Prologue


Through her tears, she peered out the limousine window at the spotlights outside of the theater. Velvet ropes had been lined along the sidewalk leading from the street to the front doors and pressed in against them were flocks of rabid photographers, cameras poised and ready to shoot. She pulled the chest of her dress up, adjusting her breasts and tossed her hair. Her face felt stiff from the cakes of make-up she was wearing - perfectly applied by only the best professionals to ensure she looked the most amazing she possibly could at her debut on live television.

"How're you feeling?" Craig asked, leaning closer to her. His big, bulky black frame gave her a sense of protection that she hadn't felt in -- well, before Nick, she hadn't ever felt it. But lately, even with Nick...

"I'm okay," Krystal answered, smiling weakly. She swiped at her eyes and took a deep breath. "Oh God, Craig, no I'm not okay. I'm dying here." She turned in her seat, the sequins on her tight-legged dress squeaking across the leather seats. "What if I trip? What if I hit a bad note? I'm so scared."

"You'll be okay," Craig promised. He laid a huge hand on her shoulder, "You're an amazing girl," he added, "No worries, right?"

Krystal nodded. "I just... I wish so much that --" she stopped and shook her head. "Nevermind."

Craig sighed, "I wish he was here, too."

The limousine pulled to a halt. They were two back from her first red carpet entrance. Krystal's heart was slamming against the inside of her ribs. She felt like she could die on the spot.

"Was he scared?" she asked, "The first time he went to one of these things?"

Craig's smile stretched across his face, "He was scared last week went he went to one of these things," he replied with a chuckle.

Krystal laughed. "Well then," she took a deep breath as the car moved forward again. "So it never gets easier?"

"It gets harder, actually," Craig replied, "Because the bigger your name is, the more impressive you're expected to be."

"Well that's a comfort," Krystal giggled.

"In a twisted way," Craig answered. He moved his hand to his ear piece and listened intently a moment. "Okay, we're next. Deep breath, beautiful. Ready?" he reached around her, his big, heavy chest pressed against her tiny, pale body. She swallowed, then nodded. Craig opened the door.

Krystal's heart was pretty sure that her heart was pounding louder than the screams of the crowd that greeted her as she stepped out of the limousine.

Instantly, about five reporters converged on her. "Krystal! Krystal Armaletto!" The people behind the barricade started screaming, waving their hands, and Krystal stood, shell shocked for a moment before her instincts took over to carry her through.

"Is it true you were hospitalized for cutting this week?"

"Over here, sexy! Hey! Over here!"

"Look this way, Krys!"

"Are you really an alcoholic?"

"Hey a lil more to your right, baby girl!"

"Gossip mills are saying you're depressed. What says you?"

"Krystal, look over here!"

"Does Nick Carter really beat you?"

"Where is Nick, Krystal?"

"Krystal over here!"

"Hey everybody!" she screamed, throwing double peace signs. Her feet were clad in combat boots under her elegant red-sequined cocktail dress and she tossed her hair, smirked, and yelled, "WHO'S READY TO GET IT ON!??"

Craig grabbed her arm firmly and pulled her along past the screaming, reaching crowd. Flashes from the cameras worked like strobe lights and Krystal moved and threw winks and blew kisses and popped her hips all the way up the red carpet to the venue, her dress twinkling like it was a Christmas display. When she reached the steps, she held up her arms over her head, blew one more kiss, and bounded through the doors.

As soon as they shut behind her, she collapsed against the wall, her eyes closed, breath and hands shaking, and prayed she'd managed to look happy so he would come back.

Chapter One
Point of View: Nick


The first time I met her, she was dancing with an umbrella in bright red galoshes in the middle of the street at two o’clock in the morning, singing a song I’d never heard before in the most ridiculous tone-deaf, off-key manner, splaying out her fingers and spinning, spinning, spinning around and around, as the rain fell down and made her little braids stick to her neck.

She was wearing nothing but underwear, those galoshes, and a necklace – which was a bunch of colorful plastic beads strung together on birthday present ribbon of the most brilliant sapphire blue.

I thought she was insane.

”I’m haaaappy in the rain, like a washed up clam, relaxin’ in the sand – so happy singing and dancing in the rain, the world is bring and I feel alright – so happy, just feeling the rain on my skin… it fixes everything…”

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” I demanded of her, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The rain pattered against my head. I’d been listening to her tuneless wailing for the past hour – the same song, over and over and over again – but it was too hot to close the window. I ventured into the night rain to confront the mysterious musical woman on the cement out front.

“Dance with me!” she cried in a lunatic voice.

“What nut house did you escape from?” I asked her, watching as she pirouetted through puddles and kicked the water up like little fireworks.

She grabbed my hands as response, and I felt her palms were sticky and slimy. Paint - like actual acrylic paint- oozed from between our hands and she laughed and her eyes scrunched up tight and she spun me around with her in circles, gripping my fingers tightly in her own. When she finally stopped, we stumbled in opposite directions, each clutching our stomachs. She laughed as she retched into the bushes that lined my front lawn.

Now I knew she was insane. Completely, motha-fucking looney.

Once she’d finished puking out her guts, she looked at me, all unfocused and wobbly, and announced, “I’m really sleepy, Mister.”

“Well it is two in the fucking morning,” I answered, “Go to bed.”

“And waste all this beautiful rain?” she asked, spreading out her arms to indicate the waterfall around us, which was growing heavier by the moment. Her bra, I could not help but notice, was very pale yellow, very wet and very, very see-through.

Really, I was trying not to look but… well, they were nice, so in a way I was trying to not not-to look, too. Paint was running down her arms and I looked at my hands and realized she’d smeared it all up my arms, too, and all over my shirt. I felt like a rainbow barfed on me.

“Look, I’m going inside, just please go sing somewhere else, okay? I have a early morning and I can’t sleep with you out here sounding like a bagpipe with an airleak, okay?”

She looked at me. “You’re Nick, huh?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“I’m Krystal,” she introduced herself. She pointed at the house across the street. “I’m painting it purple with yellow doors and blue shutters. Is that okay with you?”

I blinked at her. “Dude,” I said quietly, “What the fuck are you on right now?”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Perhaps I’ll paint a giant daisy across the front of the house and use the little window over the door as its center bud…” she smiled, “Wouldn’t that be most fantastic?”

“Good night,” I said, turning toward my house. I had enough drugged-up people in my life right now… I didn’t need another one. I was so fucking sick of hearing about drugs and alcohol and rehab and all that bullshit these days that it was incredible…

Krystal reached for my hand. “I don’t like being alone,” she said.

“So call your friends.” I tried to pull my hand back, but she’d grabbed my weak one and I winced. The bones in there still hurt, they hadn’t quite finished healing just yet…

“I don’t have any,” she replied. “Not even one.”

Her eyes were sincere.

“Did you keep all the old ones up til 2am singing?” I asked. “’Cause call me crazy, but I think that might scare them away.”

Krystal smiled sadly, but she let go of my hand meekly.

“Good night,” I said, my voice carrying the tone of finality.

Krystal stood on the yellow solid line between sides of the street and watched as I walked away, up the path to my house, which I locked for once.

Inside, I headed straight up to my bedroom and glanced out the window as I ripped off my shirt. Krystal had sat down on the yellow line, her red umbrella like a mushroom hanging over her head.

I shook my head, “Jesus, she’s fucked up…” I muttered, snatching the covers off my bed and crawling in the pouch. I tucked myself in and closed my eyes.

I’d been laying there maybe a minute and a half when the singing started once more.

Chapter Two
Point of View: Krystal


Hangover. From. Hell.

My head felt like I was 2,000 leagues under the sea without the submarine, and my eyes were being sucked out by a giant octopus or something. Basically I wanted to die. Dying would've made the headache go away, made the blurry shadowy world I was peeking at through my eyelashes either turn off or focus.

Hangover. From. Hell. Haaangover. Froooom. Heeeeeellllllllloh. my. God.

My focus had returned enough to realize that the blurry-shadowy shape I was staring up at was not my bedroom ceiling, nor any other ceiling in my house, or a ceiling at all. It was a man.

I flipped over and realized I was in my yellow lingerie set and - what the fuck? Were those my galoshes? "Oh fuck," I hissed. I landed on a carpet and ducked behind the arm of the sofa I'd just been laying on. The blonde GOD of a man stared at me, a bit perplexed, his gorgeous blue eyes blinking in confusion, a half a smirk on his face.

"Too much to drink, huh?" he asked, a snicker sneaking up behind the words.

"Who the fuck are you?" I demanded.

"Whoa now, calm down, Krystal," he said, the snicker and the smirk disappearing. "You're the one that practically knocked down my door last night, following me in like a lost dog."

I had no clue what happened last night. The last thing I could consciously remember was getting fired from my awesome-ass job at the local Dairy Queen and going home to paint away my emotions. I hope I drank actual liquor and not some fucked up mixture of paint thinners or something, I thought, only half joking. I was moderately certain I would be dead if I drank paint thinners.

Of course, that could be kind of awesome, too. Dying, I mean.

Like I said, it would make the headache go away.

"You were in the street last night?" he ventured; apparently my confusion was written all over my face. "Dancing in the rain? Singing about clams and shit?"

I bit my lip. Clams, huh? Interesting.

He put a hand to his chest, then, as though speaking to an alien, he said slowly, "Me...Nick. You...Krystal."

"I friggin know my own name," I snapped, glaring at him. Nick. Oh God. I realized where I knew him from. He was the Backstreet Boy. The one that moved in across the street. Nick Carter. I wanted to die.

Nick shrugged, "I wasn't sure if you would. You were obviously drinking heavy, you were beyond shitfaced last night."

"Can I have my clothing please?"

"I don't have your clothing," he said, getting up off the sofa.

"It's not like I'm a dollar store Barbie doll that comes nude, you dipshit," I snarled, "Where's my clothes?"

"Sorry, but you evidently are like a dollar store Barbie because this is how I found you, okay? Lingerie, galoshes and an umbrella, singing that clam thing at the top of your lungs at 2:00 in the morning - RE.LENT.LESS.LY."

I glowered at him. "So you took advantage of me? You sick, twi--"

"I didn't have sex with you," he snorted.

"Right, right, okay Mr. Clinton," I muttered.

Nick rolled his eyes. "Fine, you know what, I was nice, I brought you inside when you passed out so you wouldn't get run the hell over by a fucking car, but yanno, you're a lil too messed up in the head, clearly, so here." He grabbed a blanket off the back of his couch and chucked it at me. "Here, take this, go home, go nurse your wounds there all alone."

He got up off the sofa and stormed out of the room.

I waited until he was gone before I stood up, wobbly, and wrapped the blanket around me like The Little Mermaid when she first becomes human and wraps the wrecked sails from the boat around herself. I ran a hand through my hair - it was all tangled and crazy and kind of damp. Spiffy.

Moving carefully, holding the blanket shut, I inched across the living room. The hallway didn't lead to a foyer or a door that looked like an exit. I bit my lips. "Nick?" I called out into the house. "Um.. Nick?"

"What?" his voice carried from ahead of me. I moved towards it. The next room was huge - a living area, similar to the one I'd just left. They were like twins.

"Nick, where the hell are you?" I asked, looking around as I entered yet another empty room on the other side of that one.

"Kitchen," he called back.

Great, cos that makes my job of finding it harder. I sighed and looked around as I came to a dead end and couldn't go straight. I looked down both sides of the hallway, hesitated, then stooped low enough to do it: "MARCO!" I cried.

"Polo."

I moved towards the direction his voice was coming from. "Marco!" I called again.

"Polo," he replied.

After several calls and responses, I stumbled into a freaking huge ass kitchen. I blinked at the bright white counters and the light coming in the window. How the fuck is THIS house across the street from MY house? I wondered, looking around. His house was like a freaking mansion with an ocean view. Mine was a pitiful lil cape-style home that hadn't been renovated since my grandfather bought it in the 60's.

Oh. Wait. That's how.

"Found me, I see," he said calmly. He had a copy of the Billboard 500 paper-thingy splayed out on the counter in front of him. I stood awkwardly in the door way.

"I couldn't find the front door, either," I admitted. "You basically left me for dead out there."

Nick looked up and his eyes landed on the sheet. He stared.

"My face is up here, Blinky," I said snapping my fingers in front of my eyes, "Not on my chest. Those happen to be my tits and if you ask me you've seen enough of them already." I clicked my fingers again.

Nick's eyes travelled upwards.

"Much better," I said nodding. "Where's your front door?"

He stared at me a moment. Obviously weighing the smartass remark he wanted to make and the actual answer. Finally, he got it out of his system. "On the front," he said.

"Fuck you, I'll find my own way out," I turned and started walking through the dark hallways again.

I heard the table chair scrape on the linoleum and a moment later, he had come up behind me. "I'll show you."

"No!" I cried, "Help yourself out. It's like a fucking labyrinth in here," I snapped.

"I didn't design it," he retorted.

"You bought it."

"It has ocean view and a dock," he said, "The price was right, what can I say?"

I stopped walking and stared at him. "You won this on The Price is Right?"

Nick stared at me for a long moment. "And they fucking call me blonde? Christ."

I punched his arm, momentarily forgetting my hands are what was keeping my make-shift dress on and my face turned brilliant red as it fell to the floor. "Fuck," I muttered, bending and grabbing for it. As I stood up, I noticed Nick had leaned over to look at my ass. "You're a pervert," I accused.

"And you're a drunk," he answered.

I stared at him. "Pig."

"Obnoxious."

"Fat pig," I clarified.

Nick had backed me into a foyer and was now reaching for the door. "Bitch," he stated.

I laughed, "You're a dick."

"Well a dick and a whore," he said, chuckling, "There's a combination made in heaven."

"Hell in your case," I snapped, and I quickly turned and ran out the door towards my soon-to-be-purple house across the street. I could feel his eyes watching my ass through the too-thin blanket.

Chapter Three
Point of View: Peggy


I was sitting in the living room when my daughter burst in the front door, barely clutching a thin blanket around her lingerie-clad body, with galoshes on her feet and eyeliner smeared all over her face. She looked worse than any rocker had ever looked. Alice Cooper, any of them.

"Where the hell have you been?" I snapped.

Krystal froze mid-step on her way to the stairs. She stopped and turned. "Ma, I didn't know you were coming today," she said in as pleasant a voice as she could muster. "Let me run upstairs and get dressed and --"

"Where were you? Why do you look like this? How much were you drinking last night?"

I knew my daughter well. Too well for her liking. She stood there at the bottom of the stairs, refusing to look at me directly, and clutched the blanket a little closer. "I wasn't," she muttered.

"What did you take then?" I demanded.

"Mom it doesn't matter, okay? I'm fine!"

"Krystal, you're sick," I snapped.

"I'm not SICK," she bellowed, "I'm not DAD." She turned and ran up the stairs.

Twenty fucking one years old and the girl still acts like a twelve year old sometimes. Well, luckily for her, I'm still a bitch - the only downfall to having had children at sixteen is that I'm still able to think like them today. I bolted up the stairs after here. "What kind of example are you setting for Amelia?"

"Amelia isn't here, is she mom? She's in boarding school."

"Because I don't want her anywhere near you when you're like this. This is unfathomably ridiculous."

"You're the one that came here to see me, ma," she snapped, "You didn't have to come here, you could just forget I exist, like you do with Amelia, like you did with me the entire time I was lived at home."

"I did not forget you existed."

Krystal rolled her eyes, "What the fuck ever mom, there's a reason I'm fucked in the head, okay? And it's not because of Dad. It's because of you and your bullshit games and if something is wrong with Amelia that she actually needed to go to boarding school, then don't go pointing your stupid perfectly fucking manicured fingers at me. Clearly if you fucked both of us up there must be something wrong with you, not us."

"Don't you dare speak to me like that, young lady!" I yelled.

Krystal stormed into her bedroom and slammed the door shut behind her. I reached for the knob and pushed it open. Krystal was inside, ripping her bra off of her chest. "MOM!" she shrieked, "HELLO? A little privacy?"

"We are not done talking about this."

"There's nothing to talk about," she wailed, "This isn't YOUR house, it's MINE. Gram and gramps left it to me not to you. You do not need to be in here snooping around in my life and my --"

"Krystal?" A man's voice floated up the stairs. "Krystal? Hello?"

We both looked at each other. "You have a man in here?" I snapped, "In my mother's house, you have a --"

"SHUT UP MOM," she yelled. Krystal launched herself across the room and into the hall, her breasts on full display. "GO HOME, FUCKHEAD!" she yelled down the stairs.

"You left your umbrella in my house!" came the reply.

"I SAID GO HOME!" she screamed again. She came back into the room and opened her closet and pulled out a loose t-shirt. She looked at me as though she'd just noticed me. "You can go home, too, ma, I'm busy."

"Busy what? Flashing the damn neighborhood with your chest?"

Heavy footsteps trod up the stairs. "Krys? Everything okay?" Suddenly a tall, blonde man came around the corner, carrying a long-stemmed red umbrella, a confused expression on his face, "I heard yelling and- I..." his voice trailed off. He looked at me, then at Krystal, who had luckily just finished pulling on her shirt.

I struck out my hand, "Hello man who is probably contracting STDs from my daughter," I said, "My name is Peggy Armaletto."

Krystal rolled her eyes. "That's Nick Carter," she said, "The Backstreet Boy."

Nick looked completely thrown. "H-hi," he stammered over the huh sound and blinked between Krystal and I.

"So how long have you been sleeping with my daughter?" I asked point-blank.

"Since last night when he took advantage of me," Krystal answered at the same time that Nick responded, "I haven't slept with her at all, I just moved in."

They stared at each other.

"Well okay then," I said, "I see you found a man as wonderfully slutty as you are." I shoved past Nick and into the hallway and started down the stairs.

"Hey... hey lady..." Nick's footsteps thundered after me, followed by Krystal's. He still had the umbrella slung over his arm. "Look, I dunno your daughter very much, and frankly she seems a little mental to me..." Krystal reached down and flicked him in the back of the head. "Ow!" Nick glared back at her a second, then turned back to me, "But what kinda mom are you to say that kinda shit about her? She's your daughter."

I shrugged. "I'm a mom who's had too much, I guess," I answered. "Don't you ever reach that point with someone when you've had too much and you can't be patient with them anymore? Because it's either speak up or watch them kill themselves?"

Nick looked down at his sneakers.

Suddenly a flash of a recent headline I'd seen went through my head. One of the Backstreet Boys had recently been committed to rehab. Of course he knew where I was coming from. Suddenly I felt terrible. "I'm sorry Nick," I stammered.

"Here's your fucking umbrella," he said, shoving it back to Krystal. He trotted down the stairs and out the front door.

I stared after him for a moment before looking up at Krystal, who was staring blankly at the umbrella.

"What the fuck was his problem?" Krystal asked.

Chapter Four
Point of View: Narrator


It was almost a week later before he saw Krystal again.

He never quite knew why, but years later, when people would ask him how they met, this one was the story that they always told - not the umbrella story. The umbrella story was kind of like a secret, something that Krystal and Nick kept between them, like an inside joke that nobody else was privy to. When he thought about it, about why he kept the umbrella story a secret, he would guess because it made her sound crazy. But then again, the story he always ended up telling made them both sound crazy.

