Model in Love (A Justin Timberlake Fan Fiction) EDITING

Chapter 5

"Rachel, remember Britney? The girl I'm crushing on?"

"What happened?" I asked, interested.

"Well, I kissed her."

I was tremendously surprised; why would he kiss a girl he barely knew?

"What? When did this happen?"

"I kissed her, yesterday. I couldn't wait to tell you, I was too impatient," he explained. "What about you? Crushing on anybody I should know?" he wondered.

"No, Justin I'm not ready for those things. I'm nine years old, not thirteen."

I asked myself why I felt angry. Was this jealousy, or just a gut feeling they were not going to work out?

"I gotta go, Justin. Let's talk later, okay?"

"Sure, talk to you later."

I hung up.

As soon as I finished talking to Justin, I saw Sam standing by the TV.

"Hey little sis, are you mad?" She looked worried.

This was the first time she'd ever worried about me. What was happening?

"Why do you care?" I snapped.

"I care because. . . because you're special to me," she confessed.

"Me? Special?" I asked, confused.

"Look, Rach. I know we've had hard times together. I just want to say sorry. Will ya forgive me?"

"Sure, but I'm watching you." I walked away, heading upstairs to Mama.

I quietly tiptoed to her room. She was laying on her side as I entered. It was full of silence, no sound anywhere to be heard.

I knew what I did was a mistake. She must have hated me right now, if not frustrated with me. If I was her, I knew I would been angry with myself.

I gently lay beside Mom, hugging her from the back. After laying there for a couple minutes, I could hear Mom silently weep, until she turned, facing toward me.

"Mom?" Without responding, she stroked my cheek, smiling, then placed a kiss on my forehead.

"I love you, Rachel. But you need to know that you need to obey," she whispered.

"Mom, are you mad at me?"

"No, of course not. I'm just disappointed in you, but I am mad at your father."

"Did you and Daddy have a fight?"

"Yes, but—" She stopped at mid sentence as she covered her mouth with her hand.

She rushed to the bathroom as I heard her vomit. Mama seemed different these past weeks; she was more gentle. I wondered if she'd been sick, she'd had nausea each morning. I was worried. I hoped she got better.

"Mama, are you alright?" I yelled across the room.

As a response, I heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on. "Yeah, I'm fine. No need to worry," she said, walking out of the bathroom.

"Mom, you need some rest. I'll come back later, and bring you some dinner," I enjoined.

"That's really sweet of you, honey, but you don't have to."

I got up from the bed.

"I'll make you some homemade tomato soup, okay?"

"Rachel, wait!"