Nick stepped out of the gate at the airport in Orlando, Florida, feeling very tired, dazed and confused. He kept his head low so no one would notice him. He walked quickly over to a pay phone, waiting for the older man in it to finish his call. After five minutes, he was getting very impatient and cranky.
"Man, this is like watching paint dry! Hurry up!" Nick said to the man. He shot him a glare and got off in anther two minutes. Nick went up to the phone and dialed collect.
"You have called collect. To whom do you wish to call?" the operator said in a computer-like voice.
"Ummm..." Nick muttered, not knowing who to call to pick him up. He and his mother had just had their first real fight, and she wouldn't let him see any of the kids for a while, so he couldn't call them. There wasn't really anyone else. Then someone he hadn't talked to in a long time came into his mind.
"Sir?"
"Um... Dawson. Ciara Dawson, please."
"Please wait."
Nick tapped his fingers on the phone jack while on hold. He could see someone else, a middle aged Spanish man, come up behind him.
"Hello?"
Nick snapped out of his daze.
"Huh? What? Who is this?"
"This is Ciara. Ciara Dawson. Who is this?"
"Oh! Uh... hi Ciara! What's up?"
"Who the hell is this? Is this another prank call, Scott?"
"Who the hell is Scott? Uh... yeah, okay, this is Nick... and I was kinda wondering if you could pick me up..." he mumbled.
"Wha? Nick? Pick you up? From where? Which Nick?"
"Nick Carter... uh... you know, you're deceased best friend's ex..."
"Oh! Nick! Sorry, I was kind of out of it. I was actually watching some really sickening porno movie on some strange channel one of my friends got for me. So, where do you want me to pick you up?"
"The airport in Orlando."
"What for?"
Nick was growing very impatient. He realized he needed more change to complete the call. He turned around to the Spanish man.
"Do you have a quarter?"
The man flicked him off.
"Up yours!" Nick yelled back. He finally found a quarter in his pocket and replaced the receiver to his ear.
"Because I just got back from Los Angeles... come on! I'll explain it all in the car! I swear! Just pick me up!"
"Fine... the front door in ten minutes. I'm being nice you know."
"Yeah, I know. And I really thank you for that. See ya."
"Later."
Nick hung up the phone. He turned around and the man was staring at him, a large frown on his face.
"Do... you... speak ... English?" Nick asked.
"You have way too much time," he said, shoved Nick out the the way and got into the booth.
"Jack off..." Nick muttered as he walked away. He knew if any fans saw him, he'd be in one load of shit. He walked quickly to the front doors of the nearly deserted airport and waited outside, a slight drizzle starting to come down.
After about two minutes a flashy black Chevy rolled up to the curb, The Real Slim Shady playing loudly in the background. On the back window of the car was a bumper sticker that read 'DA BOMB.' He knew at once it was Ciara's car. He had ridden with her a number of times many years ago, when he was still with the band at the age of seventeen.
He picked up his bag and opened the passenger's door, then looked at Ciara. She was wearing some black baggy jeans with pockets on both sides of the legs and a 'Florida Key West' T-shirt on. Her light brown hair was pulled back tightly into a high ponytail, her hair still reaching her middle back.
"You look good," Nick commented.
"Thanks. You don't look too good, though. Have you had any sleep lately?" she asked, turning down the radio a little.
"Well, it's really a long story. After Rachel died... and I never saw you since then... I'm sorry I never called you. I was just really shy to talk to you, since we were really both connected to her... and, well, I quit the Backstreet Boys."
"You did WHAT?" Ciara yelled.
"It seemed like the right thing to do. I'm sorry."
"I guess I can understand. I'll try to help you pull through with it. Sorry, dude," she said with concern, ruffling his hair. She sped away at eighty miles-per-hour, and after a few minutes they pulled up to her apartment building.
They got out of the car and they went up the three floors to her room. She unlocked the door and they walked in, a little wet by the rain.
"I'm guessing you've had a really long day."
"Yeah, just kinda."
"You can sleep in my bed tonight if you need to."
"No, really."
"No, Nick, you've been through a lot and I want you to. Now get in that damn bed! I'll take your bag and leave it in the room. Just make yourself comfortable and relax. Okay? I'll be in the living room if you need me."
"Thank you, Ciara."
"It's no trouble. I can feel your pain."
Nick thanked her again, pulled off his shoes and laid down in her comfy water bed. He fell to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next day around one o'clock, he sat up in bed, wondering where he was.
Then his memory kicked in. Flashbacks of him telling them he was quitting,
him leaving them all behind and everything else that had happened last night
including Ciara rolled over and over again in his head. He groaned and got
out of Ciara's bed and walked out of the room groggily, finding a note on the
door with neat phunky handwriting saying this -
Nick -
I'm sorry I couldn't be here when you woke up. I had to leave for work early
this morning. I should be home around eight. I hope you can wait until then.
Help yourself to anything - food, soda, TV, the phone - whatever. Just make
yourself comfortable. If you need anything, the number is 946-1345. Okay?
Take care of yourself.
Ciara
Nick walked down the hall and into the living room, picked up the remote and clicked it on to MTV. This was what he watched whenever he wasn't busy. He saw Carson Daly on the screen, saying something about their name. He turned the TV up loud so he could hear what they were saying.
"We have just heard the report from the Backstreet Boys' manager that Nick has quit the group! I repeat, Nick Carter is no longer a Backstreet Boy! The rest of the BSB's refuse to speak, but we do have a few minutes of them on camera. Here we go..."
Some fuzz was on the screen for a moment, then a view of the Backstreet Boys walking through a busy airport showed up. There were fans everywhere around them, as well as reporters from magazines and television shows. Their bodyguards were trying their hardest to keep everyone away.
All of the boys walked in single file behind Lou. Kevin in front, then Brian, AJ and Howie.
You wouldn't be able to hear what AJ said over the noise, but it seemed to really piss Kevin off. He shoved passed Brian and socked AJ the face, knocking him to the ground, his nose bleeding. This caused even more eruption. The Boys all ran into the limo as fast as they could, AJ now having a tissue on his nose. Kevin had been screaming at him. You could tell by his mouth movements and his actions.
Nick's eyes widened in suprise. He couldn't believe what was happening. He clicked off the TV and jumped back into bed. Just then the phone rang.
He sat up and groggily answered it.
"Yeah?"
"Nick? Is that you?" a man's voice asked.
"Yeah. Who is this?"
"This is Brian!"
"Bri? That's really you?"
"Yeah. Man, things are really getting crazy. I really don't understand it... We're all over television!"
"I know. I saw you," Nick said bitterly.
"I can't stop any of this, man! I just can't! I can't take the pressure!"
"Bri, you really don't know what the hell kind of pressure I've been through. I've been living a lie the past few years."
"What are you talking about, Nick?" Brian asked.
"I've been living in a lie since I was eighteen. Ever since I killed my girlfriend."
Chapter 12
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