Justin Bieber Imagines [Interracial]

You & His Gf Fight (pt. 3)

sorry if this is a disappointment hahah

—

“It was really nice to meet you Mr. Bieber." Your husband said as he shook Justin's hand for the twentieth time. "If you ever need anything, and I mean anything, don't even worry about asking me–it'll be a pleasure."

"Uh, thanks," Justin replied awkwardly with a small smile.

"Sorry to ruin this love fest y'all, but we really gotta get going." You leaned against the doorway, swinging your keys on your finger.

"That's a good idea," Justin said. He bid goodbye to your pathetic husband once more before walking past you, giving you a look in the process.

"We're gonna have to talk about this when you get home," he said and you raised your eyebrow, "Can't believe you never told me you knew Justin fucking Bieber."

You rolled your eyes and kissed him before you too were out the door.

"I really appreciate you helping me, Y/N," Justin looked over at you with a smile.

"Well, if you had listened to me 10 years ago, we wouldn't be in this situation-now would we?" You replied as you drove down your street.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, "Yeah, we wouldn't. I should've just listened to you–take a left at the next stoplight–you were right about her the whole time."

You followed his directions and took the turn at the stoplight.

"Why didn't you listen to me? Why did you let me just walk out that day?" You finally looked over at him. You had wanted to know the answer to those questions for years upon years, and now you had the chance to.

He sighed, "To be completely honest with you, I don't know; I really and truly do not know. I guess I was blinded by her and I didn't want to see or hear anything that anybody had to say about her–even you."

You opened your mouth to reply, except he continued.

"I guess I was also hurt. It hurt me how you were sitting back with all those feelings on your chest, just waiting for my relationship with her to crash and burn," he ran his hand through his hair roughly, "I was supposed to be your best friend. You were supposed to be able to come and talk to me about anything, you knew that–but you didn't."

"Well, maybe if you weren't such a naïve son of a bitch then I would've." You rolled your eyes and gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Justin clenched his jaw. "You know what, it doesn't even matter anymore; that's was ten years ago. We were both young and immature and we were both at fault."

"If you say so," you mumbled.

"Thank you for doing this for me," Justin said after at least 10 minutes of awkward silence.

You laughed dryly, "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for your poor, innocent son who has a screwed up whore for a mother and a gullible father."

"Take a right here," Justin pointed, completely dismissing your statement.

You followed his directions and ended up in front of some lavish, gated community.

"How may I help you ma'am?" The guard at the gate eyed you suspiciously as he asked the question. He looked from the end of your 8 year old car to the top of it and back to your face.

'Not everybody is a celebrity and buys a new fucking car every other month, you asswipe,' you wanted to say, but knew that he would never let you into the posh place if you did.