My Surprise Romance

Hi y'all!

It's me again...with another installment of my story. I have quite a few things to say here, so puh-leeze bear with me :) Okay? Thanks.

First off, thank you to all of you who have sent me those wonderful encouraging e-mails. They really brighten the day, encourage my writing and just make me an all around happier person. I'm glad that so many of you are likin' my writin' (did I mention I was in a goofy mood?)...thank you, thank you, thank you. And remember, any more e-mails are always welcomed at sweetheart_stories@hotmail.com...

Second, no installment of MSR would be complete without a big thank you to some special people...where do I begin? Damon, Cele, Nino, Khiem, John, Killian, Val and of course, Clarkey (My Jack!!!! Hee hee, you know I lubs ya, sweetie! BMTI--see, now I remembered!) and Justin (Filling my mind with things I shouldn't even be thinking of!! Your influence is rubbing off on me, dear.)

Third, auugh!!! I knew about it, but it never crossed my mind...the Boy Band awards are here!!! For the love of God, go and nominate someone today! There are tons of wonderful stories in this archive and a lot of authors who put their hard work and dedication into writing them. Many deserve to be nominated...just go already! Click on the link on the main boy-band page and go ballot crazy...

And finally, my website. My other baby besides MSR. As lots of you know, I rant. I rave. And I post regularly on it. Those of you who have been there know what I mean. There's a whole bunch of new stuff up on my page--pictures and writings. Please make this shameless self-promotion hussy happy and visit it? Please?

http://sweetheart.homepage.com

I've said enough, I think. I'd write the usual DISCLAIMER (must be 18 or 21, involves a m/m relationship, not to imply Lance Bass or anyone in `N Sync's sexuality--although rumors abound!)...oh well--Look I did write it..and now....

My Surprise Romance

The Better to Dream of You

Chapter 37

When I woke up the next morning, I found that my eyelids were swollen and puffy. I had a raging headache. And Lance's arms were wrapped tightly around me. Not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough to remind me that he was here with me, comforting me...I let out a sigh of happiness...

Had he really come back to me? After what I had done to him and how I had hurt him? Did I really deserve to have someone as wonderful as Lance care about me? The questions swam through my mind, taunting me incessantly until I was ready to scream. Last night, I felt like the whole world had come crashing down on my head and today everything was different. However, the events of the past few days had confused me so much, that reaching for a box of razor blades seemed like a pretty good idea to me.

Lance must have somehow sensed that I had waken, because I felt his lips gently press against the back of my neck. A chill ran down my spine. "Stephen?" I heard him whisper. "You up?"

"Mmmhmm," I murmured as my eyes closed at his touch. "I'm awake." I managed to turn myself around in his arms so that I was facing him. Lance gazed at me with sleepy eyes and gave me a lazy smile in return.

"Morning, Stephen," he said, leaning over to kiss the tip of my nose. "Sleep well?"

"Yes--for the first time in days," I admitted as I returned his kiss, only one was on the lips. "It must be because you're here." Lance rolled his eyes at my remark.

"Great, now I'm a sleeping aid. If I'm not mistaken, I'm supposed to keep you busy in bed, not put you in a coma." Lance laughed softly, pulling my body closer to his. I tried to crack a smile, but I just couldn't. Noticing my humorless expression, Lance's amusement quickly changed to concern.

"Stephen, please talk to me," Lance said worriedly. "Please?" I took a deep breath and stared into my boyfriend's pale green eyes. A few seconds passed between us, allowing me to regain control of my thoughts, until I felt ready to answer him

"Okay, fine," I finally said. "You really want me to start babbling?" Lance nodded and those eyes of his were full of worry and concern. I felt the barrier inside of me break, as it always did when I looked into them. "Okay, then, why did you come and find me?"

We stared at each other for a few seconds, while I waited for Lance's answer. Finally, he started talking, slowly as though the words were hard to get out. "Stephen--do you know how I felt when you left me on the last day of the tour?" He asked rhetorically. "I felt horrible--that night...I never felt so sad in my life. Stephen...you betrayed me...I thought that maybe--" His voice dropped to a low mumble, as though he was embarrassed to even say the thought that was forming in his head. "Maybe you were some kind of...groupie--" We both winced at the word. "You know, using me for stuff and to hang around with a celebrity" Lance shook his head, like he was clearing his mind of those thoughts. "And it hurt me to think that way, because I was so in love with you." Lance gave me a shaky, uncertain smile before continuing.

"And I was miserable. I somehow did the concert that night and then I got incredibly trashed after it. You can ask the rest of the guys--they thought I had alcohol poisoning--but let me tell you, it made me forget about you for awhile." Lance closed his eyes and then opened them once more. "And then when I started thinking of you, I got drunk again."

"I heard about that from Cynthia," I told him. "And I thought she was kidding me--you know, trying to guilt me into calling you? But...I guess it was true."

Lance nodded. "It was true--very true. And then Justin came over one day to Josh's place and told me why you did what you did. He just broke down when he saw me, Stephen--I think it was killing him to keep it a secret..." Lance took a deep breath and for the first time ever, he looked incredibly vulnerable. I had never seen him look like that before. Usually he was the stronger one of us, the one who reassured me, and not the other way around. "Stephen...why didn't you tell me?"

I felt my face turn red at the hurt that I had put him through. Yes, why didn't I tell him. That would have been the most logical thing to do. But I had my reasons...and at the time, they seemed so sane and reasonable. And now, I didn't even want to tell Lance what they were because they sounded so ridiculous in my head.

"Look, I don't even want to tell you because they sound so dumb," I said, trying to change his mind. But it was already made up and Lance shook his head at me.

"Uh-uh...no way. Talk, mister," Lance ordered me, a smile playing on his lips at my reluctant behavior. "I told you the ordeal of crap that I went through."

"Okay, I know when I've been beaten," I said, managing to let a soft laugh escape my lips despite the fact that on the inside, I still felt like hell. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want to drag you down."

Lance just gave me this look. A `what-the-fuck' are you talking about look. "What?" he finally asked, staring at me as though I was an alien. "What are you talking about?"

I took a deep breath again. "I didn't want to drag you down, you know, with my problems. Lance, look--"

"I'm looking, and all I see is someone that I'm madly in love with," Lance interrupted, as he leaned over and pressed his lips to mine. All of my problems seemed to disappear just then, and we remained joined at the mouth for a couple of seconds more. When we finally parted, I flashed him an embarrassed smile.

"Aww, ain't you sweet," I whispered, feeling as though my heart was going to burst from the feelings that I felt for him. "But seriously, you're famous. You're more popular than the president and the pope combined."

"At least you didn't say Jesus," Lance joked and I knew he was trying to lighten the mood between us. It didn't work.

"Lance, why the hell should you hang around with me? I have more problems than you and the rest of `N Sync combined! You deserve a good boyfriend, not someone who's family life is a wreck and who's plagued with so much self-doubt, it's sickening." I broke myself free of Lance's grasp and sat upright. "It's not fair to you--I was just trying to protect you from getting depressed. Why the hell would you want to go to a wake and a funeral with me, when you could be hanging around at clubs and partying...it just doesn't make sense to me." I shook my head in disbelief as Lance sat himself up and grabbed my shoulders a bit roughly.

"Goddamn it, Stephen--listen to yourself!" He began to shake me gently, his green eyes intensely piercing my brown ones. "I love you." He took a deep breath before continuing. "I love you, I love you, I love you! What else do I have to do or say to get that through to you? That's why I would want to go to a wake or a funeral with you. I want to be there for you--for whatever--bad or good. I told you that before. And I thought you were smart enough to know that. That's why I flew out here and wanted to see you again." Lance sighed and gave me a sad smile. "I wanted you to know that I still cared for you."

Tears threatened to come to my eyes, but I blinked them away. I couldn't believe that he was saying these wonderful things to me and I silently berated myself for not being truthful with him in the first place. I know he was trying to reassure me, but his beautiful words were just making me feel even worse.

