Hey! It's me again. This is part two of "Remembering Petticoat Lane" Though.. you should probably know that by now if you followed to links all the way here.The full, extremely long disclaimer is in the first part, but I will once again reiterate. I don't know NSync. I don't know Lou Perlman. I don't know anything about the sexualities, past histories, preferences, favorite foods, mother's maiden names, or tour history of the aforementioned NSync and Lou Perlman. I merely know that NSync is supposedly good friends with Scottie Gomez, the only Hispanic player on the NHL, and the 18th Alaskan Player, and member of the Stanley Cup Winning New Jersey Devils! I also know that I wouldn't trust Lou Perlman with my mother's lunch money, but that's my own personal opinion.
Also, don't read this if you're offended by homosexuality, real-person slash, or if you're under 18.
Special Warning: I mentioned that this story gets dark and messy. It starts Here, folks. If you are light of heart, or like your stories all happy, all the time, this is not the place for you.
Special reference is made to "Good Will Hunting" which I do not own. Title for this part comes from Tori Amos' "Me and a Gun". I thought it fit.
Remembering Petticoat Lane Part Two: "It was me and a gun and a man on my back"
"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."
"Nice try, Lance, but you came out to us last time you got like this,
remember?" Josh's voice was warm, but stern. He wasn't getting away easily.
"I.. I guess it's kind of related." He sipped the coffee, and took a deep breath. He was already tearing up again, and he hadn't even told them anything. He steeled himself, and then plunged ahead. As patient as they were being now, they weren't going to wait forever. He knew he had to tell this, it was eating him up. That didn't mean he had to enjoy it, though. "Do
you remember how Lou used to stay close to us, back when we were still a young group? Before we hit it big?"
He glanced around, and saw the somewhat encouraging nods, they were
following him. He couldn't continue if he was watching them, though, so his
head went down, and he stared at the blackish reflection in his coffee.
"Well, he... He used to come into my room, at night. Or right after practice, or publicity, or whatever. He would t..touch me. He used me to get off. When I was younger, I was so terrified of him that I just didn't say anything at all. I thought if I did better--if I danced better or sang better He'd go away, he'd leave me alone." Lance's voice was cracking on him now, the tears were flowing freely, "As I got older, though, I realized that that wasn't going to work, so I started to resist, and talk back. But then, it got to the point that he told me that if I didn't... have sex with him, he'ddrop our contract, and then out me publicly. I.. I guess that's one of the reasons I was so into the move to Jive, I thought. that it'd get better, you know? But it hasn't gone away, I get nightmares. I.. I can't escape him."
There was one terrifyingly long moment when the rest of the guys sat in shock. So much had come out in so little time that it was almost terrifying. It was terrifying. The moment was broken when Josh pulled a now openly sobbing Lance into his arms. "Scoop, I'm so sorry. We're sorry, we didn't know."
"That bastard! I swear to God, next time I see him I will Kill him!" Justin was on the verge of yelling, his hands were locked in fists, even as tears rolled down his face. Joey simply made his way over to Lance and JC, and enveloped them in a hug. Chris sat in his chair, still half in shock, but openly crying for Lance.
It took a few minutes, but slowly the group regained its composure and fully absorbed the impact of what had been said. It was true that they had broken free of Lou Perlman's company, but this wasn't going to be solved by that legal battle. Another, more insidious wrong had been committed against them, and it was too late to repair it in its simplest reincarnation. They had to fight the aftermath now.
"Where do we go from here?"
Justin's question was soft-spoken, but it was the truest reflection of what they had all been thinking. What now? What could they possibly do now?
"Therapy. For Lance at least, possibly some group stuff to get all the...shock worked through. We...definitely need to talk, and we need to support Scoop, no matter what." The psychologist in Chris was exhibiting himself full force, and for once in his advice-giving career it was a welcome transition. Well, mostly welcome at least.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Lance's hands were up in a defensive position. He had pulled away from JC, and had an almost wild expression in his eyes. "No. No therapy for anyone. I don't need it, we'll be fine. Plus, there's no way we could keep it from the press without explaining the need to management, and I don't want them to know about this."
"Lance, ol' buddy ol' pal. I hate to be the one to break this to you, but you're not getting over this. If anything, it's been getting worse." JC was stern on the point, but he had a hand on Lance's neck, soothing him through touch, if not words. "You can't fight this one alone, James, and I don't think we can fight it for you either. We have to tell management that we need a therapist. We don't have to tell them why. If they ask, we'll tell them we're having trouble getting along. Something simple. You need this -- We need this."
"Abuse victims have long-lasting psychological damage that can range from a simple insuperiority complex to a complicated web of different personalities. I'm fairly sure you aren't another 'Sybil', Lance, but this other junk is long-lasting and dangerous to your health. You need therapy, Lance."
Lance glared at Chris, before dropping his head and softly agreeing. "Fine, but no one else knows. Not the label, not parents, significant others, -no one-."
The guys agreed, of course. They hadn't planned on blabbing this to anyone, anyway. It was Lance's secret to bear, his burden to keep. After that, the conversation died down to an awkward silence they hadn't experienced since their early days together. No one knew quite what to say to each other, but they were all too wired to get up and go to bed. It was Chris that broke it, in a soft but firm voice.
"It wasn't your fault, you know."
"I know that Chris, but thank you." A brush-off, a complete ignoring of the statement.
"It wasn't your fault."
"I -know-."
"You didn't deserve it, it wasn't your fault."
"God Damnit, Chris! I'm not Matt Damon, you don't need to pull this shit with me!" Displacement. Anger, misplaced but present. A defensive mechanism thrown up hastily to protect himself. From what, though? Already-present memories, or a revelation?
"I'm not pulling any 'shit' with you, Lance; it wasn't your fault."
No verbal response, Lance's head merely dropped down again, and he looked at his lap. The other guys were watching, hesitant to step in. This was a volatile but important line that Chris was walking. Chris got up out of his chair, and went to kneel in front of Lance.
"It wasn't your fault, James."
That was the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. Lance started crying -- silent, but painful sobs that shook his entire body. Chris moved up and pulled him into a hug, softly intoning the phrase to him again and again. After a few painful minutes, Lance stopped crying, and pulled away. He was completely drained, emotionally and physically. JC scooted down on the couch, and motioned for Lance to go ahead and lie down in his lap. After a couple of seconds of hesitance, Lance complied. He was asleep in seconds.
"You guys go on to bed. I'll sit up with him just in case."
Just in case the nightmares return. It was the unwhispered threat that loomed over them. All the guys filtered out of them room, stopping to watch Lance, or softly touch him. Justin even kissed him lightly on the forehead before he left. JC, with Lance's head in his lap, was the only one still awake, the only one that intended to -stay- awake. He was softly, and carefully carding his fingers through Lance's hair, chasing away the demons that ran amok in his friend.