The “Indie” Beginning

Unlike most stable human beings, I had always given a lot of thought as to how I would die. The fantasies always ranged from the extreme-people that hated me enough hiring someone to put a slug in my brain, to the simple, everyday things that can kill you-choking on a pistachio, falling down stairs. Sometimes it bordered on insanity, such as swallowing glass in a dish at my favorite restaurant and getting tangled up in the shower curtain after having one too many shots of Skull Vodka. Either way, I knew thoughts of my demise either meant I needed serious therapy or I watched too much Six Feet Under.

What I never figured was that I would try it myself.

The sound of the world dissolved around my ears as my head sank underwater. I opened my eyes and saw the ceiling above me, distorted and far away. I felt confident and unafraid in this silent underwater oasis, I had no more fight left in me. No tears were leading up to this decision, I had a feeling that this was the way it was always going to happen, no matter what road I walked in life. I allowed myself to use up some of the air I had stored. I had no patience. Not in life, not in death, not in the endless fuckshit that stretched between. 

In a perfect world where people in movies try to drown themselves in their shitty bathtubs to get away from their shitty lives, the love of their life somehow barges in at the last minute as if by divine providence and saves their life, and kaboom, after endless tears and promises, the person submerged always gets help and stays in love until old age takes them. 

I hate to break it to you, but this was no perfect world and I wasn’t in the room with any cameras, so I knew this would end the way I intended it to. The hero of this story was nowhere near my shitty apartment and probably wouldn’t save me if he was, and nobody, especially me, could blame him for it. My eyes began to sting, but I forced them to stay open-I wanted to see the world close in on me like a bad computer effect on a TV sitcom. Fade to black. Beautiful. 

But while life is not a movie, it is certainly ironic, and if there is a God, he’s sadistic. Only in this day and age and only in my life could a MySpace notification put a stop to this very dramatic suicide attempt.

CHA-CHING!

I heard this sound even though I was underwater and because I was mentally conditioned to respond, my entire body started, forcing me out of the water. I couldn’t help it-I sucked in a huge breath. My lungs were on fire. My hands clawed at the sides of the bathtub. I gulped in huge bubbles of air, my brain was exploding with red and yellow.

Holy fuck. Was I really going to do that?

After several minutes of heaving, I raked my hands through my wet hair, pulling off the old red bandanna that had been my only baggage for death. I couldn’t help but pull it to my face and take a deep inhale. The smell was still there, even through the wetness, even after all this time. Sweat. Hair gel. You.

Due to my unhealthy addiction to MySpace, which I believed was created with crack cocaine, I simply could not snuff out my life without seeing who or what had stopped me from carrying out my grand plans. Yes. MySpace stopped me from killing myself, and if it was a fucking LOL bulletin comment, I was going to be beyond pissed. Fucking pathetic. 

I managed to stand up, though my legs were shaking, and I had to hunt down a towel. I hadn’t laid one out, of course, I wasn’t planning on getting out of the tub in anything less than a body bag. The bandanna remained clenched in my fist. The plan was still on, whatever happened on MySpace.

I stumbled to my chair and typed in my password. 

NEW MESSAGES!

I stopped before I clicked on the link. I closed my eyes and sucked in a breath. 

Please Lord, if you are there, please let it be one of my friends. Please let it be my mother wanting to know how to change her layout. Please let it be a Piece of Flair or even a fucking Spambot. But whatever you do, Lord, don’t let it be him. I don’t want to be saved. I can’t do it anymore. PLEASE. 

Yeah. Like the Lord would let it be that easy after I was about to commit the sin of all sins. But curiosity murdered the cat-so I clicked the link. 

It felt like a sucker punch when I saw his picture. It would hurt less if the picture would have been with some other girl, but in a final coupe de grace, he had changed it to us. Knowing how notoriously private he was, this was a statement in itself. I hated him for it. Hated him for caring. Didn't want him to anymore. Loving me never got anyone anywhere they should ever go. 

A year ago, we were paint-splattered, laughing, and drunk off WOW-Ritas after our paintball tournament. The picture that had gotten scathing comments from so many of his admirers, calling me a slut and a bitch and all sorts of horrible names. They hadn’t known me from Adam, but they were right. After seeing those comments, I laughed my ass off, but he looked at me with sadness in his eyes. He had expected me to be upset. Had he wanted me to be? Maybe. Was I? No. These girls didn’t know me, but they were right. Who was I to dispute the truth?

“Nothing affects you the way it should.” He murmured, gazing up at me with his muddy eyes. I stopped laughing.

“So you’re saying you WANT me to be a ball of insecurity because a bunch of teenyboppers are jealous?” Incredulous, I raised my eyebrow. 

He had sighed. “I want you to feel something for anything.”

I smiled and pressed my finger to his nose.

“I feel something for things that matter.”  

That conversation had been six months ago. Six months ago, we had been something. Not whole, not ever whole, nothing ever was, but more than the pile of ashes we were now. 

Returning to the present, I sat there dumbly and stared at that little message, highlighted in blue. His picture mocked me, it made me feel guilt for what I had been about to do to myself, to him. I hated feeling guilty. I wanted to be selfish, dammit. I wanted him to move on. I knew I had to click it. I knew I had to see what he said. I hadn’t heard from him for what seemed too long. I had a hunger that nothing could kill. Not the liquor. Not anything I could put in my body. There was no anti-dote for him. Believe me, I've tried.

I moved the mouse and clicked.

The page loaded. I expected a long message, but all I got was the proof that he knew me too well to waste too much time saying too much. All it said was,

You can't do this. 

His picture grinned winsomly back at me, a big splash of blue on his forehead, his eyelashes flecked with orange. The familiar orange and green gif flickered under our images, indicating that he was online, waiting for me to reply. I knew him, he had seen it in my internal woodwork, and he knew what I had planned to do. He just didn’t know when or where, and my phone had been chucked a long time ago. All he could do was try MySpace in hopes that I’d hear him and come. And I had. At the most crucial moment in my life. Damn him, stealing my thunder, getting in the way. Always, always getting in the way. 

I am a cruel person. I could not and did not respond. Instead, I got up from my chair, dropped my towel, and walked naked to the refrigerator. I dug in the freezer until I found the prize, a bottle of half-full Skull Vodka, icy, deadly. I pulled the cork out with a knife and started guzzling. The urge to puke came but I suppressed it. My gut was roiling, my head full of bees, anger and resentment snarled inside of me like a knot. I wanted to be dumb and slow and unable to move. It didn’t take long. I tied the bandanna around my hand, like bandaging a cut. He used to do that. He used to do a lot of things, but so had I. 

I stumbled back to the bathroom and leaned against the doorframe, drunk and naked and blinking furiously. The water lay still, calm, waiting for me. I stuck my toe in. It was lukewarm at best.

Fuck it, I’m not dying cold. I don’t ask much. I just want to die in a bathtub of hot water. Fuck it, I’ll do it tomorrow. To try now would be utterly gauche, and above all, children, we cannot be gauche, can we?

I didn’t bother draining the water, I just stumbled out of the room, slapped the light switch, grabbed my bottle of vodka, and headed towards the bedroom. I’m so fucking tired. Of this. Of him. Of me. Of being interrupted. I just want to be gone. I just want this endless fucking nightmare to end. 

I collapsed in my dirty sheets. I hadn’t washed them in 8 months. Gross, I know, but his scent is still stuck on my pillows. I didn’t smell him now. I coughed until the vodka came up and choked me, my nostrils bloomed with fire. After hacking up my lungs for several minutes, I finally wiped my mouth with the bandanna and buried my face in my sheets. My eyes fluttered shut. The ninety dollar vodka spilled out onto my sheets.

I knew nothing.

Shelli and Kelli.

The bane of my fucking existence. One skinny, one fat. A mother-daughter duo from law office hell. 

It was Friday and I was sitting at my desk, staring without seeing the folder of legal mumbo jumbo in front of my face. The McDonald's breakfast I had eaten made me sleepy but was necessary if I had to wake up at 6 am to drive out to New Orleans to deal with this shit.

I had the dubious title of Administrative Assistant at the law firm of Jeffries & Joseph, APLC. I hated the work and I hated driving 30 minutes every morning, but I needed to pay my car note some sort of way and I liked having my own email address. It made me feel important. I had no idea at that time how little ole me would come to perceive importance. 

Anyway-I was in charge of writing checks to Katrina/Rita clients who had gotten fucked out of money by Road Home. The amount was usually in the thousands and I had to deal with dispersing agents, who had to deal with clients, who were almost always in a bad fucking mood. This chain of command usually meant I went home pissed too. But Shelli and Kelli, well, they just plain made me fucking angry. Not to mention thinking about that Category 5 megabitch every day was enough for me to want to jump into the Mississippi. 

Shelli was the office manager and Kelli was her daughter, who handled accounting. She was a few years younger than me and had major responsibilities. Too much for a person whose mother handled the books, if you know what I’m saying. Kelli and I got along on the surface but I knew she was two-faced, so I tried to keep what I said close to my chest. Her mother had been acting weirder and weirder towards me over the past few weeks, so all I wanted to do was do my job, double-check it, collect a paycheck, and go home. Employees of this law firm had a way of disappearing one week and next week having a sorority friend of Kelli’s replacing them. This was not a coincidence. 

Daniel, one of the dispersing agents, handed off a case to me around 3:50 that day. It was complex and had several elements that Kelli herself had to deal with. I handed it over to her. Daniel seemed to be okay with that, so I didn’t worry. I was preoccupied with thoughts of my shitty car, which was displaying very low tires. I was worried about getting a flat-I had $100 for the rest of the week. 

At five my phone rang, something that never happened. Shelli’s extension showed up on the screen. I picked it up, and she told me to come to her office. I got up, my mind still worrying around the edges about my car. Kelli didn’t seem to notice. I walked down the hall to Shelli’s office and she told me to close the door and sit. I sat.

She went on to tell me that I had been working there for about 5 months and I should know how to handle cases by now. I looked at her strangely. “That case had to go to Kelli. She told me she needed to work on it.”

“Kelli has her own work to do,” Shelli said coldly.

Something in my stomach lurched. 

“We’re going to have to let you go,” Shelli's voice held all the compassion of a cold hospital bed.

Okay. Now I felt sick. 

“What? You’re letting me go because I was told to give the case to Kelli? Daniel even told me Kelli needed to work on it.” 

“I tell Kelli what to do. I’m sorry. I’d rather not do this.” She pursed her lips. Sure as fuck didn’t look like she had remorse. 

I stared at her, unable to think or speak or even throw her fucking glass paperweight at her head, which, in retrospect, I wished I had done when I looked back on the situation later. She slid papers with words across the desk to me. “Here’s your last check with severance and vacation pay. Please sign to acknowledge.” 

I looked down. The words swam. I wanted to be sick. All over her fucking $500 desk. A few weeks ago, her father-in-law had died. I had come into her office and brought her tissues without asking. She had been grateful. What the fuck?

She pushed a pen towards me, wanting me out of there so she could start on her 5:30 drive home to her rich fucking husband on the nice fucking Northshore. I picked up the pen and signed, threw the pen down, and strode towards my desk. She followed me.

I ignored her and swept up my belongings, the pictures of myself and my family in Vegas, my coat, and my bag. Kelli looked on with what looked like surprise, but I knew she had known all along. 

“I’ll need your card.” She said, referring to the pass card that was needed to get into the office. “It’s at home, I’ll mail it to you.” I snapped back and practically ran out of the office. Looking back, I wished I would have turned around and flipped them off. But their firing me had set an entire chain of events into motion that ensured my life would never be the same.

I hurried to my car, but as I approached, I saw shreds of my tire hanging off the ground. There was a hole big enough to put my hand through the back passenger tire. I sagged against my trunk. Fired on Friday from my job in downtown NOLA with a flat fucking tire. Zoom in on me: champion of the fucking universe.

I sat there and tried to compose myself to call the towing company. Earlier that day when I had come off of lunch break, I had noticed my tire looking bad, but I had been late. I had bumped into Shelli when I had come into the lobby. I had TOLD her my tires were low. The bitch had known, and still fired me. I searched my brain for any reason that I had deserved this and came up short. As I stood against my car in the harsh July heat in my stupid fucking conservative work outfit, I noticed a group of people watching me through the black fence next to the law office’s parking lot. I could make out Shelli’s bright green shirt, and a haze of smoke. The fucking cunt was standing there, smoking, watching me burn up with a flat tire after she had fired me. And she was gossiping about me to her fucking coworkers. Next week there’d be a new sorority friend of Kelli’s standing out there to smoke with her, my replacement. My mind swam. I wanted to vomit in their parking lot. But I had to think fast, there was nothing I wanted more than to get the FUCK away from this fucking law firm.

I fumbled for my phone and called information and got a number for a towing company. I told them the address of the fucking law firm and they told me they’d be there soon, they were around the block. At this point, I had no idea what I was going to do for payment, but I knew I had to get out of there. Escape now, details later. I looked away from my ex-coworkers and concentrated on the shapes in the cement. I tried not to let them blur, but it wasn't easy. 

The tow company showed up and towed me out of there. I was so spaced out that I didn’t even have the energy to flip off Shelli and the rest of her minions. Looking back on that day, I regret not doing more to make them regret what they had done. It kept me up at night. It still pisses me off.

Sweat ran down my face in rivers, bayous, and oceans. The stupid shirt I had on with the law firm’s logo on it was sticking to my skin in all the wrong places. My mouth tasted slick, I felt faint, dizzy.

“The total is $200.73.” 

The guy behind the counter at the impound lot looked up at me expectantly. I stared back at him, not hearing what he had said. 

“Ma’am?"

“Yeah?” I answered dazedly.

“You owe $200.73. Cash or card?”

The guy was at least cute, that’s what I tried to tell myself, after the fact. Cute enough that after my card was declined, he had the grace to take pity on my space cadet expression. Cute enough that when I briefly explained why I was there, and that I had only a check from my ex-employer that I could do nothing with since the bank was closed, he took my hand and I noticed. Cute enough that I didn’t notice his pity being replaced by his perversity. 

“Well, what are we going to do about this?”

“I don’t know, what can I do?” I wanted to know, wiping my face with my hand. God, I needed a drink. Or a snort. Or a frying pan to the back of my head.

He beckoned to me with his head and I followed him, still out of it. He led me to a dark room cluttered with receipts and old paperwork. An outdated Playboy poster grinned down at me with grimy teeth. A fan oscillated lazily on a sagging shelf. The guy slouched down in the seat and looked up at me with a smug, lazy smile. I just looked at him, like the idiot I am.

“I tell you what, you do something for me, and we can forgive this $200 fine. I’ll let you take your keys and get out of here.”

“What?” I asked dumbly. Keep in mind, it was around 100 degrees out there, and knowing Louisiana, about an 85% humidity index. 

He unzipped his pants. 

I sighed. “Oh boy.”

It was too hot.

I walked into my apartment, closed the door slowly, and threw my keys against the wall. I ripped the stupid fucking Jeffries & Joseph shirt straight off of my body. Buttons flew and snapped against my hardwood floor. I ripped my pants and panties off and stumbled to my refrigerator. The draft from the freezer felt like beer to an AA member. I took a few deep breaths.

And screamed as loudly as my lungs permitted.

I kept screaming as I walked into my bathroom, turned on the coldest water I could, and forced myself to stand under the spray. 

I screamed until the freezing water choked me. Good thing too, cause the last thing I needed was to get evicted.

And then a thought flew into my brain and smacked me into a wonderful realization: I no longer gave a fuck. About any of it, really. 

I turned off the water, quite calmly now. I went into my bedroom, dressed in jeans and a shirt from Walmart, and grabbed my suitcase. I took all my clothes and stuffed them. Panties, bras, socks. I packed it until the zipper moaned in protest when I closed it up. I grabbed another suitcase, the one with skulls and crossbones on it. I filled it with the rest of my clothes. I packed perfumes, makeup, shower toiletries, my toothbrush and toothpaste. I found my lockbox and placed my birth certificate, social security card, and other crucial paperwork inside. I packed my computer and filled up my beat-up ice chest with ice and Cokes and sandwich makings. I unplugged my phone and raided my tampon box for the spare nine hundred I had saved up. I grabbed my keys and left. Got in my car and drove east. I sucked at directions. It’s a miracle I got where I was going at all. 

I didn’t sleep and only stopped when I had to use the bathroom and get something to much on. By the time I rolled into Florida, I had gone about 12 hours without any sleep and I was running on nothing but Hostess cupcakes and 10 cans of Coke, throat sore from screaming along to Disturbed and Slipknot. I parked under the first overpass and slept with my knife in my lap. For five hours, and only because a gruff state trooper told me to move the hell along.

When I awoke, it felt like I had chewed up Shelli’s soul and left it in my mouth to die. I was filthy and bleary-eyed with sleep. A headache threatened to take over. It was around 6 a.m., and I was twenty miles from Orlando.

I hadn’t been to Orlando since I was four or five on a family vacation to Disneyworld. My little bubble consisted of Metairie, Louisiana, and the surrounding parishes. I had never been out of the country. I was twenty three years old. I had no GPS and roughly 1,649 dollars to my name. Negative a job, significant other, common sense. I had zero hubris-I knew jack shit about fuck and liked it that way. 

As precarious as my situation was, I felt immeasurably better being away from that fucking state with those fucking cunts with the stupid fucking names. Away from my family. Away from people I had alienated or lost or thrown away. Away from the past with its vampire teeth and sharp edges in the dark.

I wasn’t quite sure why I had pointed my wheels to Orlando, but I’m sure people would say it was fate that yanked me out of everything I had ever known and put me in the middle of East Jesus Nowhere. The only card I had up my sleeve was the fact that I had an ex who lived somewhere in this area. And that was a card that could either break or make me since the relationship had ended on weird terms. But I had to try. I am many things, but never let it be said that I don't try. It's the things I try for that raise questions.

Thanks to Mr. Google, I managed to track him down. Fortunately for me, the fucker was stinking rich and had a red Prowler, which was easy to spot even in the most affluent neighborhoods. I bribed the extremely underpaid minion at the guardhouse with a bill and cruised through, chewing on a rope of Nerds until I coasted to a halt in front of a gray Tudor-style mansion that had to have sixteen rooms, at the very least. And it was only him living there, the little shit.

I pulled down my rearview mirror and winced when I saw my tangled hair and the shopping bags beneath my eyes. I looked like hell took a holiday. But since I could give a shit less what he thought about me now, I exited my car and stumbled up the too-green, Shire-esque lawn. By the time I got to the door, I was three seconds from entering Hernia-Land, so after ringing the doorbell I leaned against the wall, panting softly. 

It opened. My jaw hit the stoop and punched through the concrete.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Jesus H. Christ is more like it.” 

I straightened up and stared in abject horror at Alan Crane, three-time boyfriend, sole heir to a shipping empire, and would-be savior. I had first crossed paths with Alan back in high school, where he was a short, rich shithead who wore Hot Topic’s best and read JTHM for fun. Hungering for the public school experience amongst the rest of us normies, Alan had convinced dear old Dad to let him slum it with us in his sophomore year. Because our high school had a very small weirdo/freak to jock ratio, he more or less had no choice but to orbit in the same circles as I did, or else get drowned in the alligator-infested pond behind the gym by the football bros.

Now he stood before me in all of his dubious glory, impossibly clean, impossibly groomed, shamelessly outfitted with a white polo shirt and a pink sweater (yes, pink) knotted around his neck, like some sort of fucking Yankee WASP. I had barely recovered from the pink sweater when I spotted his blue, yellow, and pink (yes, pink) plaid shorts, which were also decorated with tiny ducks. Yes. Ducks. He had grown from a rich little Manson-playing shithead to a golf-playing soda water-drinking rich shithead. I wanted to redecorate his steps with my vomit. 

“What in the rice crispies fuck happened to you? Did the Mayflower vomit on you when I wasn’t looking?” 

“Nyx, why you? Of all the fucking people in the world, why you? Why does God hate me?” Alan groaned, leaning against his doorframe.

“Because you, my dear, have had too much good luck. Or, judging from your outfit, not nearly enough.” I said wryly, stepping up to him and yanking his fucking pink sweater up over his head. I skipped around him, screaming, “NIGEL! WHERE’S THE BRIE!?”

“Wait, Nyx, you can’t just run in here!” Alan stumbled after me, grabbing me by the shoulders. 

“Why the hell not, nobody else is here besides your sixteen maids, right?” I asked sarcastically, ducking around him. 

“Baby! Who is that?” I heard a very familiar, very Louisiana, and trying-oh-so-very-hard-to-be-cultured-but-failing-miserably voice exclaim from atop the curving staircase.

“Oh Christ,” Alan murmured, hiding his face in his hand. I turned to him, aglow with happiness.

“Alan! No! NOT her!” I exclaimed delightedly. It was as if all my birthdays had come early. I took off, galloping up the steps three at a time, Alan racing after me.

At the top, I collided with a very tiny, very compact, very malleable person. As the force of my weight pushed her to the ground and I flew on top of her with a hug, I heard a very undignified squawk. 

“Christobel! Got DAMN, have I missed your anorexic ass!” I laughed as the girl underneath me used all of her strength to push me off, and none too gently, either. 

“Ugh, God, not you. Is Florida not far away enough?!” She scowled as Alan helped her off the floor, dusting off the back of her slacks. Like there was any dust on that floor. I could have French kissed the tile all day without getting any speck of dirt on my tongue. But Christobel Fontenot (her parents sucked up too many swamp fumes, as you can tell) was notoriously OCD, and I had no doubt that this little spill would have her obsessing for weeks over her immune system. She had been a year younger than me in school and had hated me from the day I made the same mistake of breathing the same air as she did. Part of the problem was Alan. The rest was deeper and darker. I won't bore you with details. All you need to know is that Christobel didn't just hate me. In her most cuddliest and compassionate moments, she prayed for me to get hit by a bus. I thought it was hilarious to pretend we were the best of friends, which made her loathe me even more. After Alan and I had broken up, he had disappeared to his home state of Florida for college. I had been neck deep in a maelstrom of bullshit by the time she took off after him. That had been three years ago. I hadn't spared much of a thought for either of them. 

To give you the Cliff's notes-Christobel was from a no-good family off the bayou and her wet dreams did not consist of Alan himself, but of his bank account. Really, it could have been anyone, but as the saying goes, life punishes us for what we can't imagine, and poor Alan never saw her coming. 

 I had never even noticed Christobel following him, hell, I never even thought he noticed her flitting around him all the time. I knew there was nothing I wanted less than being married to a man who was rich as sin and just as unhappy. He couldn’t understand that, so maybe when Christobel showed up in Florida (surprise!), he latched onto her only because she was something he could at least understand-a woman who wanted his money. I felt bad for breaking his heart since he was by no means a fucking jerk like most rich kids were, but the simple fact was that he and I were a different species. Our relationship had been extremely serious, but only to him. 

Back in Louisiana, Christobel only wore clothes from Walmart and she was lucky if she got a decent haircut once a year. She was by no means ugly, but when she took up with Alan and got his Mastercard, she took all the overblown stereotypical things that rich women did to their bodies and did all of it times three. Her dark hair was now a bottle blond and her nails were long and talon-like, the color of eggplants. And to make it worse, she had been locked up inside a tanning bed way too long. Even the skin between her fingers was the color of coffee without cream- even for someone with her Greek heritage, it looked odd. She had been more than fleshy as a teenager but since then had spent way too much time in the gym and even more time in the tiled bathroom puking up her salads. For once in my life I thanked God for making me soft in all the right places.

“Alan, what the fuck is she doing here?” Christobel screeched, and Alan winced.

“Such pristine manners from the lady of the house." I teased. 

“Fuck off.” She shot back.

“Jesus, even with the help of a black credit card, you have all the graces of a rabid bat. Don’t you send your women to finishing school, Alan?” I was joking, but Christobel turned a color previously not seen in nature and Alan actually cowered. Sensing my welcome was already wearing thin, I turned my back on Cruella.

“Um. Right. So, look, Alan, I kind of took off without telling anyone and I was wondering if I could crash in one of the wings of your mansion for a few days. I won’t bother you, or the er…missus..here. I just need to get the fuck out of LA for a while.”

Christobel’s eyes bugged out. Alan looked at her uneasily and then looked at me.

“You are not staying here!” She screeched. To my surprise, Alan grew a pair.

“Christobel, this is not your house. Nyx is an old friend, and she needs help.”

The bitch grabbed his elbow and turned him away from me, hissing, “She’s an old girlfriend, Alan! One that dumped you and broke your heart and now you’re just going to let her mooch off of us?”

“Um, right, I can still hear you, fuck you very much.” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Whatever.” Christobel rolled her eyes right back at me. I took a step towards her, mirth gone, patience razor thin. Her eyes widened, she took a few steps back. I inhaled the scent of her fear like steam and let it curl through my entire body. 

“As you recall, me dumping him seems to have worked out in your favor. And I hate to impose on your happy little oasis here, but I need Alan’s help. And if you knew what was good for you, CHRISTOBEL, you would shut the hell up and let the owner of this house make up his own mind.”

Alan looked at me, his expression doubtful. 

“Alan, I’m not here to mooch. I just need a bed to lie down in. I won’t get in the way. I won’t ask for money. Fuck, you won’t even see me. I will go out and look for a job and then be out of your way. Please, Alan.”

I don’t beg. I don’t ask for help. But I had gone twenty three years without doing much of either and I figured this had to be the time to cash in my luck. He knew better than to think I was here for his money. If I had wanted to mooch off of him, I’d be in Christobel’s place.

He looked through me, as he always did, and nodded. None too eagerly, but nobody can blame him for that. 

Christobel stamped her foot, spun around, and stomped off. We watched her go.

“Did she really just do that?” I asked in disbelief.

“Too much Desperate Housewives.” He sighed, defeat stretched across his shoulders. 

I took his hands and peered up into his face. “Alan. Thank you.” 

He smiled sadly. “Hey, I need company sometimes.”

I found that sad.