"I still care for you too even though I said all those horrible things to you before I left," I gladly admitted, feeling like a huge moron. "Lance, I want you to know that I didn't mean one word I said to you. They were all lies--every last thing out of my mouth was a lie."

"Even the one about being my plaything?" He asked playfully, arching an eyebrow at me. Once again, I couldn't help but laugh at my boyfriend. I could be at my most miserable and Lance could somehow cheer me up. I marveled at his ability to do this.

"Especially the one about being your plaything," I said happily, leaning over to press my forehead against his. I stared into those pale green pools and felt a shiver run down my back. I never thought that I'd get to look at him like this ever again. I never thought I'd get to tell him how much I cared for him either. Thank God I was getting the chance to now, I thought with relief as Lance grinned at me.

"Good," he stated, placing another kiss on my lips. "Because that was the one I was worried about the most." He let out a short laugh at his joke, only to see that I wasn't laughing. For some reason I just couldn't see the humor like I used to. I was still despondent in nature over my mother. Lance noticed this and peered carefully at me.

"You okay, Stephen?" His deep voice was soft and caring. "I never asked you how the..wake... and the funeral...went," he said awkwardly. I felt my face grimace as I recalled both horrible events.

"The funeral was okay...as okay as a funeral can be, I guess" I sighed before clearing my throat. "And the wake was horrible. Absolutely horrible." I shuddered and Lance wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "I'm kinda glad that you weren't there."

"I'm not," Lance said softly. "I wish I was there for you instead of drunk off my ass." He let out a sigh of regret and continued. "I really wish you told me, Stephen." And with that, Lance gently kissed my earlobe, while his fingers danced up the back of my shirt, coming into contact with my warm skin underneath. For reasons beyond my control, I felt incredibly uncomfortable right at that moment. I mean, I should have been: Lance was with there with me, still in love with me, as I was with him. But it was just...I don't know, maybe I wasn't feeling exactly sexual right then and there. My mother had died. My body was racked with guilt over that and here was Lance, kissing me, touching me. Any other time, I would have accepted that with open arms, but now, I just wanted him to be there for me.

I gently pushed Lance away and got off the bed. He watched me with surprise in his eyes, but didn't say anything. I walked over to my dresser and looked into the mirror that hung over it. I looked terrible. My cheekbones were sticking out. There were dark circles under my swollen, bloodshot eyes. I was pale. As I stared at the living wreck that I had become, Lance walked over to me and wrapped his arms around my waist.

"If you ever just want to talk," he said, looking at my reflection in the mirror. "I'll be here for you, Stephen. I promise you that." I couldn't help but smile at his words.

"Thank you, Lance," I whispered as choked up and closed my eyes. As I engulfed my sight into the blackness of my eyelids, I suddenly had this bizarre vision of my mother watching Lance and I from wherever in the spectrum she was now. Heaven? Hell? Somewhere else? I had no idea, but the thought of my mother acting as a peeping Tom kind of creeped me out.

"Lance? What do you think my mom would say if she saw us like this?" I suddenly asked him, not opening my eyes.

"I think she'd have a heart attack." A female voice said wryly. My eyes flew open to see Cynthia standing in the doorway of my bedroom, a smile appearing on her face as she observed Lance and I wrapped together. "But then that's your mother for you." Cynthia walked over to us, and I disentangled myself from Lance's arms, feeling a little embarrassed that my cousin was eavesdropping on our conversation. But I didn't say anything. Instead, I just gave her a quick hug.

"Hey, Cynth," I said a bit irritably. "You and everyone else back?"

She shook her head."Yeah--well, me, mom and dad are, but we dropped Natalie off at Angela's. She was just dying to see her friend." Realizing the choice of words she had just used, her pale face turned a shade of vibrant red and she cringed.

"Whoops," she said, slapping a hand to her forehead. "Mistake..sorry, Stephen." Lance looked at her curiously then, noting her use of my full name. I could understand that--I don't think he had ever heard her use my full name before. And to tell you the truth, I wish she did. All this `Stephen' crap was starting to freak me out a bit.

"That's okay," I said, brushing her comment off. It didn't bother me much--I had to start getting use to the fact that my mother was...dead. And that people would use words like `dying' in everyday conversation. The three of us stood there for a few uncomfortable seconds, before Cynthia looked at me.

"Hey...mom and dad want to talk to you," she finally said, tugging on my sleeve. "They said it's really important."

"About what?"

She shrugged her narrow shoulders and gave me a blank look, although I could tell by the look in her eyes that she already knew. "I don't know...stuff, I guess." Her lying was clearly evident by the way she was beginning to uncomfortably slink out of my room. "I guess I'll see you two downstairs in a few minutes, okay Stephen?"

"Yeah, fine...whatever," I shrugged as I turned myself back to the mirror and picked my hairbrush off the dresser. Once Cynthia left us alone again, Lance rewrapped his arms around my waist once more. I looked at his reflection and saw that his eyes were still locked on me.

"What do you think they want to talk to you about?" Lance asked as I ran the brush through my hair.

"Probably my mom--there's still a lot of stuff that needs to be sorted out," I explained. "I know that the reading of her will is tomorrow...and there's a lot of things that I still don't know about." I placed the hairbrush back down on the dresser and turned to face Lance. "I told you that you wouldn't want to be here. I can promise you, it's just gonna be boring for the next few days."

Oh, if I only knew how untrue those words were.

A few minutes later, after I had gone to the bathroom and freshened myself up, Lance and I began to head downstairs. "You know I met your aunt and uncle already," Lance said as we headed down the staircase. I looked at him in surprise.

"How?" I asked, confusion peppering my voice. He just flashed me another one of his mischievous grins while stopping at the bottom landing of the steps.

"Do you remember Cynthia getting a phone call last night?" he asked, sitting on the last step. He patted the empty space next to him and I sat down, hugging my knees to my chest. My mind flipped back to the previous night, and I attempted to recall when Cynthia's cell phone rang.

"Yeah--it was about fish or something," I shrugged and then like a bolt of lightening struck me, I got the mixed meaning of what `fish' actually meant. "You were the fish? Bass?"

Lance laughed slightly and nodded. "Very smart, Stephen. I'm surprised you didn't get it right away." He leaned over to place a quick kiss on my lips, before explaining further. "Well, anyways, I came here and hid out in your...mother's bedroom." He paused uncomfortably. "And then when your aunt and uncle came home, they found me in there and we exchanged a few quick hello's. They were expecting me, but we really didn't have a chance to talk or anything. But," he added, with a smile on his face. "I met them. And they seemed really nice."

"Well, they are--they had to put up with Cynthia all these years, didn't they?" I deadpanned and we laughed at my remark. Lance and I sat on the bottom of the steps for a few more seconds and I didn't know why, but we were at a loss for words. I wished he could have met my family under better circumstances, I thought with a sigh as I stood up, but that was life for you. I had to go talk to them sometime.

"Come on," I said to Lance as I took his hands in mine and pulled him off the floor. "Let me formally introduce them to you. I'm sure they won't mind another weirdo in the house," I teased him.

Lance pretended to look offended at my comment, before smiling sneakily at me. "Well, I'm sure after Cynthia and you, they're used to weirdness, right?" I just groaned at his remark and began to pull him into the kitchen.

"You," I said between laughs. "You just be quiet." Just as we were about to enter the kitchen, I stopped in my tracks and looked once more at my boyfriend. For some reason, I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. His just being there made me feel one hundred percent better, though I felt guilty at feeling the way I did. I felt myself slightly breaking free of the gloominess that I was feeling and then I abruptly regained control of myself. Shouldn't I have still been in mourning over my mother and not laughing and joking with Lance? My laughter faded as theses thoughts entered my head and I dropped his hands like a hot potato. "Come on," I muttered, waving him into the kitchen. Lance looked a bit boggled by the sudden change in my personality, but kept his mouth shut as he followed me.