Nick was sitting in the waiting room at his therapist. When AJ had gone to rehab, the management team was concerned that Nick, who had been the last of the Boys to see AJ before he left, might have residual issues in the aftermath. Nick had been seeing this guy for the past month now, and had achieved - well, nothing really... The idea was to keep Nick from developing a rebellious streak, to save the band from having another rehab-attendee within the next couple years. It was Kevin's idea, though Nick wasn't sure why Kevin was so worried about it. Nick was pretty much disgusted with the stuff that had stolen one of his best friends away from him.

See, Nick had experience drinking already. That's how the whole thing with Sierra had started, after all...

Nick shook his head and focused on the comics page from the newspaper, trying to block his face from view of the other people in the waiting room.

Suddenly, he felt a tap on his shoulder, and a shadow loomed over the comic strips from behind him. He looked up, tilting his head back and found himself staring up at Krystal.

"Hi."

It all makes sense, he thought before responding, She really is psychotic. I would see her at a psychiatrists. Why wouldn't I?

"Um, hi."

Krystal rolled off the chair she'd been kneeling on and landed on the floor on her knees, too. She crawled over to Nick's elbow and grabbed hold of his forearm. "Do you have a car here?" she asked, her voice low and breathy, like she was asking a secret on stage and the audience needed to hear it, but also believe she was whispering. Nick was certain everyone in the room could hear her.

Probably people not in the room could, too.

"Yeah," he said in his regular tone.

"Shhh," she whispered, "We're running a covert operation here." She glanced around. "Good, we're not suspected."

Nick blinked at her.

"C'mon, we can still make it soldier." Krystal grabbed his hand and stood up, pulling Nick up out of his seat. He stood, dumbfounded by her oddity, and dropped the newspaper page onto the seat.

"Krystal, I--"

"SHHH, we have undercover names," she said, pulling him gently toward the door, "So that nobody knows its us and we blew off our appointments. From the moment we step onto the sidewalk out front on, we will no longer be Nick and Krystal. We will be... we'll be..." She thought for a moment, then, landing on her favorite movie, she said, "We will be Holly Golightly and Fred."

"Fred?" Nick asked.

Krystal nodded, "And Holly Golightly." She tugged him onto the elevator and grinned up at him as she hit the Lobby button and the elevator car began moving slowly downward. She stared into his bright blue eyes. "You really are beautiful, Fred."

Nick stared at her, unsure how to respond. After a pause, he started, "Krystal what are we--"

"SSHhh!! I'm Holly remember, Fred?" she asked, winking.

"Okay, Holly," he said, rolling his eyes, "What exactly are we doing right now?"

Krystal laughed, "We're escaping, silly," she said. "Don't you know what they do to you in there?" she thumbed up at the floor they'd just left. "They take your uniqueness and they sap it out and they tell you it's crazy and they blame all your bad faults on your momma and tell you that you can't live the way you really want to, and they make you wanna die."

He stared at her.

"I've been going to him for years," she said, "My mom thought it was a good investment when I was seventeen, and now I just go because I like seeing his reaction when I make up cool shit."

"You do that too?" Nick asked. He'd been making up dramatic tall tales for his shrink for years and years. He'd done everything from alien abduction to Brian's time machine blasting him to the era of the dinosaurs over the weekend. Anything but talking about real stuff.

"You mean you do it too?" Krystal asked. She grinned, "Aw Fred, we're made for each other," she laughed.

When they reached the parking lot, Krystal danced across the cement in her flip flops, her arms stretched out and the sunlight dancing across her skin, her hair flying out around her. Nick walked slowly along behind her, watching as she pirouetted across the lot.

"Which one's your car?" she sang out.

"The black one there," he said, pointing to a really sharp convertible.

Krystal stopped behind it and stared at it as he caught up to her. "Whats F-N-T-B-B-U-X mean?" she asked, tilting her head at his plate.

"Fan Tampa Bay Buccs," he answered.

"It looks like you're cussing them out," she said, and floated to the passenger side.

Nick shrugged, "I usually am..." he unlocked the driver door and reached to unlock hers, but she launched herself over the door, like a guy in a cheesy 50's movie. Nick laughed, "You can use the door, you know."

Krystal shrugged, "I will next time, Fred."

He couldn't believe he was actually blowing off a meeting with a psych to hang out with a psycho, but Nick found himself slipping the key in the engine and turning it over and backing out of the space. "Where are we going?" he asked.

Krystal laughed. "The first place that comes to mind when I say.... Go."

Chapter Five
Point of View: Krystal


"I didn't mean your house," I whined when Nick pulled into his driveway. I was thoroughly disappointed. I thought he would have had more creativity than this, which was why I'd let him decide to begin with. I was going to say the aquarium when he asked, but then I thought nah, maybe Nick can think of something better. Evidently, he was as boring as any other patient in that waiting room.

I made a mistake.

Or at least I thought I had.

"This is just stop number one," he answered. "I gotta get my gear."

"Your what?"

"My gear. Wait here."

Without waiting for a response, he climbed out of the car and ran up the walk to his front door, unlocked it, and went inside. I sat there, staring at the door for a moment after he'd disappeared, and wondered what gear he needed. I looked at the clock on his radio, glowing all green, and reached for the volume knob. A CD was loaded, and I wanted to know what NIck Carter, the Backstreet Boy, listens to on his days off.

I was shocked to hear Steve Perry's voice.

If I can't believe that someone is true
To fall in love is so hard to do
I hope and pray tonight
Somewhere you're thinking of me girl

When you love a woman
You see your world inside her eyes
When you love a woman
Know she's standing by your side...

"You like Journey?" he asked, appearing at the side of the car with a huge duffle bag. I looked up at him as the music cackled through the speakers.

"Actually, I do," I answered. Nick smiled and hoisted the bag into the backseat. I looked at it, all bulging and huge-like. "What is that?" I asked.

"You'll see," he answered.

Nick climbed into the driver's seat and said, "C'mon, there's one more stop before we go."

"Go where?" I asked sweetly, still staring at the bag.

"Just go," he answered, smirking.

I turned to face forward as he drove south through town. He put his blinker on at a McDonalds and pulled in to the drive-thru. "Oh sexy," I teased him, "Buying McD's for date, very nice."

Nick laughed, "Oh, did you want something?" he teased.

"Can I have a 'nilla milkshake?" I asked.

When he got to the window, Nick shouted out the order. "Can I get four cheese burger Happy Meals, two vanilla milkshakes, and six large fries please?"

"Drive up."

"Six large fries?" I asked. I reached over and poked his stomach, eliciting a giggle like the Pillsbury Dough Boy. I blinked. "Did you do that on purpose?" I asked, laughing.

Nick turned red, "No."

"Nice!" I grinned at him, "I think I just found a new toy." I reached for his tummy again, but he caught my hand. "Seriously, though," I said, withdrawing my hand, "Six large fries? How the hell are we going to eat all those?"

Nick laughed, "They aren't for us."

"Oh," I stared at him, thoroughly confused now. "Who the hell do you buy french fries for?" I asked him.

Nick grinned, but didn't answer, as he drove around the building and collected our food. The bag of fries he put in the backseat on top of the duffle bag, and he shoved the Happy Meals into my lap. "Here," he winked.

"And who are these for?" I asked, poking at the top of the box. McDonald's Happy Meal toys had always made me happy. I think that's why they call them happy meals. If they didn't have toys, they'd just be boring, plain old meals. It didn't matter I was grown up, I still loved the prospect of surprise when I opened the box and there was a toy.

"Us," Nick answered, "Hey look and see what toys we got!"

I laughed, but quickly pulled it open. They weren't really great toys, but Nick got all pumped and stuck one that looked like a weeble to his dashboard with gum that he'd been chewing.

Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into a large parking lot and hopped out of the car. "C'mon," he said, "I wanna introduce you to Rebecca."

"Rebecca?" I asked cautiously.

Isn't it a little early to be introducing me to girlfriends? I wondered.

Now it was Nick's turn to excitedly grab my hand and drag me somewhere. He hoisted his big honkin' duffle bag onto his shoulders, waited while I gathered up the boxes of Happy Meals, and grabbed my hand by the wrist and pulled me long. As we crossed the parking lot, I realized where we were -- the marina.

"C'mon," Nick laughed. He yanked me toward a dock, and down the plank-board strip, to a small yacht-like sailboat, with tall sails and shiny pine wood accents. He waved his arm at it, "Behold," he said, "The U.S.S. Rebecca."

He named a BOAT Rebecca? I couldn't help but laugh.

Nick's grin faded just a tiny bit. "You don't like her?" he asked.

"No, no, I do, she's beautiful. I thought you were talking about a woman when you said Rebecca," I laughed.

Nick shook his head, "This here is more faithful than any woman," he explained, "For one... she always lets you get on her." He winked.

"Pervert."

Nick snickered. "Get on the fucking boat."

I stared at it. I had not even the slightest clue how to begin to board a boat. I'd never been on a damn boat. I was contemplating all the graceful ways I could attempt to get on the boat and fall off and end up in the water flailing about - because I don't know how to swim either - when Nick's hands clapped around my waist and he hoisted me over the side of the boat and put me down.

It felt wobbly.

"Thanks," I said. I grabbed onto a rope to steady myself.

"Don't pull too hard on that," Nick warned, "It adjusts the sail."

I dropped it. I didn't know what the sail did exactly - well, I mean it catches wind, but I dunno how easily adjusting it could fuck it up so I didn't want to be blamed for that. I backed up, almost tripped over an anchor, and watched as Nick tossed the bag of gear and fries on board before easily jumping on himself.

I had my hands out like I was on a balance beam.

"You've never been on a boat," Nick said, eyeing me, "Have you?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Let's just say you don't have your sea legs is all," Nick responded kindly. "Here," he took hold of me and led me to a cushioned seat that ran around the edge of the boat, "Sit down, I'll get us out there and then it'll be all good, ok?"

I sat down and watched as Nick shoved his bag of gear out of the way and untied the back of the boat from the dock. He moved with precision, making it like an art form to tug ropes and move beams and turn wheels. I watched him work, and saw his face light up as the boat moved speedily through the ocean air into the Gulf of Mexico.

"You like boats," I observed.

"I love the ocean," he corrected.

Something about the way he said it, about the passion of the tone of his voice, about the sparkle in his eyes as the words crossed his lips, I dunno what it was exactly - but something about that sentence made me want him to say that about me. I wanted the word love to fall out of his mouth in conjunction with my name just as it had for the ocean.

Oh my God, did I just fall in love with him?

Chapter Six
Point of View: Narrator


Nick knew where he was going. He'd brought many girls there over the past several years for a day of romance. He wasn't sure what brought it to mind when Krystal told him to go to the first place he thought of, but here he was, expertly steering his boat through the gulf waters towards the little island that he'd found, praying it would be unoccupied, apart from the seagulls.

Krystal's enthusiasm for the boat had slowly built up and her need to grip onto things lessened the longer the boat cut the water. She almost felt safe, which was ironic considering how unsafe she typically felt water was. She looked over at him, standing at the helm, eyes focused ahead on the water, navigating the wild sea, the wind in his hair, and she realized that it wasn't the boat that felt safe... it was Nick.

"Do you go boating a lot?" she called over the wind.

"As often as I can," he answered, "It clears my mind."

Krystal nodded. She could see how it would. There was nothing out here except one and one's mind, and a span of empty, flat-edged water that stretched away into the corners of the earth, so it seemed. "And why does your mind need clearing?" she asked at last.

Nick shifted his weight and shrugged, "Sometimes things get overwhelming is all."

Krystal nodded, "Me, too."

Nick's eyes never tore away from the ocean. "People think you get famous and, zap, you have it all - the perfect life - and that everything in your past is of moot because nothing can hurt you when you're a star..." he shook his head, his eyes darting lightening quick between her and the water ahead of them, "But that's not true."

"It would be true for me," She said, grinning.

He shook his head. "I thought so too but I was wrong."

"What hurts you?" she asked.

Nick laughed, "I'm not telling."

"Oh c'mon, you were gonna tell some balding old guy in a Mr. Rogers Neighborhood sweater a little better than an hour ago," Krystal teased him, "Why can't you tell me now?"

"I was going to tell him I got chased by a herd of wild cattle down Sunset strip in Los Angeles."

"Interesting," Krystal laughed, "And you got away, I see?"

"I hid in a china shop and bulls aren't alllowed in there," Nick answered, grinning.

Krystal leaned back against the wall of the ship and looked down at the water. "People always think I'm crazy, or drunk, or high, or whatever," she said, staring down at the crystal blue water reflecting up at her as it danced away from the ship, "But I'm just having fun," she explained.

"That's what AJ used to say," Nick muttered. Krystal leaned up and looked at him questioningly. Nick shrugged, "He used to say that, then he'd go out and get drunk and high and come home and puke it all up and sit on the bathroom floor moaning all night. Then he'd get up the next morning and do it all over again. Except after awhile, drinking and smoking at night wasn't enough and all the pain waited until morning for him and he had to drink in the morning, too, and eventually he wasn't just having fun, he was running away from stuff."

"Don't you have things to run away from?" Krystal asked.

Nick nodded.

She shrugged, "Sometimes it's the only thing that helps."

"What do you run away from?" he asked.

"My mother," Krystal answered, "And my life in general. The memories..." she toed the floor boards of the boat and stared at her flip-flop clad feet. "My daddy died," she explained, "A really long time ago. But I dunno, in a way that was a blessing. I don't remember him being a monster."

"A monster?"

She stood up and unzipped her dress, sliding the straps down her shoulders and revealing a series of scars across her lower back as the dress slid away from her body. They were tiny scars, almost faded, now, puckered little marks across her skin. She pulled her dress back up and zipped it and turned to look at him. "He used to put his cigarettes out on us," she explained. "I don't know what else he did, but my mother always insists he's why I'm messed up..."

Nick gripped the helm tightly in his hands. Nothing made him angrier than a man that would raise his hand to a woman or a child. Nothing.

Krystal shrugged, "I run away from pain I wasn't old enough to remember and a mother who won't let me forget it."

Nick studied her a long moment. "My family was just one or two notches from being homeless. We always had a roof, but sometimes that roof was a car. When we had a home, it was in the ghetto and I wasn't - I dunno, I wasn't popular, I didn't have friends. I had my siblings, and they resented me because I practically raised them I baby sat them so much and, even now, I feel like I'm their father because my parents were always gone, always working."

Krystal nodded quietly at Nick.

"I became a singer to run away, and I got away and I got tangled up in some business stuff that hurt and now there's all this crap with AJ and this one girl, SIerra, and..." his voice trailed away. "Sometimes when I come out here in the middle of the ocean and I'm floating in this big blue emptiness, I dream about not turning around, about not going back, because out here, at least, I can't hurt anyone else," he said. "I guess I'm running from myself."

"Well Fred," Krystal said, "I guess we really are made for each other."

"Why's that?"

"We're both running."

Chapter Seven
Point of View: Nick


If you’d told me that night when I found her on the street in the rain in her panties that I’d be showing her how to scuba dive off that island a week later, I would’ve said you were insane. After all, I typically saved my only semi-legal scuba diving instructions for women who I was in love with.

“And to think I doubted you,” Krystal was crowing when I pulled my car into my driveway and turned it off. “I thought you had picked somewhere boring and plain and instead you just completely wowed me!” She’d been buzzing the entire way home. The water was certainly exhilarating and though we hadn’t seen much, she’d still enjoyed every moment of it. We’d relaxed on the beach in our underwear to dry off, throwing the six orders of large fries to the seagulls that had gathered while we ate our Happy Meals. Then we’d taken our time returning home, pausing the boat several times to just lay there on our backs, staring up at the stars and pointing out constellations we knew. Krystal had known quite a few. Personally, I only knew one of the dippers. I didn’t even know which dipper. Just that it was a dipper.

Now, the sky was darkening and it was almost nine o’clock at night.

“Thanks for the fantastic day, Nick,” Krystal said, smiling. “It was way better than sitting in that fucking shrink’s office all day.”

I had to admit, it was.

“I had fun,” I confessed.

Krystal stared at me, her eyes searching mine for a long moment. “You wanna come over for a drink?” she asked.

Drink. My body froze. I thought of AJ. In my mind, the rehab center had him bound and gagged and strapped to a stretchy table and washing his Jack-corroded mouth out with soap bubbles.

“I don’t drink,” I said. “Anymore,” I added hastily.

“One won’t kill ya,” she teased. “You’re young, you’re free, you’re crazy…” Krystal’s eyes danced.

She was right. I was young, and I was free. Just because AJ had drank excess didn’t mean I had to, nor did his alcoholism automatically make me prone to alcoholism. I wasn’t an alcoholic, I was just a kid, right? “Well, maybe one won’t kill me,” I said, sighing.

Krystal grinned. “While you’re over, you can see the painting I did.”

“Painting?” I asked.

“The night we met,” she clarified, “I painted you the next day.”

“You painted me?” I asked, dumbfounded. “Why me?”

“You’re very aesthetically pleasing,” she answered, grinning.

I followed her across the street, tossing my keys into my pocket. She hadn’t locked her front door and we waltzed right into her house and she flipped lights on as we migrated forward. Her house was full of an electrically colored menagerie of crazy things. She had a plastic lawn penguin in the corner with the words “FREE BIRD” written across its chest and a cape tied around its neck. She had garden gnomes, too, peeking out from corners and smiling at me with their little dunce caps on. She had magazines littering the coffee table in the living room in front of a bright orange couch with lime green throw pillows with flowers on them. On one table, she had the Christmas Story leg lamp and on another a huge, chandelier-style lamp with gaudy magenta crystals hanging off it. Her kitchen was painted bright reds and yellows with rooster curtains. Her teapot was shaped like a cow. I had never seen so many random things in my entire life. I felt like I’d fallen into Wonderland. I waited for the arrival of Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee.

“Where did you find all this—“ I couldn’t think of any word besides shit at first, and finally I just supplemented it with, “Stuff?”

Krystal laughed, “Here and there,” she answered.

She grabbed a bottle of tequila and a couple square shot glasses from the cupboard, winked, and grabbed my hand, “Come see my studio,” she said, pulling me through a door that led to basement stairs.

As we descended the stairs, the smell of acrylic paint filled my nose and I remembered the paint that was everywhere the night I first met her, in the street. “So you’re an artist, huh?” I asked as we clambered down the stairs.

Krystal laughed, “In theory, I guess. My pieces are more… abstract. I like finger painting. Or body painting. I paint with my feet sometimes if I’m bored.”

We came around the corner into the basement studio and I smiled. The walls were covered with tacked-up images of pictures made with hand and feet prints and portraits that had obviously been made by smearing paint on her own face and smooshing herself against the canvas. A table of jars of paint stood a few feet away from me, and a futon in the corner told me she spent a lot of time doing this. Enough that she needed that much paint, and enough that she needed a place to sleep or to sit in the studio. I stepped up to a canvas she had leaning on an easel and studied it.

The painting was made up of a million little finger prints of various colors and looked mystifyingly like … well, like me.

“What do you think?” she asked, gesturing towards it with one hand. She opened the tequila and started pouring the alcohol into the little shot glasses. “Corny?”

“It’s interesting,” I said honestly, “I like it.” I stared into the blue prints she’d used to create my eyes. She smiled up at me. “What made you do this?”

“I told you, you’re aesthetically pleasing,” she answered, shoving the shot glass into my palm. She smiled, “I would like to paint you again,” she added.

I laughed and pretended to strike a pose.

Krystal laughed and took her shot, then grabbed the bottle of tequila again. “More?” I hadn’t even done my first shot yet, so I quickly downed the liquid and held out my glass, which she liberally refilled right to the rim. She studied the painting a moment while I took the second shot. “Now that I’m looking at you next to it, I see a flaw, though.”

