The emergency physician that had sutured his wrist had insisted on taking blood when she’d found out that he was on chemotherapy. “Your blood counts are low,” she’d announced when the results of the bloodwork were back. “Your red blood count is down, which is making you slightly anemic, and your platelets are low too, which is why the cut bled so much and didn’t clot. This isn’t a huge concern, since it’s a common effect of chemo, but I’d like to give you a blood transfusion to boost your levels back up.”
Grudgingly, Nick had agreed to the transfusion, and now a bag of blood hung on the IV pole beside him, the line in his arm delivering a fresh supply of the red liquid.
“You better not play with that, Nicky,” Howie said gently, as Nick absent-mindedly fingered the tubing. AJ glanced up, then quickly lowered his eyes back to the tabloid he had picked up in the hospital gift shop. Having apparently seen enough blood for one day, he was obviously trying to avoid looking at the IV.
“Hey,” he said, his eyes fixed on the open tabloid, “did you know BLTs cause MS?”
Howie snorted. “Right. BLTs cause MS? That’s BS if you ask me.”
“What’s MS?” Nick asked blankly. “Is that some kind of sexually transmitted disease?”
“Well, you’re a third of the way right,” Howie said with a smile. “It-“
“Excuse me, Mike?”
Nick, Howie, and even AJ looked up to find a young male nurse standing there, looking at Nick with an inquiring expression on his face.
“Uh, n-no, it’s Nick,” stammered Nick.
“Nick? Oh...” the nurse glanced down at the chart he was holding. “Oh, sorry, misread the name. Nick. My bad.” With a smile, he came closer. “I’m Ryan; I’m supposed to check your vitals.”
“Whatever,” Nick muttered with a relenting shrug.
Ryan stepped closer, then stopped, staring at Nick’s face for a moment, then dropping his eyes to his chart, then glancing back at his face. “Hey,” he said after a moment, as recognition dawned. “You’re Nick Carter.”
“Yep,” Nick replied curtly, his voice flat. You’re wrong, he wanted to say instead. Nick Carter is dead. The Nick Carter you’re talking about is anyway. But he kept quiet and watched as the nurse’s eyes made the familiar flicker down to the space his left leg should have occupied, an empty space even the bedsheets could not hide.
“Um, so,” said Ryan, as he took Nick’s temperature, “you’re a singer, yes?”
“Was.” Staring down at his IV, Nick did not notice Howie’s startled blink. He did vaguely hear AJ cough though.
“Oh,” Ryan said. “Me too.” Writing down something on Nick’s chart, he added, “I mean, I am a singer. I do shows for community theater.”
“Cool,” Nick murmured absently.
Apparently realizing his patient wasn’t interested, Ryan quit talking and finished his work. When he was gone, AJ glanced up. Focusing mostly on Nick, he said, “You know, at some point we’re going to have to get together, all five of us, and talk about our future. As a group, I mean. Our career.”
Avoiding AJ’s gaze, Nick stared straight ahead, letting his eyes go blank and glassy.
“Yeah, we do,” he heard Howie reply. “But now’s not the time or place to be discussing this.”
Nodding, AJ fell silent.
***
Nick went home from the hospital later that day feeling physically better than he had in two weeks. The blood transfusion had rejuvenated him, but mentally, he still felt drained. He collapsed into his bed and stayed there for the rest of the day, watching TV and trying not to move his right arm, which was sore from the IV and the cut in his wrist.
Around six that evening, Howie brought in a gourmet dinner of hot dogs and tater tots. “You haven’t eaten all day,” he said, placing the tray of food on Nick’s lap. “You’ve got to be starving.”
“Not really,” Nick countered. “But thanks.”
While Howie settled down to watch TV with him, Nick picked at his food, ignoring the hot dog altogether and stacking the tater tots to make a pyramid on his plate. There were two left over that didn’t fit on the pyramid, so he stood them side by side. Smiling a little, he picked a small piece off of the tater tot on top of the pyramid and put it between the two leftover tots. Now they were like a tater tot family. The whole tater tots were the parents, and the little shred of hash brown was the baby. He grinned proudly at his creation.
