The heat was unbearable, and even the slight breath of wind that had picked up did nothing to relieve it. It only served instead to whip sand into his face, the tiny grains stinging his skin with surprising harshness. He staggered on through the seemingly endless desert, his throat parched, his skin dry and hot, so dehydrated that he was no longer sweating.
His eyes scanned the flat, unchanging horizon with desperation, searching for an oasis. He needed water... and a place to rest his aching feet. But for miles and miles, all he could see was more sandy ground, dotted by the occasional scrubby bush or cactus. Was there any escape to this desert nightmare?
His legs were weak and unsteady from exertion and wobbled precariously beneath him. Finally, he knew he could not take another step, and he sank down to the ground, knees buckling, legs folding under him. He sighed, feeling a slight bit of relief, and closed his eyes to block out the scorching sun that beat down on him with merciless cruelty.
He never saw it coming, only heard its deathly rattle. Opening his eyes in a flash, he recoiled in alarm at the sight of a large snake coiled on the ground just feet away, its head raised, its eyes right on him. It flicked its tail, and he both saw and heard the rattle on the end of it. A rattlesnake.
‘Poisonous!’ his mind screamed, and he got up quickly. Too quickly. Frightened by his sudden movement, the snake struck, lashing out at him. He stumbled back, but he was too late. The serpent had already sunk its fangs into the side of his lower left leg. White hot pain seared up and down the entire limb, and he cried out, desperately kicking, trying to shake off the beast. Finally, the snake went flying, its long, agile body landing in a heap on the rough ground.
Anger bubbling within him, half directed at the snake, half at his own stupidity, he quickly went after the reptile, limping to the spot where it had fallen, annihilation on his mind. With his left leg painfully unstable and barely able to support him, he raised his right leg and brought it down quickly and forcefully upon the snake. He heard its small skull crush under his foot the first time, but he continued his assault, stomping on it again and again, as the rattler’s body writhed and convulsed with death throws. Finally, it lay limp and motionless beneath his foot, and shakily, he drew back. He stood watching it a moment, and when he was sure he had killed it, he collapsed, his left leg burning in agony.
Curling his legs in front of him, he leaned over to inspect the wound. It was bleeding freely, and already, his whole lower leg had begun to swell. It was now twice the size of his right leg, and the puffiness just seemed to climb, as the area around the bite changed from flame red to sickly green, the venom setting in. It was spreading through his body now, and he was helpless, alone here in the desert.
His heart began to race, and his breath became shallow and rapid, while a cold sweat broke out on his skin. Drops of perspiration sliding thickly down his back and soaking his t-shirt, he gasped for breath, as his condition quickly deteriorated. While the snake’s poison pumped through his system, death’s icy fingers beckoned to him, luring him ever closer.
‘I’m going to die,’ he realized, looking frantically around for something, anything, that could help him. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted movement and turned his head immediately to its source. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the dead snake twitch, then slowly raise its head.
“No!” he cried aloud in horror. “You’re dead! I killed you!”
But the ghostly serpent defiantly began to creep across the ground, slithering slowly toward him. He tried to get to his feet, but he could barely move his leg, and his body was weak. He scrambled backward across the rough desert floor, panting and moaning in agony as he used his hands to drag him along.
The snake loomed nearer, relentless in its mission to destroy him. There was no escaping it, and finally realizing this, he collapsed onto his back, tears sliding down his flushed, sweat-streaked cheeks as he waited for it to attack again. Raising his head slightly, he watched as the snake rose up and then plunged down, its venomous fangs piercing his skin again. He gasped, as another round of debilitating pain shot through him.
His body was failing on him now, and as he lay back again, shaking and choking as he fought for every breath, the last thing he saw was the snake’s eyes, a spark of malice glowing deep within them. Too weak to care, he let his own eyes fall shut , as he surrendered himself to darkness, and to death...
But when Nick jerked awake, bathed in a sheen of sweat and gasping in fear, he found himself to be very much alive, safe in his bed in the cool, dark bedroom of his house in Tampa. Except for the dull throbbing in his left leg, he had left the dream behind.
Letting out a shuddering breath, he sat still, focusing on his respiration, trying to slow his racing heart. The nightmare reminded him strikingly of the shark dream he had had in the hospital months earlier. It was so vivid, so real. And it confused him. He’d had plenty of nightmares about sharks before – he’d been having them since childhood – but never about snakes. He wondered what could have possessed such a strange dream, but was too tired to really consider its meaning.
Anyway, it was probably just something he ate.