My aunt and uncle were sitting around the table, cups of coffee in their hands as they were quietly discussing something between themselves. Cynthia was standing at the sink, drying the dishes while taking to someone on the cordless phone. As Lance and I walked into the room, everyone turned to look at us, causing me to stop dead in my tracks. Since Lance had become my second shadow, and wasn't expecting me to come to a complete halt, he bumped right into my back causing everyone in the kitchen to laugh. I felt my face turn bright red as I walked towards the table.

"Um, morning," I said hesitantly, feeling like a criminal of sorts as I took an empty seat at the kitchen table. Aunt Florence smiled at me, while Uncle George looked over a piece of paper in front of him.

"Good morning, Stephen, Lance," she greeted us after taking a sip of her coffee. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," I said shortly, as Cynthia took the last empty seat next to me, leaving Lance with nowhere to sit. She gave him a sweet, all-knowing smile while the phone was still attached to her ear. Lance shot a dirty look at my cousin's evil trick and then looked back at me. A smile appeared on his face as he fell directly into my lap.

It took me a few seconds to realize what Lance had just done. Did he really have to go and sit in my lap right in front of my aunt and uncle? I wasn't sure how they would react to it, since they're feelings had been amblivant about my being gay in the first place. I glanced at them, expecting to see disapproving looks on their faces, but to my surprise all George and Florence did was smile at us. Weird. I hadn't been expecting that.

"Did you sleep well, Stephen?" Uncle George piped up, placing the sheet of paper on the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cynthia smirk and I could almost read her mind--`of course, Stephen slept well--he had Lancey-poo there to hold him'. Rolling my eyes in her direction, I just nodded at my aunt and uncle.

"Fine, thanks. I slept good," I said quietly as I stared at the table. I looked back up at my aunt and uncle. "Cynthia said that you two wanted to talk to me?"

Once I said that, George and Florence looked at each other, flashing ominous looks between them. They stared at each other, as though to say, `No, you go first'. Finally, looking beaten, Uncle George took a deep breath.

"Stephen..there's a few things we wanted to discuss with you," he began seriously. "First off, the reading of your mother's will is tomorrow at nine a.m sharp. And then after that, Florence and I have to immediately head back home. Is that going to be okay with you? " I felt a bit relieved at hearing that and I nodded my approval.

"Sure, I understand. What's the other thing?" I questioned, not sure if I wanted to know. George and Florence looked so serious, it was freaking me out.

My uncle took a deep breath. "Stephen...Florence and I wanted to discuss the issue of your sister with you..."

Natalie. I had thought about my sister's future over the past few days myself. And as much as I loved and adored my little sister, I knew that I couldn't take care of her full time. Maybe it sounds selfish to you, but I still had my life to think about. School. A possible art career. Work. In order to take care of my sister, I would have had to drop out of school to take care of her and I just couldn't do that. I had invested so much time in my artwork...I felt like a traitor to my sister thinking this, but I knew it was the truth. And so did my aunt and uncle.

"Okay," I said after I had allowed my mind to jog through my thoughts. "What about?"

"Well," Florence began, after looking at her husband. "We were wondering if you would mind if we took full custody of her. We know you love her, Stephen, but you're only twenty-one. You have school and we just felt that there was no way you could handle both your life and your sister's. It's not that we don't feel you're responsible, Stephen, but--"

I cut my aunt off. "No, I understand. And to be honest with you, I was worried about Nat myself. I know I couldn't handle her--so yeah, it's fine with me if you want full custody of her," I managed to say without my voice faltering out on me. As I said those words, my heart was breaking. For the most part, Natalie would be gone out of my life. Another person lost. I felt selfish. I didn't even feel like a human being anymore. The guilt was starting to pile up inside of me.

I was so lost in my thoughts, so lost I didn't notice that everyone at the table was staring at me, waiting for some sort of response, until I looked up and saw four pairs of eyes boring holes into me.

"Um, did you say something?" I asked uncertainly, which drew a smile from everyone.

"Stephen, your aunt just asked you if you're absolutely, positively fine with the idea," Lance said, knocking gently on my head. I smiled wanly at his humorous gesture and then turned my attention back to Aunt Florence.

"Yeah...I'm sure about the idea," I told her, although my heart wasn't in it. "I know Natalie loves you guys a lot...I just hope she's okay with the idea." I looked back down at the table and let out a small sigh, hoping that no one would notice. No one did.

"Stephen?" Lance suddenly spoke up, concern filling up his green eyes. "Are you okay?" I jerked my head up towards him, feeling like he had shot me. That's how deep in thought I was.

"Yes, Lance, I'm fine," I said, trying to form my lips into a smile. I didn't want him to worry about me. I wanted him to think that I was okay. I wanted everyone to think I was okay. Silly me, huh? Trying to cover my feelings up like that, when they were probably clearly evident to everyone.

And just as I was about to sink into another one of my coma-like thought patterns, I heard the front door open, followed by footsteps coming into the kitchen. And soon enough, Natalie appeared in the room and her eyes immediately fell on Lance. I watched my sister's eyes grow wide with shock as she realized who was sitting in her kitchen.

"Oh my God!" she said, sucking in her breath in with surprise. "Lance! You're here again!!" Lance hastily jumped off my lap and walked over to my sister, wrapping her in a hug.

"Hey, Natalie," he said, as she wrapped her thin arms around his body. "How are you doing sweetie? You doing okay?" My sister has always been honest--it was one of the things that's always stuck with her, so there was nothing she could do but tell him the truth.

"No," she said softly, tears filling up her eyes. Her happy face crumbled into a painfully sad expression. "My...my...my mother..." And before she could finish the sentence, she burst into tears, burying her face in Lance's shoulder. He looked helplessly at us, as he continued to hold my sister in his arms.

"Shh, sweetheart," he whispered. "I know, honey. I know all about it." Lance looked at us once more and then picked Natalie up in his arms. "I'm gonna take her into the living room, kay?" He told us, without even waiting for an answer. As I looked at the rest of my family, I could tell they were all thinking the same thing: Lance was wonderful'. And I couldn't agree more with them. But Natalie was my sister and I still felt responsible for her. I stood up hastily, shoving my chair back, letting the legs scrape across the floor.

"It's not right for him to have to deal with this," I announced as I looked at them. "It's not his family."

"But he's certainly a gentleman about it," Aunt Florence said, clearly impressed with Lance's behavior. "He dealt with Natalie much better than I expected him to." She let out a soft chuckle. "I didn't expect him to do anything, actually."

"Yeah," I said softly, a grin forming on my lips as I realized how special Lance really was. "He's great, isn't he?" I stood there for a few seconds, a goofy smile forming on my face as I thought about how wonderful my boyfriend truly was. I shook myself out of my daydream when I realized that my family was staring at me strangely. "Excuse me," I said hastily, as I left the kitchen. I would have loved to have been a fly on that wall, I thought, but I had more important things to do...

I walked into the living room, to see Natalie sitting on Lance's lap, staring at him with a mixture of sadness and happiness as he softly sang her a song. I strained my ears and recognized it as one of `N Sync's own songs, "God Must Have Spent a Little More Time on You". I stood there watching Lance sing to my sister, and as he finished up the song, he looked up at me with a grin.

"Hey," he welcomed me, as I took a seat on the couch next to him.

"Hey yourself," I shot back good naturedly, as Lance shifted Natalie onto my lap. "Hey sis, don't I even get a hello?" I asked her, tickling her sides gently. Natalie grinned at me, despite the tears that were still sliding down her face.

"Hi, Stephen," she said, rolling her eyes like she always did when I teased her. "Sorry I didn't say hello to you...are you okay?" Her voice had taken on a concerned tone and as I examined her young face, I felt like someone struck a knife into my heart. She was only eleven...eleven. And now she had to face all of this shit when she should be out, playing with her friends and having fun. It wasn't fair, I thought bitterly.