After I located a bedroom with no ducks, plaid, or hunting scenes on the wallpaper, I took a bath in a huge marble bathtub with jets. I bathed in salts that were from some spring in France. And when I finally crashed out, it was on a bedspread that had to be at least 1,000 count sheets and made from the down of baby ducks. Knowing a rich person was nice, but I wouldn’t want to be him. Especially not trapped with Christohell.

I laid in bed that night marveling at my nerve, wondering a few times if I had done the right thing, if I had finally lost my mind, if it wouldn’t be smart to just go back and face my life. Hours ago I had been giving a blowjob to a tow truck guy to get my car out of hock after being fired from my stupid job. Now I was nestled in the eiderdown of wealth's armpits. 

What a wonderful world it is. 

If I had known then that the next day nothing would ever be the same, it’s hard to say what I would have done. 

Not knowing Christopher Kirkpatrick, well, let’s just say that was the Catch-22 of the century.

I slept for a lot longer than I intended that first night. When I woke up, it was around 6 in the evening. Shitty weather. Perfect. 

I got dressed and crept down the marble staircase. The huge house was deadly silent, I figured Alan and Christobel were off in their little love nest. The thought made me strangely lonely. Weird. I had never felt that way before.

I am a night owl by heart and Alan knew it, so it didn’t surprise me to find a Florida newspaper folded to the Classifieds when I entered the mammoth kitchen. Underneath it, hidden from Christobel’s beady little eyes, was a twenty and a note from Alan.

Nyx-

Get something to eat around the corner at Lager’s. It’s a bar/grill place I think you’d like. I like it, but Christobel insists the food gives her heartburn. Enjoy.

-A

I smirked and folded both the note and classifieds under my arm. I left the $20 there. I don’t need his money. It was a nice thought, but he knew me better than that.

I tugged my beanie over my head stole out of the mansion, across the soaked lawn, and launched myself into my Neon. I was cold, wet and hungry. My stomach growled at me. Lager’s was around the corner and I was happy to duck inside, and even happier to see that it was mostly empty, save for a dark-haired guy sitting at the bar, meditating over his drink. I sat myself and ordered a Heineken, and while the waitress was putting in my order, I stole to the back of the restaurant and called my mother, though I would have rathered put out a bonfire with my face. 

As I predicted, she was hysterical and nosy and all the things that exasperated me about her. She wanted to know why the HELL I hadn’t been answering my phone (didn’t want to) where I was (left that out) and where I had been (places she would never believe) and by the end of the conversation I was set to order six beers back to back.

I collapsed into my booth, took a long gulp of my beer, and set to reading the paper. I was starting to feel pretty sloshed and the words were starting to have sex on the page when I felt someone standing next to my table.

I looked up.

And as he sings it-I was gone.

“Your nose is bleeding.” 

Those were the words he first said to her. Hardly the sentence you’d think would trigger a romantic interlude. Certainly didn't befit the rollercoaster they had strapped themselves into. But, as irony goes, that’s all it took.

“Ohuh?” She blinked up at him and he felt his stomach tingle a little. Blood ran out of one nostril, slipping towards her mouth. Eyes the color of cocoa floated to him, clouded by beers, confused, a little irritated. Chris Kirkpatrick felt stupid.

“Your nose is bleeding.” He said, a bit louder, and she snapped out of her reverie and touched her fingers to her face. “Ugh. God. Thanks. That's lovely.” She said disgustedly. Chris snickered, despite himself. “It’s okay. Here, let me find a napkin.”

“Nah, that’s alright, don’t worry about me.” She smiled.  Her mouth turned up to the side when she did so, and Chris felt another flutter in his stomach that was in no way related to seeing blood. A lip ring glinted in the middle of her chin. 

“Nah, I’m already involved. Let me get the waitress.” He turned around, shaking his head with mirth. There were plenty of things he could be doing at almost 10:30 at night, but he’d rather help a bleeding stranger find a napkin than do any of them. Especially if it was a cute stranger. And damn, she was cute. Vermilion hair, upturned nose, sooty eyelashes, bowed lips. Color him intrigued.

As luck would have it, Chris couldn’t find a waitress, and Lager’s wasn’t the kind of place they’d keep a napkin out unless you ordered food. So he headed back to the bleeding girl and slid across from her in a booth. 

“You’re not going to believe this, but there’s not a damn napkin in the house.” He said, chuckling a little. “What the hell kind of place is this?” The girl muttered, one hand collecting the moisture on the side of her beer and wiping her face with it. “A shitty one. Are you going to be okay?” Chris wanted to know. 

She smiled in that lopsided way. “Oh, I’m sure a nosebleed won’t kill little ole me."

“I’m Chris.” He offered, because that seemed like the next step, and he liked the way she didn't seem to know who he was, even though that usually indicated a woman was too young for him. 

She eyed his red bandanna. “Chris is a good name, but I prefer nicknames, they’re easier to remember when you’ve had a few beers. I dub you Scott Baio.”

Chris groaned. “Oh come on, not Scott Baio."

“Sorry, Chris Scott Baio. You chose to wear a red bandanna. You sealed your fate.” She snickered at him. Chris couldn’t help but to laugh. The waitress came over and before he could beat her to it, she ordered them beers. He had never seen that before and told her so.

“What do you do that has hindered you from having a girl pay for your beer?” She asked, taking a huge swig of her beer. Chris skipped around that.

“You gonna tell me your name?” He teased.

“Aw, c’mon, that’s no fun. Why don’t you give me a nickname? It’ll keep things interesting.” She took another chug of her beer and winked at him.

Chris shook his head. “I don’t know you well enough to give you a nickname.”

“Hmm, well, Chris Scott Baio, let’s see. I’m a Libra, I hate penguins and lettuce, and I have a tattoo of a pirate ship on my ass.” 

Chris nearly spit out his beer. The girl ducked. He shook his head, coughing.

“Say it, don’t spray it, Baio.” 

“Sorry, I’m just not used to people being that forward. Especially women.” He admitted. Well, that wasn't necessarily true-many, many women had been forward with him, but only to get into his bed. This one didn't look like she really cared if she ended up there or not. Refreshing.

“Well, get used to it. Now, in the interest of equality, I demand a nickname.  I’m sure you’re quick enough to think one up. If it’s good, then there’s no reason for you ever to know my real name, right?” She teased, and Chris laughed.

“Well, since the pirate ship intrigued me, and I'm several beers deep, I dub thee Captain.” He knighted her with the knife on the table and she played along, bending her head to him. “Captain. I like it. Let’s drink to you, Scott Baio, and to me, the Captain!” They clinked beers and chugged. Chris couldn’t help but notice that she could chug a hell of a lot more than he did.

“Now, since you had to throw out that bit about the tattoo, I think I need to see it. For proof that you are a Captain.” He said, winking at her.

“Smooth. Real smooth. I need a few more beers for that, my friend. Or something stronger.” She set down her beer with a thunk.

Chris summoned the waitress. “Tequila. The nastiest kind you have.”

The girl’s mouth fell open. “You are naughty, Mr. Baio. I know what tequila does to a girl, and I'm sure you do, too, Loverboy. Just so's you know, you have NO chance of getting inside my panties tonight. My panties are Fort Knox.”

Chris sniggered. “I am suggesting something far more fun than sex.”

She laughed. “What in the world could be more fun than drunken sex with a stranger? Especially when that stranger is me?” The waitress set down the bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. Chris filled them up and handed hers over.

“You had to ask? You should know that the next best thing to drunken sex is…”

She raised her eyebrows at him, waiting.

“Beer pong.” He finished, and she threw a straw wrapper at his face.

“That’s the best you could come up with?! Come on! I played beer pong in HIGH school! Can we have a little character growth, please?"

“Do you want to compare notes on fine literature? By the way, I think I need to know how many years it's been since high school. You know, so I'm not a disgusting old perv hitting on you in a bar."

She burst out laughing. “You say that like you’re one thousand years old. Come on now, I’m not jail bait. Plus, you were the one who came up to ME with the awesome opening line of, ‘Hey, your nose is bleeding.’” 

Chris shook his head, smiling. “Tell me your name.”

“My name is Captain.” She said innocently, pouring them both another glass of tequila. Chris took his.

“Your real name.” He insisted.

She considered him, setting down her shot glass. “You really wanna know my real name?” He nodded in anticipation. She crooked her finger, indicating for him to get closer. He leaned over the table. She positioned herself near his ear, and unconsciously, he shivered. She smelled like satsumas.

“Captain.” She whispered, her breath tickling his neck, and he shook his head as he leaned back.

“You are a royal pain in the ass, aren't you?" 

Captain grinned at him. “Cheers to the truth.” She held up her shot glass. He clinked it with his. 

“Yeah. Cheers.” He said, keeping their eyes locked as they downed the liquor.

Unfortunately, he lost points trying to be smooth, as Chris started hacking as soon as the liquor slid down his throat. Captain snickered, tossing a napkin at him.

“Whew, that’ll make hair grow on your chest.” He choked, his eyes stinging. Normally he stayed far, far, FAR away from tequila. 

"You need to learn to hold your liquor, Scott Baio.” She pointed at him, weaving. He laughed.

“Says the girl who can barely say a word without using her hands." 

“Oh, bite me. Now, let’s play beer pong. TRUTH beer pong.” She stipulated, fishing in her pockets for a quarter. 

“Oh God. Why do I see myself regretting this?” Chris groaned, holding his head.

“You won’t.” She said, so seriously that Chris didn’t know whether to laugh or not. He opted for the latter.

She surveyed their half-empty bottle of tequila. “We need more happy juice. Something tells me we’re going to be too drunk to summon Flo after this.”

After hailing the waitress and getting more tequila, they flipped a quarter to see who would go first. Chris drew first bounce.

“Okay, if you miss, you have to take the shot, of course, and than tell me something true. If you make it, you can tell me something either true or false. I have to determine whether it is true or not, and if I get it wrong, I have to take a penalty shot. Capiche?” She raised her eyebrow at him. Chris sighed and held his quarter over the table.

“Here’s to the worst hangovers of our lives."

She laughed at him.

“Hangovers are for pussies.”

He believed her.

“Okay okay okay okay…true or false, I go on Craigslist.com looking at the Missed Encounters section and sending people false hope.” I slurred, and Scott Baio stared at me. "That is diabolical. You can't do that."

"Who's gonna stop me, the Craigslist police?" I snorted, and we both erupted in drunken laughter.

“Shhh shhh shhh, this is serious Scott Baio!” I insisted, pointing at him, prompting us to laugh even harder. I point a lot when I'm drunk. 

It was midnight and we had obviously bounced more misses than hits. The truths/lies had gotten dumber and more fantastical until we were just reaching for nothing. He didn't seem like he wanted to stop, though, and I didn't particuarly want to move, either. He was a lot of fun. 

“How the hell am I supposed to know if that's true?” Chris Scott Baio grumbled, shrugging off his hoodie.

“Pfft. In the same way, I’m supposed to know whether or not you once toured the country as some kind of pop group, that’s how. Now pay up.” I scowled playfully at him.

“Judging from what I know of you so far, I'm pretty sure it's true." Chris mused, running his hands through his hair. He did that a lot. And I know I was drunk and all, but he was fucking gorgeous. I was trying not to let that get in the way. I had already gone down on a pervy jackass to get my car out of hock. Drunk or not, I wasn't about to add this guy to my body count, as much as I may have wanted to. 

“And I say that you seem way too cool to be in some pop group, so I call bullshit." I giggled obscenely. Fuck. I giggle too much when I’m drunk. It’s bad.

“You'd be surprised. Does that Craigslist thing really exist?” He mumbled, his chin resting on the table. The man could not hold his liquor. It would be cute if I wasn’t scared he’d soon ralph all over the table.

“Sadly enough, it does. And sadly enough people post there, seeking connection in a very cold, dark world.” I affirmed, taking the bottle and guzzling it. Something gave way and I felt something warm flooding down my lips. The sleepy, drunken expression on his face evaporated. 

“Dammit, your nose is bleeding again.” Chris looked around frantically for our waitress. I looked at the blood on my hands. This time, I was embarrassed. It wasn't a small flow either-it was gushing like Niagra. 

“Shit, here." He reached up to his head and unfastened his Scott Baio bandanna, than moved his body around the table to slide next to me. He firmly held the bandanna against my nose. My eyes met his.

“This is your bandanna,” I said thickly. He smiled at me, amused. “There’s no napkins around, my Captain. I can’t let you bleed all over.”

“The hell you can’t! Lawsuit!” I mumbled, and he laughed. He smelled great. Woodsy. And his laugh made me smile. His bandanna smelled like hair gel. A faint odor of sweat and a little bit of cologne. His eyes searched mine-he had great brown eyes with the longest eyelashes I had ever seen. I love long eyelashes on a man. We stayed silent for a few moments. I could have reached up and took over, but I didn't. It had been so long since anyone had touched me, even in an innocent way. I had forgotten that people needed things like that to survive.

“Is that better?” He murmured and I nodded quietly. He removed the bandanna and closely inspected my face. My heart rolled over on itself like a hedgehog. Chocolate eyes softened; he nibbled on his lower lip. I know my eyes followed the action, and I know that he saw it. He cleared his throat.

“Not bleeding anymore, but keep the bandanna, just in case.” He moved away from me, and back into his seat. My forwardness seemed to make him nervous. Which was cute. 

“I’m sorry about soiling your bandanna. Give me your address, I’ll mail it back to you.” I joked, having no intention of doing so whatsoever. He chuckled. “At the risk of sounding lame, I have about ten of those at my house. That’s yours. You have to keep it. Something tells me you run into a lot of trouble.”

He was such a nice guy. If he only knew how many lines I had done to warrant sudden nosebleeds. If he only knew how tangled my life had been before I had made this crazy trip out here. If he did, he’d run. 

“Trouble and I are besties.” I attested. He moved the liquor out of my reach. “I can see that. Let’s slow down before they kick us out.”

“Shit, you’re right. Can you get cabs around here?” I asked, checking his bandanna for more blood.

“We’re in Orlando at midnight. What do you think? Where do you live?”

I hesitated. “Vizcaya Park.”

 His eyebrows went up in surprise. “No kidding? So do I.” Fuck, he was rich. Great. 

“You don’t sound like you’re from around here. You from out of state?” He questioned, summoning over the waitress to bring us baskets of bread.

I hesitated, but I could not bring myself to lie to him. I doubted he was a serial killer.

“New Orleans” I took a piece of bread and started tearing it into pieces. He watched me with that dark gaze.

“Really? I would have figured New York at first, but you’re not a Yankee,” He teased. "I can tell." 

I gasped in mock horror. "Watch your fucking mouth."

He chuckled, holding up his hands in apology. “You’re right around from where my boy Lance lives. In Mississippi.” 

I laughed. “Poor guy.” He snickered. “Yeah, that’s what we say.”

We looked at each other steadily for a few minutes.

“How long have you been in town?” His voice had lost its teasing note. He sounded interested. Which was not good, but I didn't have the mental acuity to construct falsehoods right now. 

“A day or so. Give or take.” I admitted.

“And how do you like our great state of Florida?” He wanted to know, grinning at me sardonically.

“Too many old people. Still fucking hot. But, a change of pace.” I could feel myself starting to sober up. 

“Is your car here?” He asked suddenly. I nodded. “Why?”

“Cause they’re going to kick us out. Let me call you a cab.” He called the waitress over to settle the bill.

Fuck. If he called a cab, he’d get in with me cause he lived in the same neighborhood. If he saw me going into the Cranes’ house, he’d get the wrong idea. Like I was like him. And I wasn't. Not that there was anything wrong with him, but I could already tell we were worlds apart. 

I was having a very large panic attack over this when the waitress put the bill on our table and walked away. Both of our hands landed on it at the same time.

“Oh no, you’re not paying, Scott Baio Chris,” I said firmly.

“The hell you are!” He exclaimed. Our hands tightened around the black checkbook and we stared each other down. After a few moments, neither of us had let go. Chris raised his eyebrow in challenge at me, and I gave it right back to him. The corner of his lips twitched. 

“C’mon, you have to at least let me pay. You kept my boring ass company all night and then gave me your bandanna to stop my hemorrhaging. Please.” I insisted.

“Nope, sister, sorry. I was in a horrible mood before I saw you bleeding and you showed me a good time. You got the first round, so you have to let me pay.” He shook his head.

I leaned closer. “What if I told you I’d tell you my real name and show you my pirate tattoo? Then would you let me pay?”

He laughed. “I wasn’t born yesterday, but nice try."

I glared at him. I pointed behind him.

“Holy fuck, a purple people eater!” 

He didn’t even blink. “Do you know how many times I’ve used that tactic?” 

“Um, more times than you’ve fallen for it?” I guessed lamely. He laughed, and with one quick move, he yanked the checkbook from under my hands and slipped his credit card into it. I growled at him.

“Look, you can get me back next time.” He said casually.

I smirked. “Next time?”

“One can only hope. Besides, you need to show me that tattoo.” He handed off the checkbook to the waitress. 

“What if I said there is no tattoo?” I asked evenly, putting my elbows on the table.

He chuckled. “Then I have to renounce your title. That means you’ll have to tell me your name.”

I shook my head. “Not a chance.”

“It seems I’ve met my match when it comes to being stubborn.” He amended.

I snort-laughed. “Oh Baio, you have no clue.”

The check came back and he scrawled his signature too quickly for me to see the rest of his name. 

For lack of other options, we slid out of the booth and walked slowly outside. It was misting. 

“Where’s your ship, pirate?” He teased.

“Oh, around here somewhere. I had fun, Chris Scott Baio.” I admitted, grinning up at him. He smiled back, blowing me away. Goddamn, what a great smile. 

“I hope I see you again sometime, Captain. Are you sure you don’t want me to catch you a cab? I want to make sure you’re safe.” He glanced towards the dark parking lot. 

I waved it away. “I’ve driven home worse than this. The bread helped."

“Naughty.” He shook his head. “Be careful, and use that bandanna if you need it. If you lose it, come to Lager’s and I’ll bring you a new one.”

I laughed, winked at him, and turned to go.

“What’s your name?!” He yelled after me.

In answer, I pulled down my pants and showed him my pirate tattoo.

I know a lot of girls, who, upon going through something like this, fell upon the bed and couldn’t sleep because they couldn’t stop thinking of the guy. I know if I had would have been any other kind of girl, I would have slept with that fucking bandanna under my pillow since day one. But I didn’t. That came later. Much later. 

The night I met Chris, I nearly broke my ass trying to stumble my way up those stupid fucking stairs in the dark. I was still drunk. I didn’t make it to my bed. I passed out on the floor, a place I'm very familiar with. 

Romantic, huh?

When I woke up that next morning, I woke up in hell. There was a spot next to my nose on the pale blue carpet that was stained with blood. Chris’ bandanna was scrunched up in my sweaty hand, damp and stiff. My head pulsed like a rotten tooth. My body was a symphony of pain. I managed to drag myself up from the floor and into a hot bath. It did nothing to help except get the ick off of me. For my nose, I could do nothing.

After putting on deodorant and brushing my teeth, which had grown fur overnight, I saw Chris’s bandanna lying on the marble countertop. My blood had darkened to a rust color. I went back into the bedroom and hid it in my lockbox. I was an emotional packrat; I kept everything that had little to no importance. I thought this experience with Chris was just like that. 

Christ. It hurts me when I think about how wrong I was. 

I stayed in my borrowed room all day, nodding in and out of comprehension. During that time, a maid must have come in and cleaned up. My bloodstain was gone when I finally came to. I was awakened by arguing from downstairs. I heard my name. 

I don’t like it when people fight about me when I’m not around. I’m a strong believer in saying shit to someone’s face. And it didn’t surprise me at all that Alan and Christobel were having it out about me. 

I entered at precisely the right moment: Christobel threw something and it shattered against the walls. Probably a vase from a Chinese dynasty. When she saw me, her whole face went the color of cottage cheese.

“YOU! How DARE YOU come into my house, drunk, and bleed all over the fucking floors!”

“I’m sorry Alan, for bleeding on your floors,” I said calmly, over her head. This pissed Christobel off more. “Don’t ignore me! Get back in your room and pack your shit!"

“Christobel, stop being rude,” Alan said tiredly.

“Rude my ass! She comes in here with all of her addictions and expects you to just clean up after her! Grow a pair, Alan!” Christobel cried.

“Yeah, Alan, grow a pair,” I said, humorlessly. He sighed.

“Christobel, she apologized, and Benita got it off of the floors, no problem. Calm down.”

Christobel wasn’t having it, though. She spun towards me, hands clenched at her side. “Find a job and be out in 2 days!” She looked like a tiny gorilla, and as she turned and stormed out, I couldn’t help snapping a smart salute and saying, “Yes ma’am! Now fetch me a Stoli and Tonic, and mind the little umbrella!”

Alan tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t help it. “Nyx, why do you egg her on? You know it makes my life harder.” He threw his arm around my shoulders.

I scoffed. “Alan, you can kick that habit at any time, and you know it. But I’m sorry for bleeding on your carpets. Your woman, while being criminally insane, is right. I need to leave you guys be.”

Alan shook his head, grinning. “She throws off a lot of steam, Nyx, but you know you’re welcome for as long as you like.” 

“Thanks. I mean it.”

He sniffed my shoulder and grimaced. “Christ, you smell like you’ve been swimming in hops.” I swatted him. “I took a bath, dammit.”

“In what, Everclear?” He retorted. I glared at him. 

“Sorry. Look, if you’re going to be living here, I need to know, are you still…” He looked at me meaningfully and thumbed his nose.

I sighed. “Occasionally.”

“You need to cut that out, Nyx.” He said seriously. I rolled my eyes. “Okay, but it’s really hard to take advice from a man who wears plaid shorts with ducks on them.”

“Oh fuck off.” He shoved me away.

“Duck tales, woohoo!” I sang, heading back upstairs. He rolled his eyes and flipped me the bird. Duck shorts or not, the man still was an asshole. I loved him for it.

I hooked up my computer and checked my MySpace, my Facebook, and my email. I didn’t blog about where I was or what I had done. I checked my favorite comics and searched for jobs, and after I sent off my resume to a few, I folded my legs underneath me, tapped my fingernails against the tabletop, and went to Google.

I tried in vain to remember the things we had told each other while playing Truth or Lie Beer Pong. I vaguely remembered some malarkey about a pop group. Against my better judgement, I entered “Chris pop group” into the search field for images. Just to laugh at the length he'd go to construct a friendly lie. 

When the page loaded, I fell off the chair.

Chris was drunk. Annihilated, if you wanted to know the truth. 

He stumbled up his front steps, leaning against the doorframe, blinking down at his keys. There seemed to be too many and his hands were sweaty, and he cursed under his breath as he tried to locate his house key. When he finally located it, he tried several times to jam it sideways into the lock. Eventually, he got it right and almost fell flat on his face as he tumbled into his foyer. 

Too many shots and beers at an impromptu BBQ of Joey’s had caused him to give the ole Irish goodbye and he felt shitty at first, seeing as how he never saw Joe anymore, but the man had a kid and a wife, and Chris was not really in a partying mood anyway. He had snuck away and grabbed his keys before anyone could catch him, and somehow managed to make it back to his house without killing himself or anyone else. This had to stop. He could really kill someone, someone who deserved to be alive, someone with a family. Because of...what? Because he didn't know how to live a life that didn't involve touring and performing and hanging out with his brothers all day? Because he couldn't sing tooth-achy love ballads and destroy his knees and dangle above a screaming audience? Because everyone else seemed to be okay with moving on, and he couldn't?

He threw his hoodie on the couch and Frankenstein'd his way into the kitchen, needing bread, water, something in his stomach. A lobotomy. Anything.

You drink too much.

“Shut up.” He muttered, hanging onto the counter to regain equilibrium. “Nobody asked you.” 

If you had a woman, you wouldn’t have to worry about going out and getting sloshed all the time. Just saying.

“This house is too big.” Chris muttered, throwing open the fridge and surveying its contents. Ham. A suspicious looking carton of milk. A fifth of vodka. Sprite. He grabbed the fifth and closed the door. If he had half the sense that God gave the common rodent, he’d sell the fucking house and move to Tibet.

When are you going to face up to it? Justin has someone, Joey has a kid, for crying out loud. Lance is gayer then a handbag full of rainbows and he’s happy. JC is in love with himself, so no harm there. You’re lonely. Own up to it.

Chris shook his head and chugged the vodka, willing that damn voice to go away. He felt a headache needling at the edges of his brain. Being drunk didn’t feel particuarly good anymore, but the thought of making it up his long and slippery staircase made Chris groan. He stared at the bottle in his hand. 

This is not the answer.

“Eh, fuck.” He shook his head again in disgust, leaving the bottle of vodka on the counter, not bothering to turn out the lights as he left the kitchen. His maid would. He paid her too much for little things like that. He also paid her to keep the knowledge that Chris drank too much out of the papers. She was in her late fifties and had five grandchildren. She'd never tell. 

He completely bypassed the stairs and staggered to his office, which had a spare bed in case he got too drunk to move. Like now.

Craigslist.

“There’s liking a girl and then there’s stalking. That is pathetic.” Chris said aloud, to no one, falling on his twin bed. Most nights, this is where he slept (passed out, let's call a spade a spade) so it felt very comfortable. Too comfortable for a bed from Target when he had a full king size upstairs. It had never known another body but his, and he had lived there for three years now.

He sniggered. Like he’d actually post something on that stupid site. He was Chris Kirkpatrick. He didn’t NEED to resort to Craigslist to find a woman.

Oh, yeah. You are just ROLLING in women, aren’t you?

He laughed bitterly. Yeah, he could post, nobody would ever be the wiser. Hell, she could have been joking with him, that could have been her lie.  Like she’d ever respond to him, anyway. 

Trust me, you have nothing to lose, the voice said cryptically.