“What flaw?” I asked, touching my face.

“In the painting, not in you.” Krystal refilled my shot glass a third time, downed hers and refilled it again, too. She put the glass down on the table and grabbed a small palette of colors and dropped her fingers into the yellow and quickly started working on the hair of the painting, making it a little longer.

When she was done, she looked up at me, and smiled before picking up her shot glass. “Now it looks like you,” she said, winking.

“I need a hair cut,” I teased her.

She shook her head, “If you get one cut, you should get them all cut,” she whispered.

I laughed and took my fourth shot of tequila. All the colors of the room were starting to blend together a little bit, but I didn’t fight her off when she refilled me a fifth time…

I stared at her, and a stirring crept through my body. I inched towards her. She might be crazy, I thought, but she was beautiful, and the crazy kind of added to that beauty… I wanted to touch her. I just need an excuse… a reason to put my hands on her…

And then she did it.

She rubbed her nose.

Chapter Eight
Point of View: Narrator


“You have paint on you,” he whispered, and he moved toward her, his hand outstretched. His thumb carefully swiped the paint on her cheek, smearing yellow across her delicate face, like war paint on a Native American squaw. He leaned closer, “Oops,” he said, his voice dropping low, “I made it worse.”

His breath and mouth tasted like the tequila shots they’d done, and it gave her a heady rush. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she was certain he could hear it. His body curved around hers, and she wrapped her arms around him. She could feel his pants bulging against her. He lifted her up, tugging her into him and she leaned into the kiss at this new elevation in his arms. He stumbled backwards and tripped, knocking over the small table of paint tins.

Colors ran everywhere, like melting rainbows as Nick fell backwards onto the floor, the colors covering them. Krystal yanked his shirt off and threw it and it hit the wall, leaving a splotch of blue where it struck. His bare back hit the paint and his hair sponged it off the floor as she wrangled with his pants and he slid his hands along her sides, hiking up her bohemian style dress, his hands hungry to touch her. She grinned and knelt over him, sitting on his chest, turned to work on his jeans. He reached around her, his hands and arms dripping reds and oranges and his fingers working her nipples, coloring them as he touched and felt under her dress. She groaned as her hands shoved away his jeans, leaving him laying in the pool of color in his boxers alone.

“Oh God, Nick,” she groaned as he pinched and rubbed. She couldn’t believe this was happening at all… let alone here, like this, in a pool of spilled paint…

But it was also totally perfect. She could almost hear them talking about this story one day, when they were older, sitting in rockers on a porch of some big farm house in the country with a collie at Nick’s feet.

“Uhhnm,” Nick moaned as she bent low and pressed her mouth against the cotton that separated her from him. She shoved his boxers down greedily, and started kissing his thighs. Nick’s hands tightened across her breasts, squeezing them and his eyes slipped closed. He moaned each time her mouth connected to his skin. “Oh God, Krys…” his voice was low, husky, and caught somewhere in the back of his throat.

When her mouth actually wrapped around him, his back arched beneath her, and he let out a breathy gasp that made her entire body tingle with anticipation. She drew in a breath around him and his breathing became heavier and heavier as she worked at him, making him writhe beneath her in the paint covered floor. “Fuck,” he whispered, “Krys, oh god.” His hands shook against her breasts.

She slid her mouth off of him and looked at what her handiwork had produced, her heart racing. She looked over her shoulder and slowly lifted her dress off her body. “Can you help me with my bra?” she asked, reaching for the clasp. His hands snapped up and he unhooked it eagerly. She slid it off and half-turned toward him, a grin on her face. Nick could just see the orb of her left breast as she turned, peeking around the line of her back. Krystal smiled, reached up over her head and let her bun free, her hair cascading like a water fall across her bare skin.

“Nick,” she whispered, “Love me.”

He didn’t answer, but he sat up and pulled her hair aside gently and started kissing her neck. Paint dripped from his hair and slid down his back. He grabbed hold of her and pulled her to him and they rolled over in the paint, colors sticking all over her now, too, and their mouths connecting. Her hair splayed out in a pool of green and his hand prints were covering her every inch across her front as he touched her and rubbed her, a rainbow of caresses being left behind on her skin.

Then, when they’d explored every inch of each other, he carefully crawled off of her and lifted her up, gently laying her paint-covered body across her futon, regardless of the brilliantly white bedspread. The colors bled into the fabric, leaving a print of her body on the soft cotton. She reached overhead and gripped the fabric tight in her fists, balling it up and stretching her arms across it – long streaks of orange and blue and green covered the white like a firework explosion in the map of a white sky.

Nick slowly slid himself into her and her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Her mouth fell open as he thrust and pulled. He watched her breasts move with his every motion and her chest heave as she breathed. The paint dripped from his chest onto her and his knees left prints like butterfly wings coming off her body, his hands resting over hers, creating red auras around her green prints.

When they were done, they stood up carefully, the paint on the quilt was abstract, a blurry shape of what looked like a human being with low slung wings and antennae, about to take flight.

Chapter Nine
Point of View: Kevin


I'd been trying to call Nick all day and I'd gotten no response from Camp Carter. I wanted to check in, find out how his psychiatry appointment had gone. I knew he'd been reluctant to keep going to see the doctor, but it really was important, I felt, to keep him from following AJ's footsteps. Nick was such a gentle guy, and he was very sensitive. I was worried about him. But he wasn't answering.

I hung up the phone yet again, frustrated as all hell.

Kristen looked up. "Why don't you drive over there and check on him?" she suggested, "It's obviously bothering you."

I folded my hands together and rested my face against the balled fist they made. I sighed. "I don't wanna seem like I'm nagging him," I said quietly.

"You're the closest thing that boy has to a real father," Kristen responded, shrugging, "You're supposed to nag him at least a little bit."

"I guess," Kevin relented hesitantly. "I just don't want him to end up hating me."

"He's not going to hate you. I don't think Nick's capable of hating," she laughed.

"Oh you just don't know the power of Nick's temper," I replied.

But all the same I found myself in my car several hours later, driving to Tampa from Orlando. I was almost at Nick's house when I decided to call Brian. "Hey Brian, have you heard from Nicky today?" I asked when he picked up.

"Nope," Brian replied, "But, honestly, my phone hasn't exactly been on the hook," he laughed.

"Too much information," I grumbled.

Brian snickered, then turned serious. "Why? What's up that you wanna know if I heard from Frack?" he asked. "Everything okay on the home front?"

"Yeah, I guess. It's just it's Thursday - Nick's psych day, I wanted to know how it went and I tried calling him and he hasn't been answering..."

"Ruh-roh," Brian replied in his best Astro Jetson impression.

"My thoughts exactly," I replied, "Well, maybe not exactly, but close enough," I laughed.

Brian giggled, "Yeah I doubt you did the Astro voice."

"I doubt I could even if I wanted to."

"So 'fess up," Brian said, "You're on your way there aren't you?"

"No... not exactly," I answered as I pushed the car's gear into park. "I already am here."

Brian laughed, "Kev, you're such an anal bastard."

"I know..." I hunkered down and peered out my windshield, "I think he might be in bed."

"Why?" Brian asked, "It's only... Shit, when did it get to be eleven o'clock?"

"Probably while you were boning your wife," I responded, "But yeah, all his lights are out."

"The lights are out, no ones home," Brian said in a goofy voice. He paused. "IS he home?"

"Yeah I'm parked behind his car now."

"So go knock on the door," Brian suggested.

"Yeah, good idea." I opened my car door and made my way across the lawn to the door and knocked. Nothing. "I'm gonna hang up, Bri, I wanna make sure everything's okay here. I'll give ya a call in a bit."

"Okay, please do, I'll wait up 'til I hear from ya."

"Okay." We hung up and I slid the phone into my pocket. "Nick?" I called, knocking on the door again, "Nick? Are you home?"

I heard a door across the street open and bang close, and laughter - a familiar laughter - echoed through the night air. I turned around and saw Nick stumbling across the lawn across the street, wearing only boxers, carrying his clothes, which were all balled up, and stumbling like crazy, giggling like a hyena.

Fuck.

I ran across the street to him and caught him as he tripped over the curb and, had I not been there, would've face-planted on the cement. He looked up at me, unfocused, and laughed. "Oh my God, it's Kevin," he sang in a really lame attempt of Everybody (Backstreet's Back). His full weight hung in my arms, and I realized he was covered in crusty, dried paint.

"Nick, Christ, what the --" then a huge wiff of tequila floated up to my face. "Are you kidding me?" I demanded. I had half a mind to let him go and let him eat tar.

"Nope I'm not kidding," he giggled, "It's really you. In the FLESH," he added.

I hoisted him up and dragged him across the street, glancing back at the house he'd come out of, hating whatever was inside it - imagining medusa or some other hideous Greek goddess of death. Nick laughed the entire way into his house and up the stairs to his room.

"Kevin guess what?" he asked as I dropped him into a chair in his room. "I had sex," he said.

"That's great for you." I ripped opened his closet and started rummaging around for something for him to put on. I found his sweats and an old T-shirt. "C'mon, you gotta shower," I told him.

"I don't wanna shower," he grumbled.

"Nick, you gotta sh--"

"I HAD SEX KEVIN!" he crowed.

"Jesus." I grabbed his wrists and dragged him to the bathroom and he dropped onto the toilet, weak kneed and grinning up at me stupidly. I turned on the faucet as he babbled aimlessly about sex and paint and crystals. I had no idea what he was talking about, but it sounded like some kind of jacked up sex cult.

"I had tequila too," he whispered, like that was a secret. "Lots and lots of tequila. Before and after the sex. Did I mention the sex?" I pulled him up and shoved him, boxers and all, into the shower stall. He shrieked as the cold water hit his back and ran into the door that I was holding shut. "It's cold!" he cried.

"It'll wake you up," I answered, heartlessly.

His foggy figure relented and started scraping paint off his back and out of his hair. After a few moments had passed, I opened the shower door and leaned in to help him get the paint off him. The colors pooled around his feet in the water and he groaned as the buzz started to wear off.

"I hope you have Advil or something here," I commented as he crouched down under the spray of water, holding his head, "By the sounds you're about to have a doozy of a hang over."

Chapter Ten
Point of View: Nick


I woke up the next morning with the headache from hell. That headache was only made worse by Kevin's loud, booming voice, which hovered over me like spacecraft. "Well look who decided to grace us with his consciousness today," he was saying, "About time, Sleeping-fuckin'-Beauty."

I blinked my eyes. Vague memories of colors - lots and lots and lots of colors - flooded my mind and the sunlight etched its way into my retina. "Ughhh, close the blinds."

"No," Kevin's voice was stern, "If you're gonna drink like a man, you're gonna get up like a man," he was saying. "None of this bat cave shit like AJ pulled. You aren't going into seclusion. You wanna drink all night, fine, but you're gonna be up and functional and in the sunlight the next morning."

I rolled onto my stomach and smashed my face into the pillows. "Go to hell Kevin," I groaned. "Why the fuck are you even here anyways?"

"I called about 48 times yesterday," he began, and I instantly felt all my organs start pumping cold blood. Shit, shit, dammit all to fuck, I thought. I knew what he was about to get to and I did not really want to deal with it... "To see how your psychiatric appointment went, and you know, I never did get an answer. So stupid me, I worry about you, and I drive across the entire fucking state of Florida to get here to check on you..."

Dear sweet Jesus, now would be a great time to strike me with that lightening bolt I keep earning. Please?

"...and what happens? You come stumbling out of the house across the street, reeking worse than a Tiajuana Hooker in your boxer shorts, covered in acrylics." Kevin grabbed the blanket and yanked it off my body. I lay there exposed like an ant on a sidewalk in the hot sun. Kevin was about to fry me with a magnifying glass, I just knew it. I could almost picture him cackling like a five year old. "What in the hell were you thinking?" he demanded.

“I dunno,” I groaned into my pillow. This was apparently not acceptable because Kevin grabbed my arm and leg, flipped me over in one swift motion and snatched my pillow away. “Jesus Kevin, leave me alone!” I cried.

“Yeah so you can kill yourself like AJ was going to?” he demanded, “Leave you alone so you can end up on the floor of some hotel room puking your guts up on the verge of death and finally get desperate enough to let your momma check you into a rehab?”

“My mother wouldn’t bother, she’d let me puke myself to death,” I argued, half joking.

“This is not fucking funny, Nick,” Kevin’s voice was stern. A new level of stern, even, because it’d been pretty stern before.

I blinked up at him. “Sorry,” I muttered.

“Seriously, Nick, we almost lost AJ in July, and here it is not even September yet and you’re drunk off tequila? What were you thinking?” Kevin’s eyes had turned sad. Great. I disappointed him. That was even worse than pissing him off.

“I just… I was having fun…” I mumbled.

Kevin shook his head, “Can’t you have fun without all the tequila in Mexico?” he asked.

“I was… with this girl… and I dunno, it was… I dunno.” I really didn’t know how Krystal had talked me into taking shots. Actually, she hadn’t really talked me into it, it had just kinda happened at first, then after we had sex I was so caught up in the afterglow I wasn’t thinking.

But shit was that sex good.

Kevin sighed. “Get up,” he snapped.

“Can’t I sleep?”

“No, get up.”

I groaned and struggled to my feet, “Where are we going?” I demanded.

“You’re coming home with me until tour starts,” he said.

I laughed and laid back down. “No, I’m not, Kevin that’s ridiculous.”

“I can’t have you out here pissing away your life drinking with some whore neighbor who lives across the street,” he answered, “Nick you’re only just barely 21 and—“

“Actually, I’m almost 22,” I snapped, “And I’m a grown up. I’m not going home with Daddy Kevin, I’m fine where I am.”

Kevin folded his arms over his chest. I could tell the way he was staring at me that he agreed the idea was a stupid one, but he still had to battle himself to admit that. He raised his eyebrow. I raised mine back for good measure.

“Dammit Nick,” he said, breaking, he turned away from me, “I don’t wanna lose you, okay? That’s all there is to it, that’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Kev,” I said, half laughing.

Kevin sighed. “Not yet, but you keep it up and you’re going to go right down the same drain AJ did. Keep that in mind.”

“I will.”

“Good.” Kevin moved towards the door.

“And next time, Kev, if I don’t answer the home phone, you can call my cell.”

Kevin nodded. “Okay.” He paused in the doorway. “I still want you downstairs in fifteen minutes,” he said, pointing at me. “I mean it.”

I groaned.

“I’ll come back if you aren’t down here and trust me, you don’t want me to come back.” He trotted out the door and I closed my eyes. Why the hell does he have to care so freaking much? I thought as he went out the door. I sighed.

As much as I hated to admit it, Kevin was right. It happened too easily, I didn’t wanna end up like AJ. I knew that path too well, I’d seen him walk it and I’d even walked part of the way with him. AJ had made a lot of mistakes, and I didn’t wanna make the same ones. I could learn without experience, couldn’t I?

And that didn’t mean I had to stop hanging out with Krystal now, either, which surely would be something Kevin would say within the next couple hours. Rather, I would be a good influence on her and eventually maybe I’d even be able to save her from herself…

Chapter Eleven
Point of View: Krystal


Oh holy night, the stars are brightly shining
It is the night of our dear Savior's birth
Long lay the world in sin and ever pining
Til he appeared and the soul felt its worth...

"Christmas carols? Really?"

I jumped about a foot outside of my own skin and clutched my heart. I'd been so into singing that I hadn't heard Nick come up behind me.

I was standing in the yard in my galoshes and a bikini, the sprinkler going, painting on a canvas I'd set up just at the very edge of the sprinkler's reach. I was getting wet across my back, but the canvas was only getting a minimal amount of mist; just enough to make the paint run a little bit. I had paint all down my arms. I was using my elbows today as my main medium.

"Singing them helps me feel colder," I answered. This seemed logical enough. I mean Christmas carols were sung at Christmas time, which was in winter, which is cooler than August, and I was hoping to trick my psyche into believing it wasn't blistering hot outside.

Nick stood there beside me. The sprinkler jutted its way in its arch and lowered over us, sending rain over our heads and soaking him. Nick looked up, followed the arch to its origin, and laughed. "You look like a five year old out here."

I grinned. "Sometimes you gotta get in touch with your inner child," I answered. I turned back to the canvas, dipped my elbow into the red paint and got back to work. I was painting the sunset.

"Elbows today, huh?" Nick asked, smiling.

"Yup, elbows." I paused and looked up at him. "I saw an article on the internet about a woman who does paintings with her breasts," I said, "I'd like to do that someday."

"You can paint me with your breasts anytime you want," Nick grinned sappily. I laughed and smiled up at him, then turned back to my elbow painting. Nick paused a moment. "Hey can you sing again?" he asked, "You have a pretty singing voice."

My cheeks turned red, "Nawh, you're just saying that."

"No really, it's great," Nick argued. He smiled, "Would I lie to you?" he asked.

I stared at him. “Most men do.”

“I’m not,” he said with a shrug. “Please? Just sing me something?”

“Will you sing with me?” I asked.

A smile spread across Nick’s face, “Yeah,” he answered, “Sure.”

“Okay then,” I cleared my throat.

Nick waited.

I looked him over, tried to gauge what song he would most likely be deeply annoyed by me singing. I’m not sure why, I just had one of those pain-in-the-ass streaks that’s always existed just below my surface. Get on my bad side and that pain-in-the-ass streak becomes the tendency of being the bitch-from-hell.

I’m doing this tonight
You’re probably gonna start a fight
I know this can’t be right
Hey baby c’mon…

Nick bit his lower lip and tried not to laugh.

I loved you endlessly
When you weren’t there for me
So now it’s time to leave and make it alone
I know that I can’t take no more
It ain’t no lie
I wanna see you out that door
Baby, bye-bye-bye

I smirked up at him. “You didn’t sing.”

“I don’t know that one,” he quipped.

“Uh huh,” I laughed. I turned back to my elbow painting. Nick stood there watching for a long moment. The sprinkler repeatedly soaked us, then went away, soaked us, then went away. An odd, funny little tension hung in the air.

After a long moment, Nick leaned close to my ear, and whisper-sang, “I don’t wanna be a fool for you, just another player in your game for two – you may hate me but it ain’t no lie, baby bye-bye-bye.” He stood upright and crossed his arms over his chest. “If you ever tell anyone that I sang that…”

I giggled, “What? Are you embarrassed?”

“They are the enemy!” he joked, eyes twinkling, “Singing NSYNC is like… like… Like, I dunno..It’s so horrible, there isn’t even a comparison…” Nick winked.

“Do you guys really hate each other?” I asked, smooshing blue paint onto my elbow.

“Not hate, no,” Nick answered, “But there’s a certain level of good healthy competition… y’know?”

“Mmhm, I get the idea you’re very competitive,” I said. Nick turned red. “I bet you’re a jealous man too.”

Nick shook his head, “Nawh… I’m about average.”

“Nothing else on you is average,” I muttered, glancing at his pants. In that department, the man was definitely loaded.

Nick smirked. “Hey, I wanna take you out tonght,” he said suddenly, “Can I take you out tonight?”

“To a club?” I asked hopefully.

“To a restaurant,” he answered.

“Then to a club?”

“We’ll see.”

Chapter Twelve
Point of View: Nick


See, the thing about dates is that, at least in theory, you should probably remember them the next morning. The problem with that date with Krystal? Well, I woke up the next morning and had no fucking clue what the hell had happened. I was in a bed I didn't recognize, with Krystal buck naked in my arms, and a sickly, rolling, rocking feeling all over me.