"I'm fine," I lied, not wanting to let my sister know how much I was hurting inside. I definitely did not want her to know how horrible I felt.

"I saw Angela today and we had an argument," Natalie said unhappily. "She couldn't understand why I was sad. And then she couldn't understand why mom killed herself--and Stephen," Natalie said, her eyes filling up with tears once more. "I can't either. I still don't understand why mom would do something like that." She broke down again in my arms and I held her. Lance looked at me with an alarmed look on his face, as I stroked my sister's blonde hair.

"Nat, I don't know why either--but I know she loved you," I told her gently. "You were her pride and joy, Natalie. It's just that she couldn't cope anymore." What was I going to tell her? I didn't even know why my mother had done it, though I had a pretty good idea that it was my fault. I let my sister cry for a few more seconds, before her tears subsided and she looked at me once more, this time with a quizzical expression on her face. It was like someone had flipped a different switch on in that pretty little head of hers. Natalie's blue eyes scrutinized me and then switched over to Lance. She looked at me once more and then at Lance again. Her natural eleven year old curiosity had kicked in. It had suddenly dawned on her that Lance Bass of `N Sync was in her living room.

"Stephen, why is he here?" Natalie asked curiously, looking at Lance. She had a right to ask. Why in God's name would a member of `N Sync be sitting in her living room, only a few days after her mother had died? Good question. I would have wanted to know myself if I were her. Hell, even I wanted to know why he was here after I had treated him like dirt.

I looked at Lance, who just stared at me with a blankness in his eyes that I had never seen before. What were we going to tell my sister? She had known that I had gone on tour with them, but she also knew that the tour was over (Believe me, eleven year old's know everything--everything). So what would Lance be doing here...

And suddenly I was sick of hiding it from Natalie. I would have told her about my sexuality right off the bat--it was my mother who had made me hide it from her. But now my mother was gone. And she couldn't stop me. But did I really want to tell my sister something that could alter her perspective of me forever?

For years she had looked up to me. I was Stephen, her older brother. I could do no wrong...since last year, she had come home from school everyday, giving me the lowdown on not only all of her `tragedies' but of all of the single attractive female teachers that she used to know as well. She hoped that I would be interested...fat chance, but I wasn't going to tell her that.

And now I had to. I just hoped I wouldn't scar her for life. God only knows that she had been scarred enough these past few days. I took a deep breath and prayed for the best.

"Natalie, I need to talk to you," I said seriously. "I think you're mature enough to handle what I'm about to tell you, and I love you so much, honey. I don't want to lie anymore to you...."

She stared at me for a second, her blue eyes taking in my face. She nodded wordlessly for me to continue. I took a deep breath and thought, `Well, here goes nothing...'

"Natalie...Lance is here because of me--for me," I said, looking over at him with a slight smile on my lips. He returned my smile with a nervous one of his own. "Honey...I wish there was a better way to tell you this..." I felt like my chest was caving in on me. It hadn't even been this difficult to tell my mother. "Natalie, I'm gay."

My sister stared at me for a second, her eyebrows dipping down into a curious gaze. She tilted her head to the side and examined me. "Yeah, so?" she finally said in her simple, thin voice. "You know Beth? Well, her aunt is too--but she's a lesbian, not gay--and she's still a nice person." Natalie looked into my eyes. "Is this why you and mom were acting a little strange before all this stuff happened?"

I felt relief fill my heart. She hadn't screamed at me, or ran out of the room crying. She hadn't treated me like I was some sort of monster. She had acted exactly the way I had hoped she would: like Natalie. I nodded at my sister's question.

"Yes, Nat, that's exactly why mom and I had been acting strangely...she didn't want you to know about it," I told her, pulling my sister into my arms once more. Natalie wrapped her arms around me in a reassuring hug and when she pulled away, there was a smirk on her lips.

"No wonders you never wanted to go out with Miss Dellany when I told you she was single," Natalie said, shaking her head. "You were probably more interested in our student teacher, Mr. Evans." Natalie flashed me an evil grin and I couldn't help rolling my eyes. She was growing up into another Cynthia.

"So you're okay with it?" I asked my sister softly. She looked up at me and nodded.

"I'm fine, Stephen. You're my brother--I don't care who you like as long as it's not him," Natalie said with a giggle as she pointed to Lance. My happiness and relief faded as the words left her mouth. I looked over at Lance, whose jaw dropped clear to his lap.

Natalie was still giggling as she noticed the startled looks on our faces. "What's wrong you two?" she asked, still giggling to herself, which slowly began to subside as she noticed that Lance and I weren't laughing.

"Are you two okay?" Natalie said worriedly, looking at the two of us. "Did I say something wrong? And you still never told me why Lance is here." Internally, I was starting to panic. I didn't know how to answer my sister's question. What in God's name did she mean by that remark? My head swung back to Lance, who's face had gone ashen. His green eyes darted around the room until he sighed. It was his turn to fess up now.

"Natalie," Lance began nervously, running a hand through his hair. "I'm here because of Stephen, honey. See..." Lance looked at me once more, not sure what to say next before turning his attention back to my sister. "Natalie...I'm in love with your brother."

She stared at him and her happy expression faltered for a second as the realization hit her. "Lance...you're gay too?" I looked over at him, and I could tell that he wanted to just disappear into thin air. I felt terrible for him. But he just nodded and took my sister's hand into his.

"Natalie, I care an awful lot about Stephen here--I want you to know that," Lance said softly, briefly pausing to glance at me. "That's why I'm here. I want to be here for your brother.." he trailed off, not sure what to say next. A decidedly uncomfortable silence filled the air for a few seconds. And then Natalie's face broke into another girlish smile.

"That's so cool," she finally said, breaking the silence. "Wow! My brother's dating a member of `N Sync!" Lance and I let out sighs of relief at Natalie's proclamation and smiled at each other.

"So you're not mad?" I asked Natalie. She shook her head, her blonde hair flying around her face.

"Uh-uh, no way! I like Lance, Stephen. Now if it were Joey, I'd be mad, because I really like him a lot." She grinned at Lance with an apologetic expression. "Sorry, about that Lance. But you're more of my brother's type anyway."

"Oh I am?" Lance asked her in surprise. She gave us a knowing, self-assured nod and suddenly I saw Cynthia sitting in front of me. My God, she was going to grow up into my cousin. I quickly decided that that wasn't such a bad thing as my sister continued to talk.

"Yeah, you are. But I'm really happy for you, Stephen. I always hoped you'd find someone nice and I think it's even better that it's Lance." Natalie gave me a quick peck on the cheek and I marveled at her personality. If everyone in the world could be an eleven year old girl, the world would be a much better place, I thought.

"Natalie," Lance spoke up suddenly. "I have to ask you one thing though. And you have to promise me something."

"Okay," Natalie said seriously as she stared at him.

"You need to promise me that you won't tell anyone about Stephen and I--not Angela or Beth--no one, okay honey? It could really hurt everyone involved if this got out." Lance explained as he leaned his face towards hers and stared into her eyes. She stared him back, a smile forming on her lips as she nodded and then crossed her heart.

"I promise, Lance. My lips are sealed," she said, making an imaginary zipping motion across her lips. "I wouldn't want to do anything to hurt you or Stephen." She leaned over to hug Lance once more, who looked at her in surprise. Who would have thought that my eleven year old sister would have handled both Lance's and my sexuality in a much more mature manner than we had expected? Or maybe Lance and I had just misunderstood my sister, since my mother had taken it so badly. Maybe we hadn't expected her to be so grown up about it, but then I should have known better. Natalie was smart, her heart was open and we loved each other. Love could get you through anything, I guess.

Once Lance and my sister parted, she turned back to give me another hug. And then she slid off my lap and looked at both of us.