The voice had started about four months ago, when the liquor in the fridge started to taste more substantial then the food. At first Chris had brushed it off, laughed at himself, everybody has voices, right? He called it his conscience and left it at that. But eventually he was forced to acknowledge that the four other men who had once been his brothers were actually living their lives, having kids, coming out, taking their careers at least SOMEWHERE, if not at the same level of fame that *NSYNC had been. They started growing apart, and though NSYNC had been gone for awhile, Chris missed being part of something, even if it had been just a boy band designed to make teenyboppers cream their panties. He had nothing to do with his hands, so he wrapped them around bottles. Longing for any companionship at all had escalated into a nice heap of romantic loneliness with a goodish sized cherry of sexual frustration on top. 

Finally, his conscience started playing hardball. It went from being a conscience to actually gaining an identity-Chris called it The Undisputed Truth. He worried about his mental health but he vowed not to get paranoid unless the voice started telling him to take Percosets and go swimming.

He was too old to find new friends and going to a shrink was the last thing he would ever do. He wasn’t so tired of his hand yet that he would actually go to a bar and pick up women. And at least, Chris amended, he had enough self respect to stay away from escorts. 

Of course, even CONSIDERING posting something on Craigslist to find some mystery girl he had met in Lager’s wasn’t that far off. It was like something you saw in a bad Tom Hanks movie or something. No, he told himself drowsily, I’m not that bad off yet. 

The Undisputed Truth, though, had different ideas.

I laid on the ground, squawking feebly. There wasn’t a word for how Mary Sueish this was.

My brain automatically rebelled against what was plainly obvious-how could I, of ALL PEOPLE, bump into a famous person BY himself at an empty middle class restaurant at fuck o' clock thirty? I mean, I had no personal experience with boy bands, but my immediate impression was that of pretty boys of dubious talent, surrounded by screamy, blonde, dumb, mammary-gifted groupie chicks. Lunchboxes. Pelvic thrusts. I groaned. Fanfiction writers all over the Internet would call this, OMG! fate!

Okay, maybe I had sung along with a song or two on the radio when I was tanked, so sue me- but I had no idea how to discern one from the other. I always figured they conditioned them in a factory somewhere. And when I thought of the man I had met that night, teenybopper wet dream was not what came to mind. Maybe a roadie, or a rock group from the 90's or something. I thought he had been pulling my leg. 

But pictures don’t lie, and even though in several of them Chris was sporting a very interesting array of braids, it was unquestionably him. I smacked my head against the carpet. No, there couldn’t be any way it was him. He liked Quentin Tarantino movies! He had badass tattoos! I simply did not have the bandwidth to process this. This had to be some sort of alcohol induced hallucination or psychosis. In one last effort to prove the universe wrong, I got up and Googled 'Chris Kirkpatrick 2009', and the last vestiges of denial were sacrificed. It was 1000000% him. 

I whimpered and returned to my fetal position on the floor. 

There was a knock at my door, and it opened. Alan saw me lying on the ground and rushed to my side.

“Nyx, what the fuck happened? Are you okay?”

“Pop group…lunchbox…Tarantino…ughhh!” I groaned, and he yanked me to a sitting position. He smelled like he had taken a bath in Drakkar Noir.

“What the fuck are you talking about? Open your mouth! Form sentences!” Alan smacked my cheek lightly, and I flung his hand away. 

“Stop hitting me, Old Navy. I am having a crisis here!”

“Are you looking up pig porn again? Wasn’t one time enough?” Alan asked skeptically, and I rolled my eyes. “No, shithead. Look at the computer.”

He unceremoniously dropped me to the floor and leaned across the back of the chair to peer at the screen. I clawed back onto my chair. Alan's eyes widened to the size of garbage can lids. He grabbed my face, quite disturbed now. “Please, God, tell me why you’re looking up pop bands. Please tell me a pod person replaced you.” I scowled and beat his hands away. “No, assface. Look closer at this guy. Does he look familiar?” 

Alan got closer to the screen, squinting. All of a sudden, he laughed. “What’s so fucking funny?” I demanded.

“Oh, it’s just a small ole world after all.” He said smugly, crossing his arms and chuckling at me.

“Crane, I swear to God I will take you golfing and tee off of your dick if you don’t tell me what the fuck is funny, right now.” I pointed at his face, doing a very good impression of Christobel, maybe too good, because Alan stopped laughing immediately. 

“He’s my next door neighbor.”

“GAHH!!!” 

____________________________________________________

I didn’t speak until I had a cold compress on my forehead and a few shots of Absolut Raspberri down my throat, which I had made Alan fetch for me, under penalty of castration. Only with alcohol was I able to have this conversation. Alan had propped me up against the wall, on the floor, and I hit my head against the stucco. The dull ache kept me sane.

“Okay.” I took a deep breath. Alan flinched at the sound of my voice.

“What exactly do you mean, he lives next door to you?”

“Well, not TECHNICALLY next door.” I glared at him, and he rushed to explain. “About five doors down. I’ve never met him. I’ve seen him outside.”

My stomach roiled. I wanted to disappear. 

“Why are you so worried about this?” Alan was getting exasperated. 

I sighed and looked at him through my fingers. “Ugh, Alan, it doesn’t matter. Thanks for telling me.”

Alan shook his head and stood up. “Well, wonders never cease-you did get weirder.” We smiled sadly at each other, and then he shoved his hands in his pockets, looking away from me. Good thing about Alan-he never wanted to know more then the basics. 

“I’ve got to go, Christobel wants to go eat at some place where Brad Pitt supposedly had dinner last week. They have tofu burgers or tofu tacos or some kind of California new age bullshit.” He pretended to yak all over the floor. I could only smile faintly at this, and his azure eyes softened. 

“Are you going to have any more breakdowns? Do I have to block Google? Steal your vibrator?”

I chuckled tiredly. “Nah, go eat some rabbit food. I’m good.”

He patted my head, like I was a fucking golden retriever or something, and left, pointedly taking the bottle of vodka with him.

I waited until the door closed softly behind him and then dragged myself up to the chair.

I enlarged the picture until Chris’ face filled the screen, and I stared at it until for some weird reason, I felt like I might cry, and that would never do.

I slammed the top to my computer.

“Fucking Mary Sue.”

I went downstairs in time to catch one of the maids stealing food out of Alan’s refrigerator. Thirty dollars, a visit from her cousin and a promise to keep my mouth shut netted me a bottle of Jack Daniels and a little bag of booger sugar. Never let it be said that I don’t appreciate America’s hired help.

I forgot about my promise to never do it under his roof and spent the evening snorting and drinking myself into a stupor that, prior to my Everclear experience (twenty first birthday, alcohol poisoning) had gone unmatched. The only thing I remember before passing out in a wave of colors and vomit was disappointment in myself, because I was everything a guy like Chris could never want. 

Stop. Wait. Before we get any further into this story, I need to clarify something.

You know that whole song and dance about when you love someone enough, you can save them from themselves? Well, that’s horseshit. Love is not enough, at least, not their love for you. You have to love them enough to get better so that they don’t have to put up with you puking in the garden at two a.m. What's more than that, you have to love yourself more than that. That's what all the articles say. That's what the therapists sqawk about. You have to get better for you, and all that AA propaganda.

That’s what love is, being selfless, I guess. I wouldn’t know. I suck at it. 

He was awesome at it, he made it look easy. The easiest thing in the world, even. I thought I could do it, but than, he made me believe I could do anything. In return, I chewed him up and spit him out. I do that to everyone who gives a shit about me. I don't know how else to be. 

If I could do anything to show him how sorry I am, how much I really do care, despite everything, I’d go back and tell him to fuck off when he told me about my nose bleeding that night in Lager’s. I would have been a bitch to save him.

I want to. It’s the only selfless thing I’ve ever wanted.

I woke up that night like I do most nights, nose gushing, head exploding, room vibrating. I would have puked, but I had nothing left. Nobody had checked on me. I felt like a scratched record, still doggedly chasing the needle.

I grabbed the bottle of Jack, which still had a good four shots in it, and slithered my way up to the computer. Nobody was online. Nothing was going on. I had insomnia and bugs were eating me from the inside out. 

Wwwwww.craigslist.org

Fuck.

Wwrw.craigslist.org

Ugh! TYPE!

www.tsgdkf.com

GAHHH! PORN!

www.craigslist.org

“Fucking finally.” I mumbled, taking a drag from the bottle, and clicked on the missed encounters link.

“We met at the gas station, you wore a blue shirt. You were so alive. Who are you?” 

“Saw a knockout blonde at Starbucks on Norwalk Drive today. Grey sweatpants, blonde hair, Rollins t-shirt. Great ass.” 

“You: Beautiful blonde that parked next to me in a green 4 Runner with Pennsylvania plates. You then stood behind me in line. We made eye contact a couple of times and smiled at each other. I really wished at that moment that I didn't have a girlfriend. Damn. Those brown eyes really got me. I had to look away. I hope somebody's treating you right. “

I laughed. “Fucking pathetic jerk offs. Go touch some grass.” I clicked on a few more, but my amusement was waning, and I was just about to get off of the site when I saw-

“Lagers-m4w-you drank like a fish.”

No, it couldn’t be. I laughed nervously and stared at those blue words, mocking me on the screen. I bit the bullet. I clicked the link.

“Captain-

There is nothing here I will say unless I can say it to you in person.

Acknowledge.

I’m drunk

-Scott Baio

I wish there would have been a camera there to document the look on my face at that moment. I choked and flames encased my throat and I nearly ralphed all over the fucking floor. No, wait, I DID ralph all over the floor, and the show didn’t stop there. I straight up passed out.

And woke up with a broken nose and a busted lip.

Well, will you won't you want me to make you 

I'm coming down fast but don't let me break you 

Tell me tell me tell me the answer 

You may be a lover but you ain't no dancer 

Look out 

Helter skelter 

helter skelter 

helter skelter 

Helter Skelter

The Beatles

Movin’ & Shakin’


Give me fuel
Give me fire
Give me that which I desire.
-Metallica-

Chris was a man on the edge.

When he had woken that morning to find himself sprawled across his keyboard and an email from Craigslist reminding him that his post would be public in fifteen minutes, Chris felt like he had been sucker-punched. He scrabbled at the keyboard, acid bubbling up in his throat, scared to death that he’d outed himself or said something stupid, or fuck, even did it at all. He hoped against hope that he had posted the wrong thing or even just fell on the keyboard and accidentally posted a bunch of nonsense.

Yeah, okay. This was his life in question. Of COURSE he had posted.

He scanned his post quickly, horror choking him.

“ACKNOWLEDGE?! WHAT THE FUCK?! DID I LAND ON THE ENTERPRISE?! FUCK!” He yelled, knocking his chair over in his rush to empty his stomach. Only until Chris had flushed, gasping, heaving, did he feel the migraine stabbing his forehead. His insides felt like he had greased them with engine oil.

“Okay, let’s calm down. Calm down, Kirkpatrick. At least you spelled everything right. Hey, she’ll probably never read it.” He muttered to himself, wiping the sweat off of his brow. Realizing the very probable truth of that statement, he felt himself filled with an unexplainable sorrow. Pushing that away, he rolled onto the floor of his bathroom and took a deep breath. He needed to regroup, revise, refocus.

“I’m going to hunt down some Advils, take a shower, and delete that post. And after, I’m going to sleep for about 32 hours. Yeah. Sounds good.”

Maybe after that, in the spirit of fixing yourself up, you could throw away all the liquor.

Chris raised his eyebrow, considering that course of action. Probably would be the wisest step he could probably take. Stop drinking. Actually go out and do some things for charity, stay in the studio more. The more he thought about it, the better it sounded.

Then again, he needed to think about this without bias. Which meant he needed to get rid of this hangover before he made any major plans about never drinking again.

Besides, he reasoned, that was a LOT of alcohol abuse.

He just wouldn’t go near his computer anymore while drunk.

After taking a shower and forcing himself to chase Advils with water and bread, Chris slowly entered his office. He eyed the computer warily, like it was a snake waiting to strike.

He sat down with all the intention of deleting it. He sat there with the mouse hovering over the DELETE POST button. But as stupid as he sounded in the post, he figured it could have been worse.

Here’s a crazy idea: just let it stay there. I mean, worse case scenario, she never gets in touch with you, never sees it. What have you got to lose?

The Undisputable Truth had a point. Then again, it always did, he just rarely ever listened. He slowly took his hand away from the computer. Fuck it. Let it stay there.

Lord knows, he couldn’t get the girl off his mind. It wouldn’t hurt to keep some sort of line out there for her to catch, assuming she did haunt those boards.

Chris smiled to himself. She had been fun. A lot of fun. Best of all, she really seemed to have no idea who he was, and he really believed that. Fans always showed themselves, in the end. It was just the way it was-Joey was a whore (or a reformed one), Justin once had a fro-fans always showed who they were. He was grateful. A girl like her wouldn’t be impressed by the fact that once he had been famous for playing a doll in a music video.

There had been attraction, yes. Tons of it. Her laugh, that lopsided smile. Her devil may care eyes, the red hair, the diamond glinting underneath her lip, enough to make any red-blooded man pant. Curves for days, satsuma, the drawl in her voice. There was definitely sexual attraction and enough chemistry to make someone gag, but something stronger was in front of all that. He had no idea he was feeling what would be the defining characteristic of their relationship to come-protective. He didn’t even know her Christian name, and yet-he felt an irresistible urge to...shield her? Shield her? He blinked, shaking his head in confusion. 

Shield her from what? She looked like she could chew up a guy and spit them out. Small she may hae been, but dainty flower, she was not.  

Chris rolled his eyes. “This is so stupid.” He muttered, burying his face in his hands.  Fantasizing about protecting a girl he didn’t know. What the fuck, was he REALLY that lonely?

Yep.

“Oh, fuck off.” He grumbled.

Fine, fuck, let it stay up there. But he was going to let the chips fall where they may, he wasn’t going to come in this room for the rest of the day, nope, no sir, he was going to lay down upstairs in HIS BED and not worry about this shit. If she found him, by some odd chance in fucking hell, great. He’d invite her out for dinner. If not, fuck it, life would go on.

He stood up with the full intention of dedicating his body for the long flight of stairs. He took a step. Another.

"You really wanna know my real name?” He nodded in anticipation. She crooked her finger, indicating for him to get closer. He leaned over the table. She positioned herself near his ear, and unconsciously, he shivered. She smelled like satsumas.

Chris refreshed his Gmail account one hundred twenty times that day, and Lord knows how many times that amount over the next three days.

As Chris Kirkpatrick doggedly hit the refresh button on his computer for the 65th time, I lay in my borrowed bed in my borrowed room at my ex boyfriend’s mansion a few houses away, gingerly moving my nose back and forth. Alan stood over me, shaking his head. “Well, Nyx, this is an all time low for you, you know.”

“Fuck, Alan, I’ll pay you back for the hospital bills. I’m sorry.” I groaned. My head ached like you would not believe. My nose felt like the Hulk had sat on it.

“You PROMISED me you wouldn’t bring it under my fucking roof. You adding lying to your many talents now, or has it always been that way?” Alan demanded, clenching his fists. I stared up at the ceiling.

“I’ve never lied to you before this. I promise.” I said quietly, and Alan sighed in exasperation, sagging onto the bed. “How am I supposed to believe you?” He whispered. I knew he wasn’t referring to just tonight. My hand closed around his wrist, and our eyes met.

“Alan, I never lied to you. I cared about you. I did, hell, I do. But I’m not going to suffocate in a life like this. You meant well, but please tell me you wouldn’t want to cage me in.” I begged him, and his eyes clouded over. “No, I don’t want that for you.”

“You have Christobel. She wants to be that person.” 

He made a noise like a laugh. “Yeah. Christobel. She loves me.”

Whew. Not going there.

“If I wasn’t rich, do you still think we’d be together, now?” Alan whispered, staring at the carpet. Christ.

I sat up and took his face between my hands. He was so young, and so rich, and so unhappy. It truly made me hate money, the way it made slaves of us all.

“Irony would have it that if you were the poorest person in the world, you would probably be a huge dick, so I doubt it. You are an exceptional person with many qualities to recommend you. Despite the money, I think the problem lies with me. I just…I don’t see myself as a part of anyone else.” I said gently, and he shook his head. “Nyx, you don’t see yourself the way I do.” I groaned and put my finger against his lips. “Stop. Don’t hold me up to some ridiculous standard that I’ll feel guilted into trying to live up to.”

He laughed, a real one now, and took my hands. “You would be last person I’d ever try to guilt into anything.”

“Good. But for the record, if you were poor, the one upside would be that you wouldn’t wear clothes with farm animals on them.” I cracked, and Alan rolled his eyes. “I was feeling quite cuddly towards you at that moment, and then you had to go and be a massive bitch.”

I shrugged. “At least I’m fun.”

“True,” He attested with a smile. “but goddamn, you’re a pain in the ass. You also look like shit. You have raccoon eyes.”

“Saves me having to put on eyeliner.” I laid back and rested my arm over my face, which felt hot. Silence.

Alan broke it first. “Look, my dad has a friend of his who owns this party hosting company. They handle corporate parties and stuff like that, bartending, waitressing. He’s going to get you a job there.”

“Tell Daddy thanks.” I said from underneath my arms. He snickered. “I will. First, let’s get those black eyes fixed. It doesn’t exactly scream EMPLOY ME.”

I mock gasped. “I would never subject the rich to having to see something as white trash as a broken nose and black eyes. Quelle horreur!"

Alan rolled his eyes and stood up. “You are such a fucking asshole.”

“You love me, though.” I stretched lazily, and he huffed. “I suppose I can’t help it. I’ll send up Maria with some icebags. And I’m stationing a very big, scary man in the kitchen tonight. If you try to get liquor, he will extract your brain stem, do you hear me?”

“Oh, now you’re just talking sexy.” I giggled.

He gave me a look. I sighed. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Ew. Go to sleep. Tomorrow, actually put something in your stomach besides liquor, please?”

“God, Naggy McNagson, get the fuck out of here. Worse then my Ma, you are.” I threw a pillow at him and he tossed the bird back at me as he exited the room.

I fell back onto my pillows and sighed, reaching up to gently poke my nose. It hurt like a motherfucker. I always heard that getting your nose broken was one of the worse things you could feel, next to getting shot in the kneecap. When my head had hit the five hunderd year old English bedframe, I had literally seen stars, galaxies, little green aliens on a planet, far far away, laughing at me.

Alan was right, I WAS getting out of control. Before this, my drinking had usually resulted in the usual behavior, passing out where I stood, falling off the bed, getting brought home by a friend of a friend of a friend. And the coke, well, I had done that before too, combined with the drinking, and nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened. Of course, children, this is called denial. It's never that bad. Everyone drinks. You're not out of control. It's just a broken nose.

It’s funny, but you would have thought at that point, I would have wanted to STOP.

The thought never crossed my mind.

I’m sure you’d love to hear that I immediately emailed Chris back. Any sane woman would.

Well, sorry to disappoint, but I spent three or four days zoned out on the pain pills from the hospital. I slept a lot, ate a little, and didn’t drink at all. Not by choice, so don’t get proud-that redwood tree of a bodyguard stayed in Alan’s kitchen, calmly reading War & Peace. If he hadn’t been rooted there, I would have been drunk out of my gourd that entire time.

In fact, I forgot all about Chris those three days. When I wasn’t sleeping, I was sitting on my borrowed bed, dazed, fucked up out of my mind. When I told him about that, much later, he had laughed, but pretended to be hurt that I had forgotten him so easily. I don’t think he was pretending.

Around the seventh day, I can’t remember, I finally got bored enough to get on my computer and rejoin the world.

The Craigslist post was still open.

I stared at the words, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from them-they were like dead bodies, the pull they had.

I was an alcoholic and a coke addict. I had sucked off a pervy idiot off of at a impound lot to get my car out of hock. I was a selfish and hateful person, so why the FUCK was I being summoned by a boy band popstar off the Internet?

And what’s more, what was wrong with me that the thought of replying made me sick to my stomach? Chris had been cute, kind, funny. The rules I had for my guy friends back home did not seem to apply to him-they saw me as one of them, he saw me as a girl. He hadn’t been there to pick me up, our paths had crossed because of a simple nosebleed. Was our easy conversation a product of the heavy liquor, or did the man actually get me? Stupid. Nobody *gets* anybody.

Only one way to find out, and that was to mail him back. I still look back on that moment and think the pain pills strengthened my nerves. I doubt if I had been straight, I would have done so. But that was the point where I said “fuck it” and clicked his email address, which had been scrambled by Craigslist, of course. I wrote quickly and sent it before I could stop myself. What’s the point, I snickered, turning off the computer-he’d never check his email address, anyway.

Yeah. Okay.

Chris had been buying a box of extra strength Tylenol at CVS when his phone had made the wooshing sound that accompanied the arrival of an email. He yanked it out of his pocket and squinted at the screen in the bright sunlight, people coming and going all around him. Which was probably a good thing in hindsight, because if he hadn’t caught himself, he would have freaked out, right in public.

He hadn’t left the house too much since he had posted that fucking thing, going without a lot of staple items like Poptarts and shaving cream. He had been checking his email like a man possessed when he remembered, DUH, that his iPhone had email, and he had never set it up before. The first thing Chris had bought when he had been released from his prison was a fifth of vodka. And fudge smores Poptarts.

Chris hadn’t really expected an answer, so he really didn’t know why the fuck he had sat around and waited. Many times he called himself an idiot and a fucktard and made himself leave the computer room, but he couldn’t focus on anything else. He didn’t know why the fuck this girl would not stop monopolizing his thoughts. Fuck, it didn’t mean anything. Chris had had plenty of drinks with plenty of girls over the years, and nothing, obviously, had come of it. So why now, why her?

But when he checked his email and saw the Craigslist reply, he didn’t know whether to puke right there on the sunny sidewalk or scream like a girl.

Scott Baio-

You looked better with dreads.

????

-Captain

Chris stood there like an idiot, gaping at those words, until he finally noticed people giving him really weird looks. He shook himself out of it and forced his rubbery legs to walk to his motorcycle. He straddled it and stared down at his phone. She knew who he was, which meant she had remembered their conversation, which meant she had Googled him.

Should I answer? He wondered. She could be insane. He might have had beer goggles. Who knows?

No, you only went without a shower for three days just so you could pray to your email account. Yes, idiot. Answer.

 What if she had laughed at him when she figured out who he was? God knows Chris had tons of pictures on the Internet and he had no way of knowing which one she had looked at, or knowing what the hell he had been doing in said picture, considering his reputation.

Of course she wants you to, idiot. She put a winky face, that usually means RECIPROCATE!

“I am NOT sitting in the middle of a CVS parking lot analyzing an email like a fifteen year old girl.” He muttered to himself.

You are, The Undisputed Truth affirmed, and he rolled his eyes, stuffed his phone in his jacket pocket, jammed his bags into the compartment, and started his motorcycle.

The entire way home, Chris ran through what he could possibly say back to her, what right words would trigger the correct reaction that could possibly make this girl want to meet with him again. Everything sounded stupid. Why had he posted that fucking thing anyway? He growled in frustration and smacked the handle of his motorcycle.

You were drunk. Stupid.

He chose not to listen. Chris drove up into his garage, ripped his helmet and goggles off, grabbed his stuff, and slammed the door as he entered the house.

After making a Poptart, Chris stood at his counter, chewing absently, staring down at the email. Nothing he could say would sound even remotely impressive, so what was the point, he reasoned? Really, even if he did respond, and they DID have dinner or something, the whole thing had probably been easier because of the liquor. It was a social lubricant-what if the girl was boring in real life? Hell, as drunk as he was, she could have been a fucking troll. No. She couldn’t be. He remembered that smile. Trolls did not smile that way.

He swallowed and straightened up. “Fuck it.” He muttered, pressing reply. Chris composed a very short, very to the point message that could not be construed as idiotic or stalkerish, boring at worst. His hands were shaking and he misspelled almost every word, but he blamed most of it on the fact that his fingers were way too big to press those little buttons.

Before Chris could lose his nerve, he punched the SEND button. The phone wooshed. He swallowed his Poptart, guzzled milk straight from the carton, turned the volume off on his phone, and made himself sit down on the couch for the rest of the fucking afternoon, staring at an old Steelers game without really seeing it. Fuck the computer. If she answered it, she answered it.

Nevertheless, he checked it thirty more times.

I started my new job about two weeks after I sent a reply to Chris’s post. The day after replying, I had snuck past the big hulking of meat in the kitchen to nab a bottle of Patron, got sloshed, and accidentally spilled tequila all over my Mac. It promptly died and when I woke up the next morning puking my guts out, I yelled to any maid that would listen that Steve Jobs could suck my invisible dick.

True to his word, Alan’s father had gotten me some kind of position with a friend of his who ran a hosting business. I had drawn the dutiful position of a cocktail waitress, with potential to move up to a bartender, if I continued sucking corporate America’s cock. I wasn’t happy about it but I was desperately seeking a way to occupy my time and maybe put some money away for a new fucking Mac. Plus, the redwood had been replaced by big locks with keys that I would never see, so I needed to do something to occupy the time that I wasn’t drinking. My black eyes had gotten better, and I was able to hide some of the damage with a few stolen tubes of Christobel’s fifty foundation. My nose was an experiment in agony, I was out of pain pills, I had no insurance. 

My uniform rotated-it all depended on the theme of whatever party I was working at the time. After working a few stuffy black tie affairs, I ripped off the stupid black dress, marched into the boss’s office, and told him that I had huge tumors. On my legs. And they bite. So could I please fucking wear something that didn’t show my legs? You would think I would have kept my mouth shut, since the job was a big favor of Alan’s, and I WAS wrecking the man’s house and life. But favor or not, I don’t do dresses. Luckily for me, the boss thought I was hilarious, so I somehow finagled my way into wearing black dress pants and a black shirt with a red tie all the time. My fellow cocktail waitresses hated me for it. I didn’t care. The red tie was cute. Plus, I didn’t have to restrain the urge to kick guys in the nuts for staring at my legs.

I did the job without thinking-it was a paycheck and it was easy money. My mind was clouded by alcohol withdrawal, so I really didn’t think about Chris.

Until that fucking day. There's always a day.

And it always comes for you. 

