wash wafted toward me.

"Thank you for finally answering the door," I said, noticing the imprint of his cock through his pants.

He didn't say anything. He just stared at me.

Clearing my throat, I glanced behind him, noticing the television in the living room was on and blaring loudly. "Am I bothering you and someone else on a late-night date right now?"

"What the fuck do you want, Shay?"

"I want to talk."

"Are you sure about that? Perhaps you mean you want to write." He sounded angry, but I could see a world of hurt in his eyes.

"I just want to talk to you. Can I come in?"

"No."

"Well, can you step out here so I can-"

"Record it? Tape it? Use it for Turbulence Part Two? Or will the second novel have a different name?"

"I'm really sorry, Justin, and I really tried to tell you that night," I said softly. "I told you it was important."

"You told me it could wait." He narrowed his eyes at me. "You knew damn well something like that shouldn't wait. Was that your motive all along? Was all this shit just a fucking project for you?"

"No, it wasn't. I promise. I signed that deal when we weren't talking for weeks, when I thought we were truly over. I don't reveal anything specific about you. I don't state your name anywhere and I-"

"You didn't have to." He clenched his jaw. "You didn't have to give details about shit, Shay, because guess what? Now you've got HR sitting every employee down and asking about how often we all fuck in-flight. What happens when they discover the other relationships that actually have substance? For the people without FCEs or million-dollar-book deals? What happens to them?"

"Nothing. It's being marketed as meta-fiction."

"Is that a new synonym for bullshit?"

"I said I was sorry."

"And I said I didn't care."

"You're not going to give me the chance to explain?" I wiped away a tear. "You're just going to let what we had go? This is supposed to be love."

"It was never love."

"It was love the moment you gave up everyone else for me."

"I did that so I could fuck you again. It had nothing to do with loving you. I hardly knew you."

"You wanted to."

"Is this what you came over in the middle of the night to do?" He wasn't giving in. "Talk in circles? To keep running around each other until one of us gives up?" He held up his hands. "I give up. Now, what?"

"I'm not going to beg you to see what's right in front of you, Justin."

"You don't have to, Shay." His voice was cold. "It's very clear what's currently in front of me: The past."

My heart dropped.

"Now, if you would kindly get the hell away from me, and return to your adoring flock of fans who actually buy into the bullshit you've spun about us, I think you'll be a lot happier in the long run." He slammed the door in my face, and it took everything in me to resist the urge to knock on it again and force him to open it right back up. To hold off from storming inside and making him listen to me, but I held back.

I needed to let go of this for good.

We were finally done.