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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.