It was fucking miserably hot the day that I had to work one of Crane’s Shipping soiree parties. Alan’s father liked to think he was cool and hip, so he hosted the damn thing in a tent on the beach. The tent was air-conditioned, but in Florida you drink the air, not breathe it, AC or not. The whole party was centered around the fact that Daddy Crane had drawn some sort of contract to ship paintball supplies. The paintball company in question had responded with a sponsored death match to honor the deal. The rich people looked on in amusement-honey, aren’t poor people just ADORABLE?

It was enough to make me want to kick myself in the head. We couldn’t sneak any drinks, or else I would have been passed out on the table displaying the huge paintball gun cake. Couple that with the fact that I was wearing black (my uniform change had come back to bite me in the ass) and I desperately wanted to throw my tray in some mongoloid bitch’s face, throw off my clothes and start paintballing every motherfucker in there. But, I didn’t. I just stood there at the opening to the tent, holding the fucking tray, smiling like a dumbass whenever I was approached. I watched the paintball range, sighing with longing.

My boss ducked out of the tent and nudged me. His name was Wade, and he made pieces of shit work hard for the title. He had had sex with every waitress in the bunch, except for me, and he alternated between making work miserable and trying to get me in the sack. He was good at the former and at the most amusing at the latter. I mostly ignored him. I do that to insects.

“Hey, you need to come and refill. There’s some sort of gathering of celebrities on the paintball range, and Mr. Crane wants to bring them a round of drinks.” 

“The man is a opportunist whore if I ever see one. He’d bring drinks to a shark.” I muttered, spinning on my heel to enter the tent. Wade caught my elbow. “Think about my offer?”

“You mean the one where I go back to your shitty apartment and we have forgettable, shitty sex? Yeah. I did. I’m going to take a rain check.” I said sweetly, pinching his chin. Wade chuckled, my rejection never fazed him, which was amusing to one of us and annoying to the other. “Fine. Be that way. But you can go and bring the drinks to these fruits, since you look so bored out here.” He grinned back at me, just as cheerfully. I wanted to shatter his jaw, but I just clenched my teeth and headed into the tent and wormed my way through sweating millionaires to the bar.

After making a tray of drinks that were stronger then necessary, I exited the tent via the back way to avoid Wade, who I planned to poison later. On the way past the Port O Potties, I intercepted Christobel, who was another person I would have happily separated from her larynx. She was looking fresh, summery and bulimic in a pair of $300 khaki dress pants and some fucking pristine ruffled blouse. “Aw, look at you, the hired help.” She said sweetly, picking a mojito off of the tray. “You look so cute, Nyx. I think you may have found your lot in life.” I showed my teeth in a grimace that hurt my jaw. I wanted to uppercut the bitch, but I couldn’t say a damn thing to her at one of these functions. When one last disdainful look at me, she slithered away to mingle. I fucking hate my life.

I stalked around the edge of the paintball range, squinting through the haze of dirty kids, looking for these alleged celebrities. How Wade expected me to recognize anyone was beyond me, I wasn’t exactly studying People Magazine these days.

And then I noticed a tent at the far end with older guys, who were in their late 20’s, early 30’s, clad in black suits and black gloves. I didn’t recognize anyone in the group, but I figured they had to be the target. I wasn’t exactly sure Daddy Crane wanted to get preteens intoxicated. Maybe. He was a disgusting old shithead.

I walked into the tent, my intent to put the tray on the table, rattle off some COMPLIMENTS OF CRANE INC story, and go back to the tent to find a bucket of ice to submerge my head into. The only guy in the tent was bending over, back to me, tying his shoes. I tapped him on the arm, a drink in my hand, ready to offer.

He spun around to face me.

My mouth fell open, and the mojito fell into the paint splattered ground at my feet. My throat felt thick. God, I needed a drink.

“Holy fuck.”


“YOU!” We both yelled at the same time, pointing at each other like idiots. Chris yanked his helmet off and gaped at me.

 My legs felt like jello. This was not happening. Seeing him had reminded me of that night at Lager’s, when everything seemed more serious then it really had been about two strangers having a drink. He looked fantastic, and I didn’t want him to see me like this, sweaty and rumpled and lower class. Fuck fantastic-he looked good enough to eat-black shorts, black t-shirt, purple bandanna over his dark hair. I wanted to BITE him. 

Chris stepped in front of me, close enough to actually take a piece out of him. I edged backwards. I DID NOT trust myself in front of this man.

“Captain, is that you?” He asked, blasting me with his solar smile. Fuck. Fuck, he was so perfect. Even covered in paint. Even sweaty. Perfect.

I sighed and grinned weakly. “In the flesh.”

“What are you doing here?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow at the tray of mojitos.

“Um, I’m here to tell you that Mr. Mark Crane, of Crane Shipping Inc., offers you and yours a complimentary tray of mojitos. For what reason, I have no clue. Enjoy.” I recited, feeling like a fucking idiot in my dress pants and black boots.

“Don’t know the guy. Do you work for him?” Chris wanted to know, watching my face closely.

“Not exactly,” I amended, feeling very fluttery under his intense gaze. “He’s throwing some sort of really fucking boring party for rich people. He must have heard you were out here, wanted to impress you. He’s a mover and a shaker of sorts. He's kind of the reason you guys are here in this whole situation."

“So he sends me you? Smart guy. I like the way he does business." Chris teased, and I turned the color of a Coke can. I am not used to flirting. At all. I have to be drunk in order to do it and my flirting usually consists of calling guys fuckheads.  I was probably the most sober I had ever been and I wasn't about to call Chris Kirkpatrick a fuckhead. 

“Yeah, well.” I muttered, scratching the dirt with my boot.

“So you know who I am, huh?” He leaned against the side of the table and sighed, as if this was regrettable.

I laughed. “Yeah. Don’t worry, I don’t know anything really about you except for the fact that you don’t lie, you once had dreads, and you look REALLY fierce in a Jackson 5 ensemble.”

Chris groaned and put his head in his hands. “That would be my luck. Please understand it was for a paycheck. PLEASE.” He peeked between his fingers at me.

“Oh, so it wasn’t for the sake of art, huh?” I teased, and he snorted. “Hardly.”

“Aw, I’m not gonna bust your balls for that. I would know about doing something purely for a paycheck.” I rolled my eyes and gestured to my outfit.

“I think yours looks a hell of a lot better then a taped on afro and bellbottoms.” He grinned at me, showing those teeth. I laughed nervously. I needed to get away, he was too good for me.

“Yeah, well. Um, enjoy your mojitos.”

I moved around him, cursing myself, hurrying out of the tent.

“Hey, wait, wait!” Chris ran after me and stood in front of me so I couldn’t go anywhere. His hands went to my shoulders to hold me in my place, and I swear, my skin tingled. I groaned internally, finally looking up at him. Those soft brown eyes were warm, concerned. Like my nose was bleeding again. Was it? I resisted the urge to check.

“Hey, look. I still don’t know your name. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, okay? Where are you going?” He asked softly, and his gaze felt like a warm blanket. My heart felt...fuzzy? Fuzzy. Jesus.

“Back to work.” I managed to answer, biting my lip.

“That tent?” He tipped his head in its direction, but he didn’t take his eyes off of me. I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak.

“What time do you get off?” Chris wanted to know, and at that point, I should have ran. I should have saved us both.

But I managed to laugh. “How long you gonna be here?” I teased, but I told myself it didn’t matter, I wouldn’t come back. I couldn't come back. 

Chris grinned broadly and took his hands slowly off of my shoulders. “I’ll be here until I learn your name. Captain is a cute nickname, but I can’t call you that forever.”

I grinned sweetly and tapped him on the nose. “Hope you brought a sleeping bag.” I maneuvered around him and started to walk towards the tent.

“Captain!” He hollered, and I turned around, walking backwards.

“What, Baio?” I yelled back, with a grin.

“You either come back here when you get off, or I’ll go in there and find you myself. And I don’t back down.” Chris winked at me, then turned to run off.

Somehow, I didn’t doubt that he’d turn the place upside down until he found me. It should have made me puke, but shivers of severe anticipation rolled through my body in all the right places. Fuck. I needed to stop it.

When I got back to the tent, Christobel made a scathing comment about how the hired help spent too much time playing on the job. I felt so elevated, that for once, the comment rolled right off my back. I spent the rest of my shift delirious, trying not to stare in the direction of the paintball compound.

If I had known then what I know now.

With an hour left of work to go, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. The Portapotties were full of trophy wives puking up finger sandwiches, so I went around the side of the tent to see if there were more. There was none, but I forgot about my urge to pee when I saw Wade sitting on a box of jumbo napkins, toking up. I slipped out my cell phone and opened up my camera.

“Naughty naughty.” I whispered in his ear, and he screamed like a girl, dropping his joint and spinning around to face me. But, I got the picture I wanted.

“Wow. What the fuck was that?” I could barely get the words out because I was laughing so hard, and he glared at me. “Goddamn it, you scared the living fuck out of me. What are you doing back here?”

“I had the urge to purge, but now it has left me. Getting some green, WadeyBear?” I teased, holding up the camera phone. Wade groaned. “Fine, you got me. What do you want? I’ll give you all the good shifts, I promise. Just don’t rat me out. I need this job. My wife will fucking kill me.” He slumped down on the box of napkins again.

I raised my eyebrows. “Wife?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t sound too happy about that. I sat down on an upturned crate of plastic platters.

“Didn’t know you were married.” I said softly.

“Wasn’t my idea. The condom broke. Had to do the right thing.” Wade said morosely, inspecting the roach to see if it was still worth smoking.

“Love. Thems the breaks.” I muttered, and he snorted as he lit up. “Nothing like that.”

A moment of silence passed in which I contemplated my boss Wade and his shitty situation. I felt kind of bad for him, you know, that was a crappy deal. Oh well. 

Wade finally spoke. “So, I guess I’m at your mercy now, huh?”

I nodded. “Fraid so.”

“What do you want?” He asked evenly, looking up at me.

I smiled sadly and pointed to his joint. “Got anything stronger then that?”

He exhaled loudly. “Jesus Christ. Like what, Raoul Duke?”

I just looked at him.

Wade sighed, dug in the pocket of his black Dickies, and held out a twist of cellophane that had once hugged a box of cigarettes. I took it, inspected it. Not bad. Purple Fuck You’s. Okay substitute for Percosets, for now.

“How much?” I made to reach for my wallet.

He waved me off. “Don’t worry about me. Call it an apology for being such a dick to you.”

“Thanks, but you never really bugged me.” I pocketed the little twist of happiness.

Wade blew out smoke. “Well, all the same.”

“Hey!” We heard someone behind us yell, and Wade nearly choked on his joint. I looked around to see Alan standing at the corner of the tent, beckoning me over frantically.

“Stay here, Cheech.” I slapped Wade’s back  and walked over to where Alan waited.

“Yeah, Richy McRich, what do you require?’

“I came to find you to say that the party’s over.” Alan said, looking past my shoulder at Wade.

“Ah, your Dad schmoozed all he could schmooze, huh? Well, thanks for risking grass stains to come out here and tell me that, but why did you bother?” I wanted to know, stepping in front of his suspicious gaze.

“Figured I’d get some fresh air.” He shrugged.

I looked at him sympathetically. “Christobel had too much to drink, huh?”

He sagged. “Something like that.”

“I’m afraid you just traded one alcoholic for another, my friend.” I patted him on the shoulder and discreetly steered him away from Wade. Gotta protect my connect.

“Yeah, well at least you don’t start relaying details of our sex life to the CEO of Toys R’ Us.” Alan said wryly.

“What a fucking bitch. Wait, forget I said that. She’s your intended.”

“At this moment, I’m inclined to ignore you said that. What are you doing back here, fraternizing with the help?” He wanted to know, wrinkling his aristocrat nose. “Fuck you, Crane. I AM the help, remember?” I pinched him.

“Yeah, well, I can stand you. That little fucktard back there thinks nobody knows he goes back there to smoke out. First chance I get, I’ll report that little motherfucker.” He muttered.

“Oh, leave him alone. Man’s got a wife, kids. Plus, he gave me some pain pills.” I winked at Alan and raised my eyebrows.

“Oh Christ. What kind of pain pills?”

“Feel good stuff!” I jeered, poking him in the belly.

“Okay, well, you break your leg next, I’m not taking you to the hospital. I don’t trust that little fuck, though, so show me what you have.”

I widened my eyes and turned my body away from his, giggling. “Honey, not in PUBLIC, Jesus!”

Alan rolled his eyes. “My God, you are demented. Seriously, show me.”
I pouted and handed over the little twist of cellophane. “You’re no fun.”
Alan squinted at them, cursed all of a sudden, and clenched his fist around the little packet.

“Good God, Nyx, this is a fucking felony. Quick, take it back.”

I scowled, reaching out my hand for it.

“Hey! There you are! Finally!”

And that’s when I turned my head to see Chris Kirkpatrick approaching me, holding Ecstasy in my hand, beside my ex boyfriend in the shade of a tent, while my boss smoked a blunt.

Yeah, that’s when I fainted.

Hello little boys, little toys
We’re the dreams you'll believe in
Crawling up the walls
Running down your face
Razor sharp, razor clean
Feel the weapon's sensation
On your back...
With loaded guns


Now hold on to me pretty baby
If you want to fly
I’m gonna melt the fever sugar
Rolling back your eyes

Shiny Toy Guns

'Le Disko'

Too Much, Too Young, Too Fast

Okay, just joshin’ you-I didn’t really faint.

But I felt like I was going to hurl (remarkable how Christopher Alan Kirkpatrick always seems to trigger that reaction in me)and if it hadn’t been for Alan’s quick thinking (bless the man) things might have escalated into a royal brouhaha.

Alan grabbed my wrist and yanked, causing our sides to snap together and obscure the view of our hands, which had already hastily completed the transfer of X to my back pocket.

Chris, to his credit, looked only mildly disturbed.

“Yep, here I am. That’s me.” I choked out, and Alan sighed. Chris’s eyes flickered from me to Alan, and I could see the ghost of the wrong idea starting to appear in his eyes. Alan, seeing how I was unable to make any other noise besides odd garglings, broke the silence first.

“Hi, Chris Kirkpatrick, isn’t it? Alan Crane, Crane Shipping. We live down the street from one another.” He extended his hand out, and Chris, snapping back to attention, took it.

“Nice to meet you. We do?”

“Yes, I’ve seen you outside with your motorcycle a few times. Funny how we’ve never met.” Alan said smoothly, withdrawing his hand. Chris had a motorcycle?! Rawr.

“It’s a small world.” Chris joked, his eyes straying from Alan to me.

And this is where Alan started to become less of a lifesaver and more of a pain in the ass. Seeing that I was somehow incapable of speaking (which rarely happens) he took that opportunity to embarrass the living fuck out of me. Alan clapped his hand on my back, making me jump, and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, which probably made the scene look even weirder.

“SO! How do you know my little Nyx, here?”

“Nyx,” Chris said slowly. His eyes floated down to my hands. “You’re married?” A look of genuine disappointment passed over his face. Before I could adamantly dismiss that idea, Alan did it for me.

“Married?! Oh no. My intended is in the tent, hopefully behaving herself. No, Nyx and I go way back. Used to go to high school together. Best of friends, weren’t we, Nyx?” Alan clapped me heartily on the back, and I choked.

“Goog.” Was all I could say.

Chris noticeably relaxed at that statement, but it wasn’t until Alan withdrew his arm from around me that his fists unclenched. God, was he going to pee on me next, to mark his property? That irritating little gesture snapped me out of my fugue state. The guy had just learned my name.

“Were being the operative word.” I corrected Alan, and he rolled his eyes at me.

“So your brother sent me those Mojitos? Those were damn good Mojitos.” Chris said hesitantly, trying to ease out of the awkward tension, and Alan laughed. “No, that was my corporate slut of a father, but you should thank Nyx for the quality. She sure does know how to mix up some damn good drinks, don’t you?” Alan glared down at me with a tight smile.

Oh, Christ. When I got home, he’d probably tie me up and make me wear things from the Gap.

“Thank you, Captain Nyx.” Chris said quietly, his eyes sparkling in amusement.

Christ almighty, I had to get out of here.

“You’re welcome. Now, Alan, don’t you have a drunken wench fiancée to attend to? I’m pretty sure she’s face down in the cake at this point.” I said, very pointedly.

“Better her then you, huh, Nyx?” Alan joked, and before I could kick him in the nuts, he again extended his hand to Chris. “Nice meeting you. Be careful with this one. She can cut her teeth on you.” Obviousl taking his words as a joke, Chris laughed, affably bid him farewell and I could do nothing but glare at Alan’s retreating back. I wanted to roast his fucking eyes over a bonfire while his father was tied to a tree and made to watch.

“Strange dude.” Chris commented, taking a step closer to me. Despite the fact that he was sweating, his cologne floated off of him in waves, which hit my nose, then hit my naughty bits like a tidal wave. SHAZAM.

I laughed nervously. “Yeah, That’s my good buddy Alan.”
Who I’m going to gleefully castrate tonight.

“So, are you off of work?” Chris wanted to know, taking another step closer to me. My first instinct was to step back, but I couldn’t, I was frozen.

“Yes. No. I mean, yes. I mean, I think so.” WTF HE IS NOT GOING TO TACKLE YOU ON THE GRASS WHY ARE YOU ACTING SO STUPID OH GOD I WISH HE’D TACKLE ME ON THE GRASS

He laughed. “Well, if you think you are, you want to come grab a bite to eat with me? One of the guys went and picked up some WOW from around the corner and I can’t eat all of it by myself, I’m on the Jenny Craig.”

I giggled. Fuck.

“Yeah. WOW sounds great. Do you want a beer? I can get you one, plenty of free ones left over. What’s your poison?”

“Anything you have is perfect.” Chris said softly, his eyes floating over me, head to toe, and I swear to God I almost passed out. My knees were actually weak. I know people say that all the time, but between the heat and the close call and Alan embarrassing me, I was one red, confused, and horny little waitress.

“Will go get my stuff. And the beer. And meet you at your tent.” I was not capable of forming full sentences, and somehow I managed to unlock my legs and sidle around him. Chris gifted me that megawatt smile and it caught me full force. “Okay. Don’t escape. I’ll be looking forward to a nice cold beer and it wouldn’t be polite for you to jack me.”

“That’s what she said.” I joked, my personality coming back now that we weren’t in such close proximity.

Good, the little fucker blushed, but as I walked away, I felt the heat of his eyes on my retreating back, and I barely managed to make it inside the tent before I smacked myself in the head. He had not looked at me like that at Lagers, but out here he was making it no secret that he was checking me out. And I was not about to get all feminist about it, either. 

My God, what was wrong with me? I can handle anything and everyone except myself. I never get flustered or embarrassed or shaky like that, in the presence of any man. Men were men and easy to predict in their ways. In the past, if a man would have looked at me up and down as blatantly as Chris had just done, he would have gotten a swift kick in the nads for his trouble. But I couldn’t do it, and deep inside I was screaming at myself to get a grip, that he was fucking ex POP star! I did not cream over popstars! I creamed over Johnny Depp and Colin Farrell. I loved Pantera and Linkin Park and had never been to a concert where there wasn’t at least three fights involving bikers or metalheads and where I hadn’t gone home with neck pain. But I was losing it. Over a popstar of TRL fame. Lunchboxes. Tiger Beat. AGHHHH.

Thankfully, the tent had cleared out and only a few of my coworkers sidled around, cleaning up, slipping the free beer in their purses, enclosing what was left of the food in paper napkins and stuffing it in their bags. My little panic attack had gone unnoticed and I was exceedingly grateful that none of the Cranes, including the soon to be Mrs. Crane, was there. If they had been, there would have been a ritual sacrifice, and I would have gotten fired.

I hurried quickly to the cases of beer, grabbed a Heineken and a Smirnoff out of the icy water, then into the small cramped back room where the waitress kept their purses. I needed a mirror. And possibly a face transplant. I ran a brush through my hair, swallowed a whole pack of breath strips, thus assuring that my whole mouth would probably be on fire until the day I died, but at least I’d have decent breath. I fished a compact mirror out of my backpack and checked my makeup. After doing a few lines through a dollar bill to calm my nerves and checking my nose for nosebleeds, I was ready. At least, I hoped. I had stalled long enough, and I knew enough of Chris already to know he'd come back. 

I collected my payout and slipped away. It was getting darker and the sun over the ocean was bright red, and I could feel the good coke chipping away at my nerves, soothing me down. You may think I’m stupid for snorting coke right before I hung out with Chris, but to tell you the truth I was getting to the point where I couldn’t do anything without coke. And having dinner with an ex pop star definitely called for it, especially since I seemed to be incapable of coherent speech patterns around him. I didn’t think he’d notice-I’m normally fidgeting anyway. Plus, he was in a boy band. How much more wholesome and law abiding could you get?

The paintball arena was empty, save for a few teenagers
packing up their gear. Crickets chirped, and I hoped there wouldn’t be too many mosquitoes tonight. In Louisiana, you couldn’t eat outside like this in summertime. You’d be their five course meal before you even picked up your fork. Florida wasn’t as bad. As I got closer to his tent, I realized that Chris and I would probably be alone, and I shivered. Thankfully, I didn’t turn and run-the drugs helped me steel my resolve.

Chris was sitting outside the tent when I walked up, haunched over one of his paintball guns, and my breath caught when I saw him. It sounds really stupid, but the red light from the disappearing sun was hitting him perfectly and he was positively, awesomely, incredibly hot. Too hot for me to keep my stupid mouth shut about it, and I kind of murmured, “Wow.” Okay, I kind of said it. Loudly. Dammit.

Chris yelped and accidently shot a paintball, and it flew past me, causing me to screech, throw my hands over my head, and drop to my knees. I am a paranoid person. Even sober, the flick of a lightswitch will make me scream and retreat into Armageddon survival mode. So when that fucking paintball flew past me, I nearly pissed myself. Yep, I was the picture of cool, let me tell you.

“Holy shit! Captain! You scared the fuck out of me. Are you alright? Did I hit you?” Chris was already by my side, kneeling on the ground, his warm hand on my back. I peeked up through my fingers at him.

And started laughing. Which was great, as opposed to puking.

We didn’t get up off the ground for several minutes, we were laughing so hard. Chris was holding his stomach and rolling around on the grass. Every time we tried to calm down, we’d look at each other and start up again. And what’s funny is that later, during our ill-fated relationship, we’d look at each other out of nowhere, remember that moment, and collapse into laughter. It was the perfect Break the Ice moment. I’m sitting here, remembering all this, and I want to get back in the bathtub and finish the job. But I can’t. I have to tell you, because it has to live on through somebody else.

By the time we stopped acting like imbeciles, it was officially dark. Chris helped me up from the ground, still chuckling, and we retreated into the mosquito free tent, where white take out boxes from WOW sat on the table, still hot. Chris closed the open part of the tent, which officially made us alone. My skin tingled, but I made myself remain calm until he sat down at the table. Our eyes met, and we both snickered.

“I can’t believe you scared me like that. I was sitting there trying to think of anything else but you, and I end up looking like a total jackass.” Chris admitted. My heart thumped against my chest and I felt my face color. I scrambled to keep cool.

“Yeah, well, I probably looked like an idiot, falling down like we were being bombed.” I admitted, and Chris chuckled. “It was sort of cute. But I thought I had hit you with that paintball, so I was really worried.” I waved him off. “Paintballs don’t faze me, Baio. Plus, a big orange splat would have probably improved this outfit, if only marginally.”

“What does faze you?” Chris wanted to know, openly flirting. I laughed. “Not much.” His dark eyebrow went up. “Didn’t seem so in the back of that tent. You looked like a deer caught in headlights.”

I went bright red and busied myself searching my backpack for the beers. He laughed knowingly and got up from his chair. “We can save the beers for after. I have sodas. What would you like?” Chris tipped his head towards an ice chest in the corner. “Coke, if you’ve got it.”

He nodded and tossed me a cold can, then came back to sit down with a Dr. Pepper and pushed a WOW box towards me. “I hope you like Texas Toast. If not, I’ll call them back.”
I laughed. “You can’t fuck up WOW. I love WOW.” I tucked in.

Chris smiled and dunked one of his French fries in ketchup. “You have WOW in Louisiana?” I looked at him indignantly. “Of course we do. We don’t eat crawfish all day.”

“I’ve been to New Orleans. I liked it, a lot. We went there on tour, and Joey accidentally went into a gay bar. God, we were confused.” Chris winked at me.

I laughed. “He probably went to the Pub or the Oz. Total sausage fests. I could see why you guys were confused. It doesn't get much gayer then that.”

“Shit, you’re not kidding me. We walk in and there’s guys in Speedos dancing on the bar to Beyonce. I’m definately not homophobic, but it wasn’t my thing. Lance was probably having a hard time remaining neutral, though.”

I stopped. “Someone in your boyband was gay? Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah, Lance. The blonde one without the fro.”

“I only Googled you.” I confessed, and Chris froze in the middle of sinking his teeth into a Texas toast sandwich. Flushing bright red, I hastened to do the same. Why can’t I stop from blushing around this guy?

“So,” I hurried to save myself, “what did you like about New Orleans?”

“Oh, just how you guys treat every day like a party. Totally carefree. Great food. I don’t think I’ve ever ate so well, and I’ve been everywhere.” Chris confessed.

I swelled with Cajun pride. “Yep! Best food anywhere. You have to try a muffuleta from Central Grocery. Will make you faint, I swear.” As I said this, a sudden feeling of very intense homesickness rushed through me. Dick state as it was, it was home, Katrina wreckage and all. My smile faded.

“What’s the matter?” Chris wanted to know, looking worried.

I grinned a little. “Nothing. I just kinda miss home, that’s all. Never lived anywhere else.”

“Why did you leave?” Chris questioned, tearing up a napkin, looking extremely interested. The question froze my insides. What do I tell him, when I myself don’t even know?

“I guess it was time for a change. I’ll go back sooner or later. I just…I needed to see what else was out there.” That was a really poor excuse, I thought, but it was true.

