Doesn't everyone just love brand new stories by brand new authors? I will admit that this one has been kicking around my favorite places for a few months now. I have no clue exactly what gave me the guts to attempt sending it now, but... Well, I got 'em! Heh. This would be the first part of -anything- I've -ever- written that I've submitted to a formal archive. Here's hoping it doesn't bomb, huh?
The normal disclaimer applies here. I don't own or know the members of the band NSYNC, and I'm not nearly big enough of a fan to want to. I'm not presumptuous enough to claim to know anything about their sexualities, specifically those of Lance Bass or J.C. Chasez (Gee, can we guess who I paired up?), nor anything about their personal lives or past histories. I would also like to include the fact that I know nothing about Lou Perlman, his personal character, sexuality, or history, either. The only thing I know about him is that I though he came off as a real slimebag in "Making of the Band", and my mommy agreed with me. The title of the story is stolen from the Jurassic Park Soundtrack. "Remembering Petticoat Lane" is a quirky little track that sounds like it belongs in the middle of the movie "Sybil" not in the middle of a dinosaur blockbuster. The title of the chapter is stolen from the Sarah McLachlan song, "Building a Mystery." I promise that everything else is actually my idea.
Don't read this story if you're offended by homosexuality, actor slash, or if you're a year younger then me (Which would be 17, since I am 18). For a final warning,this story is going to contain some dark, icky themes. If your idea of a good story to read never contains angst or exceptionally painful past experiences for one of the guys, this is not the story for you.
An extra blurb here. To the author of "Playing for Keeps" (I regret that my browser is being funky and I can't look up your name right now), I promise you that I didn't intend to get anywhere close to your idea. This really -has- been in my inbox for -ages- and if anything, you just helped me find the nerve to post it.
A very slim number of you may recognize my e-mail address from my responding to your stories (a total of 3, I think...). To the rest of you, the address is fishofhappiness@aol.com. Feel free to respond with love or hate. I'll do my best to respond back, but no promises. I tend to the shy side, even on the 'net.
And, with no further ado (I promise!)...
Remembering Petticoat Lane Chapter 1: "You woke up screaming aloud"
He woke up screaming. He had thought this would be over, now that things were different. Now that they had escaped. But it seemed his luck couldn't quite hold out. They may have been under new management, but some things weren't fixed that easily.
James 'Lance' Bass was still haunted. In fact, it had gotten worse.
In the months that *N Sync had been with Jive records, his nightmares had only gotten worse. It had to be the stress, or something. After all, He should be over this. He should be okay. It was over, and he was over it. Over it all...Wasn't he?
One barefoot went over the side of the bed, onto the hotel room floor, closely followed by the second one. Slowly, weakly he made himself sit up. He still felt shaky from the dream. Or maybe that was from the fact
that he was barely sleeping, and only eating when he couldn't avoid it. He
could avoid it a lot. It was just on those occasions when the band would
eat together, in a more formal setting, that he couldn't avoid the concerned looks from JC and Joey that made him want to eat. He didn't eat for himself anymore. He didn't do anything for himself anymore.
He stood up, cautiously, and made his way to the kitchenette of the
hotel suite he and 'the guys' were staying in. He was garbed in green boxers, and a white T-shirt. He hated sleeping in anything less, it bothered him. It made him more nervous then he should be. He shouldn't be nervous. Shouldn't be scared. He reached into a cabinet, and pulled out a clear glass, one that would normally be used for cognac, or other fine liquors. This time, it was used for plain tap water.
He lifted the glass to his mouth, sipping slowly, as if afraid that
the glass, like so many things on this planet, would suddenly become a threat to him.
"Couldn't sleep again, Lance?"
He dropped the glass, it made a loud, shattering sound as it hit the sink, fell to the floor and broke into a million shards. The voice
was soft and familiar, but it was close. He froze up, and the blood that had been returning to his face quickly fled again. He could feel the speaker's breath on his neck, and it was just like ... just like...
"Lance? Lance!"