I sat up quick and cracked my face off a beam of wood hanging over the bed. "FRICK," I yelled.

Krystal sat up, startled by my yell, "What's the -- FRACK!" she screamed, hitting her head on the same beam. She smiled tentatively as we both rubbed our foreheads. Tears had flooded her eyes, though.

I leaned over and gently kissed her forehead. I was fully dressed.

It was weird though because I didn't have much of a headache like I usually do when I'm hung over and stuff. Well, I did now thanks to the beam, but before that not so much.

I looked at Krystal. "Where the hell are we?"

"I have no frickin' clue," she muttered, "You tell me, Mr. Sober-Pants."

"I don't think I was too sober last night," I said, "Considering I don't recognize this place at all."

Krystal jumped up all naked like and stretched. I couldn't tear my eyes off her breasts long enough to inspect the room we were sitting in. "Ohhh," she muttered, "You had some of Joe's magic!" she grinned, "Isn't it phenomenal?"

"Joe's magic what?" I asked, confused, "Who the fuck is Joe?"

Krystal laughed, "Joe's my guy," she explained, "Remember? The one with the briefcase?"

No, I did not remember. But I nodded anyway. My mind was racing, trying to piece together all the damn connections. Then it clicked. "Wait a second, no, no, no," I snorted, "No. I don't do drugs, Krys."

She laughed again. Actually laughed. "Well you can't say that line anymore with any kind of integrity. You were blowing like a porn star last night!"

I blinked up at her. "Krys, no - Why the -"

She shook her head, "Denial. You're cute." She reached over and ruffled my hair.

I felt cold.

"Maybe he slipped it to you," she said, but her tone clearly meant she knew otherwise. She winked at me and turned.

I felt like I had been sucked up into a vacuum cleaner or something. I was spinning and everything was dark. I had a sudden rush of remorse for a spider that I'd vacuumed up the day before. Poor bastard never knew what hit him.

"Wait a second," I said, "You have a guy? You do enough shit to need a guy?"

Krystal shrugged, "Jos's great, he always has the best stuff, what can I say?"

I stared at Krystal, dumbfounded.

"It's okay Nicky, I can hook you up, no worries," she said, smiling.

I couldn't even fathom a response to this sentence, so I decided to channel my energy into figuring out where the fuck we were. Kevin, I realized, was gonna pummel my ass if he ever found out what I'd done. Drugs? Seriously? He'd been ready to kill me over tequila, not to mention whatever the fuck Joe's magic was.

I looked around the room we were sitting-slash-standing in and realized it looked an awful lot like a tree house or a -- a--

Oh no.

Krystal opened a little door and stepped outside of the room, still in her birthday suit, and called back the words I needed to confirm my nightmare. "Hey! We're on a boat! Oh wow, Nick, c'mere!" She disappeared out the door completely.

I scrambled out of bed and went after her. I stepped out onto the deck of a small yacht. Krystal was standing by the edge of the boat, her breasts hanging there in front of her as she leaned over, looking down, her perfect ass mooning me, her womanhood peeking out between her legs. I could totally just walk over and take her if I wanted to. Then I heard a splash and a high pitched laughing sound. Dolphins.

I wanted to go look at the dolphins.

Part of me knew I should make Krystal get dressed and figure out how the fuck to get home. After all, God only knew how long we'd been asleep. We were obviously alone - a quick cursory glance had shown we were the only ones on the boat and I couldn't see any other boats -- or land, for that matter -- anywhere.

We could be half-the-fucking-way to Cuba for all I knew.

Maybe we'd meet Howie's descendants and get some Mexican cuisine on the house.

Wait - is Cuba part of Puerto Rico? I never can remember that shit.

But the irrational, cool part of me - the part that secretly was pumped by this whole experience and how rock star it made me feel - wanted to run over and look at the dolphins with the naked babe I'd done drugs with. This was SO something that I imagined reading about in like Kurt Cobain or Ozzy Osbourne's biographies. Not The Life & Times of Nick Carter, the Backstreet Boy.

I stood there, feeling torn.

I was just about to run over and score with the naked-dolphin-petting-sexpot when a thought ran through my mind.

"Oh. My. Fucking. God." I gasped the words out. I couldn't breathe.

"What'sa matter?" Krystal turned around, her breasts still dangling enticingly in front of her. The dolphins were still giggling in the water.

"I'm going to jail."

"What? Why?" Krystal looked confused.

"Do you have ANY idea what we've done?" I demanded.

"No, what?" Krystal was blinking rapidly, her eyebrows puckered together. "What's the matter, Nick?"

"We're FELONS!" I screamed.

Krystal laughed, "What?"

"We stole a boat!" I yelled.

Krystal snorted, "Nick, we didn't steal a boat. What the hell makes you think we stole a boat?"

"BECAUSE THIS ISN'T MY BOAT!" I bellowed.

We stood there in silence a moment, then Krystal's face paled. "Oh my fucking GOD, Nick, we stole a fucking boat!"

Chapter Thirteen
Point of View: Krystal


I figured Nick was having a hard enough time swallowing the idea that he'd done a lot of drugs, so I didn't bother trying to tell him about the dancing on the bar or the body shots he did off me or the photographers that he'd flipped off or the gutter I'd plucked him out of just before I convinced him to borrow the yacht.

I'd never thought of the term steal, I mean I never really thought much further than just the idea that we would be on a boat and it would be romantic like it had been that first day.

But it hadn't been all that romantic. I mean he basically got the boat adrift, puked his guts up overboard, and dropped dead into the bed. "Watch the helm, gotta watch the helm," he'd muttered, and within seconds had been blowing spit bubbles into the pillow.

Now he was freaking out.

I watched as Nick paced back and forth, rubbing sweat from his neck. I had to struggle to keep ignoring as the dolphins showing off, trying to get my attention back. Nick was more important right now.

"I'm going to jail, fucking jail," he muttered again and again, wringing his hands.

"Maybe the owner won't press charges," I suggested.

Nick just stared at me for a moment before continuing on with his worrying.

I'm not a big fan of tension. Basically, tension sucks. I pouted. "Nicky," I begged, "Let's have sex?"

"KRYSTAL!" he yelled my name so loud I swear it could've echoed off Cuba. "Now is not the time, okay?" he said, his voice shaking as he lowered it to a normal volume level.

"Sorry," I muttered.

"I'm sorry." Nick stopped pacing. "I shouldn't yell at you." He sighed, "I'm just really frustrated and disappointed with myself," he said, voice dropping. He shook his head. "I dunno how I get myself into shit like this..."

"You mean you've been stranded on a boat with a girl before?" I teased.

Nick hesitated. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head. "No," he admitted, "Well. Not exactly."

I just knew there was a story behind that, just the way he paused, hesitated, and looked when he claimed his denial, but I didn't push it. I figured I'd draw it out of him sometime in the future.

I patted the seat next to me and he sighed and sat down. I turned back to the dolphins. They splashed around in the water, snickering and turning cartwheels in the shimmering blue water. Nick glanced over his shoulder at them, trying to stay angry, but not quite able to resist them completely.

"I love dolphins," he finally admitted. He turned slowly.

"I never saw one before," I admitted. I reached out my hand and touched the water, dreaming of touching one of them, but they didn't come close enough to the side of the boat for that. Nick was now facing the side of the boat, leaning against it like I was, his eyes excited but his face still trying desperately to suppress the grin I knew was coming. I nudged him, "I'm glad the first time I got to was with you."

And there was my smile. Nick's lips curled into the grin I'd been trying to get out of him and he reached down and touched the water, too. He watched the dolphins playing and silence fell over us for a long time as we sat there together. Finally, he turned to me, "I'm glad you're with me, too," he said.

I turned to look at him and felt his eyes travel down my body. I grabbed his hand and laid it on my chest, in the middle, where my heart is, and I whispered, "Wouldn't it be the perfect crime if I stole your heart and you stole mine?"

Nick laughed lightly. He leaned in to kiss me, but I pulled back. He sat there, leaning towards me, a puzzled look on his face. "What?" he asked.

"Don't you dare kiss me unless you mean it with all your heart," I told him.

Nick didn't even hesitate.



An hour later, he was rebuttoning his shirt and I was shrugging into my dress. "Sorry mister boat owner sir," he was muttering, "I stole your boat and then I had lots and lots of sex on it, but it's back now, and..."

I giggled and pulled my hair out of the neckline of my dress. I left my shoes on the seat, I didn't wanna wear them yet. I was the type that, unless they were my galoshes, I didn't wear shoes most of the time. My galoshes I loved. They were a part of me. But sandals and sneakers and crap are not a part of me and therefore are offenses to my feet.

Nick's hair was all messed up and stuck out at all the wrong places. It added to his charm. I smiled as he struggled with tucking in his shirt and ended up only getting it half tucked before giving up. Unlike me, he tugged his socks and shoes on and was working on tying the laces up.

"Think we'll be on the news?" I asked, "For boat thievery?"

"I hope not," he muttered.

"We're pirates, Nick, modern day pirates."

He stared at me, and I could tell he was trying to decide if he was pissed off or not. Finally, thankfully, he decided he wasn't. Amazing what giving man some sex will do, isn't it? "Alls we need is rum," he joked.

I grinned, "Well yo-ho matey..." I ducked into the lil room we'd woken up in and snagged a bottle of Jack Daniels I'd seen on a mini bar when I first got up. A moment later I came back out onto the deck. "It's not rum, but it's liquor!" I popped the top and downed a long swig.

When I passed the bottle to Nick - a heady rush already engulfing me - he stared at the bottle for a long moment, studying it. "This is what AJ drinks," he muttered.

"And for good reason, Papa Jack is a great man." I patted Nick's chest. "Drink up, matey - argh!" I squinted one eye, trying to simulate an eyepatch.

Nick laughed, then unscrewed the cap and took a mouthful.

I snatched the bottle back and downed some more. "Now we're sailing the seven seas! Let's get us some booty!"

"I already had booty today, cap'n," Nick laughed.

"Oh yes, yes that's right..." I grinned and tapped my ass and wiggled it for him.

"And a damn fine one, too," Nick added with a wink.

"Well, Longjohn..." I winked suggestively at the very applicable nickname, "You can have pirate booty anytime you want."

Chapter Fourteen
Point of View: Narrator


Nick was the one that took the last sip from the bottle of Jack, though Krystal had certainly drank more of it than he had. He held the bottle over his upturned, opened mouth long after it had run dry and shook it to make sure every last drip of the warm liquid had evacuated its glass haven. Then, he threw the bottle; somehow it managed not to break.

"Yo-ho, yo-ho," he bellowed out, his voice shaky and way off key, his hands clutching the helm of the boat, his eyes drooping and threatening to fall. The sunlight beamed off his bare back, toasting his skin to a deep purpley-red color. He warbled on his feet. "Aw fuck," he laughed, "If I go to jail at least I had a fucking blast doing it!"

Krystal laughed and hiccuped from the floor behind him.

Suddenly Nick stopped navigating and he sat down on the floor beside her and wrapped his long arms around her body. "Krys," he whispered, "I love you."

Krystal looked at Nick - all four of him - and giggled. "No you don't," she whispered, "Nobody does."

Nick shook his head, "Not true, because I do. I love you." He leaned towards her to kiss her and she pushed his face away. "Krys," he whimpered.

She stared at him, struggling to focus on him, the topic slicing through her inebriated state and reaching her very core. "Nick, you're lying to me," she said, "I don't need you to pretend to love me. I don't need you to pretend to care about me or to say kind words to me that you think I wanna hear. I don't need it."

Nick cupped his hands around her chin, "I'm not lying to you. Why would I be lying to you? What's not to love? You're a beautiful, talented woman..."

Krystal's boisterous laugh was sharp. "Talented? Ha! Beautiful? Christ Nick, get your eyes checked..." she pushed him in the chest, shoving away from him, and stood up. Towering over him now, since he'd remained seated, she said, "I'm nothing, Nick. You know what I'm most amazed about? How in the fuck you decided to latch onto someone stupid and ugly and ridiculous and horrible, like me."

"You aren't any of those things," Nick countered, also hearing the words through the alcohol. He struggled to his feet.

Krystal backed away from him, "You're fucking full of bullshit! Nick, I'll sleep with you without the lies and the humoring and the crap that you gotta do for every other girl. I don't need to be charmed, Nick, I just want to be fucked."

Nick stared at her, his mind racing to keep up with the words she was saying. "So wait," he muttered, and he suddenly felt about 2 inches tall. "You don't want to be loved?"

"I can't be loved," she snapped, "It's impossible to love something hideous."

"You aren't hide-"

"Nick, seriously, don't. I don't wanna hear it."

They stood there facing each other, and Nick couldn't help but feel like he was the odd one of the two here. Any other guy - AJ for example, he thought - would've been so excited by the words she'd just said, but for the first time ever, Nick had actually started to be interested in something besides the sex. This was a new feeling for him, he'd never had a relationship, really. Everything he'd ever had had dissolved within a couple months.

Krystal advanced slowly, laid a hand against his face, and stared into his eyes. "You don't have to invest in me, I don't expect it. Consider us like friends with benefits, kind of," she added. "That's all I need from you, Nick."

Nick hesitated. "What if I want to give you more?" he asked.

Krystal shook her head, "You won't."

“And if I do?”

“Then you’re stupid,” she whispered.

Nick leaned closer to her, “Maybe. But that’s not why I’m stupid,” he had his mouth right against her ear, their jawbones touching softly. He wrapped his arms around her and gently stroked her back, “You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice husky, “You must’ve been painted special by God himself.”

“Then I’m a waste of paint,” Krystal responded.

He was about to answer her when the blaring of a loud horn made him jump. They both looked up and saw the large, hovering form of a Coast Guard boat.

Chapter Fifteen
Point of View: Krystal


"Fuck my life." Nick was doubled over in a plastic chair, his forehead to his knees, moaning under his breath. I was sitting beside him, still mulling on what he'd said on the boat. We were in an office at the marina that we'd evidently stolen the boat from, waiting for the owner to show up. Nick had called one of his friends on his cell phone. Now all we could do was wait. "This is so bad," he muttered.

"You want an aspirin?" I asked, reaching for my purse.

"No," he moaned, "No, no, my headache is like the least of my problems right now." Nick had thrown up to oblivion on board the Coast Guard boat all the way back to shore.

"What's wrong then?"

"What's wrong?" Nick looked at me like I had three heads. "Krys, we just went over this on the boat," he said, "If this guy presses charges, I'm going to jail."

"Why are you going to jail? Why not me?" I demanded.

Nick sighed, "Because," he said shortly.

"Because what?"

"Just because, Krystal, dammit," Nick groaned and covered his eyes. "And Kevin's gonna fucking kill me anyways, so jail isn't even the prospect I'm worried about, since I won't even live to see it." He shook his head in his palms. "Not to mention the publicity, and the rumors..."

I squinted at him. "Do you always worry about what everyone else thinks?" i demanded.

Nick looked up at me. "They're going to rip me apart, sorry if I'm worried about it."

"Maybe they'll feel sorry for you."

Nick literally snorted. "You don't understand how this paparazzi shit works, do you?"

"It can't be that bad," I answered.

"You try it," he snapped, "You deal with them."

I rolled my eyes, "I would if they gave a fuck about me. Trust me, I'd like to have my biggest problem be what the fucking news is going to report about me."

Nick stood up and stormed across the room and stared out the window, his hands balled into fists. He leaned against the window frame and stared out. I could almost see the anger fuming off him. I folded my arms across my chest and leaned back in my chair, exasperated.

After a long pause, he turned around and looked back at me. "They say I'm trailer trash, or portray me to be so," he muttered, "They think I'm a loser, and that I'm stuck up on myself. They print lies about me, trying to ruin my career and destroy my life. The thing about the paparazzi is that they build you up to make you be a star, then they rip you apart so they can watch you fall. It's a vicious cycle."

"Well fuck them," I said, "They don't really know you."

"That doesn't make it any easier," he replied, shrugging.

"I wouldn't give a fuck about them and their lies if I were you," I responded, "I don't care what they printed. They don't mater, they're just words on a piece of paper."

"Words that will be what is left behind of me when I die. Rumors that lodge in peoples minds that they think about when they see me..." Nick shrugged. "It doesn't matter; this isn't a rumor, this is the truth."

I looked away from him, still irritated. He sounded so ungrateful for what he had. Didn't he see that he was blessed to have so-called problems like what the fricking press thought of him?

"Aw shit," Nick muttered. I looked back at him and saw he'd looked out the window again. He was scowling. I got up and wandered cautiously over to his side and glanced out. In the parking lot was a sleek black Porsche and a tall, strong looking guy was getting out of it. "Look at those brows," Nick's voice was low and dragging, "God he's gonna slaughter me to high hell."

"You think he'll press charges?" I asked, watching the guy talk to some cops.

Nick shook his head, "That's Kevin."

I stared down at the handsome looking guy in the lot and tried to reconcile him with the image that had built in my mind about what the mysterious Kevin that Nick kept mentioning would look like.

A few minutes later, another expensive looking car pulled up behind the first and a balding, middle-aged man got out and rushed over to Kevin and the officers. His head was glistening sweat and he spoke with a lot of hand motions. Even from the window it was obvious that the man was extremely pissed off.

"Yeah, he'll press charges," Nick mumbled.

Something about Nick's voice - the resignation, I guess - made me realize how truly deeply he was dreading the next few minutes. I stared down at my toes.

Ten minutes later, Nick and I had sat back down and Nick had stayed silent since he'd decided the man would press charges. The door opened and a pudgy cop entered, followed by Kevin and the middle-aged, balding man. The officer glared at both of us, "And here they are," he muttered.

"Aw Nick, what the hell have you done?" Kevin demanded first.

"You're going to jail. How dare you lay your hands on my boat, you thieving, delinquent son-of-a---" the middle aged man was lashing out on Nick, and I couldn't handle it.

"Nick didn't do anything," I snapped, "I stole the fucking boat. Nick was trying to stop me." I didn't know how realistic this claim was. It sounded good to me.

All four men in the room stared at me. Nick's eyebrows had knit together in concern, but the other three looked shocked.

"Yeah, that's right," I said boldly, "I stole the boat. So if you wanna arrest somebody, you should arrest me. Nick was a victim as much as you were in this."

And that is how I got arrested.

Chapter Sixteen
Point of View: Narrator


"Do you know what a fucking humiliation you are to this family?" Peggy Armaletto had Krystal by the wrist. She'd just bailed her daughter out and was now leading her to the car roughly. She pushed Krystal into the passenger seat and slammed the door before rounding the vehicle and getting in on her own side. "You've made us the laughing stock of the city. Do you know how many papers are going to cover this? How many of my friends and our family are going to see what a failure as a mother I am? Do you think I want that? Do you think I'm proud of you for this somehow? Because I'm not..."

Krystal felt numb. Every pore in her body felt as though it were filled with liquid pain. She closed her eyes. "It's not that big of a deal, Mom," she answered aggravated.

"Not that big of a deal?" Peggy repeated, aghast, "Krystal, do you have no idea how hard I've worked to dig us out of this sort of image? And you blow it in one night."

"I don't want you hanging around with that boy," Peggy snapped.

"What?" Krystal turned to look at her mother. "Nick?" Krystal laughed, "What?"

"You never did shit like this before you met him," Peggy said, "You'll never convince me that you, of all people, would purposely try to steal a boat. You don't even like the water."