Bless him, Chris just nodded with understanding. Suddenly, he grinned, and my bones turned to jelly. “Well, don’t leave just yet.”

I laughed, thankfully not blushing. “Why not, Baio?”

“Let a guy take you out to dinner, first.” Chris teased, and my throat caught.

“Dinner?” As if it were a foreign concept to me.

“Yes, dinner. But we’ll get on that later.” He winked and resumed eating.

I could do nothing but the same.

After we had pushed away our WOW boxes and sighed in contentment, I broke out the beers and Chris proclaimed that my choice for him was perfect. I threw my shoes up on the table, daring him to give me shit about bad manners, and sipped my Smirnoff.

“So, tell me what’s up with your friend Alan. I get a vibe off him and I’m not sure whether to like him or be immensely jealous.” Chris’s breezy honesty took me by surprise every time he said something like that. Guys played games and made you guess. They never laid it out like this. I was in unfamiliar territory.

“Might as well come clean. He’s an ex.” I took a swig of my Smirnoff. Chris snorted. “No kidding. But you two seem like night and day. What happened?”

I am not used to people expressing so much interest in me or my personal affairs. I’m a private person and I’m not afraid to tell people to mind their own business. But Chris had a way of making me open up, I don’t know how he did it; I still don’t know. But I do know that it’s always been hard to lie to him, starting from the very first moment. Chris has always been straight and true, like an arrow. 

I took a deep breath and looked at Chris evenly. “I didn’t want his life. I didn’t want to be stuck in a huge house, my only duty to look pretty and be everything that a woman in his life has to be. I wanted to be a person, not a stereotype serving an empty purpose.” I played with the wrapper of my Smirnoff as I spoke, and Chris listened, nodding.

“I can understand that. I’ve felt that way, back when *N SYNC was at the top. It was always, ‘Chris, you have to watch what you say or wear’ and ‘Chris, you have to give up your privacy if you want to keep living this way’ and sometimes I felt like quitting the whole fucking thing. I couldn’t, though. I started it, and I would never leave the other guys like that.”

I toasted him. “To loyalty-with shackles.” He laughed. “Something like that. Cheers.” We clinked our beers together and sat in companionable silence for a few seconds.

“Nyx?”

I looked up. “Huh?”

“Is that your real name? Really?” Chris joked, and I feigned anger, throwing a napkin at him.

“ No, my real name is Gertrude. Yes, Nyx is my real name. Don’t ask. My parents did a lot of drugs in the 70’s, and plus, my Mom likes weird Greek names.”

“You are Greek? Like ‘My Big Fat Greek Wedding’ sort of Greek?” Chris questioned. I nodded. “Yep, and my family ain’t too far off from those people either. According to my mother I’m supposed to be married with a passel of brats by now. I’m technically an old maid.”

Chris laughed. “That’s wild. My other bandmate, Joey, he’s Italian. That’s sort of close to Greek, isn’t it?”

I shrugged, grinning. “We all like to eat, fight, and fuck, so, yes.”

Chris choked on his beer and had to wipe his mouth off. I snickered and handed him a napkin.

“You know, you really suck at this whole 'keeping your drink in your mouth' thing."

“Seems to be a normal occurrence when it comes to you.” He dryly commented, making me flush. There was a silence for a few beats, and then-

“So, Captain Nyx,” He pronounced every syllable of my name as if he was rolling it around in his mouth. I nearly came. “Do you have anywhere pressing to be, or can I interest you in a walk on the beach?”

I chuckled. “Oh come on, Baio. I thought you were above clichés. Don’t prove me wrong.”

“It’s only cliché if I ask you to walk on the beach, then ask you to look up at the moon, and engage you into a philosophical conversation that brings us absolutely nowhere. In fact, I want to walk on the beach because I feel disgusting and I want a quick dip.”

I laughed. “I’m sure you have a shower. Gilded in gold, probably. With a microphone as a showerhead.”

Chris whistled. “Man, you are harsh. I DO have a shower, but I’m pretty sure that I can’t get you to follow me there.”

My eyes widened and he grinned, pleased with himself.

“So what is it gonna be? Beach, or no beach?” He teased.

Now, here’s a free insight to how stupid I can be. Here I was, alone in a tent with a guy who had been on the cover of Teen People but for all I knew was a closet serial killer, buzzed from the liquor, strung out on cocaine, all my judgment scattered and strained and otherwise abandoned. Nobody at home knew where I was. I had a chalky mouth and skin that was vibrating and buzzing, anxious to get out of this seat. I needed more cocaine, and I knew if I refused his offer, I’d go home and snort till I was comatose. I knew how I could get when I was loaded and if I wasn’t careful I could lose myself in this, whatever it was. I could do something stupid, like jump in the water to be carefree and drown. So, naturally, I said yes.

Chris smiled, beatific. “Well, if you would have said no, I would have found a way to get you there.”

My rebellious side kicked in and I narrowed my eyes at him. “What makes you think I'd say no?"

He shrugged, tossed his bottle in the trash can. “Because I think you're used to running." 

He had pegged me already.

“We don’t get water like this back home.” She said quietly, looking out at the wide expanse of blue in front of them, endless, the waves reaching out hopefully for their feet, which were bare. Chris grinned. “You’ve never seen clear water?”

Nyx smiled and shook her head. “No. In Biloxi, I would go no further then ankle deep. Lord knows what you’d step on. I’ve always wanted to go to a place with clear water.” She said this as if she never expected to live long enough to do so, and Chris gazed at her, perplexed and intrigued. Everything about this woman was a question mark, and every answer he thought he had was double sided. At dinner, she had engaged him in lively conversation, and to her credit he stayed interested (something that rarely happened) but he was good at observing people and he noticed that she was tucking pieces of her burger underneath her napkin. And when he had helped her down off of the concrete to step onto the cool white sand, her hand was freezing, and seemed to tremble in his. Nyx seemed fidgety, not nervous, but it was like she was being charged with a live wire. Chris had no idea that what he was witnessing was a person crashing through a cocaine buzz. He himself fidgeted and had too much energy, never stayed still. Chris assumed, bless his heart, that he had just encountered another restless soul, which intrigued him.

Chris stepped into the water and let out a gasp, cold as it was, and Nyx laughed. It was a full, warm sound, and he smiled sheepishly up at her. “It’s fucking freezing. Here, share my pain. Step in.” She shook her head, laughing. “Oh no, Baio, I’m not the one who stinks. Go take your dip. I won’t go anywhere.”

He made a noise of disbelief. “Yeah, and look back and see you’ve disappeared? You fell for my ploy. I have no intention of getting in that fucking water. I lured you here, sister.”

Instead of pushing him or teasing him, or even pepper spraying him, Nyx leveled him with that intense stare. “Why do you keep thinking that I’ll disappear, and for that matter, why do you care?”

Chris shrugged. “Because you already have before.”

Nyx looked at him, long and hard, as if she wanted to challenge that, but Chris didn’t wait for a response. He stepped forward into the cold water, ankle deep, hands in his pockets. His heart was racing. The wind blew at his back and he envisioned her running away while his back was turned, he thought of her throwing fiery insults at his back. He heard silence.

But Nyx stepped into the water next to him, not making any sign that she felt the cold water, her pants rolled up to her knees, and Chris could smell the satsuma again. His lungs filled with it.

“Why are you here?” He asked, point blank.

Nyx laughed. “I got tired of there.”

“What was so bad there?” Chris wondered, and Nyx exhaled.
“That’s the funny part. You can change your geographical coordinates, but the problem always rides in the front seat, no matter where you go.” She kicked gently at the water. Her tone specified that she did not intend to push the subject. Satsuma tickled his throat. The beer made him feel heady, brave, insolent even, but Chris was smart enough to let it go. For now.

“Nyx, you are possibly the most intriguing, bar infuriating, female I have ever met.”

She cracked up at that. “This coming from a man who used to have legions of preteens clawing at him, well, that’s an incredible compliment.” Chris rolled his eyes good naturedly. “So says the queen of backhanded compliments.”

“Eh, touché.” Nyx grinned at him, and Chris saw a window of possibility open up for him, the waves were pushing them closer, and he could not understand the nearly crippling urge to reach over and kiss her. His hands twitched in their pockets and actually started withdrawing, Nyx sensed his intentions and nudged his shoulder. Now she seemed nervous. Chris’ hands relaxed. Dammit.

“Why so quiet?”

Chris fixed her with an even stare. “I want your phone number.”

Nyx fought back a smile, cocking her head at him. “Do you?”

“I’m too old for Craigslist. Give me a break.” Chris teased, but he didn’t take his eyes off hers.

“That depends.” Nyx hedged, sidling around him, and Chris snickered, his eyes and body following hers.

“On what?”

Nyx stopped in front of him, matched his stare, and slowly leaned into his personal space. Chris’ breath caught. Her hair smelled minty, and her breath held traces of the apple Smirnoff. Chris fought the urge to make the first move. Their faces were inches apart when that sideways smile flashed across her face and she poked him on the tip of his nose.

“If you could bring me a signed lunchbox.” She said sweetly, and Chris stared at her, agog. Nyx laughed at his wide eyes, but then glanced down, her smile instantly disappearing. Chris followed her gaze, and the both of them screamed,

"JELLYFISH!"

“Good thing you saw it, because I honestly don’t want to pee on you.” Chris confessed, collapsing in the sand next to me.

I laughed. “Touche. Plus, my aim isn’t as good as yours, I’m betting.” Chris instantly flushed. I wanted to scoop the words out of the air and shove them back down my throat. GAH! I had to stop saying stuff like that in front of him! He was not one of my guy friends at the High Ground back home! I hastened to apologize.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got a potty mouth.”

But Chris chuckled. “Nyx, I lived on a bus with four other younger men for a good portion of my adult life. Don’t worry about offending me. I’m just not used to your plain speaking Louisiana talk. Are all the girls like that down there?”

I shrugged and had to fight off a shiver. The coke was demanding my attention, it was harder to focus. I needed more and if I didn’t get some soon I’d get sick. I pushed the warnings aside.

“I guess they are. Not used to hanging around girls. Too much drama.” I shrugged, and Chris nodded sagely. “Well, for what it’s worth, you have the CUTEST accent.” Chris’s voice was mischievous, designed to make me blush, which I did. I laughed despite myself, but I felt a faint stirring of nausea in my stomach. Why did I have to have that Smirnoff? Coke and beer, even malt, never mixed well with me.

“Nyx?” I heard Chris’ voice from beside me, but it seemed like it was coming from a million miles away. I looked vaguely towards him. He was looking at me in a very serious, very sincere sort of way. I fought to focus.

“Yeah?”

“Did my asking for your number freak you out?”

“What? No! I just haven’t decided whether or not to give it to you; you haven’t given your word for that signed lunchbox.” I joked, tracing figures in the sand to avoid his gaze. My eyeballs were flying around in my skull like cue balls.

Chris snorted. “I’ll throw in a lock of Justin’s afro, if you want.”

I raised my eyebrow up at him. “Do I WANT to know how you acquired that?”

Chris shrugged. “I got bored a lot on tour. Besides, the fro was unholy.”

I giggled. “Nice offer, but Fro Boy doesn’t interest me.” Chris perked up at that.

“Doth my ears deceive me? A girl that hasn’t fallen for Timberlake’s extensive charms?” He said innocently.

I raised both my hands up in supplication. “Blondes don’t do it for me. No offense to your boy.”

Chris grinned boldly and leaned back on his hands. “Oh, no offense taken, sister, trust me.”

We shared a shy smile (how gay) and then fell into silence, watching the dark waves roll towards us, and I dug my toes into the damp sand. Despite my being loaded to the max, I felt a sense of serenity that I hadn’t felt in ages, that usually only came when I was near the water. Even in Biloxi, where I had gone numerous times with my family and friends until Katrina ripped it apart, I felt more at peace near it, like I had control. I knew the illusion would fade, but I couldn’t help wondering if my subconscious told me Florida for this very reason. This was teenybopperish to the max. I mean, what are the odds?
I laughed softly to myself.

“What?” Chris’s voice sounded muffled. He had laid back down on the soft sand, his feet twitching restlessly to some beat I assumed he was following in his head. His lovely, well shaped head.

“What do you mean what?”

“You laughed.”

I snickered. “I was just thinking how fucking weird this is, I mean, really?” Chris straightened up and looked at me, one dark eyebrow cocked. “Doth we protest too much? I mean, you’re on a beach with moi.” He rolled his eyes theatrically and pressed his hand to his chest. I bumped his shoulder with mine.

“Shut the hell up. That’s my point, I mean, you’re famous. Why the hell are you so easily accessible? You’re supposed to be incognito. You’re supposed to be doing whatever you fabulous people do. People who know you are supposed to be lucky to get a glimpse of you in some dark club somewhere. Instead you’re just hanging out on a beach in Florida, playing paintball.”

Chris chuckled darkly. “And tell me, what do we fabulous people do? I must have missed that memo. Look, Nyx, I’m just a person. I used to be a poor skinny kid with nothing and now I have more then I know what to do with. The rest of us have been low profile for a long time, we knew from the beginning of the group that Justin would keep going when we stopped. And as for hanging out on the beach playing paintball, well, I’d rather do that every day then be dark and fabulous in a club somewhere.”

“Amen to that. I’m sorry, Your Fabulousness, I stand corrected.” I lifted an imaginary toast into the air, and he, laughing, played along, wagging a finger at me. “Don’t let it happen again, Smart Ass. By the way, do you like paintball?”

I smiled cheekily at him. “I generously partake in any sport where I can show up the lesser gender.”

Chris whistled. “We’ve got a live one here, boys. Consider dem fightin’ words. Now we have to see each other again so I can knock you off that pedestal, sister.”

I snickered. “I sincerely hope you practice before you try doing that.”

Chris looked pleased by my cockiness, as if he had been testing me and I had passed the test. I felt a stab of nausea again and realized that I had broken out into a cold sweat, my forehead damp, and my damned fingers were starting to tremble. I needed to get home. Or whatever the word for Alan’s house was, since it was in no way home to me.

“You okay?” Chris inched towards me, looking at the same thing I was-my hands in my lap, starting to tremble. I wrapped them up in the hem of my shirt.

“Yeah. I need to be getting home. Work in the morning, all that noise.” I started to rise, but stumbled a little. Chris caught my arm and I was painfully aware of how worried he looked, what he must have thought of me. I hated making him look like that.

“You don’t look like you’re good to drive, Nyx. How about I bring you home?” His fingers tightened gently around my arm.

To Alan’s huge Look At Me Look At Me ranch? No thanks. Rather would die in a blazing inferno of twisted metal and charred Neon. But I edited that to be polite and skillfully broke free of his hand without seeming like a bitch. It did not occur to me at that moment that Chris's place probably made Alan’s mansion look like an outhouse. I was too busy wondering exactly the same thing-how the FUCK was I gonna make it home like this? I scooped up my shoes in one of my hands and collected my bag. 

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ve been much, much worse. “ I laughed a laugh I didn’t feel and Chris eyed me nervously, hands in his pockets. “Yeah, I believe you, that’s what worries me.”

I sniggered, even though I had taken several steps away from him, edging my way up the beach, grateful for the dark for shielding my sweating face. “Don’t worry about me, Dad. You have much bigger problems."

“Oh yeah? What’s that!?” He yelled.

“The tide!”

I can only imagine his reaction as Chris looked down and realized that my phone number, written in the sand, was being smoothed away by the ocean. I couldn’t see it for myself, because I was gasping for breath before I even left the beach, and everything written on my face was shame.

My phone was off by the time I made it back to Alan’s dark, forbidding mansion, so if Chris would have called it wouldn’t have mattered. The Prowler wasn’t in the driveway, but that meant nothing-he had four other cars to choose from. It was 10:30, or that’s what I thought it said on the blurred screen of my radio. The world was hell. I was shaking so hard that it took me a good five minutes to get a decent grip on my door handle to let myself out. And I didn’t walk up the perfectly manicured, football length lawn-I nearly crawled. I silently begged any God available to not let Chris pass by at this moment when I was almost on my hands and knees on my ex boyfriend’s yard, but if he would have, I probably deserved all that and more. I was so, so tired, and the huge oak door with the Crane coat of arms seemed miles away.

When I made it up the marble steps, my body propelled itself forward and my mouth opened and I put on such a fantastic Linda Blair performance that I’m surprised the neighbors didn’t come out to throw crucifixes on me. Yep, I puked on Christobel’s thirty dollar Easter lilies, and I didn’t feel bad about it, but I did feel like something was clawing my chest apart. Like most cocaine addicts, I was never hungry, so nothing really came out, and that resulted in a pain cutting directly into my chest.

The front door was wrenched open and I saw a dark face in the doorway through a haze, one of the maids. Amparo, I think her name was, but they all blended together. The face contorted in shock and I saw her move towards me, arms outstretched.

“¡El fallo, usted necesita para ir al hospital! ¿Está usted enfermo?”

I felt her warm arm around my waist and my head lolled back. My feet dragged over the threshold.

“No, ningún hospital. Ayúdeme justo a la cama, por favor.”

“Bed? You do not need a bed, you need a hospital.” The maid scoffed in heavily accented English, and I could hear soft voices in Spanish all around me, whispering “cocaína” like I couldn’t hear them.

I felt myself being lowered to lie on a useless little bench near the front door that was going to serve it’s first purpose if they didn’t move me quick enough-a barf table. Just the word cocaine made my throat itch-if I didn’t get some, I would die. If I didn’t taste that clogging drip in the back of my throat, I would wither away. Amparo-I was fairly sure that’s who was tending to me-left my field of vision and returned a few agonizing minutes later with a glass of water and a damp cloth, which she used to wipe off the sweat on my face. I didn’t want the water, but she insisted with a gentle hand on my chin. The second the cold water went down my throat it came back up again, and I heard her sigh.

I apologized brokenly. “Lo siento para eso. ¿Dónde está Maria? Necesito Maria.”

Maria was the maid who had sold me the coke the first few times, and I needed her badly. Amparo took my hands in her bigger, darker ones.

“You don’t need Maria, Señora. You need help.” Her English was bad yet gentle. I didn’t have the time for this.

“¿Dónde está Maria? Necesito Maria ahora. Por favor, Amparo. Por favor!” I begged, my stomach lurching as I clasped her hands hard in mine.

Amparo sighed once more, releasing me. I heard her calling for Maria,  a faint, confused reply and Amparo’s fierce scolding, and then I saw them both in front of me, blurred shaky images of latte skin and bustling linen.

Maria knelt by me. I wasted no time. “Necesito algunos, Maria. ¡Cocaína! Algo usted tiene. Por favor!”

Maria’s soft features looked worried.

“Yo sólo le puedo dar un poquito, la Señora.”

My heart sank, a little bit wouldn’t cut it. Before I had a chance to demand more, Maria opened up my clammy, sweaty hand and gently pressed a small bag of white powder inside. My head flared with longing but I couldn’t snort here, not in front of them. I fought to sit up and ignored their hands on me, trying to push me down.

“Tráigame a la cama. AHORA.” I demanded. Bring me to bed, now.

The maids exchanged looks and moved forward to take my arms, but before they could I puked again, gasping when nothing came up, my entire chest ripped by the cramp. Everything became muted and I was only dimly aware of a door opening somewhere in the distance, foggy voices exclaiming in anger. Footsteps drew closer and I took a deep breath, trying not to retch again. I heard Christobel’s fishwife tones screaming somewhere above my head, but I smelled expensive cologne and glimpsed forest green. Warm fingers grasped my arms and Alan’s square jaw blurred out of focus only inches from my face, it looked like someone had stuck a fork in his features and scrambled them around. I had a dim sensation of being lifted, and the last thing I remember is the marble floor whirling away from me in a sickening spin.

The darkness was no kinder then consciousness.

Around the time Nyx was dry heaving all over Christobel and Alan’s Italian marble floor, Chris was easing his GSXR Suzuki 600 around the corner of his quiet street, his mind preoccupied and his body aching for a drink. He had been absent the whole way home and it was a small miracle he had made it here at all, even though he lived only a few blocks from the beach. He had managed to salvage Nyx’s phone number from the dissipating sand, though it was a close call. Because of this he hadn’t seen her drive off, and therefore had no idea what her car looked like and also had no clue what house her ex resided in. It was only because she was crazy hot and even more so infuriating that she was worth all this speculation and insanity at all, Chris thought wryly.

He slowed his bike to a crawl as he rolled further up his street, pulling his helmet visor down and squinting at the houses on either side, trying to ascertain which house Nyx would live in. He didn’t have to wait long though, because up the street, about five houses past his, he saw a dark blue Neon with Louisiana plates parked against the curb. Nobody in this neighborhood probably knew what a Neon WAS, so Chris was pretty sure it was her, and his heart slid into his stomach like a hot brick. He forced himself to ride into his garage, even though a part of him wanted to go up to the door and find her.

Stalker!

The Undisputed Truth jeered at him, but Chris ignored it as he yanked off his helmet, his head still buzzing from the mojitos. He needed a shower and he needed sleep, but the fact that he had Nyx’s phone number in his Contacts was giving him an adrenaline rush. He could call her. He could call her now, and hear her voice, and make sure he set down a date to see her before she disappeared again. Chris halted at the top of his garage steps and yanked out his phone, and was about to tap her number, but he realized how desperate that might sound. Hey, I just saw you fifteen minutes ago and I have to talk to you again. Lagers?

He stared at the glowing screen, his desire warring with his pride. Nyx was not the type of girl to tolerate that sort of shit.

"Well, maybe I should call under the pretext of making sure I have the right number. The girl DID write it in sand, I may have gotten one digit off."

The Undisputed Truth responded at once.

She didn’t even seem to want to give you her number, so hold your horses. There’s something up with that girl. She was as nervous as a cat. Give her time.

Chris growled in frustration and shoved his phone into his pocket, then headed inside, straight to a cold shower. He’d call after a reasonable amount of time, he reasoned. An hour or two, after he took a shower and got his thoughts straight. He didn’t want to sound stupid just cause her mojitos had addled his brains. Yeah, that was a good plan.

He headed upstairs and into his bathroom, stripping off his clothes, making sure he kept the phone within hearing distance, even though she didn’t have his number. As he took off his watch, he realized that it was the first time in weeks, hell, months, that he hadn’t gone for a drink the second he got home. This froze him in his actions and Chris realized at that point how serious his problem had gotten. For some odd reason, thinking about Nyx and finally seeing her again had made him forget all about drinking, numbed the urge. He had to laugh at himself as he stepped underneath the cold spray. This was all completely fucking insane, but if it made him stop drinking, then he’d gladly be pussy whipped by a chick he knew nothing about. And really, he couldn't be pussy whipped at all, as they had never had sex. Which was making this behavior even more pathetic. 

After he had gotten out of the shower (and relieved some of the tension, ahem) he got dressed for sleep and made himself slowly eat a sandwich, pointedly ignoring the Grey Goose calling his name. The phone on the counter mocked him with it’s silence, and Chris groaned and threw his sandwich on the counter. It was no use, he was going to go crazy until he called and lined something up. He knew, almost as an instinct, that if he didn’t call, she’d be gone again.

He grabbed his phone, jumped over his couch, and took a deep breath as he pulled up her Contact page. Chris’ finger hovered uncertainly over the number, feeling very much like he was still in junior high. He tried to gather his wits’ about him, trying to figure out how to breach this conversation with her. For a wild second he considered not calling her, making HER sweat it out, he knew where she lived now, but his pride was fleeting and he punched the number and held it to his ear, his heart quickening.

It went straight to voicemail. Chris sagged in extreme disappointment, but her cryptic voice on the greeting made him ache, and he had no idea why.

“This is Nyx, I’m obviously not here, so explain yourself at the beep. Later.”

The automated voice urged him to leave a message after the tone and Chris panicked, punching the END CALL button with both fingers. The call ended and he stared at the damn phone with frustration, kicking the sofa and cursing under his breath. Damn this girl. Damn her for making him nuts like this-he hadn’t been this way since Danielle, and that had been years ago. Since then he had had a few dalliances with women, but they were not like this, he had enjoyed their company and did what he had needed to do with them and it had been over. Most of them had dollar signs in their eyes and he wasn’t interested in the least with golddiggers. But like it or not, that came with the package. Finally happening across one that wasn’t impressed by him or his money was almost unheard of, so he figured that was the reason for all this angst.

Sighing, he put his phone on the coffee table and turned toward the sofa.

But Chris couldn’t sleep, and for the rest of the night he shamelessly indulged his craving by calling her voicemail, over and over, never leaving a message, just content enough to hear her voice.

A few doors down, unbeknownst to him, Nyx lay almost comatose on a $30,000 bed, not knowing or caring that Christopher Alan Kirkpatrick was alive. Her phone was downstairs, shut off. Her body was feigning intensely and she sweated, cried out for her mother, put fingernail indentations into her hands. Alan sat by her side, sponging her off, soothing her when she cried out, stretched out her fingers, his face drawn and worried. He knew it would get worse, he knew her nose would bleed, he knew she’d be sick, he knew she would sweat through at least three sheets in the next few days. Alan knew she’d break his heart again, had known it from the second she had blown back into his life. Nyx would take his carefully ordered little existence and twist it around until it was as unpredictable as her own, she would piss him off and make him remember things he had tried to forget, and make Christobel even more unbearable than usual. She’d terrorize his help and fuck up the job he had gotten for her, she’d get arrested and beat up. Nyx was a lost cause and most people wouldn’t take her shit, but without her, Alan was sure that he would have suffocated in monotony and eventually hung himself, as he had wanted to since he was engaged to Christobel. Alan surmised, with irony, that when you got right down to it, this fucked up, hateful, addiction ridden girl would save him with her perfect timing.

The three of them, Chris, Nyx, and Alan, would not leave their respective positions for three days.

I was sick of restrictions
Sick of the boundaries
About to close the door
Such a lack of conviction
No real connection
What should I settle for
But you caught my attention
You built on the tension
And you left me wanting more
Now I don't know what I can do with myself
Do with myself
I don't want nobody else

I let you in, I let you in
And you infected me
Can't get enough of you
Can't get enough of you
I breathed you in, I breathed you in
And now I'm in too deep
Don't think I'm pulling through
Don't think I'm pulling through
Can't get enough of you
(Can't get enough of you)

Trapt

Contagious

 Shoulda Known

“This has gone on long enough, Alan. Wake her up.”

