He came to you one night, the night he broke up with her the first time.

You opened your hotel room door, found him leaning against the frame, wearing only his jeans and clenching his cell phone in one hand. His hair was mussed, as if he’d been running agitated fingers through it. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.

“I need you, Joey,” he’d whispered as he wrapped long, shaking arms around your neck, pressed his lips against yours.

“Erase her,” he muttered against the skin of your neck.

“Make me forget her,” he breathed against your lips as he covered them again with his own.

You knew that it wasn’t a good idea. You knew he’d end up breaking you, but you just didn’t care.

So you let him push you down on your hotel bed, let him undress you, himself. Let him put his mouth on you, let him push his way, finally, into your body. Let him curl against you in slumber.

You held him close and told yourself it was enough.

That was the first time he’d come to you. The next day, he was back with Britney and you were alone again.

He still came to you a year and a half later. They seemed to break up more often now, and you didn’t question Justin’s need when he came to you. You gave him what he asked for, and you smiled for him when he got back with Britney.

JC knew, would watch you on those days, would see the smiles and wonder. You figured it was better than him really knowing, than Justin knowing. Because you’d rather cry than smile and you’re not sure what that would do, how they would react.

JC follows you from Lance’s room, where you’d gathered for lunch. He grabbed your arm in the hallway.

“You going to keep letting him use you like this?”

You nod, waving away JC’s concerns because if you can’t have him one way, you’ll take him another. You’ve always been told that something is better than nothing. You can’t remember who told you first, or last. You really don’t think you could, if asked, recall a single person who’d told you that, ever.

But you know you have heard it, and it’s something you cling to.

JC calls after you as you walk down the hallway, into your room. It’s dark and empty, and you curl up on the bed to sleep.

You wake up hours later to pounding on your door. You thought it was JC, but opened it up to find Justin leaning against the frame. “Again?” you ask, and he nods. JC comes out of the room across from yours. He looks angry and you know why, you know what his problem is. But you don’t know how to explain to him.

He grabs for Justin’s arm, but Justin throws himself toward you and wraps his arms around your neck, clinging. You meet JC’s eyes and see the pity in them before you shut the door in his face.

“It’s for good this time, Joey.”

You nod, because he’s said that before, and hold him close.

“Can you just… I don’t want… I just want to sleep.”

You hide your surprise behind a bland smile because he’s never asked to do that before. But you’re not going to tell him no so you let him pull you to the bed, let him arrange the two of you on it so his back is pressed to your front and your arms are around him and his curls tickle your nose.

“Just this,” he whispers.

“Yes," you say and, closing your eyes, fall asleep again.

In the morning, you wake up still wrapped around him. That in itself is strange because he’s normally gone by now, whispering into his cell phone promises of love and forever in between smacking air kisses.

You find it odd but you don’t dare let yourself hope. You pull yourself from around him and, after a quick shower during which he still doesn’t wake up, head to Lance’s room for breakfast. JC isn’t here, has either eaten already or isn’t awake yet, and you thank whatever lucky stars you still have.

You convince Lance to go shopping with you, and once at the mall, convince him to see a movie, wasting all the free time you might otherwise have spent watching Justin on his phone. You get back to the hotel minutes before your sound check and manage to avoid Justin’s attempts to get you alone. You don’t want to hear what he has to say. You pretend not to see him, feel him watching you backstage, as you change from one outfit to another.

You ignore him and tell yourself that it’s enough, that you can do this. That what he gives you and what you need can be the same, will be the same, because it’s all you’ve got.

After the concert you all go back to the hotel. You’re playing twice here, so there’s no midnight bus trip, no guaranteed time away from Justin. He’s not playing the game right, and you don’t know what he’s going to do.

So you’re not surprised when he knocks on your door that night, because nothing he’s done in the past 24 hours can surprise you anymore. You let him in and he collapses against you, his arms around your neck. You pull away from him, missing the hurt that crosses his features.

“You call her today?” you ask, facing the window, though the view is currently blocked by heavy curtains.

“Who?”

You laugh bitterly. “Britney.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.”

“So you’re together again? Why are you here?”

“What? No! We’re not together again. I told you, it’s for good this time.”

You can’t trust him. It’s only been a day.

“How do you know?”

“She’s dating a dancer now. I can’t remember his name, Dante or something. She started awhile ago.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know. She wouldn’t say. But she’s tired of us. I am too.”

You hear the springs creak as he drops onto your bed. You move closer to the window and pull the curtains back. You need to remind yourself that there is more than this, more than him. You can’t let him consume you.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why are you here?” You turn to look at him. “Why do you keep coming here?”

He shrugs, and you hope that’s not his only answer. “I guess… you don’t ever tell me I can’t.”

“So if I did tell you that?”

His muscles clench as he raises desperate eyes to yours. “Don’t, please.”

“Why not?”

“Because I need you. Please. You keep me sane, safe, happy. I can’t live without that.”

“But you can get it anywhere. You don’t need it from me.”

“I do.”

“What about what I need? How do you think that feels? To be used and then set aside until I’m needed again?”

You watch his face drop, watch as the color drains from his cheeks. His hands clutch each other, the fingers fighting each other. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“Yeah.”

“Well great, you’re sorry.” You drop into a chair near the wall, watching him. He needs you, you know he does, but you need so much more from him, and you know that now. “That just isn’t enough. I’m sorry, but I can’t-“

“I love you.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

“I know, I heard. I mean why?”

“For all the reasons I said before.”

“Because I’m the anti-Britney?”

“For starters.”

“Good a reason as any, I suppose.”

“Joey?”

“What?”

“Do you love me?”

And you hold out a hand to him, invite him to sit on your lap. You can tell he feels stupid doing this, can tell that he thinks he’s too big, too masculine to sit on your lap. But you’re tired of going to him, and he knows that.

You wrap your arms around his waist and pull him tight against you. You kiss his cheek, his neck, his forehead. You twine your fingers with his, trace them over his body and yours, up and down in long, sweeping caresses. You move your mouth to cover his and are surprised when he pulls away, moves his face out of reach and looks down at you.

“You haven’t answered me.”

You smile and pinch the warm flesh underneath your fingers. “Of course I do.”

His smile is so bright it almost hurts to look at, and his arms around you are so tight you can barely breath. But you’ll take it. You’ll take it and you’ll take him because you’re not trying to erase anything anymore, only create.