***
When Nick awoke for the second time, it was light in his room, the late morning sun streaming through the sheer curtains covering his windows. He rolled over, expecting to find Leah lying asleep in bed next to him. But she was not there. At first, his sleepy brain reasoned that she must have already gotten up. Then he remembered.
Leah was gone.
He was alone.
With that cheerful thought, he staggered out of bed and went downstairs. Normally, Leah might have been in the kitchen, already making him breakfast. But that morning, the kitchen was deserted, void of the usual burnt smells that wafted out of it when she was in front of the stove.
Leah had been so good to him, leaving behind her stripper roots to transform into the perfect little domestic goddess (or close enough). But now he realized it had all been an act, part of her desperate attempt to win him over so that she could take his money. And he was so shallow and clueless, he hadn’t even seen it coming, hadn’t recognized her for what she was. A gold-digger. Just like Mandy, except Mandy had wanted a record deal too. Then again, Mandy hadn’t pretended to be carrying his child.
Why did he have such bad taste in women?
He felt like an idiot. He’d been screwed over yet again, by a woman who had already broken his heart two times before. Third time’s the charm, he had thought.
Yeah right.
He was only three times as stupid, and now he would be three times as cautious when it came to women. As far as he was concerned, they could all rot in Hell. He wanted to be able to fall in love with a wonderful girl and have her love him back. But he was beginning to realize that just wasn’t going to happen. He was adored by females all over the world... yet, all of the women he had ever loved had turned out to be fake, conniving bitches.
He would never win. Might as well give up now and resign himself to the fact that he would be a bachelor for the rest of his life. It wasn’t such a bad thought... wild and free forever, he could do whatever he pleased, have a different sexy lady in his bed every night of the week if he chose to.
But he wouldn’t stay young forever, and eventually, the ladies would stop approaching him. Eventually, the wildness would end. And when it did, he wanted to have that special someone to come home to, that person who would love him unconditionally for the rest of his life, that person he could grow old with.
If he got a chance to grow old.
“Stop it,” he scolded himself out loud, glad there was no one around to hear him talking to himself. “You’re fine.”
On that note, he tried to get himself to think happy thoughts and go on with his day, ignoring the gentle ache in his leg and the brutal sting in his heart.
***
As the week went on, it became easier to forget about Leah, for the Backstreet Boys’ new album dropped the following Tuesday, and that whole week would be spent doing promotional work, making appearances, performing, and being interviewed. Nick was glad they would be so busy because it would give him next to no time to dwell on Leah.
Still, the rest of the week spent at home was miserable. There were little reminders of Leah all around the house, forbidding him from pushing her out of his mind for too long. Even as he packed on Sunday afternoon, the day before he was scheduled to meet the group in New York, he was forced to think of Leah. Rooting through his top dresser drawer in search of enough clean pairs of boxers and socks to last him the week, his fingers brushed over something hard and velvety.
That familiar, queasy feeling making itself known in the pit of his stomach, he pulled out the box containing the engagement ring he had planned to give Leah almost one week earlier. He flipped it open and gazed down at the extravagant ring. Plucking it out, he held it up, turning it toward one of the windows so that the rays of sunlight caught the diamonds, causing them to glitter brilliantly. He had had this ring custom made just for Leah; there was no other quite like it in the world. He remembered how his heart had soared with excitement the day he’d picked it up from the jeweler’s, how he’d held it up to the light to make it sparkle, just as he was doing now. The flashy ring’s beauty had made him happy then. Now it just made him sick. It represented his shallowness and Leah’s gluttony, and he hated it.
Jamming it back into its box, he snapped the lid shut and stalked over to the French doors that led out to his small, private balcony. He flung them open and went outside, the cool February breeze whipping through his short hair. Standing at the edge of the balcony, leaning over the rail, he clutched the jewelry box tightly, drew back his hand, and hurled it with all his might in the direction of the ocean. The small black box hurtled through the air and landed somewhere on the lawn, not even close to reaching the water. He didn’t care.
Going back inside, he slammed the doors behind him and drew the drapes. The sudden dimness in his bedroom matched his bad mood perfectly, and he figured all he needed was a CD of mournful violin music, and he could have an all out pity party.
But there was no time for self-pity or for parties. He had to pack.
***
“That bitch!” AJ roared with anger. “I can’t believe she would do that to you!”
“I can,” Nick said glumly. “Not like it hasn’t happened before, to some degree.”
Now that it was Monday, it had officially been a week since Nick had thrown Leah out of his house, and as they sat around Kevin’s hotel room, making small talk, Nick had filled the guys in on what had happened. They had all been angry, overprotective of Nick as it was and hating to see their little brother hurt by anyone, but it was AJ who had completely exploded.