“Christobel, she’s not ready, you can’t just WAKE her up.”

“Fine, if you’re not man enough…”

Fingers dug into my hair and wrenched my head back and I smelled something metallic; a manicured nail pressed the side of my nose and then I inhaled it: the wonderful, sharp, cloying scent of cocaine.

“Sniff.” The voice demanded. Even in my half-dead state, I wasn’t about to pass that up. I obeyed, taking a very hard snort of it. The drip was horrible, but the sensation made my eyes crack open and I croaked, “More.”

The hand in my hair abruptly let go and my head flopped onto my chest. My eyes felt crusted over, my limbs were aching, and almost immediately my nose started gushing.

“Oh for Christ's sakes,” Christobel muttered, then shoved Kleenex into my face. They fell uselessly onto my lap.

“Christobel, be careful, for Christ's sake!” Alan snarled, and then I smelled Drakkar Noir and his hand held the tissues up to my bloody face. I made a move to hold the Kleenex myself, but I felt as if I was moving through pudding.

“More,” I murmured. “No, you don’t need more, Nyx,” Alan said quietly, pushing me back into the covers. Christobel snorted. “Just give it to her, she’ll be doing it again soon enough, what’s the point?”

I raised a finger. “Your cantankerous lady for once has a point.”

“No, she doesn’t need more, Christobel. She needs to get help.” Alan rolled his eyes. My head ached like nobody’s business.

Christobel threw up her hands and the sound of her high heels clacking out of the room nearly caused my brain to split into two. I moaned feebly and raised my tired arms to cover my face.

“How long have I been out?”

“Three days,” Alan answered quietly.

I peeked out at him. “I’m sorry, Alan.”

He cracked a smile that he didn’t feel. “Stop cheapening that word."

It was then I realized how unkempt he was, his blonde hair was disheveled his clothes were wrinkled, and the bags underneath his eyes were almost as bad as mine.

He caught me looking at him. “I didn’t want to trust you to the maids. Besides, I’ve done this for you more times than I can count.”

I smiled weakly and covered his hand with mine. “There’s nobody that loves me the way you do.” It was probably, as I realize now, an insensitive thing to say, but Alan laughed bleakly.

“Oh, don’t give me that. God help the poor bastard that ever really loves you. I feel bad for him.”

“Well, don’t waste your sympathy.” I let go of his hand and let out a deep sigh. “If there were ever a guy like that, I’d hope he had the good sense to never speak to me.”

“What made you do it this time?” Alan questioned. I snickered. 

“If I told you, you’d never believe it.”

“Try me.” Alan sat back and threw the bloody Kleenex onto the bedside table. I debated against telling him, but it was all too unbelievable, so for the next 20 minutes I alternated between fighting back the urge to puke and telling him everything about Chris, from meeting up at Lagers to the Craigslist post to the beach. When I was done, Alan whistled.

“Look at you, snagging the attention of a millionaire superstar. How does that happen?”

I rolled my eyes. “Fuck, I don’t know. It just happened. Major glitch in the Matrix."

Alan looked down at his feet. “What I want to know is, what’s the difference between him being rich and me being rich?”

Pity swelled through me as I looked at him, but I tried to play it off. “Alan, Jesus, don’t be like that. It’s not like I’m marrying him.”

“But you like him.” Alan pointed out, and I laughed mirthlessly. “How do you figure?”

He fixed me with a steady, sad gaze.

“Cause you called out his name.”

That little nugget made me start puking, and once I got going, it was at least an hour before I stopped. Alan was quick to throw a bucket underneath me when I got started, begging me not to puke on the bed or Christobel would find out and he would never hear the end of it. I managed to make the bucket but had to move to the bathroom, and I almost had to fight Alan so he wouldn’t join me. Since the WOW, I hadn’t eaten anything so most of it was just acid and some blood, which vaguely worried me, but I had puked up blood before. The pain in my chest from heaving hurt as badly as my head did, and I was shaking as if someone had hooked me up to jumper cables. Alan finally sent a maid in after me and after cleaning me off, she and Alan got me back into bed, where I alternated between hot and cold sweats. Alan watched me with worry, but it wasn’t until I started crying that he took drastic action. He ordered the maid from the room, locked the door, and pulled me up to sit in his arms, despite my rank smell.

And the man who had always loved me more than I deserved shoveled bumps of coke up my nose, one after the other until my need was met and I shook my head at the offered bump. I knew when to stop. My sweats dissipated, and my trembling ceased. Alan said nothing and didn’t judge me, the only one who never had. And then for some reason, I thought of Chris, wondered why I had called his name, wondered if it was him in Alan’s place would he hold me and calm me down and give me the drug my body needed. I seriously doubted it. He didn't strike me as the enabling type. He wasn't the kind of man I could walk all over, which probably accounted for my massive attraction to him. 

After I stabilized, Alan kissed me on the forehead, told me I smelled worse than the garbage man, and sent me off to the bathtub, provided I kept the door unlocked and allowed a maid to check on me. After three days of coma-like sleep and jonesing, it felt like an orgasm to have my skin buzzing that way. The maid brought me fresh towels and some Ibuprofens for my headache, which I swallowed down with water. The hot water freaked me out and nearly gave me a heart attack at first, but I got used to it and it felt great to wash the gunk off my body. I stayed in there for nearly three hours and let the maid check on me, and by the time I got my hair washed, I was ready for another hit. The Ibuprofen worked a little, but I knew I needed to eat. 

Unfortunately, when you’re on coke, you never want to eat. I got out of the tub, still trembling, dressed in PJ pants and a wifebeater, and sat down on my bed, smiling at the plate of sandwiches that Alan had sent up. I didn’t want to eat but I hated my headache and wanted it to go away, so I unwillingly took a few bites and drank some water. That done, I looked for the little bag of coke, but Alan had been wise enough to take it with him. Just as I was finding some socks and setting out to hunt him down, the doorbell rang.

Chris stood nervously on the front porch of the Crane residence, his stomach oily. The huge door was imposing enough with an elaborate coat of arms, but the house was GIGANTIC. It glowered over him and if his desire to see or talk to Nyx hadn’t finally overpowered him, he would have scrapped the entire idea. A minute or two passed by and he contemplated ringing the bell again, but before he could, the door was cracked and a dark face peered out at him.

“Um…I’m looking for Nyx?”

The door fully opened, revealing a white marble foyer and chandelier that Chris was sure to cost more than all his cars combined. The maid looked at him with zero comprehension, she didn’t speak English. Chris fumbled, trying to remember basic Spanish.

“Er…”

But he was saved by Alan, who came up behind the maid and looked frankly shocked to see Chris standing there on his doorstep. Chris felt like a foolish teenager. Alan recovered his shock and spoke to the maid. 

“Yo lo puedo tomar desde aquí, gracias, Amparo.”

The maid tipped her head in understanding and disappeared, and Alan smiled affably at Chris. “Come in.”

Chris did so and hastily tried to explain his presence.

“Nyx gave me her number and I haven’t heard from her in three days, and she left the beach pretty drunk, so I was trying to make sure she was okay. I don’t mean to intrude.”

Alan waved away his apologies. “Don’t worry about it, Chris. She’s fine, she’s been…well, under the weather. I’ll call her for you, hang on.” He smiled at Chris and headed towards a phone mounted on the wall. 

Chris looked around as Alan spoke quietly on the phone. Everything was white, the walls, the floors, even the curving double staircases. It was much nicer than his house, but then again this place had a woman’s touch, and he wondered for a second what it would have looked like had Nyx not shunned this lifestyle. Alan rejoined him.

“I sent for her.”

“Thanks, man. If you don’t mind my asking, did she have the flu or something?”

Alan’s face did not change, but there was something in his eyes that Chris couldn’t recognize, and when Alan nodded in affirmation, Chris had the fishy feeling he was being lied to, and he didn’t like it. He was about to press the subject, but then he heard soft footsteps from the loft above, and he looked up. His throat caught. His breath escaped. 

Nyx was dismounting the stairs quickly, her eyes on the ground. She was wearing blue pajama pants with fleur de lis and a white wifebeater. Her hair was caught up in a bandanna (not his) and the familiar white cord of earbuds dangled down her chest, her iPod in her hand, her head bumping to a beat they didn’t hear. If she had been that sick, she certainly didn’t look it. When she reached the middle of the stairs, her eyes landed on Chris and she stopped, her eyes nearly falling off of her face. Chris managed a sickly smile.

Nyx looked from Alan to Chris. Once. Twice. Blinked slowly, throat working like an elevator. She reached up and yanked the earbuds out of her ears. 

“Baio? What are you doing here?” Her voice was shocked and hoarse. Chris couldn’t say anything. Alan saved him once more.

“He came here to check on you, Nyx. He didn’t know you were sick.” There was a warning note in Alan’s voice, and Chris didn’t miss Nyx’s returned glare. He started to feel uneasy. He shouldn’t have come; he looked like a psycho. His voice finally worked.

“I was just worried about you. Your phone was off and I called the other day. Are you feeling better?” His heart was pumping hard inside his chest. What did that mean? What does this mean? 

Nyx seemed to recover and shot him that sideways smile. “Oh yeah, I’m better. Thanks for stopping by, it was nice of you. You want to...um...to come up?” She lifted her chin and gestured upstairs.

“Yeah, that’d be great.” Relief coated his stomach-she didn’t think he was a psycho. 

“ Nyx, make sure you keep it down before Christobel figures out you have a guest.” Alan reminded her, and Nyx made a face and nodded. Chris followed her up the stairs, but when he looked back to thank Alan for his help, he was surprised by how distraught Alan’s face seemed to be as he watched them climb the stairs. He looked, Chris thought, like he would do anything to stop me.

Chris is about to be in my bedroom. Chris Kirkpatrick is about to be in my bedroom. Why is Chris Kirkpatrick about to be in my bedroom? 

As he followed me up the second flight of stairs, I tried desperately to remember if my room had been de-coked and de-sicked. I had lit candles, so maybe the smell wasn’t that bad, and I think the maid had picked up my mess while I was showering. The coke was buzzing through me, making my thoughts slippery and disjointed. When I had gone down the stairs and saw him standing there, his motorcycle helmet in his hand, his muddy eyes gazing up at me, I had almost slipped on the marble and broke my neck. It had felt so unexplainably good to see him standing there, and a warmth had spread through my body, a warmth that had nothing to do with the cocaine. 

You might think, c’mon, Nyx, you barely know the guy, and you’re acting like you’re in love with him. Well, let me tell you something that I’ll probably never repeat- for all my toughness, for all my disbelief in silly notions like love at first sight, something happened the first time Chris and I spoke. It wasn’t love (though that wouldn’t take long) but a sort of knowing. Like...oh hey...your weird edges match mine, and I know they match mine, because they keep getting weirder, and yet they still fit.

I was very aware of him behind me and could feel his eyes on my back, so when I reached the door of my room I had to quickly compose myself, and I took a deep breath and pushed the door open, trying to act nonchalant. I could smell his cologne, like a deep, quiet forest I could get lost in. 

“Welcome to the temporary headquarters of Nyx.” I said wryly, trying to hide the trembling in my voice. I took a surreptitious taste of the air, it smelled okay, and one quick sweep revealed no evidence that I had been in the throes of a withdrawal coma. I spun to look at Chris, who was looking around in marked interest. “Nice room.” 

I shrugged. “Yeah, it’s okay. I get to sleep on some sort of duke’s bed, which is sort of okay, except I’m worried I’ll catch some sort of ancient herpes or something.”

Chris burst into laughter, a lovely sound. He set his motorcycle helmet on a chair and I backed into the bed, immediately cursing my choice of seat. 

“So... you...um, called me?” I questioned, trying not to let it get awkward.

He nodded. “Yeah, your phone was off. Like I said, I got worried. You looked kind of shaky that night at the beach.”

I nodded, the memory of me puking all over the foyer washing over me. “Yeah, I didn’t feel so hot. Probably one of those stupid hors d'oeuvres at the party."

Chris eased himself into one of the chairs across from the bed. He eyed me speculatively. “You look like you feel better.” I blushed, hoping to Christ he couldn't see through this shirt, while at the same time wishing he could.

Stop it, you slut.

“Yeah, much better.”

He smashed that smile over my whirling head. “Good. Are you feeling up to eating dinner with me tonight? I’d ask you to go right now, but I have to go to the studio for a while.”

“Dinner?” My voice cracked, like a teenager’s. 

“If you don’t want to…” Chris began to say, looking sort of disappointed, but I held up my hand.

“No, sure, sure I want to. It’s just, I’m not used to being asked out to dinner.”

He laughed again. “What do guys from Louisiana ask when they want to go on a date?”

I shrugged. “We never say, ‘let’s go on a date’, we just…well, we just hang out. If things happen, they happen.”

He snickered. “Well, Nyx, would you do me the great honor of hanging out with me to see if something happens?”

I looked him straight in the eye. “What would you like to happen?”

Chris looked amused. “If I told you, that wouldn’t be any fun, now would it?” 

I gulped.

“Where do you want to go to dinner? Your choice.” Chris shifted in his chair, he couldn’t sit still, his feet kept on bouncing. My eyes kept on following his erratic movements, they were making me dizzy.

“I don’t really know any restaurants around here, so it would be better for you to pick.”

Chris shrugged. “I don’t know what you eat. What places do you like to eat at in New Orleans?”

I smiled sheepishly. “Well, I like Italian, and I am a frequent diner at Chili’s.” Almost as soon as it was out of my mouth, I felt like a hick. Chris, bless him, just grinned at me like I had said the best thing in the world.

“I like Chili’s too."

At the same time, we exclaimed “Burger bites!” and then stared at each other before collapsing into laughter. It felt so easy to talk to him.

“So we’ll go to Chili’s, then. It’s settled. I’ll pick you up at 7, 8?” Chris raised his eyebrow. I nodded, trying to play cool. “Split the difference? Seven thirty is good for me.”

“Well, do you have any objections to riding there on a motorcycle? If not, I can take one of my cars…” Chris trailed off when he saw me shaking my head. “I love motorcycles. If you show up in a car, that would be incredibly lame.” My tone was teasing and his eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed. “God forbid that we look lame. Ok, then, Miss Hells’ Angels, I’ll be here promptly at seven-thirty, on my bike. We shall partake in Chili’s and, then, to quote you-we’ll see what happens.” 

My stomach lurched and it must have shown on my face because Chris’ face turned worried. “Are you alright? If you still don’t feel up to it, we don’t have to.” 

I waved him away. “Stop fussing. I’m fine. I’ll take some Tylenol if I start feeling yucky, but I’m about 88% sure I’ll be cool by tonight.”

Chris hesitated, and I could tell he wasn’t sure of my answer. “C’mon Chris, I’m fine. I’m a big girl.” 

He laughed at that, but I could see he was still unsure. “Maybe to you, but you’re just a little thing.”

I growled at him and he shook his head. His expression suddenly got serious. 

“Look, can I be honest here for a minute?”

My stomach jumped again, but I nodded. “By all means.”

“I don’t want to freak you out or anything, but is it weird that I feel…I don’t know, like I’ve known you forever?”

I don’t know what made me agree, this admission would have never left my lips if I hadn’t felt the same way. I felt something like tears prick my eyes as I thought, God, Chris, you think that, but you don’t know me at all.

I sighed. “I know just what you mean, Chris.”

“You do?” His eyes shot up into his hairline. I nodded, looking down at my feet. 

It was quiet for a minute, and then Chris said quietly, “Look at me, Nyx.”

I did. 

“Tonight, when we go out, let's not drink, okay? I want to get to know you without the aid of liquor.” His request was reasonable but I depended on liquor to keep me calm, and I had no idea how I was going to stay that way. Despite the alarms screaming MAYDAY in my brain, I nodded, and like I always do when I am uncomfortable, tried to make a joke out of it.

“Most guys would not say that. Are you trying to cockblock yourself?"

Chris nodded. “Yeah, but I’m not them and I’m not interested in that.”

I raised my eyebrow at him. He flushed red. “Well…”

I laughed and held up my hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” 

“No, let’s not.” Chris hastily agreed, and I started laughing again at his adorable red face, he was just too much cute. 

“Well, can you turn on your phone so I can call you if there’s a problem?” Chris asked hesitantly, and I agreed. “It must have lost battery, I hope you don’t think I was trying to ignore your calls.”

“It did cross my mind,” Chris confessed, and I shook my head. “No, by the time I got back here I just…crashed out and forgot all about my phone. And if I didn’t want you calling, I would have not given you my number.”

“You let the tide wash over it!” Chris exclaimed.

I shrugged. “Gotta make you work for it, boy.” I winked at him and he shook his head. “You are nuts.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Must I remind you who in this room used to dress up like Michael Jackson for a paycheck?”

Chris held up his hands. “Point taken, point taken.”

We started laughing (all this is rather gay and repetitive, don’t you think?) and didn’t stop for a few minutes, even though I had no idea what we were laughing at. It didn’t occur to me until right then what I was probably going to get him involved with: I was relationship anathema. I always got scared and ran away, which, in hindsight wasn’t that bad of an idea, cause all of the guys I went for were usually pieces of crap anyway, except Alan. But Chris was of a different breed and I knew it and that’s what scared me the most. If he would have been a dickhead with his fist raised, I can handle that, but a nice guy respecting my boundaries and making me laugh? Nothing was more terrifying. I should have kicked him out of my bedroom, but I didn’t. Shoulda coulda woulda.

“Well, I’ve gotta get to the studio. The guys are probably going to kill me for being late.” Chris stood up and I did too, feeling a strange stab of regret that he was leaving.

“The *NSYNC guys?” I wanted to know, and Chris smiled. “No, I’ve got my own band now. Nigels 11. Completely separate from *NSYNC.”

“Cool, I’ll check them out. You have a MySpace?” I inquired, and he sighed. “Who doesn’t, in this day and age?”

“Good point. I’ll walk you to the door.” When I passed by him to leave the room, his cologne washed over me, and I had to bite my tongue. He obediently followed me down the stairs, and we didn’t speak but exchanged a shy smile. My stupid fucking heart did the Macarena.

God, what the fuck was happening to me?! ARGHH!

As we got closer to the foyer, I fervently hoped that Christobel was off somewhere roasting in a tanning bed or at least violently binging somewhere. The thought of her even getting near Chris was enough to set my teeth on edge. Thankfully, she was nowhere around, and I sighed in relief as we approached the front door, and I opened it for him. He stepped outside, blinking in the bright light.

“I’ll see you at seven thirty, Chris.”

He shot that blinding smile at me. “Be sure you’re well enough to go out. You have my hopes up now.”

“I promise.”

He pointed at me. “I mean it. Bed rest, missy. Fluids.” 

I raised my hand and tried to look solemn. “I swear.”

“Good.” He hesitated as if he wanted to say something else. I waited, even though the bright sunlight was hurting my head. 

Christopher Alan Kirkpatrick took a step forward, and before I could move away, his hand was on my bare arm and his mouth brushed softly across my forehead. I was in total shock, but before I could even have a reaction, he gave me a shy smile, turned, and skipped quickly down to the curb, where a shiny black crotch rocket waited for him. 

With a wave and a roar, he coasted off, leaving me standing there, speechless.

I wish I could have told him that out of all of his kisses, that one meant the most.

It was a nightmare, waiting till seven thirty.

What had gotten into him, kissing her forehead like that? Chris was useless at the studio, and his bandmates jeered at him relentlessly, but he didn’t hear them. He was wracked with worry that he had gone too far, he hadn’t wanted to scare her. The look on her face as he had pulled away, it looked as if he had held a knife to her throat. 

It had been a strange instinct, and he didn’t even have the chance or choice to fight it. Her forehead had been burning hot like she had a fever, but her bare arm had felt freezing. Chris was worried that Nyx was sicker than she let on and would cancel their date, but he had a feeling that when she made a promise, she didn’t back down.

Chris fidgeted throughout practice and almost ran out when it was over, even though he had four hours till he had to pick her up. He checked his phone relentlessly, even though he hadn’t given her his number. He made himself go home, but the sight of her car at the curb made me feel as if he was going to be sick himself, what if he had caught what she had? Didn’t matter-he’d go on that date come hell or high water. He didn’t drink when he got home, instead, he searched MySpace for her, took vitamin C just in case, and texted her his number, just in case she wanted to call. Nyx didn’t call, but she did text him back, acknowledging that she had logged his phone number and would see him soon. 

Chris knew that he was acting like an idiot on his very first date and did not care. He sat in his computer chair, stared at the text and thought about how good it had felt to touch her. The entire time Nyx had been leaning against that huge bed, it had been hard for him not to walk up and kiss her senseless. And that scent! Jesus, after kissing her forehead he had gotten a whiff of that satsuma stuff and it was enough to make him lightheaded. He wondered if her entire body smelled like that. He wondered if he would get the chance to smell it on himself.

She had looked delicious enough to gobble up, but he also saw that she HAD been sick. She had dark circles under her eyes and walking up the stairs had been hard, she had gripped onto the banisters going up and down. But she had agreed, and now he was taking her to Chili’s, of all places. Chris knew he could afford much better than Chili’s, but hadn’t wanted to make her feel weird, so he had agreed. She was low maintenance, and Chris was pretty sure that if he had taken her somewhere fancy, she would have been uncomfortable. Italian would have probably been too heavy. 

Time sped up and before he knew it, it was six fifteen and he made himself leave the computer to shower and get dressed. By the time he was done obsessing over how he looked in the mirror (something he NEVER cared about), it was almost time to pick her up, and he agonized about how early to show up. It wasn’t as if she lived across town. Plus, girls, even girls like her, needed extra time to get ready. Chris briefly considered a small drink to calm his nerves but knew better than to drive his bike like that with a woman on the back. He abandoned the idea of the drink, went out to the garage, grabbed an extra helmet for her, and straddled his bike. His stomach was nervous and now he felt like puking. He kicked it into gear and rode down his driveway, then drove as slowly as possible to the Cranes’.

He sat there on his bike trying to compose himself so he wouldn’t look like an idiot-he had already decided not to mention the kiss to her; he was going to play it cool. Despite his anxiety about it, he felt sort of glad he had done it-he had cowed Nyx for a change. She was the type of girl who was used to having the upper hand, and Chris had scored a point.

Seven thirty on the dot had him hurrying up the front walk, and with butterflies and bats in his stomach, Chris rang the bell, feeling as if he was going to prom. The door opened to reveal not a maid, not Alan, and not Nyx, but a small blonde-haired woman whose sharp eyes took him in and promptly widened. Chris instantly knew this look, this was recognition, and he braced himself for the onslaught of OH MY GODS and CAN I GET YOUR AUTOGRAPHS?! He didn’t have to wait long.

“Oh my god, that little headcase wasn’t lying, it is you!” The woman’s mouth fell open. Chris raised his eyebrow at this rude reception. “Um, hi? I’m here to pick up Nyx?”

“If you say so. Come in.” The woman stood aside and gestured for him to walk inside, and Chris did so, but the woman scared him. She had the pinched, bony look of victims in slasher movies. Her skin was way too dark for that blonde hair and she was as tiny as Nyx, maybe smaller. Her voice carried the same inflection as Nyx’s had, but more vapid, more ignorant.

The door closed behind him and the woman hurried to stand in front of him. “My god, I can’t believe it’s you.” Chris smiled tolerantly. The woman reached out a hand eagerly, and though he didn’t want to, Chris took it. “I’m Alan’s fiancé, Christobel. I used to love your music!”

“Nice to meet you, and thanks,” Chris said automatically, though it was a lie. There was something about this Christobel that automatically repelled, she had an air of nastiness about her, and he briefly wondered why the hell a nice guy like Alan would go for someone like this after he had Nyx. 

“I thought my fiancé was having fun with me when he told me that Nyx, of all people, had scored a date with one of the *N SYNC guys. I told him, I said, that damn girl doesn’t deserve a date with someone like that…”

Okay, he didn’t like this chick now. Whenever she said Nyx’s name, her lips curled as if she had tasted something nasty. Thankfully Alan turned the corner and when he saw his fiancé terrorizing Chris, he immediately came to his aid. “Christobel, leave him alone. Did you call Nyx?”

Christobel scowled, and Alan shot an apologetic look towards Chris, who just shrugged and smiled. “What am I, the hired help? The girl knows when to come downstairs for her own date, I’d hope. God, what else is wrong with her?”

Chris couldn’t believe how rude this woman was, and a glance at Alan told him that he wasn’t alone in this thought. Alan called for a maid, spoke a few words in Spanish, and pointed upstairs. The maid bowed and went upstairs, presumably to fetch Nyx.

“She’ll be back down shortly, Chris,” Alan promised, and to Chris’ relief, began to lead his fiancé out of the room, though Christobel was loudly protesting, and the last thing he heard before they were gone was something about a signed Justin Timberlake poster. Though he was somewhat jealous of Alan’s past with Nyx, he really felt bad for the guy if he was going to MARRY that.

The maid that had gone up to get Nyx came down the stairs, nodded at him with a smile, and stationed herself unobtrusively near the door. And then he heard light tread on the steps and before he knew it, Nyx was skipping down the staircase. She seemed to be amped to the fifth power, if she hadn’t been feeling well before this, she didn’t show it.

“Sorry, sorry, could not find my goddamn brush. You weren’t waiting long, were you?”

Chris smiled at her attire, her jeans and Vans and blue Ed Hardy shirt, liking how she hadn’t gotten all glammed up like most girls did. 

“No, not long. I ran into Alan’s fiancé. She’s…” Chris groped for a word decent enough to say.

“A terrible fucking cunt.” Nyx said bluntly, and Chris saw the maid hide a giggle behind her hand. He blinked at her, taken aback by her candor. Nyx caught the maid laughing, and she tried to hide a smile as she addressed the girl.

“¿Usted piensa que eso es gracioso?”