He was spun around, his vision was cloudy, his breathing was panicked and fast. He was spun around ... to face JC. JC looking at him like he had grown a second (third?) head. Which, he just might have.
"J..Josh?"
Josh's forehead wrinkled in concern, he released Lance's shoulders,
his hands dropping to his side, even as he spoke.
"I came in here, and asked if you couldn't sleep, and you... panicked, dropped the glass. I've never seen you jump like that."
"Glass. The glass. I'm sorry."
Lance was jittery, still shaken up. He picked a kitchen towel up from the counter, and dropped to his knees almost frantically cleaning up the broken glass. His head was down, his eyes completely on what he was doing. One would think he had his concentration in the here and now, but it wasn't, and that showed when one shard sliced into the palm of his left hand.
"Shit!"
He almost dropped the whole mess again, even as he pulled his hand back in pain. Josh had dropped down beside him, and reached out to touch Lance's shoulder. Lance looked at him sharply-his eyes had filled with tears, and Josh could feel his shoulder shaking just so slightly.
"Lance, what's wrong?"
"I cut my hand."
"I noticed. What's keeping you up at night?"
"I can't sleep."
"Or eat. Or smile. Or laugh, or live, or relax. Dammit, Lance! We're worried about you... you've been like this for a month now, and we don't know what's going on! We want to help you, James."
The soft use of his first name disturbed him. It meant other things, other stronger things that he didn't want to think about right now.
"I can't tell you."
"What about one of the others? Joey? Justin?"
"I can't tell anyone."
"You can trust us, Lance. We won't push you away."
"You don't know what's going on. ..."
"I don't care. I-- we love you, Lance. We just want to help."
"No one can help me."
It was with those words that Lance stood up, pulling away from JC. He dumped the remnants of the glass into the trash can, and quietly walked to the bathroom.
"Josh is right, ya' know. We only wanna help, Scoop."
He jumped again at the new voice, but not nearly as badly. Justin. The glass breaking must have woken him, because he was leaning on the wall in the hallway, looking disheveled and drowsy. Lance turned to him, and with a sigh stated, "I'm fine, Justin."
"No, you aren't, Scoop, and we aren't going to stop until we know what's wrong."
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow, what?" Justin asked, half walking, half stumbling towards the bathroom.
Lance muttered something almost dismissively as he rummaged around for a bandage. He found what he was looking for and set about caring for the cut on his hand.
"Tomorrow, what, Lance?"
Two on one were not fair odds. He raised his voice a little, making his discomfort and general animosity for the situation well known.
"Tomorrow I'll tell you."
"I hate to tell you this, Scoop, but it is tomorrow."
There was Joey now. What the hell was this, a watch-Lansten-fall-to- pieces-convention? He didn't realize he had spoken aloud until Chris's voice answered him.
"No, if it was a convention, we'd all have i.d. passes on instead of pajamas."
"Look, Lance." Josh's voice was soft but insistent, "We're all up, we're all worried, and we have a day off tomorrow to deal with whatever it is. Let's go into the main room, sit down, and you can just tell us now."
"I.. okay. Okay." Reluctantly, and with the air of a condemned man walking to his grave, Lance followed JC's lead on into the main sitting area.
Josh sat Lance down on a large, overstuffed couch, and took a seat beside him. Justin and Chris walked (all be it in a rather clumsy, half-asleep fashion) into the room, and took up the two easy chairs that sat at an angle
to the couch. Joey stopped by the kitchen first, and put on some coffee. As soon as it was made up, he entered the living room and set the mugs down on the table. He went out of his way to hand a cup to Lance, offering premature support in even that small way.
"Thanks, Joey. I guess you all are wondering what's been going on, eh?"
"Yeah, that's pretty much the whole point of this, Scoop." Justin said, starting to wake up to his normal, more vibrant self.
"Well, it's... it's messy." He was about to reveal his biggest secret, the thing that gave him sudden flashbacks in the midst of ordinary situations. He had only one possible out, but he didn't think it would work. "Guys, I'm gay."