"I'm going to see if Aunt Florence and Uncle George made anything to eat. I'm starving," she announced as though she knew Lance and I wanted to talk into private. She eyed us mischievously before heading off into the kitchen. I rested my back against the couch and looked at my boyfriend. A look of astonishment was on his face.

"Amazing," he said, shaking his head at my sister's reaction. I knew exactly how he felt--I was pretty shocked myself. I had expected the worst and instead, got the approval factor from Natalie. She had been more tolerant and mature about it than my mother, that's for sure. The thought was pretty strange.

"I know," I said to Lance, as I stared up at the ceiling. "I thought she'd cry...something... I just don't know anymore." Silence passed between us again.

"You know, I hope the rest of my family takes it as well as she did," Lance said suddenly, as he moved closer to me on the couch. "I'm kinda dreading the visit back home." He paused then. "Jesus, I don't know why I'm burdening you with my problems, when you have enough of your own."

"Don't worry about it," I said, taking his hand in mine. "I don't mind listening to your problems one bit. You've put up with mine, haven't you? Who says I can't put up with yours?" Lance flashed me a grin just then as he leaned over to place a quick kiss on my lips.

"I'm so glad were back together, Stephen," he whispered, as he stared into my eyes. "You don't even know." And before I could answer him, he pressed his lips to mine again and whatever thoughts were rolling around in my mind, vanished as my world suddenly consisted of just Lance and I.

Chapter 38

"We'll be back again tomorrow around eight a.m," Aunt Florence told me as she, Uncle George and Cynthia were leaving for the hotel once more. I had dropped Natalie off at Beth's house for the night. Which would leave Lance and I alone.

"You know, you guys don't have to leave," I protested as we stood in the doorway. "It makes me kinda uncomfortable--I mean not being alone with Lance--just that you guys obviously think we need to be left alone." I felt my face turn red at the idea of my relatives thinking that Lance and I were going to jump each other once they left. The thought of my family members knowing that I had a sex life made me feel awkward and embarrassed.

"Don't worry about it," my aunt dismissed my worries with a wave of her hand. "George doesn't mind. Sometimes I think that man loves to stay in hotels." She laughed and then turned to walk down the steps. "Good night, Stephen--we'll see you tomorrow."

"Good night, Aunt Florence. Drive safe," I called out after her, as she got into the car. I watched their automobile start up, pull out of the driveway and then head down the street. As I watched the bright taillights disappeared into the blackness of the night, I let out a sigh and then closed the door. When I turned around, Lance was standing right behind me and I nearly jumped fifty feet into the air.

"You scared the living shit out of me!" I exclaimed causing Lance to grin sheepishly at me. He grabbed my elbow and began to lead me into the living room. He had changed into a t-shirt and a pair of those plaid flannel pants that I had always hated on other people. But on Lance, they looked cute.

"Well, that's too bad because I'm starving--and I thought we could order something to eat." He pulled me onto the couch and proceeded to throw a stack of take out menus at me.

"Gee, Lance you wasted no time in finding these, didn't you?" I asked dryly as I flipped through the papers. I glanced at the clock on the wall; it was a little after ten p.m. Places were still open. "What are you in the mood for?" Silence answered my question and when I turned to look at Lance, there was a mischievous, somewhat lustful expression on his face. I let out a groan at what I had just said. I had set myself up for that one.

"Okay, let me rephrase that question..what kind of food are you in the mood for?" I said as Lance let out a sigh at my correction.

"Always so serious," he said, making clucking sounds with his teeth. "Well, anything I guess. I don't care...Chinese?" I nodded and fished out the Chinese take out menu from the stack. A few minutes later, I had my ear to the phone and placed our order. I set the phone down next to me and stared off into space, while Lance made himself comfy and sprawled himself across the couch, resting his head right in my lap. He looked up at me and gave me a charming grin. Restraining myself from rolling my eyes at his affection gesture, I just made myself smile and then resumed staring off into space.

I don't know what had happened to me, but for some reason, I didn't feel like myself anymore. Other times, I would have been elated to be left alone with Lance, but tonight, I wished that other people were around. I wasn't feeling romantic or even remotely sexual. In fact the idea of having sex with Lance, made me want to throw up.

Yes, that's right--I just said that thinking of sex with Lance Bass made me want to puke.

And you're probably thinking, 'What a fucking asshole. He doesn't deserve Lance'. And maybe you're right, maybe I am and maybe I didn't deserve Lance. But I didn't want to feel that way. I wanted to be the old Stephen--the one who would have pinned Lance against the door and felt him up once we were alone. And it bothered me tremendously...

I looked back down at Lance to see him still staring at me with a serene smile on his lips. I could tell by the way his eyes were moving that he was taking in my face, memorizing it...I blushed under his scrutiny and like I had been shocked by one hundred volts of energy, I stood up suddenly off the couch, nearly breaking Lance's neck in the process.

"I have to go to the bathroom," I lied, heading towards the stairs. I pulled my wallet out of my shorts and threw it at him. "In case the delivery guy comes, just pay him okay?" I didn't even wait for Lance's answer before heading up the stairs and climbing them two at a time. I rushed to the bathroom and closed the door behind me.

Once I was inside of the small room, I closed the toilet seat and sat down on it, placing my head in my hands. What was wrong with me? I had this wonderful boyfriend--someone who cared enough to come chasing after me even though I had treated him like dirt--and I didn't want him to be here with me. Oh, I'm not saying that I wasn't in love with him anymore, because I was. More than ever.

I let out a sigh at the strange thoughts that were swirling around in that head of mine and then got up from my seat on the toilet. I walked over to the mirror and for whatever reason that had possessed me, I opened up the mirrored door to the medicine cabinet...and nearly died as my eyes took in the sight before me.

Bottles. Tons and tons of medicine bottles were lined up in neat rows on every shelf. I had never seen so many pharmaceuticals in my life. My eyes skimmed over the prescriptions before reaching up and taking one into my hand. It was a bottle of Prozac. I put that one back and took another one down. Codeine tablets. I examined the labels. My mother's name was printed on each and everyone of the bottles.

Jesus, what had my mother been thinking. All of these prescriptions...medications...were they because of me? Had I driven her to this? I shook my head at my findings and slumped onto the floor, leaning my back against the bathtub.

The feelings of guilt grew stronger as I glanced back up at the open medicine cabinet. I had done this to my mother...if I had kept my mouth shut, she would still be alive today. And for the millionth time that week, I began to cry again. I couldn't help it. Crying for me had become as normal as waking up, going to the bathroom and breathing.

I don't know how long I had holded myself up in that room for, but obviously it had been long enough. Long enough for Lance to worry about me. I heard him make his way up the stairs and then knock on the door.

"Stephen? The food is here," Lance called out. I chose not to answer him. "Stephen, are you okay?" He rapped his knuckles against the door again. "Open the door." I toyed with the idea of not answering at all, but then knowing Lance, he would have probably kicked it down to get to me.

"It's open," I finally called out, not wanting him to worry about me anymore. "Come on in." Slowly the bathroom door opened, and Lance's eyes fell on me. As I had expected, they were filed with the normal amount of worry and concern that I had come to expect. He stared at me for a moment, and then his eyes drifted upwards to the medicine chest. The sight of all those bottles stunned the poor boy.

"Whoa," Lance breathed, his eyes growing as round as he noticed the massive amount of bottles placed in the cabinet. "Stephen...these aren't yours are they?" He laughed nervously, before looking down at me and noticed that I was crying. "What's wrong?" He kneeled down and sat next to me, placing an arm around my shoulders.

I took a deep breath, wanting to calm myself down, but it only made me cry even harder. Lance drew me even closer to him, but that was the last thing I wanted. I was tempted to push his arm off my shoulder, but I resisted the urge and just continued on with my crying--I had become a total wreck, I thought with disdain. A complete crying wreck.

"Lance..." I finally managed to say. "I killed her. I killed my mother." He stared at me for a few seconds, keeping his poker face, although I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was shocked by what I had just said.