Krystal shook her head, "Ma what do you think? That I lied just to protect him?"

"I don't know what you did, but I know that boy is a bad influence in your life." Peggy's eyes were determined.

"You don't know shit about it," Krystal snapped back. "Nick is the only good influence in my life." She glared at her mother, "You are a worse influence than he is," she added.

Peggy's hand was fast and sharp across Krystal's face. The crack of her palm against her daughter's cheek rang in the air and Krystal's eyes filled with tears. Peggy's posture became almost regal in spirit, and she glared at Krystal condescendingly for a long moment before turned forward and starting the car.



"Do you know what a humiliation you've become to his band?" Kevin was yelling at Nick, who was sitting miserably in the passenger's seat of the Porsche, staring out the window, watching trees and homes and mailboxes buzz by. "You've made us the laughing stock of the industry," he snarled.

"It was an accident," Nick whined.

"Accident my ass," Kevin snapped, "You reek of JD," he added, glaring at Nick. "You were drunk, and you stole a boat and then you let the girl take the rep."
Nick looked at his feet, "She wanted to," he said.

"I don't care what she thinks she wants. She now has a criminal record for something you did."

"I didn't think this would happen, okay?"

Kevin rolled his eyes, "That's just it, Nick, you don't think. You never think. If you invested some time to think you wouldn't be so fucking stupid all the time."

"I'm not stupid..."

Kevin sighed as he pulled into Nick’s driveway and cut the engine. They both remained in the car. "You act it," Kevin responded. "Nick its time for you to grow up. Look, I don't know how long you’ve been hanging out with this Kasey –“

“Krystal,” Nick corrected him.

“Whatever,” Kevin growled. “I don’t know how long you’ve been hanging out with her, but I don’t like what I’m seeing.”

“You don’t like what you’re seeing?” he repeated, dumbfounded, “Kev, what the hell business of yours is it?” Nick was aghast, “I’m sorry, was Krystal seeing you or me? And how much of it have you seen anyways? It’s not like you’re a constant presence around me, you barely even know me anymore!”

Kevin looked at Nick, his heart slamming in his chest. Nick’s mouth was running again and there was a rebellious, spiteful air to it that Kevin hadn’t heard since Nick was thirteen and Kevin had asked him to stop running around through the hallways in the hotels in Europe… or when, on tour, Kevin told him that was enough practical jokes – it was the type of voice that was followed up by Nick doing the exact opposite of anything Kevin had asked him to do.

They locked eyes.

“I’m gonna see her if I wanna see her,” Nick said, his voice level, “And furthermore, I’m gonna get drunk if I wanna get drunk.”

“AJ’s not even out of fucking rehab yet, Nick, and you’re already blowing away the one good thing that he could’ve taught you in all this?” Kevin hissed.

“I’m not AJ,” Nick snapped, “Just because it happened to AJ doesn’t mean it’s gonna happen to me. That’s your problem, you know, you treat me and AJ like we’re your twin three year old boys. But we’re not yours, Kevin, and you can’t tell us what to do.”

Kevin gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

“This is my life Kevin, and there’s nothing you’re going to do to stop me from living it my way.” Nick slammed Kevin’s car door opened and got out, roughly pushing it shut behind him. Inwardly, he hoped Kevin’s fucking beautiful car had a big ugly dent in its sleek side.

Kevin watched from the car as Nick stormed into his house and blasted the door shut behind him. Kevin rested his forehead against the steering wheel of the car and groaned. “Why the fuck can’t he just listen to me, God?” he prayed, closing his eyes and taking deep, shaky breaths. “If he’d just fucking listen I could save him a lot of pain…”

But Nick had never been good at listening to him.

Chapter Seventeen
Point of View: Nick


Immediately after getting inside, I'd called the FLPD and asked them to talk to the old man and get a settlement price so that he'd drop the charges on Krystal. "I'll pay whatever it takes," I told the officer I spoke to, "Just tell him to give you a quote and I'll write the check." There was no way that I was gonna let Krystal get the heat for something we'd both done.

Since calling the FLPD, I had sat on a chair in my living room, watching Krystal's house and waiting.

When a car finally pulled into her driveway, I didn't wait to see who it was that got out, I just leaped from my seat and bolted for the door, kicking on my sneakers as I went. I flew across the street and knocked on her front door. "Krystal!" I called.

The door opened and her mother stood before me in a fancy looking green dress suit and a little matching hat. She stared into my eyes with a look of pure hatred. "You," she said slowly, deliberately, "Are not welcome here." She started to push the door shut.

"Wait," I begged, "Wait. Where's Krys?"

"Krystal is resting," her mother answered sternly, "And she does not wish to speak to you."

"She doesn't wish to--" I cut off before I'd finished repeating the sentence. I stared, dumbfounded, at Krystal's mother. "But I gotta tell her some stuff."

"You've done enough," her mother replied, and went to close the door again.

I caught it with my palm and pushed it back open. "I'm gonna pay the settlement," I said, "I called the officers and I'm trying to find out how much the guy wants to pay it off so that Krystal doesn't--"

"Do you think we're a poor family?" demanded the woman in a regal tone.

"No but I --"

"We are Armalettos," she said the name as though she were saying royalty and glowered at me.

"And I'm a Carter, so the fuck what?" I asked. I hated it when people got all superior because they carried the last name of some long-dead predecessor who like invented lima bean tins or some bullshit like that. I really didn't give a damn what Krystal's great-great-great-great grand daddy did, it didn't make a difference in my life. What made a difference was who Krystal was.

Mrs. Armaletto stared at me for a long moment. "I know exactly who you are," she said, and she pushed the door shut in my face.

I stood on Krystal’s steps, staring at the door, biting my lip. Part of me wanted to knock again, to get Mrs. Armaletto to come back out and tell her off, tell her what Krystal told me about her. The other part of me knew that would be stupid and a mistake. I sighed and backed down the steps and started across the lawn towards my own house.

“Nick!” Her voice was scarcely above a whisper. I stopped and turned around. Krystal was straddling the window sill on the second floor, her foot resting on a tree branch. When I looked up, she threw a small purple duffle bag my direction, which I caught and dropped to the ground. Then, in an act I found as disturbing as I did thrilling, she stretched out her arms and pulled herself onto the branch. My heart about stopped as she yanked herself out the window and into the tree... She started climbing down in a well practiced manner.

I quickly rushed over to help her down from the last branch. “What the hell are you thinking?” I hissed, glancing back at the front door, certain her mom was gonna come out and crush me like a bug at any given moment.

“Escaping, what’s it look like?” Krystal scooped up the duffle bag from where I’d dropped it.

I trotted alongside her as she moved quickly to the sidewalk, toting her bag along. “Where are you going?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder back at the house every few steps.

Krystal shrugged, “Who knows? Anywhere but here. My mother’s a fucking psychotic…”

“Krys you can’t just run off,” I stammered, “Dude you’re like twenty-one, that’s really immature.”

“I don’t really have a choice, Nick, have you seen my mother? She’d rather send me to some rehab clinic than take care of me herself. She hates me.”

I felt desperate. I wanted Krystal to stay across the street. I had easy access to her there. “Don’t go,” I begged. “Especially not when you dunno where you’re going, I’ll worry about you.”

Krystal stopped and patted my chest. “Nick, you’ll live,” she said, “But if I stay here with her and let her control me, I probably won’t.”

“But—“

“Nick, it’s been a good run, but I gotta go.”

“But Krystal,” I felt a little bit pathetic, like I should be on my knees or something.

“Good bye Nick.”

I thought quickly. “Wait,” I begged. I pulled out my wallet and took out all my cash and thrust it into her hands. “Here, take this.”

Krystal blinked at the money.

“Please.”

“I don’t need your money Nick,” she said quietly, trying to hand it back.

“No you do if you’re gonna get out of your mom’s shadow,” I begged, pushing it back, “Please Krys, then at least I know you’ve got some money to start out with okay? And… and you have my phone number. Call me if you need more. Ever. Even if it’s been years, okay? Please?”

“Why the hell do you care?” Krystal asked, slipping the cash into the cleft of her bra.

“Because,” I said, “I told you I love you and I meant it.”

Krystal stared at her feet.

“You could live with me,” I suggested quietly.

She looked up, right into my eyes. “You don’t want me, trust me.” And before I could argue her, she turned and ran – not walked, but literally ran – away.

Chapter Eighteen
Point of View: Narrator


It was almost a whole month later before Nick heard from Krystal again; and the reason she had for calling was anything but perfect. It was September 11, 2001. Nick was in the middle of a frantic airport in Buffalo, NY, where their flight from Boston to Toronto had been grounded upon the news that a plane had flown into one of the two World Trade Center towers. Brian was having a miniature breakdown to Nick's left, and everyone else in the airport was having that same reaction. "Hello?" Nick called into the phone, which was hissing with static.

"Nick? Are you okay?" Krystal's voice was worried.

"Krystal?"

"Nick? I heard it was a plane from Boston, are you okay?"

"It wasn't our plane," he answered. "How'd you know we were in Bo--"

But the line was already dead.

It was December before Nick heard from her again.

When Nick got home from the tour, he'd stood at the end of his driveway studying Krystal's house, willing a light to turn on or some other sign of life to come from within it, but nothing happened. Every time it rained, he imagined he heard her outside, singing about clams in the sand on the beach and a couple times he'd run outside, chasing a dreamed mirage of red galoshes and flesh dancing through the street.

He was in bed when she called. The phone rang into the pitch darkness of his bedroom at 12:41 AM, and he bumped his head on the wall trying to reach for the phone before it stopped ringing. He dropped the receiver once and pressed it to his ear. "Hullo?" he moaned into the phone, sleep weighing down his words.

There was nothing but silence for a moment.

"Hullo?" he said again, more of a grunt than a moan this time.

"Nick?" her voice was strangled and shattered.

Nick recognized it right away and sat up quickly, his palms sweating. "Krystal?" he breathed back.

"Nick..." she sounded sleepy. Drugs, he thought.

"Krys, I'm here."

She murmured, "I needed to hear you..."

"I miss you," He said, his voice straining with desperation. Nick wanted to beg her to come home, but he didn't dare to; he was terrified she'd get mad and hang up on him again.

She probably would've.

"Save me," she whispered.

"Save you?" Nick asked, confused. His heart started pounding super fast like a jackhammer. "Where are you? Whatsa matter?" he asked.

"Nick..." her voice was quieter this time.

"Krys, where are you?" he demanded, his voice urgent.

She giggled, "The club."

"What bar?"

Krystal giggled again, "The one I work at, silly bean. I’m a dancer," she added, her voice deepening to emphasize the word.

"What club is that?"

Krystal let out a peal of laughter, "I'm so hungry, Nick."

"I know, baby," he muttered. "But where are you?"

"Honey Pot,” she mumbled.

Nick’s mind raced. The Honey Pot was a burlesque club in downtown Tampa. They were a relatively new, trendy hotspot, known for their thriving gay and lesbian crowds. Krystal was working there?

“I’ll be right there.”

Chapter Nineteen
Point of View: Nick


My car screeched to a stop in front of The Honey Pot. There wasn't any curb-side parking, but I rode one tire onto the sidewalk in front of a small tree and jumped out anyway, clicking the remote to lock the doors as I sped around the nose of the car. It felt very James Bond of me, and I kind of wished I'd worn a tuxedo instead of old sweats and a tourist t-shirt from Red Rocks, Arizona.

"Sorry sir, the line starts back that way," commanded a bouncer, whose thick biceps were no match for the feminine lisp that rolled from his mouth.

"Do you know who I am?" I demanded in my very best diva voice.

The guy blinked at me for a moment, not recognizing, then it hit him and his eyes widened, "Nick Carter!" He sounded shocked, stunned, and he quickly stepped aside to let me pass.

"Thank you," I said, rushing by into the darkness of the club. I could feel his eyes on my ass as I went. It gave me the heebie-jeebies.

Inside, it was dark with blue light accents along the walls and flashing colorful lights on the stage. A couple naked women were dancing on stage, all that they had on their bodies were pantyhose and tall stiletto heels. I paused for only a moment at the base of a platform halfway to the stage with a stripper pole connecting it to the ceiling, with a busty blonde spinning and hanging her chest over the crowd below her.

I was here for Krystal, I reminded myself, and I kept elbowing forward.

I got to the stage and still hadn't seen anyone who looked like they'd know where to find her. I looked up at the woman leering above me. She had on leather lingerie - a garter belt and one of those things that go around the middle. Her breasts were pushed up and her nipples stood at attention. She had on hot pink fishnet stockings and tall, spikey black stilettos that added at least six inches to her already long legs. She lowered herself down to her knees in front of me and spread her legs, "Hey sexy," she whispered.

"I'm looking for Krystal Armaletto," I said.

She stared at me like I had three heads. "Krystal's in the dressin' room," she muttered and thumbed over her shoulder.

"I need to see her, how do I get back there?"

"They ain't gonna let you back there," she laughed as she got up and pranced away.

Well then, I only had one choice.

I pulled myself onto the stage.

If I'd ever made a top one million things I never thought I'd do list, this wouldn't have even been conceivable to put onto the list. I never would've dreamt it up in even my most wildest dreams. But I'm thinking about adding it to the list just so I can take it off of it. Somehow standing on stage at a burlesque club just doesn't sound like the Nick Carter thing to do.

Great view though.

Three of the girls screamed, and the one that I'd talked to laughed.

I scrambled across the stage and ducked, as quickly as I could, behind the curtains. I found myself backstage. Half dressed women everywhere, and big mirrors with vanity tables and piles of lipsticks and make up tubs and tubes and lingerie and stilettos and feathers and sequins and...

And Krystal.

She was sitting on the floor, her face in her hands, her legs sprawled in front of her, red platform heels strapped to her ankles. She had on a short, short, short dress with ruffles that looked like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz and her hair was in tight braids.

I hurried to her side, the girls I passed gasping and jumping away, muttering about there being a man in their dressing room. I didn't care. I didn't pause. I knelt down beside Krystal. "Kryssie," I whispered. She looked up, she had a bloody lip and the side of her face was swollen. My stomach churned. "C'mon, baby," I whispered. I wrapped my arms around her and helped her get up. Her fingers feebly clung to my shirt, her head lolled about, her eyes were half closed.

I pulled all of her weight into me - and there really wasn't much to her, she was tiny when I first met her, but she'd gotten even tinier since. My hands shook with anger and fear and nerves, but I wrapped my arm around her and pulled one of her arms around my shoulders and held her hand tightly in my own. "C'mon, baby," I whispered.

She staggered, her legs barely moving, as I pulled her out of there. "Can one of you ladies show me the door so I don't gotta go over the stage again, please?" I asked some of the ones that had already gotten their costumes on. One dressed in a French maid's outfit quickly pranced ahead of me, her little ass showing under her short-short skirt, and opened a large metal door that led to the street.

"Take care of her," she gasped.

I nodded, and carried Krystal to my car. The people in line stared, the bouncer watched with concern as I struggled to open the door to the passenger side. Nobody helped me, though. I finally got it open and I carefully lowered Krystal into the seat and leaned in to get the buckle around her.

"Nick," she moaned quietly.

"I'm here, baby," I answered, buckling her in. I gently closed the door and ran around to get into my side of the car. "It's gonna be okay," I told her as I started up the car.

"Nick I can't breathe right," she gasped.

"I know, it's okay, we're gonna go to the hospital," I said.

She said something else, but I couldn't really understand her. She mumbled it too low, and slumped into the door of the car. I grasped her hand and put on my emergency flashers, and drove as fast as I could.

Chapter Twenty
Point of View: Krystal


My throat felt like someone had made me swallow glass and chased it with peroxide. I grasped it as tears started pouring from my eyes, which I hadn't opened yet. I felt a hand take hold of my hands and pull them away from my throat. "Kryssie," he whispered in my ear.

The sound of his voice made the nightmare I'd been having fade away. It made a warmth spread through my body - a feeling of being safe fill me, like hot chocolate being poured into a mug. I blinked my eyes opened and looked up at him, at the soft curve of his face and the glistening of his eyes... He reached out his hand and his palm cupped my cheek.

Soft as a whisper, he slid his thumb across my eyelashes, swiping away the tears that still clung to them. He smiled down at me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to him. When I'd called him I had never dreamt that he would actually come for me. But here he was - like a knight in shimmering, shining armor on the back of a white horse of hope, carrying a blazing shield of protection that he'd gathered me behind. I wanted to crawl onto his lap and curl up and inhabit his personal space forever.

"Don't be sorry, baby," Nick whispered back. He bent low and kissed my nose. He looked exhausted. Lines had formed around his face and bags under his eyes and his jaw was slack, as though he didn't even have the energy to hold it sturdy. He seemed slightly unfocused. "I'm so glad you called me..."

"I didn't know who else to call," I whispered.

Nick nodded, "I'm here now."

"He tried to kill me, Nick," I gasped.

"Who tried to kill you?" he asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

"Joe," I muttered.

"Your guy?" I nodded. Nick's eyes darkened. "Krystal, you gotta stop, you gotta come home. When you get outta here you're coming home, you can stay with me. Nobody's been at your house in months, I've watched it, your mom will never know."

Hot tears flooded me. "I didn't call you to become your charity case, Nick," I cried.

"So don't become my charity case," he answered, eyes pleading, "Become my girlfriend."

"You're crazy," I whispered.

"Yeah, but this ain't why," he replied. I was reminded of a similar conversation on board the boat where he'd insisted he loved me.

I shook my head, "Nick..."

"Krystal, please," he whispered.



Before I left the hospital the next day, the doctor gave me a bunch of pamphlets about drugs and alcohol and some flyers for counselors around the Tampa area. She eyed Nick suspiciously and added one about domestic abuse to the pile. "I don't need this one," I said firmly, handing it back to her, but she still looked doubtful that the bruises and bloody lip had been the work of someone else.

I didn't tell Nick.

I was clutching the pile of pamphlets as Nick drove me to his house. I stared out the window as he babbled about going grocery shopping later and about the kinds of cereal he had at home and that he'd buy paint so we could fix up the room he was giving me. It felt weird, when he pulled into his driveway and I glanced back at the house I'd been inhabiting when he and I met, to think that I now lived in the mansion across the street from the old home my grandpappy built that had once been a fucking mansion itself.

Nick led me into the house and we kicked off our Converse sneakers at the door. I looked around the foyer, which looked different than it had the last time I'd been in his house - when I'd gotten lost trying to get out of it. Nick tapped my shoulder. I looked over. He was smiling and holding out a rolled-up piece of paper.

"What's this?" I asked, taking it.

"You'll see."

I pulled a ribbon he'd tied around it off and tucked it into my pocket - I'd make something with it later - and unrolled the paper. It was a hand drawn map, made with crayons Nick had stolen from the waiting room at the hospital the night before. We'd spent the evening coloring together with them. Evidently he'd spent his coloring time making me a map of his house.

I grinned.

Nick nodded, "Hopefully it's accurate, I did it by memory..." he snickered.

I looked down at it and laughed, pointing to what, I assume, must've been his room. "Sex cave?" I asked.

Nick grinned. "In case you're wondering where to find the Nick Stick," he said, tapping his crotch.

"You're so twisted," I giggled. He'd labeled every room something goofy like that, though. Like instead of a kitchen, there was a Church of Food Consumption, and instead of a living room he'd labeled it Lazy Land Ruled by King TV".

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"It's perfect," I answered.

