|Self-Conclusion|Justin Bieber|Dear Aiden Sequel|

|Self-Conclusion|Justin Bieber|19|

Here is the long awaited 19th chapter of Self-Conclusion. It's been sitting half finished in a word document for quite a while. I have a good excuse for why this has taken such a seemingly rediculous amount of time, but right now isn't time to tell it. Sorry guys.

We sat in silence when Justin drove us back to the hotel. I felt so worthless to him. I tell him something I’d been keeping inside for so long and he says, “I know”. Was that what he really wanted to say? Or was it his morals and the knowing that if he had said he loved me too that he would be betraying Selena? It seemed like it was as clear as a sunny, summer day that he loved me back, but his denial made it seem cloudy.

I was back to feeling like my existence was just that. An existence. I was an empty shell of a person once again. This sadness was beginning to get old. It no longer felt like sadness, more of just a nagging stomach ache. Should I go home? This feeling of not being wanted, just being expected, was sickening to me. So toxic to my, again, fragile sanity.

Justin pulled into the parking garage and turned into a spot. He pulled the keys out of the ignition, but did not move to get out of the car. He adjusted himself so that he could face me. I was sitting with my elbow resting on the door, my head in my hand, and my eyes locked onto the ceiling of the parking garage.

“Aiden,” he said, his voice full of gravel.

“Hm?”

“This probably isn’t the time to ask you this, but I need to know. Are you going to perform with me or not? I need to know so that I can talk to Scooter and have him work it out,” he said.

Annoyed with him, I opened the door to get out, spitting out my words, “yeah, whatever Justin.”

I’m really not sure if he really understood why my resentment towards him had crept back into our lives, but soon he would. He wanted me to perform with him? Alright then. I’ll perform. All these songs that I’ve written since he’d been gone and since I’d been with him might just clue him in. I originally hadn’t wanted to do this, and one of those reasons, beyond not wanting to interfere with him and Selena, was that all my songs were about him. Now, I could care less about him and Selena. Selena was the reason Justin and I couldn’t be together. Maybe with a little fierce competition, she will give up and leave.

There was so much tension now between the two of us, and we had a flight to catch in an hour. Our bags were already packed and we were to catch a van to the airport. Kenny guided us to the pick-up area of the hotel where we got into said van. I sat pressed against the door opposite Justin, trying to put as much space between the two of us as possible. He sat, staring at his shoes and twirling his thumbs. He was thinking. I scoffed silently and rolled my eyes. I tried to burry my thoughts deep inside my mind, but there was no luck. My conscious refused to cease the argument it was having with an unseen force.

I was thrashing about in my own thoughts, my will to stay calm hanging on by the thinnest thread. My patience felt as though it had been pushed to its limit and was ready to break and unleash all of the emotions I was pushing away. His words, “I know”, repeated themselves infinitely in my mind. In a world where throwing a psychotic temper tantrum is totally acceptable, I would be kicking and screaming with rage. However, that is highly frowned upon in the real world and would most likely cause me to end up exactly where I probably belong: a mental institution.

I pulled my iPod out of my purse and put the earphones in, hoping that it would drown everything out. I planned to ask for my own hotel room. I’m officially done playing this game. I’m finished with letting my feelings and emotions get ripped to shreds at every turn. If he wants me around, he can come see me in my hotel room. This is where the decision will be made. Is it going to be me, or is it going to be Selena? I hoped my time and effort wouldn’t be wasted, but, even if it was, my point would still be proven and I would then have a valid reason on as to why I wouldn’t want to see him afterwards.

We pulled into the airport and caught our plane. I curled up in a chair and stared out the window. The tension between us built up like a brick wall, the heat getting to me and making me break into a cold sweat. I began to think just how easily Justin had made it seem if I wanted to go home, though I knew it would, in fact, be worlds harder than that. He would want to make every moment “worth it” and wouldn’t send be back unless even he agreed that resolution was impossible. That’s why I didn’t even ask to leave. I knew exactly how it would go.

I could feel Justin’s eyes burning holes into me as I sat with my back to him, but I refused to make eye contact with him. I’m not as stubborn as I make myself seem. I’m emotionally compromised, causing my judgment to veer off track and cause me to make selfish decisions. But I have the right in the case, wouldn’t you say? Then again, of course I think so seeing as I feel incredibly wronged by the entire situation. I hung my head in my hands, rubbing my temples. These thoughts needed to cease and desist.

I’d decided to take a nap as the returning emotional load wore me out. I closed my eyes and tried to relax. Even though I didn’t, I still managed to fall asleep. It felt like I’d only taken a short 5 minute cat nap when I felt someone touch my shoulder. My eyes shot open and I saw Justin on my right. I instinctively pulled away from him, my face twisting into an expression of disgust.

“What?” I spat, my voice rough with sleep.

He seemed taken aback by my displeasure in him waking me, “We’re here, A.”

I sat up and looked out the window, seeing not clouds and a blue sky, but concrete. Sighing, I stood and pushed past Justin to exit the plane. He followed close behind me as we descended the stairs of the aircraft and got into yet another van. Without look at him, I opened my mouth and spoke in a vacant tone, “I want my own room.” He seemed slightly shocked but he hid it and replied with no more than a nod. I didn’t say another word the rest of the drive to the new hotel.

We arrived to a swarm of paparazzi. I kept my head down and my face expressionless as I waded through them. I heard fans screaming from behind them, even hearing my name being shouted. I ignored them and proceeded through the glass doors. Pattie handed me a room key and Justin a separate one, though she was confused on as to why. I took it from her and immediately left her and Justin in the lobby and headed towards the elevators.

Luckily I was the only one inside. I watched the numbers climb and climb until the high pitched bell sounded and the doors opened, allowing me to step out and make my way down the long hall of doors. The hotel room was small and generic, the way a normal room looks. Nothing fancy. This was actually a relief to me. I tossed my suitcase to the floor and fell backwards onto the bed, closing my eyes. I didn’t even bother turning the lights on, which was good because I fell back to sleep as soon as my head hit the mattress. I was awoken again until the next morning when I heard a knock on the door.

My heart raced. Was is Justin? Had he chosen to come and visit me in my room rather than Selena? I slowly walked to the door and looked through the peep hole. My anxiety dropped when I saw that it wasn’t Justin. It was Scooter. I opened the door just enough to look through.

“Aiden, hi. I wanted to discuss a few things with you before the show tonight. I don’t have your cell number so I wasn’t able to call you, sorry if I woke you up,” he said.

“Oh, no. It’s okay. Did you want to talk now, or?” I replied.

“No, I’ll give you time to wash up and get ready. If you could just meet Kenny in the lobby in about an hour and half, that would be great. He will escort you,” he continued.

I nodded, “alright. See you then.”

He smiled and walked away and I shut the door. He wanted to talk business. Alright. I guess if I was going to have a subconscious war with Justin then I might as well make it official right? Right.