"What are you talking about, Stephen?" he asked, carefully choosing his words. I took another gulp of air, before reaching for a hand towel to dry my face off. I wiped the tears from my cheeks and then looked back at Lance, who was peering at me with a bit of apprehension. I couldn't blame him. Who wanted to be around someone who killed one of their parents--inadvertianly of course. It's not like I had stuck the razor blades in their hands, but judging from what I had saw that night, I mine as well have done that.

"I killed my mother," I repeated, my voice void of any emotion. "I drove her to do it. I mean, look at all the medication she was on." I waved my hand in the general vicinity of the cabinet and then sighed. "It was all my fault. Just like my father. I could have stopped him from going to work that night. Instead, I let him go and he got shot. And now my mother. If I had just kept my big fucking mouth shut about being gay she would have still been alive." There. I said it. I said what had been on my mind since I had come home. It had been gnawing away at me for the past few days, driving me insane, talking to me in my sleep. And I had finally said it. Damn, that felt good.

Lance stared at me like I had finally gone crazy and I couldn't blame him. Who wanted to sit next to a murderer for God's sake? I wouldn't have blamed him if he would have gotten up right then and left. In fact, I wish he would do that. I wished Lance would have just left the house and never came back. I had ruined both of my parents lives. I would become estranged from my sister soon enough. Now I would probably do the same for Lance when he would go home and tell his family that he was in love with another man. And why should I do that to him?

"Stephen..." Lance said, his voice faltering into a whisper. "Did you hear what you just said? Do you know what you just said?" His voice was filled with disbelief as he spoke and I looked at him.

"Yes, I did," I said evenly. "I know what I said--I'm not crazy, if that's what your implying, Lance."

"I never said that, Stephen," Lance said, biting his lip. "I just asked if you heard what you said, that's all. And you wanna know why I asked you that?" He never gave me a chance to answer, instead, he rushed on. "Because it's not true. I don't know where the hell you came up with the conclusion that you killed your mother, Stephen, because you didn't. She did. Not you."

"Yes, I did," I said, my voice beginning to rise. "I did too. I told her I was gay and she started to go to church, remember? And to a shrink? And I'm sure when she saw us in bed together, that didn't help matters much."

"So what your saying is that my mother should go and slit her wrists too, right? Is that what you're saying, Stephen?" Lance demanded, his eyes filling with tears at the idea of his mother killing herself. "Just because I told her I was gay, she should go and kill herself?" I shook my head, Lance was twisting my words around.

"No, that's not what I meant--" I began to say before he cut me off.

"Stephen, I didn't want to say this, but I have to--I don't think your mother was all there. I think she was crazy, I really do." I stared at my boyfriend for a second. And suddenly all of the anger I had felt, all of the hurt and the guilt coursed through my body. Like an involuntary reaction, my hand clenched into a fist and to my absolute horror, I watched it fly through the air towards Lance's face. It was as though I was watching myself in a slow motion film. Thank God he ducked in time and my fist instead came in contact with the hard marble of the sink instead of Lance. The realization that I had slashed the skin between my knuckles didn't even faze me until I saw the bright red blood seep down the front of the sink.

"Jesus Christ!" I screamed as the pain of my actions finally took effect. Standing up, I turned the tap water in the sink on, full blast and let the clear liquid run over the open cut. I felt tears of pain and confusion come to my eyes as I bled. I watched the blood wash down my skin and into the drain and a sense of peace washed over me for some reason. That is before reality set in: I had nearly punched the living daylights out of my boyfriend.

What had just come over me then? I had never been an overly angry person, until now that is. My face grew hot as I dared to look at Lance, who was still sitting on the floor. He was staring straight ahead, his face expressionless at what I had just done. He was pale. And then he looked up at me, his eyes wide with not just shock, but hurt and a little bit of fear. I don't blame him. If I were in his shoes, I would have either a. killed me, or b. left. He didn't do either of those things. All Lance did was pull himself off the floor and into a standing position. He stood there for a second, looking uncomfortable...and a little lost. I continued to let the water run over my hand.

Say something', the voice in my head hissed. Just say something already, you asshole.'

"Lance, I'm sorry," I finally said, completely ashamed of what I had done. I realized how lame my apology had just sounded. Hey, Lance I almost hit you, but I'm sorry. Forgive me yet? Would you forgive me?

Lance just looked down at his shoes, not saying a word. His face was an odd shade of ivory and I noticed that his body was shaking slightly. Uneasiness began to settle in my stomach. Why had I almost killed the person that I loved with my whole heart? It didn't make sense, I thought with dismay. It just didn't. Why was I acting like this? Why was I pushing away the one person that I loved?

Because you don't deserve him, a voice in my head spoke up. And you know you don't. You've hurt him, you've left him, and now you nearly killed him. What a way to treat the only person that you've ever loved. And the only person that ever loved you.

"Lance, please," I pleaded as I shut off the water and reached for another towel to wrap around my hand. "My God, I'm so sorry for what I did. I-I don't know what came over me." Lance finally looked at me then, and his green eyes were filled with something I had never seen in them before.

"Just forget about it," Lance said gruffly, as he pushed past me and left the bathroom. I stood there, and watched him leave, never feeling as horrible as I did at that moment. The world had finally come to a halt for me. Maybe this was my breaking point.

I let a few minutes pass by. Then a few more. I wasn't sure if Lance was going to leave the house or if he was going to stay. I removed the towel from my hand and was relieved to see the bleeding had somewhat stopped. I went back to the medicine cabinet and managed to find a box of gauze and tape amidst my mother's pills and fixed up my hand. When I finished doing that, I put the supplies back, closed the medicine cabinet and shut off the lights. I took a deep breath as I headed back down the stairs.

When I reached the living room, I found Lance lying down on the couch, his hands folded neatly over his stomach. He was staring at the ceiling and a few tears had slid down the side of his face. My heart broke as I realized all of the pain that I had caused him and I sunk down on my knees, next to the couch, next to Lance.

"Lance," I said in a near whisper, as I looked over my boyfriend's sad face. "I'm sorry--I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

"Just forget about it--I deserved it. I called your mother crazy," Lance said a bit carelessly as he closed his eyes. He was shutting himself off from me, I thought with a sense of panic.

"No, Lance, I can't forget about it. I could have killed you up there. I can't just forget about that--I'm so ashamed of myself," I told him, as he opened his eyes again and looked at me. He stared at me and I wasn't sure what the look he was giving me meant.

"Stephen..." he began. "You're hurting so much. I know you are--I can tell," Lance murmured as he sat up, wiping the tears from his face. "I just want to help you through this whole ordeal. And when you nearly punched me, I'll admit it, I was scared." He gave me a shaky grin. "Takes a man to admit he's scared of his boyfriend, doesn't it?"

I let out a slight laugh at his little quip and then reached out to touch his cheek. "Lance, I can't believe I did that. It's just--" I paused. Lance nodded for me to continue.

"Go on," He said, as I let my hand drop back to my side. "I'm listening."

"I don't think you deserve someone like me. I still don't understand why you came back. I don't understand why you wanna stay with a nut job like me?" I shook my head in confusion. "And especially after what I did up there? If I were you, I would have been out of this house faster than you could say...um," I was at a loss for words.

"I'll punch you again?" Lance offered, his lips breaking into a goofy grin that made me smile. I couldn't help but laugh out loud. It felt good to laugh. It felt even better knowing that Lance was the one who was making me laugh.

"Yes, `I'll punch you again'," I repeated as Lance pretended to stand up and leave the room.

"That's it, I'm outta here," he said, heading towards the door. "I've been assaulted once tonight--and not in the way I usually like," he joked. I walked over to him and pulled him back towards me and into my arms.

"Lucky I like nut jobs," Lance said as he stared into my eyes. How could I have wanted to punch him out? I thought sadly as I stared into his loving green eyes. He still cared about me? How lucky was I to have him in my life?