We spent the next hour testing the map. Nick would tell me a place to go ("the upstairs latrine!") and I'd have to locate it on the map and lead the way. He'd done a really good job. The map worked perfectly every place he sent us. He ended with, "The Princess' Lair" - aka, the guest bedroom, aka, where I would be staying.

"So typically, I don't have any guests over except Brian," he was warning me as I led the way up the stairs, following the map, "And Brian hasn't stayed with me since he got married last year, so the guest room has kinda become... well, kinda a storage room... It's got a bunch of random crap in it... And I didn't know you were coming so..."

I pushed open the door and found myself looking into a room with a bed and a desk pushed to one side and a collection of all of Nick's odds and ends, things like guitar stands and boxes labeled pictures and milk crates of ratty, used-looking notebooks and a laundry hamper (which was over flowing), and stacks of books. He blushed, "I'll work on getting this all out of here tomorrow and we can go and get paint at Home Depot and some new sheets and shit..." Until he'd said it, I hadn't even noticed there were Star Wars sheets on the bed.

"It's great, you don't have to rearrange your life for me," I said.

Nick shook his head, "I want to."

"You're a crazy person," I reminded him. "I'm not worth all this trouble."

"Says you," Nick said, shrugging. "I think you're worth this and more." He gently laid a kiss on my forehead. "Now... How about pizza for dinner?" He turned and waddled away, back down the hall. I stared at the room and smiled, even as Nick's voice was fading away as he babbled about the best pizza places in the area. I swallowed, my throat was sore. Maybe Nick really did give a damn about me after all.

Chapter Twenty-One
Point of View: Nick


We'd eaten pizza and played cribbage. She'd skunked me twice and I'd finally swiped the board and the empty pizza box off the table and grabbed her and kissed her passionately. She'd sat on the table and wrapped her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck and leaned back and grinned up at me. "You're a sore loser," she giggled.

"I just don't like losing," I protested, leaning forward to try to kiss her.

Krystal expertly leaned with me as I leaned, getting further away rather than closer. I felt like a horse with a carrot in front of its face. She continued to giggle. "No you are, you're a sore loser! I can't believe you, swiping the board off the table, like losing your little loser-green-pegs will help you do better next time..."

"I hate cribbage," I mumbled, running my hands up her back, trying to pull her closer. She kept her arms stiff, holding me at bay.

"You're such a stinker," she laughed. She scrambled across the table and dropped off the far side of it and collected the cards I'd thrown like it was 52-pick-up. "Look at the mess you made," she murmured.

I kicked the cribbage board aside and walked over to her and caught her in my arms again. She leaned against me and dropped the cards back to the floor. "I don't care about the mess," I confessed.

She stared up at me. "I love you."

"Why?" I asked her.

"Because you don't care about the mess."

Somehow I got a feeling she was talking about herself.



I only half awoke when the door to my bedroom creaked open in the middle of the night - long after we'd said goodnight and gone to our separate rooms. I shifted and nestled my face into my pillow. I felt the bed move under her weight as she crawled across the mattress. I felt the covers move as she pulled them open and slid under and tucked herself in beside me. I held up my arm as an invitation and she scooted into me, her back to my chest, our knees curved together, my mouth against the back of her head. Krystal tucked my arm around her and we both drifted back to sleep.



The sun was shining into my room, reflecting off the ocean. I blinked myself awake, blinded by the beams that were glaring right into my eyes. I went to move... but couldn't. "What the hell...?" I mumbled, twisting my head to inspect what was going on.

My hands were tied to the bed with two of my ties.

"What the hell...?" I asked again. This time with more enthusiasm as I was waking up more and comprehending more what was going on. I wrestled with the ties, trying to make them come undone, but they were knotted well. I looked at the indent beside me on the bed, where Krystal had been laying. "Krys?" I called, wriggling my hands, "Krystal?"

The door opened slowly and Krystal stepped into the room, wearing absolutely nothing except a pair of tall stiletto heels and a grin. She was carrying a bottle of chocolate syrup.

Oh. my. God.

I'd dreamed of a moment like this since I was like ten.

She moved slowly across the room, every step she took flexing her body just right. I lay there, captured like an animal, and wriggled in anticipation. She reached the bedside and stood there, hovering over me. I licked my lips. She was gorgeous. She squeezed just a little bit of chocolate sauce onto her finger and stuck it into her mouth. I watched, moaning, as she sucked the chocolate off her finger.

"Krys," I murmured.

Krystal climbed onto the bed and straddled me across my chest, her legs bent along either side of me, her womanly aroma assaulting my nostrils. I felt like every once of blood I had was centralized at my crotch. My head was dizzy as I watched her squeeze some more chocolate onto a couple fingers. She slid the chocolate covered fingers into my mouth and I sucked the chocolate off them.

"Hmm," she mumbled as my tongue worked against her skin. She pulled her fingers out of my mouth and took the syrup bottle in her hands and grinned at me. "I could just eat you up..." she mused.

I swear to God, I'll never think of chocolate syrup the same way ever again. One hour of pure, untellable heaven has forever ruined the pleasure I once found in chocolate milk.

After she'd untied my hands, we were laying there in bed, the syrup on the nightstand, her shoes long kicked off, the covers around our waists, my hands absently playing with her chest. "I must've been a really good boy to deserve that," I murmured.

Krystal smiled, "The best," she answered.

I took her hands and lifted them up to my face and kissed her palms. They were salty from sweat and sweet from left over chocolate. They tasted like her. I grinned through her fingers at her.

"You make me feel safe," she whispered, "And wanted and special."

"You are all those things," I answered.

Krystal's eyes filled with tears even as her face broke into a smile, "But I never felt them before, Nick," she whispered.

"Well it's about time that you do," I answered, "It's long, long overdue." I kissed her softly on her forehead. Then I glanced at the syrup on the night stand and grinned devilishly. I grabbed the bottle.

"Niiick," she giggled warningly.

But I'd already taken the cap off and started squeezing. "Clean up on aisle Krystal," I snickered and stuck out my tongue, ready to do my janitorial duties...

Chapter Twenty-Two
Point of View: Krystal


Nick and I had gone to Home Depot and gotten a brilliant shade of banana-yellow paint and a roll of shaggy orange rug that he said reminded him of The Brady Bunch. We were now at the mall, where, at his insistence, I was to seek and find the "most mind-blowing sheets and comforter I'd ever seen" - his instructions.

I felt spoiled. And reluctant to let him do all this. I hadn't really deserved it and I felt awkward - I had nothing to give him back in return, except maybe sex but that seemed kind of cheap and slutty.

Nick held up a giant penguin-shaped pillow and shook it. "Pick me, pick me," he said in a high-pitched, Mickey-Mouse voice.

"You're a dork," I said pushing the penguin in the tummy. Nick laughed. I did, however, grab the penguin when he put it down in the bin he'd gotten it from, and tucked it under my arm.

Nick spun in place, "I've never seen so fucking many blankets in my life," he said, holding up his arms. He looked at one of those mock-up beds they have in department stores and he raised his eyebrow at me, "Ooh lala, let's christen it."

"You're joking," I said, laughing.

Nick grinned.

I don't know if he was joking or not, but I kept walking through the aisles and he kept up with me, so I assume he was. I found a quilt with big orange black-eyed susan flowers all over it, and chocolate brown sheets. We located a mirror with a brown frame and some prints for the walls. Nick found a poster of the Backstreet Boys and held it up, "Get this one," he begged.

"Why? I don't need a poster of you, you're right down the hall," I laughed.

Nick grinned, "So you don't forget me when I'm down the hall."

"To remind me of the sex cave," I said. A soccer mom looking woman glared at me when I said that, but I didn't care.

Nick laughed, "Whatever works to keep it coming," he winked.

"Oh I'll keep you coming alright," I smirked as Nick's face puckered into an ohhhhh expression and I breezed by him, hugging the penguin to my chest. Nick dropped the poster back into its crate and tailed me like a lost puppy, carrying the quilt and the sheets under his arms.

When we'd checked out of there, we were wandering through the mall when a sparkle from the jewelry store caught my eyes. I frolicked over and bent over the counter, looking at the gemstones. Nick stood beside me, carrying a bulk of the goods we'd bought on his strong arms. He leaned against the counter. "You're distracted by shiny things too, I see," he laughed.

"Shiny shit always gets me," I sang as I tucked my hair behind my ears and practically salivated at the sparklies.

Nick followed me around the counter as I peeked and oohed and ahhed at various pieces in the case. A distracted-looking sales clerk was talking on the phone a couple paces away.

He dropped the quilt bag onto the floor and reached around me and Hewbie - the penguin had officially been named - and pointed, "See, that's what my weakness is," he said, pointing at a watch with a heavy platinum band. He grinned, "There ain't nothin' like a nice watch."

"A watch?" I demanded, "Seriously?"

Nick nodded, "I love'em."

"You never even wear a watch," I laughed, pointing out his wrist.

"Maybe I would if I had a nice one," he shrugged.

"Well if you love them so much, why don't you have one?" I asked.

Nick laughed, "I dunno..." he paused, "I feel like watches are something someone is given," he said.

"Really?"

"Yeah, like for father's day or a wedding present or whatever." His cheeks were flush. "I just would feel funny buying myself a watch. They're like symbolic."

"Symbolic?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "I dunno, I'm very romanticized about the watches." We both laughed, but I glanced back over my shoulder at the jewelry counter as he led me away, wishing more than anything I could give Nick a gift like that.

It bothered me the rest of the time we were walking. I kept asking him random questions - Hasn't anyone ever given you a watch? Even after hearing how much it means to you? - the rest of the time we were shopping. He answered me happily.

When we'd finally reached the end of the mall and we'd visited everything we were going to visit, Nick wrapped his arm behind me, consolidating all the bags into one hand and pulled me close to him. He kissed the top of my head, "Now to go home and put all this crap together," he laughed.

"Hewbie will help," I said, hoisting the penguin up.

"Why thank you Hewbie," he said, and he gave Hewbie a kiss on the beak.

"Hey now I'm jealous you know," I said, pulling Hewbie away from his perfect mouth. Nick's smile lit up his eyes and he bent down and kissed me again.

When he disengaged from me, my eyes landed on the jewelry shop we'd visited before. I looked at Nick. "C'mon, let's head out to the car," he said huskily, "And after we get your room all set up maybe we can christen that bed," he whispered.

I pecked his cheek, "Go ahead, I'll be right there."

"What?" he looked confused.

"Go ahead out, I've gotta do something real quick."

"If you wanna keep shopping we can kee-"

"No, just - I gotta - I gotta pee," I lied. "I'll be right now, I promise."

"Oh." Nick nodded, "Okay, I'll be outside. It'll probably take me that long to get this crap in the back anyways," he rationalized. My eyes followed him until he'd disappeared around the shoes and towards the door.

I bolted for the jewelry counter.

Chapter Twenty-Three
Point of View: Nick


I had been sitting in the car for a good ten minutes at the curb outside the mall. The radio was on and I was tapping the wheel to the beat of the music - though only half heartedly at this point - and leaning, hunched over, to look out the passenger side window at the mall entrance.

"Jesus," I muttered, "How the frig long does it take to take a pee..." I glanced at Hewbie, who was buckled into the backseat - yes, I buckled in a stuffed penguin; it's cute, not crazy - "Mommy's takin' freakin' forever," I said to it. I stared at it. I imagined it asked me why. "Because," I answered the imaginary question the stuffed penguin asked me, "She has to sit to whiz."

Suddenly the door burst open and Krystal came trotting out of the mall. Her cheeks were flushed. She climbed into the front seat and pulled the door shut behind her. She was still struggling with her seat buckle when she gasped, "Yay, let's go home."

"Taking a piss is like a work out for you, or something?" I asked, putting the car into gear.

"I had to use the toilet at the far other end of the mall and I felt bad taking so long so I ran," she answered. "That's a fucking huge mall."

Now I felt bad. "You didn't hafta run," I said.

Krystal shrugged, "I knew you were waiting."

"Well I was fine, it was Hewbie... Hewbie got a lil worried about where you were, but I told him about how women hafta take longer to pee 'cos they hafta sit."

Krystal stared at me. "But Hewbie's a girl," she said in a slightly offended tone.

I glanced back at the penguin, then at Krystal, then back to the road. "Seriously? With a name like Hewbie?"

"Yes," Krystal said.

"Shit," I said, "Well, Hewbie probably wants to know why I stand up to pee now."

Krystal rolled her eyes, "The birds and the bees talk - at her age! Oy vey!" She threw her hands in the air, "What in the hell am I going to do with you?" she asked.

I didn't realize I was doing 84 MPH until I saw the blue lights in my rear view mirror.

Krystal reacted before I did. "Fuck!" she wailed.

I looked at my spedometer. "Aw god-dammit," I murmured. I pulled over.

Krystal hunched in her seat, gnawing on her fingernails.

The cop took his time getting out, adjusted his belt and spit before walking to my window. He raised a hairy-knuckled hand and tapped on my window, which I unrolled. "License and registration, please?" I pointed at the glove box over Krystal's knees and she opened it, hands shaking, and pulled out the little plastic case with my registration in it. I reached into my pocket and got out my wallet and folded it over so my license displayed and handed both to the cop. I peered up at him. "Do you know how fast you were going just now, Mr. Carter?" He stared down at my license.

"I noticed the second your lights turned on," I said truthfully.

The cop bent down and looked at Krystal. He studied her a moment. I glanced over at her. She looked pale and her lip was still slightly swollen and a bruise discolored her temple on this side. She was staring at her hands, pressed against the passenger side door.

"You alright there, miss?" he demanded.

Krystal nodded numbly.

The cop stared at her, then looked at me, his eyes dark. "Any particular reason you were doing 80 in a 55 zone?" he asked.

"I was... distracted," I said, honestly. I sighed, "I'm sorry."

The cop eyed me. He looked back at Krystal. The radio on his holster hissed. "10-68 Officer Herring?"

He sighed and grabbed his radio, "10-4," he muttered. His eyes never left Krystal.

"10-99 at the University Mall."

He sighed again. "10-6." The officer glanced again at my license and handed it back to me. "I'm gonna let you go for today, but in the future, please watch your speed..." he leaned down a little further and eyed Krystal again. "Have a good day, miss," he said.

Krystal nodded.

The cop clicked his radio and started muttering into it again as he strode back to his car and I rolled up my window. I leaned back into the seats and closed my eyes. I ran my hand through my hair.

After the cop had pulled a quick U-turn out from behind me, I put on my directional and merged into traffic. My fingers clutched the wheel and my senses were heightened to oblivion. I stared at the speedometer, not going even one tick over 55 now.

Krystal stayed silent the entire way home.



When we got back to the house, I started unloading everything, which Krystal carried Hewbie and the blankets and crap up to the bedroom. When I got in there, she was standing in the middle of the empty room, clutching Hewbie to her chest. I'd gone in that morning and moved all the random crap into the attic.

"Excited?" I asked.

"I love painting, you know that," she answered.

I ripped open the packaging on the roll of plastic drop cloths and kicked the roller tray onto them once I'd laid them down. Krystal knelt down and pried the lid off the can of paint and stirred the mixer. Within a couple minutes, we faced each other, each armed with a roller and a look of determination.

"Ready?" I asked.

Krystal smiled and nodded. "Ready," she answered.

"Let's do this thing."

And we attacked the wall.

Chapter Twenty-Four
Point of View: Narrator


Later that evening, after dinner, Krystal and Nick loaded the dishwasher together and went out to the living room together. Nick sprawled across the couch and Krystal pulled his head onto her lap and stroked his cheek as he fell asleep watching an I Love Lucy rerun.

"I was born in the same hospital she was," he murmured just before konking out.

Krystal laughed and wondered why he knew where Lucy was born.

He looked so peaceful when he'd fallen asleep. She sat staring down at him for the longest time, the TV's glow flickering across his motionless face. She could see his eyes moving under his eyelids and knew he was dreaming. She wondered what he was seeing...

Then his face clouded and his knees shifted up, curling towards his chest in a fetal position and he whimpered. His arms, which had been wrapped around her waist the entire time, tightened and he clutched onto her shirt as a tear snuck out of the corner of his eye and traveled swiftly across his cheek.

Krystal's heart ached at the sudden change - he'd been so sweetly sleeping just an instant ago, it seemed tragic somehow that had changed. She wondered if she should wake him up or let the dream play out.

She'd just decided to wake him when he woke himself, sitting up quickly and gasping for air. He sat there, back-to her, breathing heavily and staring off at the wall for a long moment. Finally, Krystal asked, "Nick?" and reached out a tentative hand, which she laid on his back. He didn't respond, but she could feel his body shaking. “Nick,” she whispered.

He reached up and wiped the tears from his eyes, forcing the dream from his mind. It was, after all, only a dream…

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Are you all right?” Krystal’s concern echoed through her voice.

Nick nodded, even as his mind said no.

Krystal leaned in and wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing her cheek against the flat expanse between his shoulders. He closed his eyes. She waited until she felt a little bit of the tension release from his muscles and she whispered, “I have something for you.”

He sat up straighter and she felt his back flex as he turned his head to try to look back at her. “You do?” he asked.

“Mmhm,” she answered.

“What is it?” he asked, curious now. He shifted and wiggled until he was facing her on the couch, his knees tucked under him. “What’cha got for me?” his eyes swept the length of her body in anticipation.

“You’ve already had that,” she laughed. “Wait a second, I’ll be right back.” She jumped up off the couch and pranced upstairs happily, humming loudly to herself. Nick rotated again on the couch to watch the doorway she’d disappeared through, staring at the base of the stairs. Several moments passed before she came running back down, clutching something behind her back. She carefully walked around him, keeping it hidden, and he craned his neck trying to see behind her.

“What’cha got? Lemme see,” he pawed at her as she sat down and she laughed.

“You’re like a child,” she snorted.

Nick pouted, “I just wanna see,” he whined.

“Close your eyes,” she whispered. Nick hesitated. “Do you wanna see or not?” she asked. He closed his eyes. “Okay, now keep’em closed, Nick,” she said.

Nick listened closely as she moved, shifting her weight and laid something in his hands. Something heavy and square… “Can I look yet?” he begged.

“Not yet.”

Krystal did something that redistributed the weight of the square in his hand just a little bit and she took in a deep breath. “Okay, Nick,” she said slowly, “You can open your eyes now.”

He opened his eyes and gasped.

“How did you – why did you—“ He looked up at her, dumbfounded. In his hands was a box, and in the box, settled in dark green velvet lining, was the watch he’d pointed out at the jewelry counter earlier that afternoon. Krystal grinned as he blinked between it and her, shocked.

“When you went outside and I went to the bathroom, I actually went and got the watch for you,” she answered, smiling.

“I can’t believe this,” he whispered, “Incredible… What on earth made you do this?” he asked, unbuckling the metal wristband and tugging it around him. He stared at the dark green face of the watch and smiled at the little Roman numerals.

Krystal smiled, “You’ve just done so much for me, I felt like I needed to do something for you.”

“You didn’t have to,” Nick answered, in awe, “This must’ve cost you a small fortune…” he muttered, looking it over.

Krystal laughed, “Yeah, it did.”

“Where on earth did you get the money?” he asked, looking up at her. “You didn’t use your family’s money, right?”

Krystal shook her head, “No, I didn’t use their money. Relax.” She leaned forward and kissed his mouth gently.

“So how did you –“

“You know what you can give me?” she asked, her mouth still close to his mouth.

