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Chapter One

Nick pulled his grey, baggy sweatshirt on over his head, slipping his arms through the long sleeves. He slid on a baseball cap to cover his disheveled blonde mass of hair. After being drug out of bed early, by the annoying sound of the alarm by the bed, to hit the road for yet another day on the road in the life of a Backstreet Boy, he wasn’t much in the mood to take his time getting ready and making himself look presentable. The morning would have a brisk chill to it. Nick wrapped his arms around himself, trying to keep warm in the coolness of the hotel room. Brian wasn’t there, making Nick know that once again, he’d overslept. The others were down at the breakfast buffet at that moment, most likely clearing the tables between the four of them. Nick sighed, unzipping his suitcase and pulling out three breakfast bars, hoping that it would be enough to hold him over until lunch, whenever that would be. He pulled open the wrapper, folding the foil back and taking a large bite out of one of the bars. They were really beginning to taste like cardboard to him, but he didn’t really have much choice. Until he learned to wake up early with the others though, that was what he would be living off of for his morning meal. The most important meal of the day. Nick rolled his eyes at that, stuffing the rest of the first bar in to his mouth and opening another.

Nick’s thoughts were interrupted by his roommate, and also best friend, Brian bursting though the door, bouncing in to the room and over to the beds. He was wearing a pair of baggy carpenter style jeans and a long sleeved, black, knit shirt. He stopped and stared at Nick, almost as if he were in shock at the sight of the boy being awake, or even being there at all.

“Good thing you’re up. C’mon, we gotta get going,” he drawled in his southern accent, picking up his luggage and dragging it towards the door, “The busses are waiting for us outside right
now.”

Nick groaned as he picked up his suitcase and Nintendo bag, putting them over his shoulders and trudging out of the room. Brian followed him out, letting the door lock behind them.

“You okay?” Brian asked Nick, sensing that something was wrong with his usually upbeat blonde friend.

“Huh?” Nick asked, stopping and turning around, “Oh, yeah. Just tired today for some reason.” he explained.

“I told you not to be up all night playing your games,” Brian laughed, “When I was going to bed at eleven, knowing we’d be getting up early, I told you it would be a good idea if you did too.”

Nick shrugged, embarrassed to admit that he, once again, had been wrong. The thing was, Nick stayed up late half the nights playing his Nintendo games. He never learned from his mistakes either. He kept doing the same thing over and over. And then wondered why he was always tired on early mornings such as these.

“What’s the plans for today?” Nick asked as they took the back staircase down to the doors behind the hotel, where their bus was meeting them.

Brian shook his head and laughed, “Do you ever pay attention?” Without getting a response, Brian went in to detail of what was on the itinerary which was supposed to be provided for each Boy to follow.

“Driving to Bangor, Maine from here,” Nick made a face. The drive would be at least seven hours. He wished that they could just fly there, but that hadn’t been an option for this particular destination. The only time they normally flew was when they were pressed for time or when their drive would be more than ten or twelve hours, “We have the rest of the night off then once we get there, so get some sleep,” Brian was sure to emphasize, “Tomorrow morning, we have a meeting at ten, and then tomorrow night a show. We’re due to take stage at eight..”

Nick rolled his ocean blue eyes, “Do you always know what we’re doing like that?” Nick asked, and when Brian nodded his head, Nick stated, “That’s so boring. You’re so fucking predictable, B-Rok.”

Brian shrugged as they pushed through the door, then rounded a corner, going five feet and stepping out of another set of doors leading to the outside. Fifteen feet from the door, the bus awaited. Nick and Brian made a dash for it before fans would start coming out, their security guards close behind them. They hopped on to the bus, surprised to find the other three Boys already inside.

“It’s called organization,” Brian told Nick once they’d seated themselves on the luxury-style bus.

“Huh?” Nick asked, already forgetting about the conversation they’d been having just a couple of minutes prior.

“Me knowing what we’re doing,” Brian explained, “It’s organization.”

Nick still looked at Brian blankly. The Boys all chuckled at the blonde. His being tired was already affecting his brain power.
“Sleep in again, Nicky,” Kevin asked, a smug smirk on his face.

Nick ignored him, knowing that if he reacted, that it would cause teasing and torment from his four friends.

The bus started to roll away from the hotel just as about ten young girls ran through the back door of the hotel, in hopes of catching the boys. It was too late though. Nick looked out of the window, seeing their faces fall at the realization that they’d just missed their idols. He felt bad that, about to ask if they could go back. After all, it was only a few people, and they loved their fans. But by the time he was about to say something, they were already out on the open road. He looked to the front of the hotel and there was a swarm of girls waiting for their appearance.

Nick sunk back in to his seat, sighing. After sliding his hat down over his eyes to block out most of the light, he crossed his arms over his chest, closing his eyes. He needed to catch up on sleep, and with seven hours of nothing but boring travel, he had plenty of time to do just that.

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He slipped in to the backroom in the back of the bus unnoticed. Everybody else was either reading or asleep. He had tried to make an attempt at sleeping, but hadn’t gotten anywhere. The bumpy road kept jerking him awake.

Taking a small pocket knife out of his pocket, he flipped it open, staring at the glistening blade. He pressed the tip of his finger against it, checking the sharpness of it. He didn’t want to go too deep. That would cause too much blood flow, which could be hard to stop. It could leave evidence and traces of his habit. He didn’t want anybody to know.

He sighed. Something that he had only intended to do once had turned in to something he did at least once a week, sometimes three or four. It helped him escape the emotional pain that he was feeling. The knife going in to his flesh felt strangely good, and relieving, the pain escaping through the wounds. He mostly cut up and down his arms, but sometimes his legs too. Anywhere that would always be covered, actually. When on stage though, it caused a slight problem, for his arms were always exposed. Nobody had noticed yet. In all the motion that they were always in, none of the other Boys had the time to pay attention to details. Those in the audience couldn’t make out the faint, scabbed over cuts either. For that, he was thankful. But the second the show was over, he would quickly slip on a long-sleeved shirt or something that covered him. He wasn’t taking any chances of being found out.
To add on to his depression of how horrible he felt his performance was lately, and how his vocals were going down hill, his feeling that his family was disappointed in him and feeling as if his for best friends were getting annoyed with him and wanting to kick him out of the group, his girlfriend of three years had broken up with him. She had said that he was not around enough, and she could not deal with a boyfriend in the spotlight. That had added more weight to his problems. It had caused him to cut more. More than he really wanted, but anything that would help him feel good for a short time was worth it to him.

He rolled up his shirt sleeve, taking the blade to his arm. He pressed somewhat firmly to insert it in to himself, drawing it across his arm a good two inches. He winced, but once the cut was done and the blood was released, a feeling of relief came over him. He watched in fascination as blood poured from the wound, creeping down the length of his arm. When he heard a knock on the door, panic overcame him. He quickly put his arm under running water from the sink.

“Be right out,” he called, his voice shaking slightly.

Grabbing a washcloth, he wrapped it tightly around his arm to stop the bleeding faster, pulling the sleeve of the sweatshirt down over it. He washed the blood from the blade of the knife, doing a quick look around to make sure he wasn’t leaving any traces of his blood. Not seeing any, he decided he was safe. Flipping the knife shut, he slid it back into the pocket of his baggy jeans. He flushed the toilet to so that the person on the other side wouldn’t by chance become curious of his doings. He took in a few deep breaths to compose himself before opening the door and exiting, letting the person on the other side enter. He had gotten away with it again, but almost hadn’t. He knew that he would have to start being more careful and discrete. It he wasn’t, one of these times, he would be caught in his act of intentional self-inflicted harm.