Kevin’s response was calmer, yet Nick would have rather heard AJ rant some more. “I can’t believe you didn’t see it coming, Nick,” Kevin lectured quietly. “You have to learn to recognize girls like that, that are just out to use you. You’ve certainly been with enough of them.”
“Fuck off, Kevin,” Nick muttered irritably. He felt dumb enough as it was; Kevin didn’t have to go rubbing salt in his wounds.
“Seriously, Kev. You know Nick – he can’t help it. His g-dar has never worked right,” said Brian.
“G-dar?” Kevin repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“Gold-digger radar. G-dar,” replied Brian with a cheeky smile, thinking he was pretty clever. Nick just thought he was annoying and told him so with a simple flip of his middle finger. “Hey, what’d I do?” Brian cried, holding up his hands in defense.
“Guys, can we just stop?” asked Howie in exasperation. “We have to head to NBC soon for the Oprah taping, so can we just like get ready and stop bickering?”
“Yes, mommy,” Brian sang cheerfully, while Nick just scowled.
“Who the fuck agreed to us going on Oprah anyway? She doesn’t give a damn about our music; you know exactly what she’s going to focus on.” His eyes narrowed darkly; Oprah had been wanting them on her show for months, ever since the announcement of Nick’s remission, and he knew why. The cute, youngest Backstreet Boy battling cancer – now that was a story all the middle-aged, stay-at-home moms would be drawn to. He could imagine them sitting around in their sweats and slippers, boxes of tissues on their laps, crying over how strong and courageous he was... ugh.
He was actually surprised Oprah hadn’t already booked his mom. Jane Carter would certainly be willing to come on the show and appeal to other mothers’ emotions by crying over how worried she had been about him and how much she loved him and how much he had hurt her by shutting her out of his life... ugh, again.
Hm... but what if Oprah had booked his mother, and she’d be on the same show? A surprise guest with whom Oprah would expect him to have a tearful reunion? Ha, fat chance. More likely it’d turn into an episode of Springer. Nick chuckled as he imagined himself hurling a chair at his mother (God knows he sometimes wanted to), while Jane, looking “trailer trash chic” in a leopard-print tube top, high-waisted black spandex pants, and stilettos, cussed him out in a Southern-accented voice, and the audience chanted, “Op-rah! Op-rah! Op-rah!”
“What are you laughing at?” asked Kevin, narrowing his eyes at Nick.
“Nothin’,” Nick muttered, still thinking. Maybe he’d pull an Eminem and write a song about his mother for his next solo album. Or about Leah. About killing Leah. Yeeeees... mwahaha!
“Nick? Why are you smiling like that?” Kevin’s voice pried into Nick’s demented thoughts.
Blushing, Nick shook his head quickly. “Nothin’, never mind.”
“Ya freak!” AJ teased, knocking the baseball cap off Nick’s head. Nick retaliated immediately, snatching AJ’s own baseball cap.
“Haha, my hair’s longer than yours,” he smirked, running a hand over his head to compare his own hair to the short, dark brown growth on AJ’s head.
“Children!” Kevin cried in annoyance. “Nick, did you take something?”
“He should take some Midol,” AJ said loudly, grinning at Nick like the Cheshire cat. “Maybe that will take care of his little PMSy mood swings.” More like Prozac, J, Nick thought, the Leah song coming to mind.
“AJ, the Midol joke is so lame,” groaned Howie, rolling his eyes. “Leave Nicky alone.”
“Thank you, Howie!”
“No problem, Nicky!”
Nick smiled. He didn’t really mind the guys teasing him; he knew it was only in good humor. They really cared about him, unlike some people. And it felt good to escape his lonely home in Tampa and spend the week with them. The excitement over releasing the new album had been overpowered by what had happened with Leah, but now that he was actually in New York, with the album coming out the very next day, it had returned in full-force. He didn’t need Leah. He didn’t need anyone. As long as he had the Boys, he was good to go.
Oh man, now that was certainly cheesy. Good thing he hadn’t said that aloud, or Brian and AJ would strike up a duet of Bette Midler’s “The Wind Beneath My Wings” to make fun of him, while Howie would probably be moved to tears for real, and a choked-up Kevin would announce, “Group hug, guys!” and pull him into a big man-hug.
Nick put his hand up over his mouth, both hiding his grin and stifling a giggle.
Staring at him as if he had grown a second head, Kevin asked, “Nick, what is so funny?” Nick just gave his standard response.
“Nothin’.”
***