Nick blinked into her eyes. “What’s that?” he asked.

Her hand ran gently across his thighs, “I think you know,” she whispered.

Nick laughed, “Can I wear my watch?” he held up his arm.

“Yeah, but nothing else.”

“Okay,” he kissed her, then jumped up, “To the sex cave!!” Nick bounded out of the room and up the stairs. Krystal laughed and put the watch box onto the coffee table. That smile, she thought, was worth it.

Chapter Twenty-Five
Point of View: Krystal


I woke up with a start when I heard a cruiser, with its siren blaring, drive by the house the next morning. I sat bolt upright and found myself in Nick's bed still, his legs twined around my own legs and his body pressed against mine. Thor, as he informed me his fans had name it, was pressed into my back at full attention.

Nick's arms snaked up and grabbed my shoulder, his watch band heavy on his wrist, gleaming in the sunlight that came through the window. "Come back," he whimpered, pulling me back into him. "Don't go anywhere," he pleaded.

I lowered backwards into the pillows and blankets.

Nick curled into me even more than he'd already been and pressed his mouth against the back of my neck. "Thank you for being so amazing," he whispered. "I love you so fucking much."

I didn't respond. My heart was doing jumping jacks in my chest cavity.

"Kryssie," he whispered, "Hey Kryssie..."

"What?" I asked, numb.

Nick kissed my skin softly, "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in all my life," he murmured.

I shook my head, "No I'm not."

"I think so," he said flatly, not really leaving any space for rebuttal. He rubbed my shoulders. "Hey baby?" he whispered, "What's the matter? You're tense."

"I'm okay," I replied.

"Come lay down," he begged.

I shook my head, "I'm not tired; I'm gonna go downstairs, I think," I answered, shrugging him off me and crawling out of bed.

He watched helplessly, "Babe..."

"It's okay, Nick, I'm just not sleepy, that's all." He pouted, sighed, and started to get up, too. "What're you doing?" I asked.

"Getting up," he replied.

"You're tired, go to sleep, I'm just not tired yet."

"Come back when you are?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yeah," I answered.

Nick eyed me for a long moment, then accepted it and laid back into the pillows. "Okay."

When I got downstairs, I boiled some water and threw a tea bag into it. I set myself down in a chair in the living room and hugged my knees to my chest. The irrational side was sitting there waiting for them.

I wondered what he'd do if he knew.

Chapter Twenty-Six
Point of View: Narrator


Nick was sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal balanced on his palm, spooning Cinnamon Toast Crunch flakes into his mouth as he watched highlights from some game on the TV. He'd started out with his legs crossed yoga-style, but as the highlights got exciting, he'd slowly raised up and up until now he was kneeling on the couch, clutching the bowl, shoveling the food, milk dripping down his chin onto the chest of his mangy-looking t-shirt. "Go!" he wailed at the player, who was trying desperately to catch the ball flying through the air over his head, "GOOOOOOOOOO!! MOVE YOU BASTARD!!!" In his momentum, he nearly fell off the couch, only just catching himself, and, unable to catch the bowl, watched as the milk and cereal exploded like a firework across the coffee table and shards of bowl went flying every which way.

"Crap," he groaned. He flipped himself over the back of the sofa, so he wouldn't step on any of the glass that was now residing in his carpet, and headed out to the kitchen.

Krystal was still out there. She was sitting at the kitchen table, poking through the newspaper. She looked up as Nick came in the room and started rooting around in the cabinet under the sink. He pulled out a bottle of Windex and a tub of AJAX. He turned them over in his palms and looked down at the labels. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Which one of these is better to clean a carpet with?" he asked, holding them up for her to see.

Krystal stared at him a moment, trying to decide if he was serious or not, and finally decided he probably was. Nick didn't seem like the type to randomly joke about cleaning products. "Um... neither..." she said slowly. She hesitated. "What exactly happened?"

Nick hesitated back. He rubbed his nose. "I uh-" a soft clicking of claws on tile made him look down. His pug, Houston, was standing at his feet. "Houston knocked over my cereal bowl," he said. The dog can't get yelled at for making the mess, he thought, feeling a little guilty for throwing the dog under the bus.

Krystal sighed, "You shouldn't let her on the coffee table."

This was probably true, Nick couldn't really argue. "My bad," he answered. He ducked back under the sink. His voice came out muffled, "So what one of these thingies under here is good for the carpet thing?" he called.

Krystal thought a moment, "I dunno... A carpet cleaner?"

"Pinesol?"

"No."

Nick straightened up. "Are you sure the Windex won't work?" he asked, holding it up again, "It says all surfaces..."

"They mean table tops and windows," Krystal replied. She got up and made her way over and, pushing Nick out of the way, knelt down and started looking at all his cleaning supplies. Nick, meanwhile, looked at her ass.

The door bell rang.

"Ding dong, the witch is dead," sang Nick, "Gotta get the bell baby, be right back." He bounded away, out the kitchen, followed by the obese pug. Krystal kept rummaging through the space under the counter.

Nick whipped open the front door to his house, "Heyo, welcome to CarterWorld, home of the Carter Mc--" he stopped midword. Standing on the steps was a police officer. "Um, hi, --" Nick paused awkwardly, "Sir," he added.

"Good morning," the cop replied, voice low.

Nick wasn't sure what it meant when a policeman visited your house at random, so he wasn't entirely sure what to feel. He backed up, opening the door wider, "Um, come in..." he mumbled, unsure if that was even the right thing to do.

The officer pulled off his midnight blue cop-hat and tucked it under his arm. He stepped inside, rubbing his boots on the welcome mat before stepping in any further. He paused in the foyer as Nick closed the door. He pointed to Nick's wrist, "That's a nice watch," he commented.

Nick smiled, "My girlfriend gave it to me."

"When?" the cop asked.



Krystal was just backing out of the cupboard when she heard footsteps enter the kitchen. "I found some in the way back of the cabinet," she was saying, "I don't think this stuff expires, I mean it's cleaning chemicals, what could really --" she looked up.

Nick's face was somberly blank. A uniformed officer stood behind him.

Krystal put the bottle of carpet cleaner down on the counter. She swallowed. "Good morning," she whispered, hardly able to speak.

"Krys..." Nick said quietly, "What'd you do?"

Chapter Twenty-Seven
Point of View: Krystal


I felt like my insides had been ripped out and thrown all over the floor. Nick whipped out his check book and covered everything... again. He apologized profusively and somehow - God only knows how - managed to get me out of trouble.

The drive home from the station was tense. The radio played quietly under the weight of the silence, and I rubbed my arm, staring at my knees, waiting for an explosion that I could feel lingering under the radar. Nick was gnawing on his lower lip.

He pulled into the driveway of his house and we sat in the car, motionless, for a long moment. He scratched his chin. "This is too much drama," he muttered. He turned so he was looking out his side window. "It's gotta stop," he added.

"I'll go pack then," I replied. I reached for the door handle and went to push open the door when Nick's hand grabbed my wrist, stopping me, mid-motion.

"Don't," he said.

I sighed and tried to wrench my hand away, "Stop it," I whined, "Let go of me."

Nick shook his head, "I'm not giving up on you," he said, "I wanna help you."

"Let go of me," I repeated.

"Krystal, you're a good person," he was almost pleading, "Why did you do this? Why? I mean seriously, I love that you had the heart to do it, but Kryssie, if you didn't have the money --"

"You don't understand what it's like when you're giving me everything and I just sit there and feel like a whore!" I wailed, "It's like you're Richard Gere and I'm Julia Roberts. Do you want me to suck your dick for feeding me this week or would you rather a lap dance?" Tears were pouring down my face.

Nick looked taken aback. He sighed, "Krystal... It's not like that," he insisted.

"Yes it is!" I wailed, "You don't even see it. You get sex, and I get all the luxuries of being a rock star's girlfriend..."

"You don't seriously think I love you because you fuck me do you?" Nick asked, his voice raised.

I ripped my wrist out of his grasp, even though it hurt like a sonuvabitch to do, and slammed his car door open, "Why the hell else would you?" I asked, my voice a hiss. I got out of the car before he could grab me again, even though he lunged across the seat in an attempt to catch me. I slammed the door.

I heard Nick swear and struggle with his seatbelt before his door slammed, too. I was already halfway to the front door by the time he'd gotten out, but his longer legs still afforded him the advantage over me, and he caught up, cut me off, and grabbed both my arms at the biceps with his strong hands. He shook me, "Don't you ever fucking dare tell me what I do and do not feel," he said, his voice low, and full of anger. "Don't you fucking dare."

I struggled against him, "Let me fucking go you big ox!" I yelled.

"LISTEN TO ME," he bellowed, "I dunno what the fuck is wrong with you, why you think you're so bad or whatever you think, but you're not a bad person! You're gorgeous and I fucking love you because you're- you're- you're YOU. I don't want you shoving bullshit ideas down my throat about you being a whore or whatever."

I couldn't see, tears were flooding my eyes. His arms were squeezing me tight, holding me still as I struggled to pull away from him. "Let me go, let me go," I sobbed. I managed to rip one hand free and I pushed against his chest, "Leave me alone!"

"NO," Nick yelled, snatching back my arm and holding me captive again, "No, I won't let you go. I won't give up on you. I won't turn my back on you. I won't let you throw away this relationship because you think I can't love you. I already do love you."

"Nobody loves me, Nick. Least of all, someone as fucking amazing as you."

"I don't give a damn where you been Krys, I don't care what your bitch mother has said to you or what your fucked up father did to you. You know what I care about?" Nick's voice was loud and borderline hysterical. "I care about you knowing that I fucking love you -- YOU, Krys."

I pulled away as his grip loosened with the last words, stumbled backwards, and fell down to the grass. I laid down on it, tears rolling across my face in rivers. I refused to look at him. I curled my knees to my chest and let the sobs rock my body. After a long pause, I felt him kneel down beside me, "Kryssie," he whispered, "I do love you. Please don't cry, baby... I just wanna make you happy... more than anything else."

His fingers softly stroked my cheek.

But I didn't believe him.

Chapter Twenty-Eight
Point of View: Brian


"Mmm... Brian..."

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.

"Oh God..."

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.

"Leighanne... aw man..."

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.

Beep.
"Hallo, you've reached the Littrell's! We're probably not home, but if we are we're busy right now. Leave a message and I'll call ya back!! Hahehhe!!"
Beeeeeep.

"Brian? It's me... Nick..."

"Ignore it..." Leighanne whispered in my ear.

"I am..." I whispered back.

"Oh Briiiiiiian," she moaned.

"BRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIAN," called out Nick at almost the same time.

Libido dead.

I groaned.

"No, Bri-bear, ignore him," she begged.

"The bear just got shot," I muttered. I pulled away and crawled out from under the covers. Leighanne didn't follow. I sighed and grabbed my boxers on as I trotted down the stairs to grab the downstairs extension. I was ready to kill him.

"B-R-I-A-N... B-R-I-A-N...B-R-I-A-N and Brian was his name-ohhh," Nick was singing into the answering machine as I got into my 'office'. I closed the door and headed for the phone. "There was a Backstreet Boy whose name was Brian... B-R-I-A.... B-R-I-A....B-R-I-A .... and Brian was his name-ohhh..."

"This better be really good," I snapped, picking up the receiver and interrupting his little song party.

Nick laughed. "Hey you're there, whassup? Bad timing?"

"Seriously? You don't call for a month and you gotta call the one time Leighanne and I are having sex?"

"Oh shut up, the odds of calling while you two are having sex are like the odds of you calling me while I'm eating. They're really good odds."

I grumbled and sat down. I'm not sure why Nick thought he was the authority of my sex life, but whatever. Leighanne had insisted that we not have sex except on days when she was fertile. Those days, we both holed up in the house and tried to make a baby until we were the color of two exhausted smurfs.

Nick had killed my sex drive on the one day for the month of January.

"Seriously, speak your purpose now, please," I said.

Nick sighed, "I gotta question for you."

"Okay."

"Can I ask it?"

"Nick just ask the damn question."

"Okay, see, it's like this... I got this girlfriend and..."

I closed my eyes, "Please tell me you didn't interrupt my sex so you could ask me about sex."

Nick snorted, "I didn't. Relax. It's... more... it's more serious. If I was asking about sex, I would've called AJ."

"Right."

"Now listen," Nick said, "I'm dating this girl..."

"Is this the one Kevin can't stomach?" I asked, interrupting him again.

Nick sighed, "Maybe?"

"Nick, he says she's psycho."

"So we stole a boat..."

"You stole a boat?" How had I not heard about this? I wondered.

"B- It was a long time ago now, okay? Can we focus on the now?"

I sighed. I had a feeling I didn't like this girl already either. "Yeah, shoot."

Nick started over again. "Okay, so I'm seeing this girl... Well, kind of she's living with me, but --"

"She's living with you?" I asked.

"FOCUS, Brian," he repeated. I bit my tongue. I wanted to point out all of the reasons why living with someone Kevin outright called psychotic could be a bad idea. Not the least of which was the steak knives I knew lay all shiny like in his kitchen utensil drawer. "Anyways, she's got a really shitty self esteem, and... I wanna make her feel better about herself," he said.

I sighed. "So... I dunno, compliment her. Send her flowers."

"Done, done," Nick said, like he was marking off a check list. "I need something else, something deep."

"Deep?" I asked. I rubbed my chin.

"Yeah," Nick said, "You're good with the thinking up deep shit thing. Help a brotha out."

Only Nick could articulate quite like Nick.

I sighed, "I dunno what to tell you other than to just stick with her..."

"Nothing more... now?" he asked, "More immediate?"

"Not that I can think of," I answered.

Nick sighed, "I just feel like crap."

"Why?"

"Because, she's all negative about herself... she hates herself and it breaks my heart. I just wanna give her heart some place to rest where it's safe," he said, "A shelter, a home..."

I rubbed the back of my neck. "Did you tell her that?" I asked.

"No," Nick admitted.

"Well... There ya go."

He sighed, "Thanks Bri..."

"I didn't do much."

"You did enough," he answered, "I gotta jet. Go get banged. Seeyaz." And he hung up the phone.

I sighed as I replaced the receiver into its cradle and wondered how long it would be before Nick called me again this time...

Chapter Twenty-Nine
Point of View: Kevin


"You'll never believe who called me today."

I was balancing two grande coffees, three bags of groceries, a gallon of milk, and a box full of mandarin oranges. "What?" I asked, pinching the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I used the very tips of my fingers to fish my house keys out of my pocket.

"Nick called me," Brian's voice was incredulous.

I dropped the keys. They hit the porch, bounced once and some how - like a game of plinko on The Price is Right - slipped through the crack in the boards and disappeared into the underworld. "God damn it." I dropped the oranges and gallon of milk to the floor and lowered the coffee on the ledge of the porch.

"Kev?"

"Nick called?" I asked, "Impressive. What makes you rate?"

"Well, as he worded it, I think deep shit."

Only Nick could articulate like Nick. I knelt down, "What'd he want you to think deep shit about?" I asked, pressing my eye to the slot the keys had gone down. Lord only knows how they'd fit. I squinted into the darkness. They were chilling in a pile of dirt and rocks and cobweb two feet under me.

"His girlfriend," Brian answered, "Apparently, he's worried about her self esteem."

"Yeah I'm sure she needs it," I muttered, remembering Krystal's smug expression on the newspaper clipping from the boat incident. "She seems like a real broken creature, let's all coddle her." I rolled my eyes.

"I have no idea, I haven't met her," Brian said, "But he's all worked up wanting to make her feel better about herself..."

"So what's he gonna do, buy her a menagerie of luxury items so she can steal his credit card and go spend all his money? Maybe steal the car..." I was being sarcastic, "Smack him across the face, give him a bloody nose just before the show, start enough rumors going around the Internet to keep the fans and their lil fan fiction websites buzzing for months...?" I was referencing an ex of his.

Brian sighed, "I know.. I was thinking it sounded familiar too."

"I met the girl, Brian," I said, struggling to stand up and knocking on my own house's door. I sighed and dusted my knees, "I can tell you right now, she's using him. Mark my words. She wants to be a singer or an actress or something and she's gonna stay with him until he makes it happen, then she's gonna go break his heart and shack up with Kenny G or something."

"Dude, nobody shacks up with Kenny G," Brian said, "Except maybe Yanni."

Kristin opened the door and blinked in surprise when she saw it was me. I smiled. "What happened?" she asked.

I pointed at the ground, "I won at Plinko." I handed her one of the coffees and raised my own to my mouth. "Look, Brian, I dunno, maybe she'll shack up with Justin Timberlake or one of his posse, I have no clue what she's into for dudes, but I'm telling you right now, this thing with her and Nick? It's never gonna last."

Brian sighed, "I just hope he doesn't go getting hurt out of the deal. You know Nick..." he paused, "And Kev, he's got me worried. Do you even remember the last time it'd been a month between me and Frackolas talking? I mean... we used to talk everyday."

"Exactly," I said, "She's gonna break him."

"So what do we do?" Brian asked.

Kristin was looking at me, concerned. "I dunno," I answered, "But I for one am not going to stand around watching it happen..."

Brian sighed, "Well maybe we can all talk about it next week when we start recording again."

"Yeah we'll see."

"We'll see?" Brian asked.

"I'll bet'cha a hundred bucks right now that he cancels the session," I said.

"Why?" Brian asked.

"Because," I said, "She's trying to keep him away from us."

Chapter Thirty
Point of View: Krystal


I inched down the stairs. Nick had never come up and it was almost midnight. I'd been listening for him to go by the door, because I needed to know he was there. The house felt big, empty, scary without knowing he was there. I felt like a little kid with a night light they needed turned on before they could go to bed. Nick would save me from the monsters under the bed.

As I descended the stairs, I could hear the sound of a guitar playing quietly coming from the living room. The light glowed out the door, warm and amber. I peeked around the door jamb. He was sitting on the couch, back-to me, hunched over a guitar. He'd pluck a string, curse, then try again. I inched closer.

"This is my... my... Damn." He tightened the key on one of the strings. "This is myyyy..."

"What'cha singing?" I asked quietly to announce my presence.

Nick glanced over his shoulder, "Writing," he answered.

"You're writing a song?" I lowered myself at his feet on the floor and laid my cheek against his knee.

"Yeah," Nick answered.

"Can I hear?" I asked.

Nick gnawed his lower lip, "I dunno, I haven't got the guitar chords figured out yet..."

"Please?"

He picked up a notebook and stared down at the hand writing. "Okay, but ...it's not done, remember that."

"Okay."

"I'm just gonna read it, cos I dunno how to sing it yet," he added.

"Okay."

Nick cleared his throat.

"I'm just trying to figure out
What's wrong with your head
Every time I look around
You're somewhere else instead
I wanna ask you why
But every time I try, you cry
And I want you to know when you're floating in space
And I want you to know if you ever come back down
And I need you to know
I wanna breathe you
I wanna feel you near
I want to see what you see
When you cry those tears
This is my confession
And every time I come around
Something's always got you down
I just don't understand why
But if you want to tell me
I'll be the angel on your shoulder
I'll be the man that you can confide in
This is my confession."
I stared at him.

"That's all I got so far," he muttered, pushing the notebook away.

"You should record that," I whispered.

Nick nodded. "I'd like to. Maybe the fellas will have better ideas about how to get the notes to work for it..." he mumbled.

"No," I said, "You should record it yourself," I clarified, "Alone, solo."

Nick's eyes traveled up to mine. "Solo? Me?" A tiny smile crossed his face, "Yeah right."

