Nick felt a bit better. His head didnīt ache as much as it did before and his stomach was a bit calmer too. But his nuts still felt like they wanted to jump out from his skin. And he felt so thirsty. Looking at the pitcher he sighed deeply. It was juice and remembering yesterday's encounter with the liquid. It had burned like hell in his sore throat and he didnīt want even Nīsync to experience such a feeling.
There weas a soda machine outside in the hall and Nick decided that he should go and grab a coke. Besides coke, stale coke was good for the stomach. That, his mother had taught him. With thirst in mind he sat up slowly, trying to avoid anymore vertigo.
The worst chills had past and he didnīt sweat so much any longer. Instead he felt incredibly hot. To Nick's favor the dizziness wasnīt that bad and he managed with just his shorts to go up to the door and out in the hall. Clad in just his boxers.
There wasnīt a person in the hall and Nick hoped that they would all be away on activities. The band and the crew had hired the entire floor so he didnīt have to be afraid to meet the fans or the press, so he thought.
Just as he was about to get the the soda from the machine he heard a loud scream. And then ten girls, fans, screamed his name " NIIIIIIICCCCCKKK!"
Nick could feel his legs wanted to give out, both from sickness and embarraessment. Here he was stuck, outside with a bunch of girls running towards him. He could feel how the panic flared up in him when he remembered that his big swollen 'beer gut' was hanging over his boxers in a not so sexy way. Grabbing the coke, he started to run towards his room with the fans screaming his name, running after him, taking pictures.
Everything spinned but he would be damned if he would stop. As he reached the door he turned the doorknob and pushed himself in panting like he had been in a race. His body was on fire and he knew that the escape hadnīt been good for his fever as he could feel it raising several degrees.
Sinking down onto the bed, coke in his hand he listened how the fans were outside screaming his name, wanting an autograph. It was many years of practice that had him pulling off a stunt like this. Nick had been stalked many times and running street races was something he had been accoustomed with a result of fame. The worst part were that the fans had seen him naked in this condition. He could almost experience the feeling of disgust that they had to be feeling when they saw his bloated body. Yuck. Even a corpse that been in water for long looked better. Nick schrunced his nose in disgust.
With that in mind he decided that he had to do something about his looks. Lettuce and water didnīt seem so bad at that point. What also had him worried was that the girls that seemed to be hard core fans could go out on the net and reveal how bad he looked, even with pics. And if the press got a hold of one of those pictures he would be in deep shit. From the management.
Nick took a large gulp of the coca cola and the coughed violently. Then he lay down, still panting and dizzy on the bed and closed his eyes, needing his rest.
He dozed on and off. Being in the middle of conscienceness and unconscienceness. Alternating between hot and cold. Salty and dry mouth. Chills and sweat. Everything that came with a high fever.
As if that hadnīt been bad the rash was back. It was an red itching rash that he had on and off for almost a year. Nick blamed it on stress. AJ on too little sex.
Looking at the digital figures on the clock he saw that it was 2:15 pm. The time seemed to drag on. 'Why didnīt the boys leave a message? When are they coming home?' Nick thought sulking.
He hated to be sick, especially when there were no one to take care of him. Nick had done his share on that part. Being sick. And there were nothing that sucked more. He had spent endless of days in hotel rooms with fever. Been sick in the bunk bed on the bus. Sick at concerts. At studio recordings. Litterally. The boys had been there. But it hadnīt been the same as having a mom.
Mom. Nick missed his family. Recently they werenīt on great speaking terms with each other and as soon as Nick got home from this tour he was going to sort it out with them. Feeling ignored when there was trouble at home.
Nick sighed. He was bored. Even if he was too sick to move he still felt restless. Being a guy that was always on the go it was hard laying there, doing nothing. His head and eyes hurt to much too watch tv, beside it was all in Japanese anyways.
Japanese, why didnīt they have it on another language, like English?
'Duh,' Nick thought a bit delerious, ' Because we are in Japan,' He smiled.
Looking at the floor he saw the almost unpacked X-box that the boys got yesterday. Nick being the worst video game freak hadnīt even unwrapped the box.
That unwrapped video game box if anything was enough for the warning clock to ring.
Nick had tried to deny it all, but she had interrupted him, continued on with her scolding. So he shut up after a while. His mother always wanted and got the last word. This was no different from all other times. As to put more salt in the wound she also brought up the subject that Nick hated the most... his weight!
"Mom listen..no,I said that Iīm not doing any drugs. LISTEN..No..no girls..Mom.. Iīm si...not feeling too.. yes I will.. I will try to eat less food..yes..no I donīt..MOM!"
The conversation went on. Jane talking and Nick studdering, trying to tell her that he wasnīt up to talking at all.
The headache was back in full force and he was also starting to feel sick to his stomach, not having eaten anything since those last candy bars yesterday. His somach rumbled and bile rose.
"Look mom.. Iīveīgott.. Iīve gotta go," he mumbled trying to force the nausea down. Feeling panic he moved closer to the trashcan, just in case he couldnīt control himself.
Jane was still screaming at him much too upset to even listen to what her son was trying to tell her. "Mom....listen, I canīt talk any longer," Nick blurted out feeling like he couldnīt hold on anymore. He started to gag and hung up abruptly so that his mother didnīt hear him getting sick. With that he leaned over the trash can, dry heaving since he had nothing but coke to bring up. It hurt so much that he wanted to cry out from pain. "Shit!" When was this torture going to stop?
As he spat in the trash can, having nothing more to bring up, he leaned back, weakly. The sickness as much as the telephone call with his mother had taken all his energy and he was trembling from sheer exhaustion.
'Is mumps suppose to be this bad?', his last thought was before slipping off to another restless sleep.
