Brian stares at me dumbly for a couple of seconds before matching my own angry expression. “The fuck, man? Are you high?”
I watch him closely, still expecting him to jump up and yell ‘Punk’d!’ at me or something like that. It really isn’t his M.O. anymore to prank people like that, but you never know… Then again, what is he doing here? Or what am I doing here?
When I don’t answer my bandmate immediately, he grows concerned, nervously hopping from one foot to another, “Please tell me you’re not high.”
“N-no, of course not! I don’t do those kind of things anymore, you know that!” I rush and see his frown grow deeper at the mention of ‘anymore’. The Brian I know would see this as a clear sign that things need to be investigated further. This one doesn’t, however and instead just shakes his head, mumbling “Something’s wrong with you,” before turning and making the bed that already seems spotless.
A bit lost, I watch him do his thing for a moment, only disturbed when a loud banging on the door echoes through the room a second time. “You boys almost ready in there? The schedule doesn’t wait for lazy fucks, ya know?” a voice booms outside the door and I freeze immediately, recognizing it.
Unlike me, Brian does seem activated by the semi-threat and hurriedly tosses me a pair of tennis shoes. I do not make an attempt to catch them and don’t even flinch as they unceremoniously smash into my chest. My bandmate watches my frozen, statue-like stance for a few second before shaking his head and walking towards the door, turning before actually opening it.
“Look, I have no idea what’s gotten into you, but you gotta suck it up and get your ass going, before they’re gonna leave without us, got it?” he questions, trying to be stern, but failing miserably with his young face staring back at me.
I merely nod tightly and my eyes widen as he opens the door to join an annoyed looking Q standing outside. I shuffle forward uneasily, putting on the shoes Brian has thrown me on the way to the door, trying not to look the bodyguard in the eye.
I know he can go really far when playing out a practical joke if he puts his heart into it, but even Brian Littrell cannot bring people back from the dead.
--------------------------------
I hear them even before I see them. A swarm of thousands of girls outside the expensive hotel we are apparently staying in. Their ear-piercing shrieks echo through my eardrums as security guides the safest way to the bus. The smile plastered on the other boys’ faces is absent on mine. I’m pretty sure my face must be pale as a sheet and me eyes have some kind of stunned expression in them, as I try to figure out what it is I’m seeing. I’ve pretty much ruled out the possibility that it’s a dream, as I heard somewhere that you cannot count your fingers or feel pain in a dream. I’ve tested both.
The girls outside seem a little disappointed by my non-existent reaction to them and counter that by screaming my name even louder. Although I’ve been adored by fans for more than half of my life, I’m not used to what’s happening outside now.
These girls are teenagers, screaming and crying for us like their lives depend on it. And I don’t know exactly why, but it kinda feels wrong to give a sign of love to girls who are half my age or even younger.
Once we’re on the bus, Kevin grabs my arm and pulls me aside, studying me with narrowed eyes.
“What on earth is up with you today?” he hisses.
I blink, staring calmly at the hand clasped around my arm tightly. “That depends,” I mumble, “what Brian told you- would you let go of my arm, please?”
Kevin lets go in an instant, watching me with surprise in his eyes. I suddenly know why. 19-year old me would probably not have reacted the way I did. He would have lashed out, I’m pretty sure of that. I bit my lip, suddenly seeing my own way too young face in the reflection of the bus’ window. Kevin asks me what’s going on again, but I know the truth would probably make him lock me up in an asylum or something.
“Nothing, I’m just…” I shrug, not finishing the sentence, knowing that those are the kind of answers he expects from me. He just rolls his eyes and shakes his head, grumbling, “Teenagers are getting weirder and weirder these days,” before turning away and heading for the front of the bus.
I smile knowingly to myself, knowing there’s no way I can explain this kind of stuff to Kevin. Maybe I only have a shot at making my situation clear if I told-
I see him in a flash, standing outside on the street, only about two feed aside from the speeding bus. With wide-open mouth, I whip my head around, trying to catch another glimpse of the bearded, blue-eyed man. Not succeeding, I throw up my hands in a panic and sprint towards the bus driver, yelling for him to stop the damn bus.
“Damn you Nick! The studio is gonna have our heads if we arrive late another time, and we already are behind on schedule!” Howie Dorough blasts from behind me, “You can buy a soda when we get there!”
I spin around, livid, pointing a finger at him, “Listen,” I say, feeling the control slip away, “I don’t fucking care about no studio, kay? I gotta go outside!”
“Forget it!” Kevin mingles into the conversation again, “I really am not keen on this new attitude of yours! You’re staying right here, whether you like it or not, I couldn’t care less!”
“Fine,” I yell, instead walking over to a confused bus-driver, quietly slipping him a hundred dollar bill. “Stop now, let me out and tell them I made you do it,” I whisper, quickly watching over my shoulder, seeing Kevin trudge towards me with his face promising thunder. Before he can stop me I jump out of the stopped bus and start sprinting in the other direction, vaguely hearing Kevin yelling that they are in no way going to wait for me.
Fine, I think, fine, I don’t care, I don’t belong here.