“What are you doing, Nick?”
His smile fading, Nick glanced over at Howie in annoyance. “Eating.”
“No, you’re not. You’re playing with your food,” Howie said with a little smirk.
Nick rolled his eyes. “Damn, D, why you gotta treat me like a little kid? Cause Kev’s not here, is that why? You stepping into the ‘dad’ role?”
“Then stop playing with your food like a little kid and eat,” Howie snapped, his tone of voice abnormally sharp. It wasn’t like Howie to get on his case like that, and Nick glared at him with resentment. Noticing Nick’s murderous gaze, Howie sighed. “Nicky,” he said apologetically, “I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you. I’ve been worried about you all day. Is everything all right?”
“Oh, everything’s just dandy, Howie!” Nick exclaimed sarcastically. “God, what do you think?”
Distantly, they both heard the doorbell ring, and Howie jumped up quickly, obviously keen to get out of responding. “I’ll get that,” he muttered, briskly leaving the room. With a quick flip of his middle finger, Nick shot dagger eyes after him. Then he flopped back against his pillows to stew until Howie came back, which he inevitably would do. Howie wasn’t a big fan of walking away mad; he liked to get things resolved right away.
Howie did return within a minute or two, but he was not alone. And it was not AJ accompanying him.
“Claire?” Nick sat up quickly, shocked and embarrassed to find her standing at Howie’s side. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Well, that’s a nice greeting, Nick, thanks,” Claire replied dryly, putting her hands on her hips. “AJ told me what happened.”
“He called you?!” Nick cried incredulously.
“Yes.”
“At work?!” She was wearing scrubs, a clear sign she’d come from work.
“He left a message on my cell. I just got off and listened to it, so I figured I’d come on over and check up on you,” she explained in brief, eyeing him coolly. “But maybe I shouldn’t have. I guess I’ll just see you later.” Turning on her heel, she brushed past Howie and stalked out of the room.
“Fuck,” Nick exhaled. “Claire, wait! Don’t walk away; get back here!”
She reappeared in the doorway and gave him a hard stare, her eyes boring into his, making him squirm. “What?” she demanded in a low voice.
Nick sighed. “Come here, would you? We... we should talk.”
Raising an eyebrow, she replied, “You know, Nick, I think that’s a very good idea.” Coming back into the room, she perched herself on the edge of his bed and crossed her arms.
“I’ll leave you guys alone,” Howie murmured, backing out of the bedroom.
When the door clicked shut, Nick shook his head. “You didn’t have to come over here,” he muttered. “I’m fine.”
“Not according to AJ. He sounded really concerned.”
“I cut my wrist, big deal. It’s fine; it just needed a few stitches.”
“I didn’t mean that,” said Claire. “You threw your crutch at the bathroom mirror and broke it?”
“Yeah, so? Don’t even tell me you never want to just throw shit and smash things.”
“Well, sure, but wanting to and actually doing it are two different things. I’ve never hurled something at a full-length mirror and shattered it, I can tell you that.”
“Yeah, so I did. Who cares? It’s replaceable.”
“Who cares?” Claire repeated. “Well, I care, Nick, and it’s not the mirror I’m concerned about.”
“You don’t have to be concerned about me,” muttered Nick. “I don’t want your damn pity.”
“I don’t pity you, Nick,” Claire stressed. “I just worry about you. We all do. What you’ve gone through – what you’re going through right now – is a lot to deal with. I know, okay? And I – and Howie and AJ – just want to make sure you’re doing all right. And if you’re not, we want to be there for you and help you.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed. What the hell was she getting at? She was acting like he had tried to kill himself or something. “Help me, huh?” he scoffed. “And you would help me how, by getting some shrink to talk to me? I’m not fucking crazy, Claire, and I’m not suicidal, and a nice big dose of Zoviraxisn’t going to bring my leg back, is it?”
