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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.