"Lance," I whispered. "I'm so sorry. You don't know how sorry I am for almost hitting you up there. I know that no apology can take the actions away, but, God..." I closed my eyes, letting my mind imagine the outcome if Lance hadn't ducked in time.

"Stephen...you were angry...I said something stupid..it was just...weird. It was a weird situation up there," Lance attempted to explain. "I still love you though. Even if you would have punched me, I'd still love you." He looked down at the rug, his face turning a bit pink before looking up at me once more. "Love doesn't just disappear like that you know."

"I know," I said, still horribly ashamed of what I had done. "But some things shouldn't be forgiven." I was about to pull out of our embrace when Lance pulled me back into it.

"Stephen," Lance said. "You can't get rid of me this easily. I'm in it for the long haul with you, you know." He said these words with an uneasy smile. It was a strange look, one that I had never seen cross his face before. And with that, Lance pulled me closer to him, roughly kissing me to get his point across. When we parted, Lance and I just stared at each other, not sure what to say.

"Come on," he finally said, letting me go from his arms. "Our food is getting cold." And with those words, Lance walked into the kitchen, and I had no other choice but to follow him. Somehow the tables had turned, but I'm not exactly sure how...

"So this was your fourth grade birthday party?" Lance asked, looking at the photo album in his lap. I nodded and placed another piece of sweet and sour chicken in my mouth.

"Yup. And that--" I pointed to the picture with my chopstick. "--was me back then. Pretty cute, huh?" I grinned as I chewed thoughtfully. Somehow, Lance and I had gotten around to talking about my childhood. I'm not sure how the topic had actually evolved into our conversation, but the next thing I knew, Lance and I were back in the living room, eating semi-cold Chinese food, surrounded by old photo albums that I had dragged out of the bookcase.

Lance looked at me with disbelief. "I'll be the judge of that," he scoffed, while giving me a smile to let me know that he was joking. "Actually, you haven't changed much. The hair is still a mess..." Lance examined my face and then looked back at the picture. "Same goofy expression...nah, I'd say that you look exactly the same--just a little older."

"Thanks," I laughed as I placed my half empty take out container on the endtable. I watched as Lance placed that photo album down and pick up another one. A look of happiness crossed his face as he skimmed the pages.

"Aww, this has to be Natalie," Lance assumed as he tipped the book towards me. I looked over the pictures and smiled.

"Yup--it's from around...hmmm," I said, rewinding my brain to when the pictures were taken. "Natalie's seventh birthday party, I think." I shifted closer to Lance and bent myself over to have a closer look. "Yup, these are from when she turned seven." As my eyes skimmed over the photographs, I caught sight of someone in the background and felt my face flush.

Lance, being the observant boy he was, noticed the change in my skin tone. "What's wrong, Stephen?" he asked teasingly. "Embarrassed about something?"

"No...yes...ah, maybe," I stammered as I leaned myself against the front of the couch. "Do you really want to know?" Lance nodded eagerly and an enthusiastic look appeared on his face.

"Okay..see that guy in the background?" I asked Lance as I pointed to a guy in one of the pictures. Lance peered at it and then nodded.

"Yup, who is he?"

I paused for a second, feeling my face turn hot with embarrassment. "I used to have the biggest crush on that guy," I confessed with a slight laugh. "He was the brother of one of the girls Natalie used to hang around with..." I shook my head. "He was the first person I liked."

"Mmmm," Lance said, as he placed a forkful of sesame chicken to his mouth. "Not bad looking. Did anyone know you liked him?" He looked at me quizzically as he waited for my answer. I nodded.

"Guess?" I asked him, a knowing expression on my face. Lance let out a laugh.

"One word: Cynthia?"

"Yup, right on the money. She was convinced she was gonna have us making out in my bedroom by the end of the party," I recalled somewhat fondly. "She was so determined, it was like her Holy Grail or something."

"That's Cynthia," Lance snickered as he continued flipping through the photo album. "So she knew before anyone else?" He must have noticed the confused look that crossed my face. "About you being gay?"

"Yeah--she can figure anything out at the drop of a hat," I said. "But I didn't mind telling her for some reason. Cynthia understood...she didn't care about my sexual preference as long as we still hung out together. And as long as I didn't hit on the guys she had the hots for. She'd kill me," I sighed. "Cynthia is more like a sister to me and not a cousin, you know?" Lance nodded at my explanation and then shut the photo album in his lap and placed it to the side. We sat there for a few seconds, before my eyes were drawn to an untouched album sitting on the floor. I wondered what pictures were fading in there, so I leaned over and picked it up. I scooted back to the couch, and Lance watched me as I opened the somewhat musty smelling album up. Mistake.

The photo album in my lap was chock full of the pre-Natalie days; when it was just my dad, my mom and me. As much as I wanted to snap the book shut, I just couldn't do it and my eyes were pulled to the somewhat faded pictures of the past. There I was when I was a small child, about eight or so, on my bicycle, while my father stood in back of me, steadying me on the two wheeled contraption. Lance leaned over, curious to know what had rendered me into silence. I looked up at him, with a sad smile on my lips as I parted them to explain.

"These are pictures of me when I was a kid," I said softly, as I ran my fingers over the shiny, protected pages. "You wanna see them?" I held out the book to Lance and he gingerly took it from me, as though he was afraid to touch it. His eyes moved over the pictures, and his mouth fell open in shock. He turned his head towards me and his eyes stared at me in disbelief.

"Stephen? Is this your father?" he asked, as though he couldn't believe it. I could only wordlessly bob my head up and down and reached over for a bottle of beer. I needed something to drink. My mouth was as dry as the Sahara desert.

"Stephen," Lance repeated my name, shaking his head as his pale fingers gently flipped the pages. "You look exactly like him...exactly." He looked up at me, his green eyes clear with wonder and amazement. "How come you never told me?"

I let out a laugh, much shorter and bitter than I had intended to. "What am I gonna tell you? `Hey Lance, you wanna know something? I am the spitting image of my dad?'" I shook my head. "What's the point of that? To let you know that everytime I look in the mirror, I see the image of a person who's life I could have saved?"

Lance opened his mouth in protest, but I cut him off. "Look, I know I could have saved his life if I tried harder. He might be alive today if I did. But I didn't and he's dead. And so is my mom. But with her it was the reverse: I opened my big mouth, caused her to go into therapy and then she killed herself. I was damned either way, I told you upstairs, it's all my fault she's dead." By the time I had finished my speech, I was shouting at Lance and he was flinching somewhat under the harsh tone of my voice.

Lance let a few seconds pass, before opening his mouth once more. "Stephen," he began, his words coming out in a low, husky whisper. "Can I just tell you something?"

I let out a sigh and shook my head. I would listen to him, but I wouldn't buy it.

"Look, for some reason, you're so wracked with guilt, you can't even think straight. Listen to what your saying...you didn't kill either of your parents." He leaned over and tapped my head. "You're a smart person...didn't you ever hear of something called `free will'?"

"Yes, Professor Bass," I said, taking another sip of my beer and rolling my eyes. Lance ignored my sarcastic gesture and continued on.

"Stephen, it's not like you pulled the trigger on the gun that you killed your dad, or stuck the razor blade between your mother's fingers." He hesitated to speak the next words, but did so anyway. "Your father made that decision to go to work and your mother held a strict set of beliefs. But you didn't kill either of them." Lance's face softened as he gazed at me. "Look, Stephen--I'm not one to play psychologist here--that's Chris' job," He added with a laugh before continuing "--but I think you feel so much guilt because you've always taken care of everyone throughout your life. You're used to everything going okay under your control and when you did finally let go of stuff and, dare I say it, placed your happiness first, everything goes wrong and you feel like it's your fault? Am I right?" Lance leaned back and stared at me, a look of expectancy on his face as he waited for my answer.