The smile instantly disappeared off the girl’s face and  Chris stared at Nyx.

“You’re bilingual?”

She grimaced. “You could say that.”

A.N. In the middle of editing this, the rest of this chapter got deleted, so don't go any further. I have to go cry. A lot. And drink. A lot. 

At work the next day I ignored barbed comments from the other waitresses about my whereabouts and managed to get through a garden party for some record company hacks. I thought about Chris the entire time, it was beyond ridiculous. Every time I turned around, I’d see a glimpse of dark hair and think it was him, and my heart would lift, only to crash back down. So I got through that day by ducking into the bathroom stall and snorting a few lines off the toilet tank every thirty minutes or so, skirting Wade’s advances and a rather confused older gentleman who thought I was his trophy wife. 

When it was finally over, I was exhausted and my body craved a drink or a snort, but I wasn’t in the mood to appease it. I yanked off my tie in the private room where the waitresses kept their bags, and fished through my backpack for my phone. 

Missed calls-2.

Voicemail-1.

The sense of vertigo when I saw Chris’s name on the caller ID was heady and I wanted to call him back, but I still hadn’t come to an ironclad decision on what I was going to do about him. I knew if I decided to pursue a relationship with him (although I was terrified of relationships as a rule) I would have to cease, if not stop completely, my substance abuse, and I wasn’t sure I could or wanted to. On the other hand, the thought of starting the same monotonous routine I had at home was enough to drive me crazy, and Chris would liven things up. 

I grabbed my bag and checked my voicemail.

“Nyx, this is Chris Scott Baio. Listen, I don’t know what time you get off of work, but I’m sorta hungry and I was wondering if you’d meet me at Lager’s, for a drink? Um, give me a call.” 

There was a pause, and I stopped at the entrance to the kitchen and waited.

Chris sighed. “Please meet me. Or call me. Bye.”

I grinned, despite myself, and exited my voicemail, then called him up.

The phone rang a few times, and then Chris picked it up, breathless. “Hello?”

“Nice voicemail, butthead.” I teased, and I heard him laugh in a relieved sort of way.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“Just walking out of work. You still hungry, or did you eat?”

“I could go for a burger. How far away are you from Lagers?”

I peeked out of the door to see Wade lounging against the front pillar, smoking, even though he wasn’t supposed to smoke on work grounds. Shit.

“I actually don’t know how to get to Lagers from here, I’m horrible with directions.”

“You want me to come get you on my bike?”

“Aw, Chris, you don’t have to do that, plus, my creepy boss is hanging outside and I wanted to get to my car as soon as I leave here.”

“Stay inside, I’ll come and get you and give creepy boss the slip. Come on, pleaseeeeee, I’ll feel like Secret Agent Man.” Chris hummed a few bars of the song to punctuate.

I laughed. “Fine, ass. I’m at that big white pavilion place, on First St. Is that familiar?”

Chris snorted. “I went to countless, boring record parties at that fucking place. I’ll be there in ten. Hang tight.”

I laughed. “Okay, see you soon, Baio.” I hung up smiling, and loitered around the lobby for a few minutes, waiting for Wade to leave, but he didn’t move and I couldn’t stay there forever, the place was closing up. With a deep breath, I pushed open the door and walked past him, determinedly ignoring his presence, and sat down on the bench.

“Hey, Nyx, your car break down or something?” Wade called over to me, and I sighed, pretending to not hear him.

“Nyx? Do you need a ride?” He came closer, and I couldn’t pretend to not hear him now.

“No, Wade, thanks, though. Got someone to come and get me.” I said patiently, even though my teeth were clenching.

“Oh, okay. Listen, what happened to you these past three days? Your ex called up the big boss and said you had gone into the hospital.”

Smooth liar, Alan.

“Well, I don’t know, Wade, I guess I was in the hospital.” I said, rolling my eyes.

Wade laughed. “You are such a fucking cunt.”

I gave him a grimacing smile and watched the road, anxiously, waiting to hear the roar of Chris’ motorbike.

“You need any white, Nyx? Got some for $135.” Wade wheedled, and I groaned inwardly. Fucking asshole, he knew I liked the stuff, and he was going to tempt me like that?

“One thirty-five is kind of cheap, Wade, how do I know it’s good?” I asked nonchalantly, and Wade figured my relenting was an invitation to sit his flat ass down next to me.

“It’s good. I’m letting you have it at a discount.” 

I snickered. “Oh yeah, what kind of dealers have discounts?”

“It’s the Sleep With Me and I’ll let you keep your job discount,” Wade said, his voice laced with threat.

I laughed, even though it felt as if my heart had been dunked in nitrogen. “Fuck off, shitbird. No coke is that good. And must I remind you that I have a picture of you smoking on the job?”

Wade's lip curled. “You are too much, you know that, Nyx? You walk around, holier than thou, pretending you’re better than all of us, when all you are is a fucking cokehead tease, just like the rest of them." 

My fists clenched, my vision had bright red edges, not a good sign if I wanted to keep myself out of jail. 

"Unlike the rest of you fucking dregs, I won't fuck a loser to get my stuff, and I'd rather be a tease than a cockgobbling thundercunt. Now leave me the hell alone, fuckbag, before I press charges on you for sexual harassment." 

Wade laughed, but uncertainly, and it was with a very hard look at me that he rose and strode off through the dark to his car. I watched him go, boiling with hate. The roar of a motorcycle broke my stare and I made myself smile as Chris pulled up on his bike, yanking his helmet off. He sent me his disarming smile, and my stomach did a rollercoaster drop move. The crimson edge of my anger melted away. My fingernails retreated from my palms. 

"Hey, you."

"Hey." I grinned back, and he looked around. "Where's your boss?" 

"He slithered away. Ready to go?" I was anxious to get out of there, and I think Chris could tell because he immmediately handed over his helmet. 

"Aren't you supposed to have one too?" I asked, putting it on. He shrugged. "I'll be really careful. Hop on." 

I jumped onto his bike and held onto him tight as he gunned the motor. 

As we exited the parking lot, I saw Wade glaring at me from the side of his truck. 

He couldn't see my face, but I was smirking. 

Chris ordered a Heineken and I got something light, a Smirnoff, even though I wanted some Patron or Jose. His hair was all mussed from the wind and he looked totally adorable, and I couldn't stop myself from smiling at him like an idiot. 

"What are you looking at me like that for?"  

"I like the sex hair thing you've got going on here," I commented, taking a sip of my drink. Chris' hands flew up to his spikes and tried to smooth them down, and I shook my head. "Stop it! It's hot. Bedhead works for you." 

He stopped messing with it and winked at me, gulping his beer. 

"So, how was work?" 

I groaned. "A pain in the ass. Record company people can be fuckin' assholes, no offense." 

Chris chuckled. "Yeah, none taken. I remember that shit. My apologies. Went to a few with Britney and Christina and it was a fucking madhouse." 

"Ah, the trials and tribulations of fame." I teased, and he rolled his eyes at me. 

"So, do you have the day off tomorrow?" Chris wanted to know, trying to sound off-handed. 

"I work for a few hours in the morning, why?" 

"Wondering if you wanted to come with me to a paintball tournament. I'd think you'd be a terror out there with a paintball gun." Chris teased, and I shook my head. "Oh, you have no idea, Kirkpatrick." 

"Well, is that a yes?" Chris wheedled, and I stuck out my tongue at him. "Yes, yes, I'll come to the paintball tournament, dammit. But I don't have paintball gear." 

He waved that off. "My sister has some of hers at my house. You're about her size, should fit without a problem.." 

I nodded. "Sounds fun. I've never been in one." 

Chris smiled mischievously at me, and my breath caught, I'd never seen anything more sexy. "It's brutal. I'm not sure you can cut it." 

I immediately rose to his bait. "Don't start with that, Mr. I'll Kick Your Ass at Mortal Kombat. Dem's fightin' words." 

Chris chuckled. "Good point. I'd rest up though, after work. We'll wear your cute little ass out, Nyx." 

I gaped. "What would you know about my cute little ass, Kirkpatrick?!" 

He just laughed and winked at me, making my entire body tremble. 

Our burgers came while I was recovering from that little comment, and as usual, I wasn't really hungry, but hopefully, he didn't notice. We didn't talk much while we were eating, but it was a companionable sort of quiet, not awkward or weird, which I wasn't used to. 

I took a few bites of my burger but it was enough to make my stomach ache again, and I guess it showed on my face because Chris was looking at me expectantly. "Something wrong with your food?" 

I shook my head. "No, it's okay. How's yours?" 

"It's pretty good. Are you still sick?" 

I shook my head. "No, but I was sneaking some finger sandwiches at work, probably filled me up." 

Chris snickered. "You eat like a bird." He took a huge bite of his burger. 

I watched him, half smiling. "And I see you're obsessed with keeping your girlish figure." Chris set down his burger and immediately began preening and batting his eyelashes at me, and I couldn't help myself, I laughed. "You are nuts, Kirkpatrick." 

"They tell me that." He picked his burger back up and resumed eating, but I picked at mine and instead, we talked about his band, Nigels 11. He seemed very enthusiastic about it and told me about his bandmates. I admitted that I had checked out the Nigels 11 MySpace and the music was pretty cool. 

"Too tame for you, huh?" Chris winked, and I shook my head wildly. "No! You have a great voice, dude. I really think you've got talent, and if you sucked, I'd tell you so." 

He nodded his head. "I figured you would. Thanks, Nyx, that means a lot to me." I smiled sadly at him. "You've got millions of chicks telling you that constantly." Chris shrugged. "And that means something too, but coming from you, it means a lot. Especially since I know our music wasn't really your thing." 

"Then I'll have to go out and buy myself an *NSYNC CD and see you cut loose." I teased, but I had already exhausted YouTube's collection of *NSYNC videos, something I'd never admit even if someone threatened me with hot coals. The entire time, I had tried to wrap my brain around the fact that I had gone on a date with Chris Kirkpatrick, the same guy who was on MTV and on magazine covers and talk shows. He was a chaotic little gremlin, too adorable for words, and though the Chris in front of me seemed older and wiser, he was still a wild card. Not many people can keep up with me, but he was giving me a run for my money.

Chris made a face. "Just don't ask me to teach you dance moves. I think I'd probably die in the process." 

"Oh, I'm going to learn them, Kirkpatrick," I said, forcing my face to remain dead serious. "I'm going to practice them before I go to bed and maybe even put a video of myself doing them on YouTube." 

Chris snorted. "Right, you let me know when you do that, I'd pay good money for that video." 

"What!? I can dance! I like to dance!" I protested, and Chris threw back his head and laughed. "You like to dance? Doth my ears deceive me? I thought you were a little metalhead; I can't see you dancing in a club." 

I gave him a mock scowl. "For your information, I can bust a move just as well as anybody else." 

"Then I'll have to take you out dancing," Chris said, throwing his napkin on the table. 

The confident smirk disappeared off my face. "Wait. Do what with who for how many donuts?"

Chris started cracking up. "Oh no, sister, you screwed yourself on that one." 

"I was just kidding! I'm a horrible dancer! I suck! Like, the whitest white girl at an all-white school suck!" I protested, and this only made Chris howl louder. 

"Well, let me be the judge of that. One of these nights, you and I are going to dance, and if you don't know how, I'll teach you." Chris promised, and promptly I felt the color drain out of my face. 

It wasn't the dancing part I was freaked out about, I could dance very well, as I had a gay cousin and I had excellent rhythm, it was the thought of being close enough to Chris to actually get carried away. And it wasn't that I didn't want to, I just didn't trust myself. Especially in a club setting, where liquor was certain to be had. And I knew the man could dance-I stayed up till 4am watching him do it on Youtube. 

Chris did not seem to notice my dread, or if he did, he let it slide, cause I'm sure he knew the circumstances of dancing might lead us somewhere. He started asking me about Louisiana, and we talked about that for a while, but the entire time I kept thinking of him and I pressed close together in the dark, sweating, his scent soaking into me, his breath washing across my face. His hands pressing against the small of my back, drawing those little circles into my skin. My entire lower region was twitching. 

It was enough to keep me distracted and angry at myself, so when Chris looked at his watch and suggested we grab the bill and leave, I was only half there. 

When we stepped into the cooler air outside, Chris looked at me questioningly.

"Nyx? You with me?" 

I snapped back to reality. "Yeah, yeah. I'm good." 

"Tomorrow, after the paintball tournament, why don't we go to a club or something? I know one that plays some rock remixes, so you might like it."

Panic surged through me, I hadn't expected this to happen so quickly, but this was the first time I realized that when you put an idea in Chris Kirkpatrick's brain, he was a dog with a bone. Scared though I was, I could not let myself appear weak or scared in front of him, so with my heart in my throat, I agreed. Chris' smile was blinding and he led me to his bike, my heart pounding the whole time. 

Dear God, I thought, what had I gotten myself into? 

Chris dropped me back off at my car at the pavilion and insisted on following me back home, as the area wasn’t that great. I let him have his burst of chivalry because in all honesty, it was a bit flattering. He treated me like I was precious cargo and with anybody else, it would have insulted me, but he wasn't anybody else. 

When I pulled alongside the curb of Alan’s house, I sat there in silence after I killed my motor. Something was happening to me, and I didn’t know how to stop it or challenge it or make it turn to my advantage. I could not control myself and I hated it.

Because I was lost in these woods of despair, I did not notice Chris halting his bike behind my car, I did not notice when he walked along the passenger side. It wasn’t until he opened the door and slid inside did I jump out of my skin.

He had pulled off his helmet and his dark hair was a disaster again, but it was the expression on his face that floored me. He looked so serious that he could have been coffin-side, and he wasn’t even looking at me, just staring at my dash.

“Chris?” I asked quietly, and he shook his head. When he spoke, it was rapid.

“Nyx, all I’ve done these past few days is obsess about kissing you, and if I don’t, I’ll go crazy and if I do, you might run. Either way, I lose.”

I was struck dumb by his levity and could not say a word.

“So if you want to bolt, you'd better do it. If you want to be just friends, tell me now. I’m too old for games.”

“Chris...I..I…”

He looked at me then, and I bit my lip, causing him curse in frustration. He shook his head and made a move to get out of the car.

I touched his arm. “Don’t.” 

Chris stopped and looked at me, his dark eyes questioning, hungry, his gaze wandered to my hand on his arm.

I swallowed. “I can’t guarantee I won’t be...nervous. It's...been a long time since I...you know. A really long time. As for me running, I...I'm really trying not to. But I don’t think that we can keep going on like this and...just be friends.”

Chris searched my eyes, and without a word, slipped his hand into my hair and pulled me forward. Our lips hovered, dangled over the precipice of no return. The edge of his thumb grazed the corner of my mouth. He smelled like expensive leather and good beer, the forest, and a tangy scent that could have been his shampoo. His lips brushed mine. Feather soft, barely a kiss. Once. Twice. The slightest hint of his tongue. My heart seemed to be in the vicinity of my left nostril. There was nothing unsure about his actions-he was playing with me, and he wanted me to know it. He wanted me to want it. All of it. When I tried to deepen our embrace, trembling and slightly frustrated, he would pull back and gently nuzzle his nose against mine until I stopped trying to rush him. His other hand had found its way to my thigh, gripping it possessively, as if he had been wanting to grab me there all night. I was wet. Extremely fucking wet. And something in the tiny, cocky little smile against my lips told me that he knew it, but he wasn't about to blow his chances so soon. 

When he finally slanted his mouth over mine, slow and hot and melting, his stubble gently scratching my face, I moaned into it. I couldn't help it; I had never had a man kiss me like that. His mouth instantly ceased its movements on mine, pulling away just the tiniest bit. His eyes drank me in, a little surprised at first, but they narrowed and he came back for more with a vengeance, his fingers gripping the back of my neck, thumb pressed into my cheek. The point of no return was long gone, both of us burning up now, our panting loud and overwhelming in the car. I barely noticed the console digging into my ribs. He tasted like home to me. He tasted like home, and I have been so fucking homesick.

Now that I had free reign, I devoured him. My hand was tangled in his hair, sucking on his lower lip, nipping it, and Chris let out a dark hiss into my mouth, his hand slipping from my nape, gently and firmly cupping my throat, fingers pressing lightly against my pulse. The taste of his tongue was making my head swim. His hand on my thigh slid up so that it curled around my waist, brushing the skin ever so slightly. He exhaled through his nose; moved away to take a tiny breath, but we barely got any air in our lungs before our lips were back at it, fighting wars, dissembling our common sense. His hand wandered further up my shirt; pressed against the bare skin of my lower back. Hindered by his jacket, I couldn't get as much of him in my hands as I wanted to, but he seemed to like my soft tugging of his hair. At this point I was nearly in his lap. Chris was growling between kisses, his fingers fisted in my shirt now. It felt like I might burn alive. I couldn't think straight enough to realize that it was due to quickly depleting oxygen. 

 I'm not sure who pulled away first, but one thing was for sure-neither of us wanted to. Chris leaned his forehead against mine and exhaled gustily. My heart felt like it might jump out of my chest and join the circus. "Jesus Christ." He said tightly, his fingers drawing the line of my jaw, his other hand still wrapped in my shirt, barely grazing my skin now, but his touch held so much promise. If we ever slept together, I thought dazedly, I was a goner. This guy was kerosene. This guy was napalm. 

"I concur." I don't know how I was able to talk. My lips felt swollen, buzzing and tingling. My entire body felt like a massive live wire. If I thought I had ever held the upper hand with him, he had destroyed that misconception with one kiss. I was in severe fucking trouble here.

Chris laughed softly to himself. “You’re so lucky I have self control, Nyx."

“If you must.” I said coyly, and with satisfaction, I saw his eyes flit to my mouth. He moved forward, but I ran my nose along his and pulled away before he could destroy my underwear like that again. Chris's dark blade of an eyebrow kissed his hairline. "And just where the hell do you think you're going?"

I grinned back teasingly and slid out of the car. He gaped at me in disbelief as I closed the door and walked backward up the lawn. He quickly opened the passenger door and rested his forearms on the hood of my car. Hair mussed, lips wet, those eyes boring into me. I nearly sprinted back down the hill to him again, but I checked myself. 

“I really don’t get a kiss goodnight?!” Chris called.

“You might take advantage of me and my innocence!” I yelled back, grinning, and I heard him grunt in playful frustration. My gut tightened. If I went back down there, we'd probably screw in my backseat. As much as I wanted to, I was in no shape to have sex with him tonight. I had to somehow come to terms with the fact that he had basically kissed my soul out of me. 

“Get the hell back down here, Nyx." 

“Oh, so now you’re greedy!” I called, almost at the porch, turning to face him. 

“Hey, I’m just a man.” He responded, a smile in his voice, and I heard the car door close.

“That’s right. Ciao, baby!” I blew him a kiss and heard him laughing as I closed the door. 

The house was dark, as usual, and as I heard Chris gun his bike, I could not stop smiling, the feeling of his mouth on mine was going to drive me spare all night. I got to my room without breaking my neck and did a thorough search for hidden ex-boyfriends, and when I could find none, I fell back on my bed, and yes, I’ll admit I did it: I squealed like a girl and kicked my legs into the air. And if you ever tell anybody else that, I’ll fucking hunt you down and gut you.

I took off my clothes and got into my PJs, too keyed up to take a bath, and crawled underneath the stupid English bed to retrieve my bag of powder, my straw, and my mirror from where I had hidden it from Alan and his troupe of nosy maids. Using my credit card, I lined up eight fat ones and snorted them, then laid back to enjoy the rush, but try as I might, nothing could compare to Chris’ kiss.

It was better than any hit, any shot, any pill, any high-and it was just one more thing I knew I’d get addicted to.

I miss the way you say my name
The way you bend, the way you break
Your makeup running down your face
The way you touch, the way you taste

When the curtains call the time
Will we both go home alive?
It wasn't hard to realize
Love's the death of peace of mind

You're in the walls that I made with crosses and frames
Hanging upside down
For granted, in vain, I took everything
I ever cared about

The Death of Peace of Mind

Bad Omens

Boiling Point

Chris was so horny that it was starting to hurt.

He didn’t even bother locking his front door, he hurried up the stairs, flung himself onto his bed, nearly falling off the side in his haste, and started to take care of his problem. Never, not with any of the hot barely legal fans, not with Danielle, not with the few girls he had been with since her had gotten him like this. Nyx had been the fire and he had been the gasoline and once he had started kissing her, he was afraid that he’d never stop. He had no idea she’d respond like that, honestly, Chris thought she’d fling herself away, maybe even punch him, but he had no idea that she’d let him actually kiss her. His head filled with that soft little gasp of surprise, and he groaned when he remembered how she attacked him back, her fingers in his hair, her mouth biting, sucking, melting on his, her satsuma smell clogging his nose…

And yet it wasn’t enough to bring him to climax, and Chris growled in frustration and smacked his head against his pillow. Dammit, his hand was going to fail him NOW?! After months of celibacy!? This was too unfair for words.

Lord knows it took every inch of self control he had just to let her go. Chris had never wanted to jump someone like this, ever, and watching her walk into the house, teasing and taunting him, was adding insult to injury.

He forced himself to block it out, and grumpily headed downstairs to occupy his mind. But the second he saw the couch, he grit his teeth, and avoided it, walking into the kitchen for a drink, the first one he’d had in 2 or 3 days. Chris didn’t even bother getting a glass, just leaned against the counter and guzzled. As he wiped his mouth, his eyes fell on the stone kitchen island. A flash of Nyx sitting on top of it, naked, flashed through his brain and he choked and had to spit the liquor out onto the sink. “Jesus Christ.” Chris muttered, putting the bottle back on the counter and stalking out of his kitchen, thoroughly hacked off now, his lower parts hurting. He went back upstairs and jumped into a cold shower, hoping that would help, but all he could think about as he stepped in was that sideways smile of hers, and the cold water did nothing to alleviate Chris’ problem. He leaned against the shower wall and wiped off his wet face, sighing. Okay, so this was how it was going to be, he got to kiss her, but now he’d have to deal with this every time he saw her. And Chris could guarantee that-he’d never be able to look at her again without wanting that mouth on his. He turned the cold water off and switched over to hot, then tried once again to relieve the tension.

But nothing did the trick.
**********************************************
I stood nervously outside of Chris’s gray front door, fidgeting, feeling quite nauseous, scared to knock. I hadn’t slept most of the night due to the thoughts of his hands and lips on me, and I was not sure I could control myself around him now. The hot Florida sun beat mercilessly on my bare shoulders and I closed my eyes and raised my hand to knock. It took seconds for Chris to answer the door, and when he did, he had a huge smile on his face. He was wearing black shorts and a red bandanna and a sleeveless Magic jersey, and he looked amazing.

“Hey, Captain, come in. It’s hot out there.”

I shyly smiled back and stepped into his house, and Chris leaned in and gently kissed my cheek in greeting. I blushed at the contact, remembering how feverish he had been last night, and I could tell from his face that he was pleased with my reaction.

“Come on, I have to go look for Emily’s paintball suit, I think it’s somewhere in my pool house.” He led me through his house, through a back door, and into a very spacious backyard, adorned with palm trees and a huge lagoon shaped pool with a waterfall. I put down my stuff on a lawn chair while he searched his pool house, making a huge racket, and knelt down at the edge of the pool and dipped my hand in. It was nice and cool, and without a second thought, I crept behind the pool house and stripped down to my bra and panties, which I had made sure to match this morning. Not that I was going to have sex with him, but you never know when you may need to match. Chris was just stepping out of the pool house, a purple paintball outfit in his hand, when I shot past him and cannonballed into the pool.
When I resurfaced, he was staring at me, mouth in a perfectly comical O. I laughed and shrugged. “It’s hot out there, dude!” Chris shook his head several times, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and then he regained control of his senses. “Oh, that’s your ass!” He started stripping off his shirt and before I had a good look at him without a top on, he belly flopped ungracefully into the pool and I swam quickly away from him. When Chris popped his head up and whipped his hair out of his face, he immediately started swimming towards me. I yelped and dove underwater and managed to pass right underneath him.

When I came up for air, Chris was almost right on top of me and he laughed, grabbing me around the middle. “You’re like a little fish.” His fingers started to tickle my sides and I began to laugh hysterically, fighting to get out of his arms. “Say Uncle! Say it! Say Chris is the Paragon of All That’s Awesome and I’ll let you go! Say it!” He goaded me mercilessly and I did the only thing I could think of, wrapped my legs around his waist and started to squeeze. He immediately let go- I knew he would. I have thighs of doom. 

Chris stared at me.

I stopped squeezing at once. “Did I hurt you?”

In answer, he leaned forward and kissed me softly.
*********************************
Chris kissed me until I couldn’t concentrate on floating by myself anymore, and I took hold of his arms and kissed him back. It wasn’t like the kissing in the car-that had been grasping, rough, as if he thought I’d dissolve any second. This was slow and mind boggling, and as it grew more heated, I become more aware of who we were and what I was doing, pressed up against a man I didn’t know all that well, in nothing but my panties and bra. Chris’s hands slipped around my back and pressed against my back, pulling me closer. I closed my eyes and tried to be somebody else, somebody else that would actually let this happen. My bitch instincts told me I should push him away before anything else happened, but Chris was not using kissing as a stepping stone to something else. He seemed content just to hold me in the cold water and brush my mouth with his, over and over. I knew that if I moved, I’d feel him poking at me, but he was a man, for Christ sakes, right? I started to tremble in his arms, and Chris finally broke away from me. “You okay?” He whispered, and I could see water hanging off his long eyelashes, his eyes darker with arousal, and his hands left my back to span my waist. I nodded, the sound of our breathing loud in the space between us. He smiled that mischievous smile at me, the one that was my favorite. “I had to do that, I’m sorry.” He murmured, and I could do nothing but shake my head. I hadn’t had any coke before I left the house for work, which is very unusual for me, and I hadn’t had time to snort any during work, and from there I had left directly for Chris’s house, with a change of clothes in a bag. The result is that I was going to get the shakes, and they wouldn’t get any better with him touching me like that. I felt my hands start trembling and Chris’s face turned to one of familiar concern.

