Claimed ~ Justin Bieber

Chapter Forty-Five

Songs for this chapter are:

Love Ain't Enough - JRDN

High For This - The Weeknd

WIthout You - Usher

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Justin's POV

My head was pounding against my skull the minute my senses awoke. I groaned loudly, grabbing my forehead in pain.

I must've drank too much when I went out last night. Of course I regret that, Brooke is probably extremely mad at me. Speaking of Brooke, I reached my arm out to the side of the bed, only for my arm to smack against the cold bed. My eyes flung open, but I soon relaxed myself. She was probably asleep on the couch, since she's mad.

I sat up, the pain in my head decreasing a bit at the change in angle. I was still in my clothes from last night, and I don't bother changing as I walked down the stairs. I creeped quietly, just in case Brooke was still asleep. I peeked into the living room, only to see the large black leather couch, completely empty.

My heart raced as I quickly exited the living room, sprinting back up the stairs. I checked every single room in the house, Brooke's joyful presence not in any of them.

"Shit shit shit shit," I muttered, running back down the stairs. I turned into the kitchen, seeing a crisp white sheet of paper laying on the counter. I snatched it up in my shaky hands, my eyes flying over the neat handwriting.  My first thought was the worst. I thought I had blown it. I thought Brooke had run away, yet again, for the first time in months.

Justin,

Damn you're stupid. Hope you had fun getting drunk last time. I know you're my leader and everything, but you really fucked up. Brooke is safe, but you my friend are in deep shit. You didn't remember her last night and scared the hell out of her. Call me when you wake up.

-Dave

I swallowed hard and allowed the note to flutter to the floor.

I didn't remember her?

I scared her?

My mind raced with all the possibilities of the stupid things I could've done to her. I ran back up the stairs, taking them three at a time. By the time I reached the top my legs were burning but I couldn't care less. I clicked Dave's contact on my phone and pressed it to my ear quickly. While waiting for him to pick up, I set up my laptop and clicked on the program linked to Brooke's tracking device. I typed in the password and immediately the red dot popped up. She was located in Dave's house.

"Hello?"

"Dave? How is she? What happened?" I rushed into the phone. I threw on my shoes, almost falling on my way down the slippery hard wood stairs.

"She's. . . uh. . ." Dave paused, fighting to find the write word, "broken."

"Broken?" I repeated, closing and locking the front door.  Why did everyone keep fucking saying that about her?

"She's really upset, but mad at you too." He explained. "Are you on your way over?"

I scoffed, "Of course I am."

"I don't know if she'll want to talk to you. . ." Dave trailed of awkwardly.

"She's the love of my life. Do you think I'm going to sit at home and let her sit and mourn about something stupid I've done?" I growled, not bothering to put on my seat belt. It's not like anyone would give a fuck if I'd die anyways. I doubt even Brooke would care right now, but I don't blame her.