“Well, uh... no... but it’ll suppress your herpes outbreaks. Isn’t that what Zovirax is for, herpes? I think you meant Zoloft,” snickered Claire. “Or Prozac.”
His cheeks flaming, Nick fought an internal battle between wanting to scream at her and wanting to just laugh. In the end, he couldn’t help but let a small chuckle escape his lips. God, he was always messing things up and making humiliating mistakes.
Smirking, Claire went on, “I mean, unless there’s something you’re not telling me. Did that hooker you were with a few months ago give you something?”
“Shut up, I meant the shit they give to suicidal people.”
Claire smiled. “I know, I’m just playin’ with ya. There’s too many of those stupid commercials on TV to keep them all straight anyway. But really, Nick, you might wanna watch who you sleep with...”
And who would want to sleep with me anyway? The question formed in his mind, but before he got a chance to voice it, she finished her sentence.
“... because you’re doomed to have seven years of bad luck now that you broke that mirror, and I think getting herpes would definitely count as bad luck. And who knows, maybe it’s double the years if you break a big, tall mirror like that. Ooh, fourteen years... sucks to be you.” Grinning, she reached out to playfully ruffle his hair, but even before her fingertips had brushed his blonde strands, he drew back in alarm and impulsively slapped her hand away.
“Don’t!” he hissed.
Startled, Claire retracted. “Sorry,” she apologized, looking confused. “I didn’t-“ And then, as revelation struck, the perplexed expression on her face morphed into one of realization. “Ohh, Nick... is your hair starting to fall out?” she asked empathetically.
He gave a short nod to confirm her suspicion.
“So that’s what’s wrong,” Claire said softly. “I’m sorry, Nick.”
“Not your fault,” muttered Nick, avoiding her eyes.
“I know. But it just sucks.”
“Yeah,” agreed Nick. “It definitely sucks.”
She patted his hand. “We’ll just have to make it not suck so much then. We should go hat shopping and get you some funky hats to wear – that would be fun, right? I’m not working Saturday if you feel up to going then. Or wait, you have to get chemo on Saturday, right? Well, I can just hang out here with you on Saturday, and we can go Sunday instead. How does that sound?”
She said this all very fast and then looked at him, waiting for his response. Nick hesitated, his mind a cyclone of thoughts. The most dominant of them all was that Claire was ready to give up a whole weekend to hang out with him, even if it meant just sitting with him while he lay in bed, sick to his stomach from the cancer treatment. He shook his head. She shouldn’t have to do that.
“What?” Claire asked. “You don’t want to? Come on, it’ll be fun! We can go Sunday morning when the stores open; nobody will be around to recognize you then. Is that what you’re worried about?”
Nick shook his head again, frustrated and overwhelmed. How could he explain to her how guilty he felt for eating up so much of her free time? The thing was, he couldn’t. She would just laugh and tell him she didn’t mind; he knew she would. But how could she not mind? How could she spend hours at his house, taking care of him and keeping him company, and not mind?
He knew why she was doing it; she felt obligated to. He knew it had something to do with the previous summer, when she’d gone through her bone marrow transplant, and he’d visited her in the hospital a few times. She was just paying him back, returning the favor. But maybe she didn’t realize that she’d already gone above and beyond simply returning the favor.
She’d been at his side through almost everything lately, and though he loved having her around, he knew it had to end. He was getting better now, and there was no need for her to have to give up so much of her time to be with him. Just because his life sucked didn’t mean hers had to.
“Nick?” she questioned, staring at him in concern.
Something had to be done, Nick decided. “Claire,” he said, struggling for words. “I... you... look, you shouldn’t plan your whole weekend around me.”
“I’m not ‘planning my weekend’ around you. If you don’t want to go shopping, that’s okay. It was just a thought.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just...” Nick sighed. “I don’t think we should hang out so much,” he blurted finally, not knowing how else to word it.