"No you should," I insisted, "You've got an amazing voice and - well, you're hot..."

Nick laughed.

"What better time than now?"

Nick rubbed his chin. "Yeah..." he said quietly, "It would be a lot of fun. I have a few things I've written..." and suddenly he'd come alight with passionate excitement. "Oh dude, dude, you gotta read this one, check this one out..." and he shoved the notepad at me again, flipped to a different page.

I smiled and started reading his work. He was so excited, the grin on his face made the horror of the day slip away slowly but surely as I was welcomed into the warmth that radiated through him and filled the room. I ended up sitting on the couch next to him, leaning into him while he played gently.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

I looked up, "Why?"

"For this," he said, "For caring about my work." He smiled.

Maybe I couldn't give Nick a watch, but I could give him time and attention.

"Hey Kryssie?" he said quietly.

"Hmm?"

"I have one more confession," he whispered.

"What's that?" I asked.

Nick leaned forward enough to kiss me and said, his breath warm on my cheek, "That song was about you."

Chapter Thirty-One
Point of View: AJ


I was so looking forward to recording with the fellas. It was going to be one of my first recording sessions since rehab, and I was excited to go through the process sober. I couldn't imagine how fresh and exciting our work would be after all the time apart. I was just pumped.

I was on my way to the studio when my cell phone rang and I picked it up. "Yo, speak," I answered it. "Sup?"

"AJ? It's Kev."

"Yo K-Dawg," I greeted my older brother, "I'm on my way, no worries."

Kevin sighed, "The session's kind of cancelled."

"Cancelled?" I asked. "Why?"

"Nick can't make it."

"Why?"

Kevin fell silent. "I think we need a band meeting."

"Is he okay?" I asked, concern rising in my voice.

"Oh he's fine."

This didn't sound good. Not good at all.

I sighed. "Well when are we doing the meeting?" I asked.

"Now."

"But you said Nick can't ma--"

"Nick isn't invited."

This didn't sound even a little bit good.

"...Where?" I asked hesitantly. I was suddenly not sure I wanted any part in this meeting.

"My place. See you in ten." He hung up the phone.

I sucked in a deep breath. In Backstreet World, I've discovered, we never have any non-drama. Even our fans constantly have drama. There's never just a time of simply being happy...ever.



Kevin answered the door and ushered me in. I'd parked behind Brian and Howie, the last one to arrive. It felt weird being with the other guys without Nick around to annoy and pester us. I kind of missed his obnoxious blonde ass. Kevin, however, looked very somber. He sighed heavily as we sat down around his living room.

"What's going on Train?" I asked.

Kevin sighed, "I have some concerns," he said, "About Nick's current girlfriend."

"Concerns?" Howie asked. He raised an eyebrow, "What kind of concerns?"

"Well," Kevin licked his lips, "Nick's girlfriend, Krystal, is a little..." he paused. "Well, she's crazy. She's damn crazy..."

"Is this the bitch he stole the boat with?" I blurted out.

Kevin nodded. "Yeah, and-- well, she's convinced him not to tape with us."

"What?" Brian looked up, worry on his face.

"He wants to put the album on hold," Kevin continued, "And he wants to take a break from BSB. He says he feels like he has musical goals that differ from ours."

I felt kinda cold. "He's quitting the band?" I asked, scared. I mean, honestly, what the hell were we without Nick? Nick was a huge part of the package and personality of the Backstreet Boys. Without Nick we were just... I dunno, we were Nickless.

Kevin sighed, "Not yet, but honestly I'm worried it's coming. I mean, he's wrapped around this girl's fingers..."

Howie rolled his eyes, "Maybe you guys are overreacting?"

"Wait, is he doing a solo record?" I demanded. I felt wounded, like I'd been shot through the chest. A solo record instead of taping with us, his brothers? He always loved taping with us. What was different?

Well, I'd broken his hand, for one.

I didn't wanna think about that. But it was hard not to. Could Nick be taking a break from BSB because he didn't want to see me?

"I think so," Kevin muttered. "We all know Nick's not musically strong enough yet to pull that off right. I mean yeah it'll sell because he's Nick, but it's not going to be an artistical acheivement by anymeans..."

I focused on my sneakers.

Even on this side of rehab, it's hard to stay positive sometimes. This was one of those times.

"She's trying to keep him from us," Kevin growled, "She's bad for him. You realize in the last five months since he met her she's been arrested twice, him once; they've both been on the cover of several tabloids for everything from theft to general drunken stupidity..." He looked at me, "And after you just went through all you've gone through..."

I swallowed. If only Kev knew how fucking bad I wanted a drink right about now, maybe he wouldn't look at me so sympathetically.

Brian was cracking his knuckles absently, eyes downcast. "I'm more worried about him than about us," Brian said quietly, "I mean I feel like we need to be supportive to him, no matter what she does to take him away from us, because..." he sighed, "I don't know. I just don't want to see him fall apart."

"And Nick's delicate. Brian's right," Howie said, "It wouldn't take much to send him off."

"We need to break'em up," Kevin muttered, smacking his fist into his palm.

Brian sighed. "I dunno Kev, I think we should just... be supportive."

"Unless we take action around here," Kev snapped, pointing at me, "Things get put into the back burner until they explode in our faces."

I knew he was referencing the night he and I fought smack-down style by the bus in Boston two days before I got sent to rehab back in July. I squirmed.

"What if we sit back and let Nick just float along in this without helping him or warning him?" Kevin demanded, "Aren't we just as guilty for ignoring it as we would be for doing it?"

"But breaking them up is extreme," Brian said.

"And kind of immature," Howie intoned.

Kevin let out a stream of exasperated sigh, "Fine. Watch him throw it all away. It's all of our careers he's fucking with though, not just his."

Chapter Thirty-Two
Point of View: Nick


I had never been to an actual recording studio with the sole intention of taping music by myself. I shuffled my papers nervously and looked around at the equipment. It was the third or fourth time now that Krystal and I had been in that week.

Today, the producer's name was Joe, but we were calling him JDawg. He was a big, bulky black guy with gold chains hangin off his neck like he was some long lost prince of Persia. He had bling in his teeth, even.

"You're amazing," Krystal was telling me, fixing the color of my polo shirt. She smiled and ran her fingers through the side of my hair. I tilted my head into her palm and hummed happily. Krystal laughed. "You're like a puppy sometimes, you know that?"

"Doggie style?" I whispered.

Krystal rolled her eyes and patted my shoulder, "You're a pig." She winked.

JDawg flipped on the intercom. "We almost ready to tape?" he asked.

"Yup," I replied. I looked at Krystal. "Workin' time, babe," I said.

Krystal laid a kiss on my cheek. "I'll be right there in that chair." She pointed to an extra desk chair in JDawg's soundbooth and slipped out the door.

I stared down at my sheet music, feeling kind of nervous. We were taping My Confession, the song I'd written for Krystal. I put the sheets down on a podium and rubbed my palms against my jeans. For some reason, the melody of this one just kept escaping me halfway through singing it, and I was struggling when I practiced it at home. Krystal and I had sat on the living room floor one day singing it over and over and over again, working on it, trying to get it just right.

"Ready?" JDawg asked.

"Yeah... hit me," I said, pulling on my headset.

The music started and I leaned toward the microphone, my mouth almost against the pop blocker, my eyes traveled down to the lyric sheet and when the cue came, I started singing.

Two lines in, and we'd had to start over.

An hour later, we were still struggling.

I was getting frustrated. The music piped through my headset for what felt like the twelve-millionth time, and again I fucked up early into the first verse. "God dammit," I groaned as JDawg cut the music, shaking his head. I took off the headset and shoved them down onto the podium, irritated. "This is crap, maybe we should junk this song. I'm never gonna get this damn thing right..." I punched the podium in aggrevation and only achieved pain in my fist.

"NO!" Krystal's voice carried from behind JDawg, "You can't junk my song!" she stood up and disappeared from view for a moment before coming into the studio. I was clutching my fist and cursing under my breath, rubbing my knuckles, as I watched her cross the oriental carpet to stand by me. She grabbed the sheets from the podium. "You're over thinking this, Nick," she said, "Just like we discussed."

JDawg had a bemused smile on his face as he watched us.

"C'mon, just do it like we practiced it," Krystal said.

I took the sheets from her and sighed and, without the music on the headset, started singing. Again I screwed up. I started to throw the sheeets in frustration, but Kryssie grabbed my hand. "Stop with the temper, mister," she said, shaking her head, "You're overreacting."

"Overreacting my a--"

"Nick," she said pointedly. She raised an eyebrow at me.

"I'm just frustrated is all," I said. And feeling a little guilty, I'll admit. It felt strange being in the studio without the fellas. Maybe subconciously that's why I was struggling so much with the music. I mean, normally I don't have any problems like this. Music comes naturally to me.

Krystal grabbed my hands, "I'm just trying to figure oouuu-oout..." she stared.

"What's wrong with your hea-ad," I answered.

"Ev-e-ry time I come a-rou-ound," she continued.

"You're somewhere else inst-ead."

"I wanna ask you why-y."

"But every time I try - you cry."

Krystal smiled, "Voila," she said, "You did it. Now do it all together, like this: I'm just trying to figure ou-out, what's wrong with your hea-ad. Ev-e-ry time I come a-rou-ound, you're somewhere else inst-ead. I wanna ask you why-y, but every time I try - you cry."

I stared down at her. She was so beautiful. I smiled as she sang the lyric back to me. She paused at the end and waved her hands at me, as if you say, now you go. But before I could, the intercome crackled.

"Dude," JDawg said, "You didn't tell me your girl had pipes like gold."

We both looked at the window that separated us from the soundbooth. I grinned, Krystal looked surprised. "I know, right?" I said, proud, "She's fucking amazing, isn't she?"

Krystal turned red, "Stop it, you're both insane."

JDawg laughed, "Insane? Probably. But you've got one hell of a voice on you there." He paused, "I wouldn't mind taping with you sometime, actually," he said, "I have some stuff I've been working on and I need a fierce female vocal... I was thinking Aguilera or Pink for the song, but..." he shook his head, "Hot damn, I could use someone to do a demo with me."

Krystal laughed, loudly. "Me? You're joking."

"You should do it!" I said, excited. I could still remember how exciting and affirming it was to work in the studio and produce good music. When I was younger and we'd first started, my self-esteem had been shit. Not that it's great now or anything, but it was even worse then... and music had changed that. Images of Krystal, happy and confident flashed though my mind. It was exactly what I wanted. "You gotta do it," I begged as she shook her head no. "You gotta!"

"Nick, you guys are nuts - both of you," she said. "I can't sing for crap."

"That's not true," I said, "Dude, JDawg is like a world famous producer, Krys. He's heard it all, and he's impressed by you. He wants to tape a demo with you. You know how cool that is?"

"Yeah he's gone soft, or deaf, or something..." she started to walk out of the studio, but I caught her arm.

"Krys," I pleaded, "At least think about it? Please? For me?"

"And me?" JDawg intoned. I'd almost forgotten he could hear us.

Krystal studied me. "Why do you want me to do this so bad?" she asked.

"Because I love you," I answered, "And I think it'll be good for you. And just think..." I added, "It'll give you a chance to show up your mom. It'll get you some money."

Krystal's eyes glowed. "She always said I'd never be anything..."

"You can be anything," I said.

Krystal's smile spread slowly. She turned and looked at JDawg through the glass. "When do you wanna tape?" she asked.

Chapter Thirty-Three
Point of View: Narrator


Boy... I don't know how I lived without your touch
Cos now there's nothing that I want so much
I want your hands all over my body
Boy... Touch me
And boy... I don't know where you've been all this time
But now I'm going to keep you - make you be mine
I want to be owned by you
Boy... do whatever you want me to

Just don't go
Please don't leave
I need your touch
Need you inside of me
Rock my body
Make me sweat
Boy don't slow down
We're not there yet
Not yet

Oh... Oo-oh...
JDawg spun in his chair as Krystal continued singing, her palm on the headset, her mouth against the pop blocker. Nick sat in a chair behind him, staring out at her through the window, his palms against his knees, eyes wide. "She's hot," JDawg said.

Nick nodded.

"MTV's gonna shit," JDawg added, turning back to the soundboard.

Nick swallowed. His palms were sweating. The words Krystal was singing... her husky voice... He licked his lips. He wanted to run into the studio, wrestle her to the floor and have the most wild sex he'd ever had right there on the oriental carpet. He clutched his knee caps.

When the song came to an end, Krystal lowered the head set around her neck and grinned out, "Did that sound okay?" she asked timidly.

"Hell yeah it did," JDawg replied through the intercom. He shot a glance at Nick and chuckled, "Your boy out here agrees," he said, winking back at him.

Nick licked his lips.

Krystal giggled, "Yeah? You really liked it?" she asked, "Was it good enough to play for the singers you wanted to record it?"

JDawg snorted, "And why the hell would I want to re-record perfection?" he asked. He beamed, "Girl I think you need to talk to Nicky here about the buisness..." he glanced back at Nick again, "Cos this is a number one single waitin' to be dropped."



"You guys are both insane," Krystal was laughing in the car on the way back to Nick's house. She was bright red in the face. "It wasn't that good," she added.

"Not that good?" Nick snorted, "Please. That was flipping fantastic, Krys. You were unbelievable." He could still feel his pants, tight around his crotch, he was just itching to get her home and into bed. He wondered if he could even wait that long and contemplated just pulling over in the middle of Route 4 and leaping like a panther across the seat of his car.

"You're biased," she said.

Nick shook his head, "Maybe, but that was fucking amazing," he said. He gestured to his lap, "Krys, not every song can have that effect on a guy, okay? It take something... special to do that."

She laughed again. "Biased."

"Sexy," he argued back. He looked over at her, "Krys, everything about you is sexy. Your face, your hair, your voice, your - your movements, your eyes, your smile..."

Krystal shook her head, "Nick you're so blind."

That crooked, charming grin of his slid onto his face and he reached over one arm and ran his fingers across her neck, pulling her into him across the seat. She leaned over and rested her cheek against his chest, watching as he drove one-handed. His finger tips traveled carefully across her shirt and onto her breast. He hummed contentedly.

Krystal stared up at him. Then she smirked. "Hey Nick?" she whispered.

"What?" he asked.

"Think you can keep the wheel straight?" she asked. She lowered her head and he jumped as her hands ran across his lap.

"Krys, I --"

She was unzipping his pants.

"Oh God," he muttered, clutching the wheel with both hands tightly as she started working at him. He had all he could do to keep his eyes on the road, to keep the car going straight. He couldn't imagine what any of his friends would say if they knew - or what the drivers going by would think if they could hear him moaning, struggling to keep his focus on the road as her mouth ran along his skin. "Fuck," he groaned.

She drew her hair back and licked playfully, then pulled back and gently tucked him away and closed his pants back up. Krystal winked at him, "Just a preview..." she mumbled.

Nick's knuckles were white, he was clutching the wheel so hard, his toes curled in his sneakers as he pressed the gas pedal. He didn't dare to look at her, even though he could feel her smiling at him... didn't dare to even so much as glance to his right. He knew he wouldn't be able to control himself if he did.



When they got home, Nick shot from the car like a bullet to his bedroom. "C'mon, c'mon, hurry up," he begged, kicking off his shoes and yanking his shirt off as he went up the stairs. He left his jeans discarded on the landing. "Hurry!" he cried from down the hall.

Krystal laughed as she passed his boxers, ditched on the top step. "I'll be right there, babe," she called. She ducked into the bathroom and reached under the sink for her make-up carrier. Placing it on the sink, she fastened its buckle and unfolded the layers of drawers and shelves it contained. Krystal reached into the bottom of the carrier and pushed aside her lipsticks and concealers and pulled out a small bag of soft, white powder.

She glanced over her shoulder at the door, before opening the bag.

Chapter Thirty-Four
Point of View: Narrator


Krystal came into the bedroom in the tiniest teddy night gown Nick had ever seen. It was black, with sequins in squirling patterns across the bodice, and silky, sheer fabric that reminded him of floating angelfish. It barely covered her, and what it did cover of her he could see through it.

He would've liked it if most clothes were that way, actually.

"Wow," he gaspd as she crawled onto the bed and right up the length of him, straddling him, one knee on either side. She sat on his abdomen and ran one hand across his chest. Her other, he noticed, she kept cupped. "What's in your--" he started to ask, but she bent forward and kissed him, interrupting him.

"Shh," she whispered, pulling away, "Do you trust me?"

Nick nodded.

Krystal laughed, "Then what I have here is my magic." She licked his jaw.

Nick groaned, "Magic?" he murmured as her mouth moved across his skin.

"Yeah," she whispered, "Nick, I wanna blow your mind..."

"Blow my mind?" he murmured as Krystal's mouth met the soft skin between his neck and ear. She began to suck on his skin ever so gently. He groaned and his hands ran up her back, strong and big compared to her size. He clutched at her. "Please," he groaned.

Krystal sat up and looked down at him, "Here," she whispered, "Take these." She motioned with her mouth for him to open his mouth, and he did. She dropped in two capsules.

"Krys, I --" he started to protest around the pills, but she bent down and kissed his neck again and he groaned.

"Trust me," she whispered, her lips moving against his skin. "Please trust me... It's not like it's gonna hurt you any. You're going to friggin love this, Nick. I promise."

He stared at her as he swallowed.

"Good boy," she hissed in a sultry voice.



Nick woke up with his face stuck to the damp tile of the shower. A spray of water was falling from the nozzle, far overhead, like rainfall, spraying his splayed, bare legs and pooling around his bottom, which was blocking access to the drain. He moved, the water gurgling as it rushed to fill the empty pipe below, and reached for the knobs to turn off the spray. His head felt fuzzy and everything was unclear in his mind. Words jostled and jumbled around, bouncing off of each other.

He struggled to his feet, clinging to the handle in the wall and pulling himself up. His knees were wobbly and he grabbed at the towel rack outside to steady him as he stepped into the atmosphere of the bathroom.

The door was wide open, water was all over the floor.

Nick clutched the edge of the sink basin and, ironically enough, turned on the water and splashed his face. It felt like the thing to do.

As he splashed his face, he wondered how he'd ended up stuck to the wall in the bathroom like that. The last thing he could recall was Krystal... crawling across the bed to straddle his chest...

Nick's eyes met themselves in the mirror. They were red, bloodshot, and tired-looking. He held onto the sink and stared into them. "Crappin' A, Carter," he muttered, searching his own pupils.

It came back in tiny little flashes at a time. The magic she claimed she held... Snapshots of Krystal's face, controrted in various positions of pleasure, her hair dampening from sweat, the smell of sex in the air... It'd been his idea to shower. They'd pressed against the wall and he'd lifted her right off the floor, she'd wrappd her legs around him, and they'd given the shower something to talk about.

"Nick?"

Krystal appeared in the door way. He looked in the mirror at her, rather than turning around. She had on a t-shirt of his, which clung in all the right ways in just the right places. Her eyes, too, were blood shot and tired.

Like an ocean breeze, she moved closer, snaking her hands around his body, their skins sticking together. "Wow, huh?" she whispered.

Nick nodded into his own eyes. "Yeah," he muttered, "Wow."



A week later, and they hadn't left the house. Nick's cell phone lay on the night stand, blinking alerts for countless missed calls. Their legs tangled around in the sheets and each other, her finger tips running up and down his spine...

Krystal was right, he thought, through the stupor of the night before, It is magic.