It had been the longest and most serious speech I had ever heard him give. And to be perfectly honest with you, I never thought he was capable of such a deep emotional thought. His words dug right underneath my skin and into my heart. And the creepiest thing about what Lance had said was that he was right. He had pegged my emotions perfectly...what I was thinking and feeling. He had outdone even Cynthia...

"You're right," I whispered. "You're absolutely right." I sat there, feeling emotionally paralyzed for a couple of seconds. And then I looked up and gave Lance a smile.

"How did you know?" I asked him helplessly. "How did you know something that never even dawned on me?" I narrowed my eyes at him. "Are you a psychic?"

Lance laughed. "Yes, Stephen, in my spare time I work for one of those psychic hotlines." His laughter faded and he stared at me with a thoughtful expression. "I guess I just know...I've spent so much time with you, I know you..." He shrugged. "I don't know what I'm saying. Maybe I'm drunk." He tapped his half-empty beer bottle next to him as though to prove a point.

"Lance, half a bottle? Come on," I said with a chuckle. "Maybe, it's just because you know me better than anyone else. You know, I've never really been close to anyone else before in my entire life--well, Cynthia, but she's my cousin. And she doesn't even know half the things you know about me."

Lance's eyes lit up at my confession. "Really? You make me feel so honored," Lance said, attempting to look bashful. I reached out and gently slapped him on the shoulder.

"Well, you should be," I said, before breaking into a yawn. "And I hate to say this, but I think I have to get to bed." I glanced at the clock. It was a little past one a.m. Usually, I can't sleep, but I just felt so worn down. Not to mention that I had to be up bright and early so I could attend the reading of my mother's will tomorrow.

Lance rolled his eyes at me. "Geez, Stephen--I told you before, you and Josh--form a sleeping club or something. I've never known two people to want to sleep so much," he teased me as I pulled him off the floor. I picked up the photo albums and placed them back on the book shelf, while Lance picked up the remains of our dinner and headed into the kitchen briefly, before emerging back into the living room.

"Ready?" I asked him, nodding towards the staircase. He nodded and we trudged up the steps together, not saying anything. I was lost in thought. Just a few hours ago, I was ready to pop Lance in the face. Now, I just wanted to lay next to him. Funny how the train of emotions rides, isn't it?

As I walked into the bedroom, I flipped on the ceiling light and sat down on my bed. Lance however, made a beeline for my dresser, where photos of Natalie and Cynthia sat. He picked them up and stared at them for a couple of seconds, before placing them back down and turned to me.

"You know what I like about you, Stephen?" Lance asked seriously as he ran his fingertips along the top of the dresser.

"What?"

He smiled at me before answering. "That you care so much about other people--Natalie and Cynthia--its really evident that you would do anything for them," Lance sighed as he shifted his gaze back to the pictures.

"Yeah," I snorted, with self-disgust. "I'm such a caring person--that's why I nearly slugged you out today, right?"

Lance looked at me again. "Stephen...you were angry," he sighed as he made his way to my bed. He plopped himself down on it and looked at me. "Sometimes, you just get so mad that you want to kill someone. I think we've all had that moment in life."

I stared at Lance a bit oddly. "What's with all of this philosophical stuff tonight?" I asked him quizzically as he reached up and stroked his fingers through my hair. Lance just smiled.

"I don't know...maybe it's because of what happened to us. Those few days apart made me realize how much I do care about you." Lance stopped to think for a second. "It was like something was missing." A knowing look came across his face. "And I know exactly what it is."

"What?" I wasn't sure what he was talking about. "You're not talking about sex, are you...because I need to tell you something. It's really serious," I stated nervously. I had to tell him. I had to.

Now it was Lance's turn to be confused. "What, Stephen?" A mischievous look crossed his face. "You're not pregnant are you?" I was a bit stunned to hear him say that, and then a burst of laughter left my lips.

"God, no!" I exclaimed, doubling over as Lance began to laugh as well. "What an ugly kid that would be--no, it's something else, and I need to tell you. Please?" Lance's laughter subsided and he was staring at me with a serious look on his handsome face.

"Shoot," he said, taking my hands in his. I took a deep breath. I had to tell him.

"Lance...I might not want to..." I swallowed the lump in my throat. I had to get this out. "...sleep with you for awhile...I just don't want you thinking that I don't find you attractive anymore, because God knows that I do," I said truthfully. "It's just that--"

Lance cut me off. "I know. I know exactly what you mean and to tell you the truth, I kinda expected it. You're still mourning and the last thing you want to think of is me slobbering all over you, right?"

I chuckled at his comment. "Well, I wouldn't say that I don't want to think of it anymore, but yes, you're right," I told him. "I'm just not feeling...sexual? Is that the word." I looked at Lance, praying to God that he understood what I was talking about.

"I think it is," Lance agreed, giving me a sleepy smile. "Don't worry about it. So I become reacquainted with my hand again. No big deal."

I just stared at my boyfriend with incredulity clearly written on my face. "You're impossible, you know that?" I teased Lance before leaning over and kissing him on the lips. "But thank you for understanding."

"Stephen, I love you. Why wouldn't I understand? But--" He pointed a finger at me. "There's still something I want from you."

"I've given you everything you've asked for. Now what?" I asked in mock frustration, throwing my hands up into the air. Lance just smiled at me.

"If you don't mind Stephen, I'd like my bracelet back," He said rather shyly, looking almost embarrassed. "That is, if you don't mind me wearing it."

My eyes locked with his. The bracelet. He still wanted to wear it. For a few seconds, my heart stopped beating and I just sat there, like a stone statue of myself. When I finally came back to life, a slow smile spread across my lips.

"Of course I don't mind," I told him, trying to keep my voice under control, as I got off the bed and walked over to the dresser where I had always kept the bracelet in. I took out the velvet box that contained the jewelry and then walked back over to where Lance was waiting.

"Are you sure you wanna wear this thing?" I asked him, narrowing my eyes at him as I undid the clasp. Just as I was about to snap it onto his wrist, I looked at him once more. "You positive? I don't wanna be labeling you or anything."

Lance rolled his eyes at my use of his comments. "Stephen, shut up and just put it on me," he said, as a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You know I didn't mean a word of that crap that I said to you that night. I was just mad and I wanted to hurt you." I slipped the clasp together and let the shiny metal rest on Lance's pale wrist.

"Ahh, much better," Lance sighed, fingering the bracelet. "I feel whole again." We stared at each other for a few seconds, before Lance leaned over and placed a soft kiss on my lips.

"I love you Stephen--remember that," he sighed happily as he fell back on to the bed. Lance looked up at me and smiled. "Weren't you the one that was tired?"

I nodded. "Yup--who needs to join a sleeping club, now?" I teased him as I got off the bed to shut off the lights. I walked to the bed, and stepped out of my shorts. Lance watched as I did this and then let out a forlorn sigh.

"I don't know how I'm gonna control myself," he murmured as I laid next to him. I rolled into his arms and felt himself press his body against mine. "Good night, Stephen." Lance placed as soft kiss on my earlobe.

"Good night, Lance,' I whispered, craning my neck to give him a kiss. Once our lips touched, my eyes closed and I felt a thrill shoot through my body. I was so lucky, I thought as we smiled at each other in the darkness. And then since there was nothing left to say, I lay in Lance's arms, eventually falling asleep.

Like it? Hate it? Love it? Thought I could have done better? Just want to say `hi'? Drop me a line at sweetheart_stories@hotmail.com and tell me about it (now I sound like an episode of Springer ::sigh::)

One more thing, here's some stories in the archive I think you should go and read:

A Little Bit of Love ( I want this one updated, John! You bated me with Ross...)

Umm Whatever `N Sync Saga Deceiving Secrets We Admitted It The Wilted Rose Story of My Love The Fragile

There are a ton more...I just can't think of them right now and I feel really bad that I can't...so if I missed yours, I'm sorry...well, time for me to shut up. Thanks for reading everyone...love, Gabriella.