Claire raised an eyebrow. “Oh,” she said simply. “Um, okay.” She hesitated a moment, then slid off the bed and stood up. “I guess maybe I should go after all then.” She watched him carefully, waiting for him to say something. Nick only shrugged, not knowing what to say. Fine, go? But he didn’t really want her to. No, stay? Well, he really didn’t want that either, for her sake.
“Okay,” Claire nodded after a moment of silence. “See ya.” With that, she turned and walked out. But in a few seconds, she was storming back into the room, her eyes flashing. “No,” she said, plopping down on his bed. “I changed my mind; I’m not leaving yet. Not until you and I have a talk.”
“Isn’t that what we just did?” Nick asked blankly.
“No! I want to talk about what happened three weeks ago, in the movie theater.”
Nick’s heart sank. Why did she have to bring that up? The kiss.... His heart began to race just thinking about it. “What about it?” he asked weakly.
“What about it?” Claire repeated incredulously. “Don’t you dare sit there and pretend it was nothing because to me, it was definitely something!” Pausing, she studied him for a moment and then added, her voice faltering slightly, “I-it was something for you too... wasn’t it?”
Yes! Nick’s mind screamed, but, trying to keep his expression neutral, he simply shrugged. “I don’t know, Claire,” he mumbled. “It was a kiss. I’ve kissed lots of girls.”
Her nostrils flared in anger. “Oh, I see. So I’m just another one of your little toys, is that it?” He kept silent. “Well, thanks, Nick, I really appreciate you playing me like that. You know, I thought that we had something that night in the movie theater. I thought that kiss meant something, and I’ve been waiting weeks to find out exactly what. I just assumed you hadn’t brought it up yet because the time wasn’t right, with you starting chemo and everything. But now I know why. You didn’t see the need to talk about it cause it meant nothing to you.”
You’re wrong, Nick thought miserably, but he didn’t say that. He didn’t say anything at all, which seemed to enrage Claire even more.
“Will you please say something?” she demanded. “Look at me!”
He looked up and saw the pain in her eyes, and he hated himself for putting it there. But this wasn’t about him... this was about her, and he had to do what would be best for her. For months, he’d only been thinking about himself. It was time to stop being selfish and put her first. And if that meant letting her go, pushing her away, he would do it, no matter how much it would hurt him to do so.
“You’re right, Claire,” he said through clenched teeth. “It meant nothing. I felt nothing. It was just a kiss, nothing special.” He half-hoped she would see past his vacant expression and notice the slight quiver in his robotic voice. But apparently his acting skills had paid off, for her face fell, and she simply nodded.
“I see,” she said quietly, standing up. “Thanks for clearing that up for me. I’ll see you around.” Without a backward glance, she walked out, and this time, she did not come back.
Feeling hot tears well up in his eyes, Nick looked at his forgotten tray of food in misery. The pyramid of cold tater tots he had constructed earlier blurred before him. Angrily, he gave the single tater tot on top a poke. It toppled off and rolled to the edge of his plate. He studied it, lying on its side away from the rest of its kind, the gouge where he’d pulled off a bit to be the baby tot just visible. The poor tater tot looked battered, beaten. Sort of like him, he thought, feeling sorry for himself. He was just like the tater tot. He’d fallen from the top and now lay by himself, wrecked, ruined, and all alone, now that he’d driven Claire away.
Impulsively, Nick seized the tattered tater tot and shoved it into his mouth. But it was stone cold by now, and as soon as he bit down, he spat it back out again. Now the thing really looked a mess, half-chewed and slimy with his saliva.
That’s like me too, he thought, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand and picturing Claire’s crestfallen expression. I’m a slimeball. He was already partially regretting what he’d said to her. It wasn’t true, not at all, and he knew he had hurt her.
But it was too late now. She was really gone this time, and he wasn’t sure when, or if, she’d be back.
***