“Nyx, are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just really cold.” I smiled at him, though it didn’t feel like a real one, and Chris looked up at the sun, which was boiling hot at this time of day, and I could tell he was confused. He reached up and pushed back a strand of hair that was in my face, then ran the pad of his thumb against my mouth. I closed my eyes at the contact. Goosebumps popped out all over my arms, and Chris noticed, muttered a curse under his breath, and gently pulled me to the steps of the pool, which rose a level at a time until they met with the concrete of the patio. He got out of the pool and grabbed me a towel, then came back to wrap it around my shoulders.

“I’ve never seen someone get so cold like that.” Chris commented, yanking his dry shirt over his head and wrapping his towel around his neck. I laughed. “I don’t know why I get like that.” “I wasn’t going too far, was I?” Chris asked quietly, watching my reaction. I snickered, though It came out looking like a grimace. “No, are you kidding me? That was…that felt…” I could not find a word at it and instead just grinned at him, and he looked very pleased.

“Where are your clothes? I’ll get them and we’ll go into the house to warm you up.”
“Behind the pool shed.” I watched him jog behind the shed and return with my clothes, and we headed inside. Chris showed me to the bathroom, gave me the paintball outfit, and told me he’d be in the kitchen. I agreed and after I closed the door, I turned on the heater, ran the water in the sink, then bent down and quietly puked into Chris Kirkpatrick’s toilet.
*****************************
Damn that girl.

When Chris had seen her run past him, straight into his pool, clad only in a pair of red striped boy shorts and a matching bra, he thought the heat was making him hallucinate. But then she had popped up, her red hair wet around her face, jeering at him, he thought of only one thing: being close to her while she was in that state. He had tried that age old tactic of tickling, and it had worked until she had wrapped her legs around his waist. Chris almost had the breath knocked out of him by the force of her legs, which were stronger then they looked, and he was suddenly aware how close she was. Immediately, he forgot the pressure and could not help himself. This time, she had let him lead her, which was shocking, because she did not seem like the type of a girl to follow, but Chris had enjoyed being in control and tried to show her that he would not take advantage of her, though she was clearly asking for it, jumping in his pool that way. And then Nyx had gotten so cold, as if from fear, that Chris felt the iciness of her body creeping into his. It had to be at least a hundred and five in the shade out there, and it was like she was standing in front of the air conditioner. He had been shocked by it but was relieved to know he hadn’t caused it. Now he was farting around in the kitchen, waiting for her to emerge.

She had been in there at least 20 minutes now and Chris was fighting the urge to go and check on her, when she suddenly emerged from the bathroom in the bulky purple paintball outfit, looking a little pale, but ready to go, nevertheless. “Your sister is about the same size as me. Lucky me.” She smiled at him, looking down at herself. “Yeah, she’s not too great at paintball, so she won’t care if you use it.” Chris replied, then looked at the clock and grimaced. “Shit, we’re going to be late, let’s go.”

Chris didn’t have much music on his Iphone, so Nyx hooked up her Itouch and played some of her music for him, mostly Avenged Sevenfold, her favorite band. He liked them a lot and tried singing along with the songs, and Nyx just laughed at him and mock headbanged, which made him howl with laughter. It wasn’t long until they reached the same paintball arena where they had met for the second time, but they had a good time in the car, listening to AC/DC and Def Leppard too, and by the time they arrived at the paintball field, Nyx was losing some of her paleness and was ready to “slit some throats”, as she put it. There was a good bit of celebrities playing today and some paparazzi had turned out for the event, but Chris managed to sneak Nyx past them into the special tent that he and his friends had rented out for the event. He introduced her to some of his friends, some of them members of Nigels 11. Chris was instantly relieved to see that Nyx got on well with them-she was evidently used to hanging around with guys, and she responded to their teasing in kind. They gave raised eyebrows to Chris, who wasn’t very open about the girls he dated, but he just grinned, shrugging. Their tent was masked from the public until the event started, so Chris felt okay with letting her walk around without her helmet. The paparazzi weren’t usually interested in him, but they would take pictures of her, and he didn’t know how she’d react to it. Five minutes before the event started, they got ready to open their tent, and Chris helped Nyx put on her helmet and equipped her with a gun, which she seemed to be happy about. The announcer’s voice came over the PA and Chris’s group opened their tent. He was used to the sound of rapid fire cameras, but it wasn’t until that everyone was let loose onto the field that he realized how tiny she seemed next to all of them, and he knew that the paparazzi would be watching that.

The game was fast paced and brutal, and sometimes he couldn’t see Nyx, but at one point they were hiding behind the same obstacle, and he yelled, “Are you having fun?!”

“Fuck yeah!” Nyx replied, then pulled his head down to shoot someone behind him. Chris laughed and then two teams converged on them and all hell broke loose. Eventually Chris was captured and the next time he saw Nyx, she was shooting at him with her black paintballs, and she was good, damn good, able to hide in tight spots because of her size and hard to sneak up on because of it. Chris got her a good one in the ass, but she made shooting him her number one priority and by the time the tournament ended, he was splattered with black. They didn’t win first place, but came in second, and the guys on his team gave Nyx the medal, for she had busted the most ass in the game. When they met up again in the tent, Chris almost collapsed into laughter when he saw Nyx covered in every color of the rainbow, bumping into things because she couldn’t get her helmet off. After he had taken her helmet off and seen all the pink and yellow in her hair and the sunburn on her face, he couldn’t stop laughing, even though Nyx was fussing at him. The guys on his team clapped her on the back, they hugged her, they teased Chris about her and doted on her like Chris knew they would. It was the first time he had seen a smile on her face for an entire day, and he was very happy that he had brought her. The guys went to WOW and brought celebratory WOW-Ritas for everyone, causing everyone to get quite silly.

And then a nosy little shithead cameraman sneaked into the private tents and started taking pictures, and when Chris saw him coming, he grabbed Nyx’s arm. “Nyx, come with me, quick…” But he was too late and he felt sick as the photographer leaped at her, snapping away. Nyx wasn’t having any of it, though, and in front of his whole crew and some of the other teams, she jumped down the guy’s neck and pushed him out of the tent. Chris was shocked, but impressed, and she earned a few more nods of approval from his friends. It started getting dark and people were beginning to pack up and leave, but Chris’ party was still going strong, and the WOW-Ritas kept coming and people kept getting sillier and sillier.

Chris’ friend Dave had brought a digital camera and started taking pictures, and when he turned the lens on Chris and Nyx, Chris was pretty sure Nyx wouldn’t go for it, but to his surprise, she threw her paint spattered arm around his shoulders and offered up her little side smile.

And Chris realized that try as he might, he was getting very close to falling in love.
*************************************************
Christobel and Alan weren’t at home when they saw the news, which was essentially a good thing because after Alan watched it, he was sure he’d have a heart attack in front of his parents, and that would never do. They had been eating dinner at Alan’s parents, which was a stressful and very dry sort of occasion, with formal dress and full china, but with the unconventional effect of the senior Crane’s plasma TV full blast on the opposite wall. Alan’s father had a compulsive need to watch the news, both national and local, even during dinner, even though his wife hated it and spoke at length many times about throwing a vase at the damn thing. The senior Crane had been flipping idly through, ignoring his wife’s silent anger, when he had settled on a paintball tournament that had been filmed earlier in the area.

“Celebrities turned out for the All Star Paintball tournament today at Bay Park, ready to raise money for leukemia patients at St. Jude’s Hospital. Among the famous names were Pink, the Jonas Brothers, alternative band Fall Out Boy, and boyband popstar Chris Kirkpatrick, formerly of the group *NSYNC. The celebs raised at least $10,000…”

Alan froze in his seat as he recognized Christopher Kirkpatrick smiling on the screen, he felt his insides ice over. His dad grunted. “Damn fool celebrities and their stupid causes…” He raised the remote, about to change the channel, but then Alan saw the unmistakable red hair of his Nyx, sweaty, paint splattered and sunburned, grinning next to Chris as their team was presented with a medal. Christobel choked on her chicken and Alan started coughing. “Don’t turn it off, Dad!”

“Why not, son?” The older man barked, but Christobel answered him, sneering.

“It’s her on TV, Alan’s ex girlfriend.”

“That girl with the strange name? The waitress?” Crane senior barked, and Alan nodded, not able to speak. “Why ever is she on television, Alan?” His mother asked imperiously, her nose turning up in her natural dislike of Nyx. It was one of the many things that Christobel and Alan’s mother had in common-their intense hatred of Alan’s ex.

Christobel answered for Alan. “She’s dating that boy band popstar. He came around our house, taking her on a date. Why he wants her, God only knows.”

Crane senior cast a sneering look at Christobel; he was the only one of the family who approved of Nyx and did not enjoy Christobel’s company. “Young miss, at least your cousin makes no lies about who she is.”

Christobel was struck silent by the old man’s word and could not defend herself, instead she tore into her chicken with newfound violence and Alan resisted the urge to vomit all over his mother’s Persian rugs. Nyx was on TV, with that damn guy, and now things could only get worse.
*********************************************
“I’m never going to get this shit out of my hair!” I complained, pulling a strand in front of my face and grimacing.

“You’ll get it out, but it’ll take a shitload of shampoo.” Chris informed me as we got out of his car, still in our paintball outfits, though mine was unzipped and Chris was almost out of his, open to his waist. I helped him take his stuff into the house and we stripped out of the suits in his mudroom, leaving him in boxers and me in a wifebeater and shorts. Chris’ eyes crinkled as they looked me up and down. “You’re sunburned on your face. It’s really cute, but I should have given you some sunscreen.”

“What’s war without a little pain?” I jeered, and he snickered. “War, huh? Yeah, you were crazy out there, girl. You’ve got some serious bloodlust in you. I thought you were going to shoot the Jonas’ brothers legs off!”

I scoffed. “Well, how am I supposed to show respect to a bunch of male teenagers who allow themselves to be placed on the pink team?! And Pink pissed me off cause she was on the yellow team! I mean, Jesus, consistency, people!”

Chris chuckled. “You tell em, sister.”

“I will. That was a great time, Chris. Thanks a lot.” I said earnestly, grinning at him. Chris returned it and reached over to squeeze my hand. “You’re very welcome, I’m glad I invited you. The guys like you a lot. I’m sorry about that cameraman, though.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “He’ll think twice before he invades personal space again.”
Chris sniggered at my bravado and led me into his kitchen. I pulled myself up to sit on his kitchen counter, and when he turned around from the sink, he saw me and promptly started coughing and choking. I made a move to jump off, but he held out his hand, smiling a little to himself, though I didn’t know why.
“You ready to go dancing?” He wanted to know, leaning against the counter and looking at me in a way that made me immediately self conscious of myself.
“If I can get this shit out of my hair, I guess I have no choice.” I said dryly, and Chris pursed his lips. “Aw, Nyx, you always have a choice…just not about this.”
I did a snort and eyeroll combo, and he looked amused, but said nothing more and still continued to look at me that way over the rim of his glass. It was making me fuzzy, and to tell you the truth, I was feeling extremely sick, but I had fought it back and managed to concentrate on the paintball game and having fun with Chris’s friends. I had eaten nothing and snorted no coke and had nothing but Wow-Ritas in my belly, and when I looked down at Chris’s black tiled floor, I felt my head started to spin. Before I could fall over, I felt Chris’s arms bracing me.

“Whoa, Nyx, stay with me, babe.”

“Sorry.” I said drowsily, and Chris grasped the top of my arms. “Nyx, when was the last time you ate?”

“A sandwich at work.” I managed to say, before I felt something give way in my nose and I clapped my hand over my face.

“Can you get me an old rag or an old towel or a paper towel or something, please?” I asked Chris, my voice muffled, and Chris looked at me in alarm, but quickly made a towel bag with ice, then pulled my hand gently away from my face and held the cold cloth up to my bleeding nose.

“I’m sorry, I’m a mess.” I apologized, feeling embarrassed.

Chris shook his head. “Nah, it’s okay. I should have gotten you something to eat, I suck at taking care of you, Nyx.”

I smiled weakly. “You’re not my Dad.”

“Good thing, I’d be a horrible one.” He said breezily, but I could see he was still concerned. “This is familiar.” I tried to joke, looking pointedly down at his hand holding the towel to my nose, and Chris smiled at me. “Yeah, it is. Now hush up and let me take care of you.” I obeyed, cowed.

We stood there in silence, just watching each other, for what seemed like eternity. He seemed hell bent on making sure I was okay, and what was weird is that he seemed to enjoy that duty. I hated to keep on breaking out in nosebleeds around him, he was no fool, sooner or later he’d figure it out or think there was something wrong with me and stop hanging around, and despite my nature I did not want that to happen. Chris pulled the towel away from my nose and inspected it. “You’re good now, but I’m going to order a pizza and you’re going to eat or I’m going to hold you down and make you eat it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Ooh, promise?”

Chris gave me a Look, but moved between my legs, and I immediately tensed up. He smelled like grass and boy and paint, but I rather liked that combination and I sucked in my breath as his hands slowly ran up my legs. I tried to remember if I had shaved, then lost all train of thought.

“Chris…” I murmured, and his grip moved to my waist as he leaned his forehead against mine. “What?” He whispered, his breath brushing against my hot face.
“You stink.” I whispered back, and he grinned. “You do too.” He squeezed my waist, and with surprising strength, he picked me up and set me down on the floor.

“Last thing I need is for you to be falling off this thing and knocking yourself out while I’m on the phone.” He commented wryly, and as I flipped him off, he just shook his head and laughed at me, like I was nothing to be worried about.

After pizza, I left to go back to Alan and Christobel’s house to take a shower, despite Chris’ insistence that I use his. I couldn’t do that-I didn’t trust myself with the man. For a guy who acted a class clown and had the reputation for being the “weird” one, he certainly knew the right way to push my buttons, and my buttons were pretty rusty. In one second he could go from teasing, smartass Chris to tender, sensual Chris, and it was confusing and left me hot and weak kneed and he knew it.

I kept telling myself to be firm with him, to not let him get away with all his stolen caresses and looks, but I couldn’t. It would be like kicking a puppy. And Lord only knows what he might try to do to me tonight under the pretense of dancing. I went to the bathroom immediately after walking into my room, drew a bath, and attempted to scrub the living shit out of my skin.

Taking a bath took longer then usual because I kept getting out to puke. I felt horrible and I was sweating buckets, but I forced myself to wash my hair, and that took forever. I used up my entire bottle of shampoo getting that damn paint out and then half of my conditioner. After I was sure I had it all out, I tied it back and sat at the foot of the toilet for what seemed like forever. The thought of going out there in the dark heat of a dance club and having to put on a façade made me even sicker, but I didn’t want to call the night off. After ensuring there was nothing in my stomach, I got dressed and called Amparo for some Tylenol and water. Her brown eyes were filled with pity as she handed them over to me, and I had to look away from her. Pity is forbidden with me. I had no clothes that were really appropriate for dancing, but I managed to sneak one of Christobel’s shimmery slutty halter tops out of her room, even though I had never dressed like that. I paired it with dark capris and ballet shoes, then tried to hide my tired eyes with makeup. The overall effect was pretty good, I had to admit, but I hated myself for dressing like this just because I was falling for Chris. For a second I considered slipping onto a nice Ed Hardy and a pair of jeans, but I stopped myself.

If Chris wanted to drive me crazy, fine, I’d give him that, but return it three fold.
*****************************
“Chris! Hey, Baio! I’m here, where the living hell are you?!” I called into the quiet house as I let myself in. Chris was nowhere in sight and I couldn’t hear him, which was weird because the man couldn’t enter a room without making some sort of noise. I looked everywhere, but Chris wasn’t around, so I walked out into the backyard. I found him immediately, lying out on a lawn chair, apparently asleep. I tiptoed around to face him and was struck by how childlike he looked while sleeping. He looked sixteen, not thirty seven, and my breath caught despite myself. Perfect. He was perfect. What was I doing, fucking with his life?
His eyes opened suddenly and he straightened up and blinked up at me.

“Nyx?”

“Yeah? Who else?” I grinned down at him.

Chris reached up and took my hand. “My god, Nyx, you look amazing. Wow. Come here.”

I swallowed a large lump in my throat as he pulled me down to his level, scooting over so that I could sit next to him.

“You’ve been holding out on me, girl.” He whistled appreciatively and I blushed.

“This shirt is Christobel’s.”

“Well, you look fucking delicious in it. Eat your heart out, bitch!” He yelled the last part into the dark, muggy night, and I laughed, even though I wanted to cry. “You look good yourself, Kirkpatrick.”

He thanked me, but really he looked fucking amazing. Black bandanna with jeans and a black Affliction shirt-rawr.

“You ready to get freaky?” Chris made a stupid face, and I couldn’t help myself, I started giggling. “If it involves that face, then no thanks.”

“Aw, no, I’ll give you my Barry White impersonation.” Chris gave me a very exaggerated sexy look, puckering his lips, and I could not stop laughing. “You know, gay guys make that face. It works for you.”

Chris shook his head. “Nope, I’ve got love for my gay brothers, but I am 100% all American heterosexual male, girl. Never have doubt about that. Though that top does look FABUUULOUS.”

That did it, I collapsed on top of him with uncontrollable giggles. He seemed delighted in making me laugh and continued to tease me and make stupid faces for my benefit. By the time we left the house to go to the club, my stomach hurt from all our cracking up.

That’s the one thing he could always do-make me laugh when I felt like crying.
*************************************************
I remembered instantly why I hated clubbing-the drunk assholes, the shitty expensive drinks, the crappy music, but because Chris was there with me, and some of the guys from the paintball party, it seemed less lame and more, I don’t know, magical or some shit. The DJ was a friend of Chris’ and always started playing old music like Def and Aerosmith and that sort of stuff when he walked in, so I didn’t feel too alienated. Chris and I had a few drinks and I met the DJ, who allowed me to try my hand at spinning some records. I was abysmal at it, but Chris just laughed.

We went up in VIP (that was sort of cool) and hung out with Chris’ friends, who seemed to be happy that I had joined them, and all of them asked to dance with me at one point, making Chris give them mock angry looks. That made me feel sort of good inside, though I didn’t want to admit it to myself. I was a bit uncomfortable, out of my element, after all, I hadn’t been clubbing since high school, but I guess you can take the girl away from Bourbon, yet you can’t take the Bourbon out of a girl. I was also worried I’d start having a nosebleed or needing to puke, since my skin was crawling and I was scared everyone could see it, but it was dark and nobody seemed to notice. After awhile of feeling nothing but mere queasiness, I began to enjoy myself. Chris appeared from out of nowhere, plucked my drink out of my hand, then gently led me downstairs to the dance floor. I gulped. Here goes nothing.

The DJ started playing Rihanna and though I’m not a fan of rap or R&B, I automatically slipped into Bourbon mode and my hips remembered what to do. Chris chuckled at first, but he wasn’t laughing when I pressed up against him and started moving. He was a great dancer, as I had predicted, and when he pulled me around and close to him, his hand on the small of my back and his eyes on mine, I felt daring, like I hadn’t for years. We danced for what seemed like hours, and we danced to everything, rap, mixed up rock, R&B- and I couldn’t believe how much fun I was having. I hadn’t smiled like this in forever, and for the first time I wasn’t thinking about the need for a drink or a snort or pills. Chris reluctantly handed me over to his friends while he took a breather, and I had fun with them, but when Chris came back, they moved aside and let him near me. He didn’t kiss me on the mouth the entire time, but I had expected that in public-I was happy enough to feel his hands on my bare skin and his mouth brushing against my throat when we got close. The last song of the night was a Jackson 5 remix and everyone went fucking batty, including Chris. I just laughed and tried to keep up, but I stood no chance. Chris knew all the moves, having done the song for one of his tours, and I was in amazement. He was hamming it up, but watching him dance made me sort of hot.

We didn’t leave the club for awhile, even after it closed, and by then we were all pretty sloshed and Chris’ friends put us in a cab. Chris was wired, even though it was close to 3am and I was almost dead on my feet. “I haven’t gone nuts like that in awhile.” He admitted, and I laughed softly. “Me either. Probably since high school. It was a blast, though.” “I thought I was going to have to teach you a few things, but you rocked the boat, girl, I’m impressed!” Chris teased, and I swatted him. “Of course I can rock the boat, boy.”

“You’re not lying. You were driving me nuts.” Chris buried his face in my hair and I saw the cab driver look at us in the rearview mirror.

“You’re pretty drunk, you need to go to sleep.” I told him, but he shook his head.

“I couldn’t sleep if you paid me.”

“What’d they put in those drinks, crack? You have more energy then five year old kids.” I observed, and he nuzzled my forehead. “That’s what Joey used to say about me. Pure sugar.”

“Well, Joey wasn’t lying.” I stopped the cabdriver and gave him some money, and helped Chris up his driveway, fumbling in his pocket for his house keys. I wasn’t sure I could get him upstairs, so I put him in his computer room on the spare bed. Chris groaned as his head hit the pillow.

“Captain, I’m drunk.”
“I know you are, Baio.” I pulled off his shoes, thinking how odd it was for me to be taking care of someone else like this. “Are you drunk?” He wanted to know, raising his head off the pillow.

“Desperately.”

“Come lay down with me.” Chris slurred, and I smiled, even though I felt incredibly sick.

“I have to go home, Chris.”

“Don’t go home, I’ll behave myself, I promise.” Chris pointed at me, and I snickered.

“I’m not worried about my virtue.”

“Then why you leavin?” Chris muttered, and I tucked a blanket around him.

“Because if I don’t leave, how can I come back?” I whispered, and one of his eyes opened, unfocused.

“Will you come back, though?”

I just smiled.

**********************************************
After leaving Chris a pot, a glass of water, and some Pepto Bismol, I quietly let myself out of his house and crept down the street towards Alan’s. I barely got to the front step without throwing up, and before I had a chance to put my key in the door, it was wrenched open and I nearly fell inside. Christobel was waiting, like bad news.

Christobel had an entire arsenal in place, but when she saw me, her mouth stretched in a strange shape when she saw her shirt upon my body. “What the fuck are you doing, wearing my shirt?”

“Relax, dammit, it’s not like anybody appreciates you in it.” I mumbled, really not in the mood for her self righteous bullshit.

“Fucking cunt. Now you’re stealing? Great, I should throw you out on your ass, Nyx. You can go stay with that boy band guy you’re probably screwing, and he can deal with your lying and drugging and stealing.” Christobel was right behind me as I doggedly climbed the stairs, and her voice was like dropping an anvil on my skull.
“Shut the fuck up about him.” I threatened, turning to face her.

“Christobel. Stop fucking around with Nyx and come to bed.” I saw Alan’s tired face appear below us in the foyer, but Christobel didn’t listen to him.

“We saw you on TV, like you were something special, like you were famous. If any of those people, especially your little boyfriend, knew that you spend your nights snorting up everything you can, it would be the end of you, and you know it.”

“Christobel!” Alan was at the bottom of the steps now, but she was like a dog with a bone.

“In fact, I should tell him myself, maybe that would get your ass out of Florida and stop fucking up our lives and go back to that shitty ass state where you belong…”
That was it, the threat to tell Chris was the straw that broke the camel’s back and I wheeled around and barely restrained myself from decking the bitch and knocking her ass down the stairs. I let my eyes do the talking and stalked her down the stairs until she backed into Alan, too cowed to speak.

“If you say a word, I’ll ruin your life, bitch.” I spoke quietly and at the moment there was so much familiar hate inside of me that the entire day spent with Chris might as well had never happened.

Alan looked down at the floor and shook his head. Christobel was trembling. I leaned closer to her ear.

“You know I can.”

And with that, I turned and stomped upstairs.

When I got into the room, I ripped off Christobel’s shirt with my bare hands and went straight for the coke underneath my bed. I did thirteen lines, straight in a row, kicked off my shoes, dove under the covers, and managed to sleep for 16 hours.
***********************************************
Chris woke up with a hangover that slammed him directly between the eyes. He promptly rolled over and puked, most of it landing into a pot placed strategically next to the bed. “Nyx,” He thought gratefully, and almost cried with relief when he saw the glass of water and Pepto Bismol on his desk. He drank the entire glass of water and gulped down the Pepto Bismol, then immediately fell back onto the bed, hands over his eyes. Chris dimly remembered a shimmering top and her face floating just out of his reach, someone taking off his shoes and covering him with a blanket. He groaned, hoping that he had not said or done anything stupid, but more then likely, he had, hence the reason for Nyx not being anywhere around.
And she had been pretty plastered too, Chris thought, and his insides gave a painful lurch as he remembered that she had probably walked back home in the dark. Granted, his neighborhood couldn’t get any safe then it already was, but still, he was worried. He groped his person for his Iphone and found laying under the blanket, miraculously in one piece. He dialed Nyx, wincing when her ringback tone drove little spikes of pain into his head. She didn’t answer, and it went to voicemail.

“Nyx, this is Chris. Give me a call back when you get this, so I can make sure you’re okay. I have the worst hangover in the fucking world. Thanks for leaving that stuff out for me, you’re a doll. Please call me. Later.”

He hung up and promptly crashed out.
****************************************************
When I finally peeled my eyes open around 6:00 that next day, I thought I was in the throes of death. I was covered in sweat, my entire body was freezing, there was blood caked on the front of my white shirt (when had I put on a shirt?) and my mouth felt like someone had crammed dirty cotton into it. A headache raged behind my head and the sunburn from yesterday was in full effect, adding insult to injury.

“You’re finally awake.”

I turned my head to the side with much difficulty and saw Alan’s head popping up from the floor, his eyes bleary and his blonde hair a mess.
“Why are you on the floor?” I murmured-talking was like raking a razorblade down my voicebox.

“I had to call a doctor for you, Nyx. You were puking up blood again, not to mention a temperature of almost 102 degrees.”

“He didn’t take me to the hospital?” I asked weakly, and Alan shook his head.
“I can’t take you to the hospital now. You were all over TV, Nyx. Someone will recognize you.”

I rolled my eyes and even THAT action hurt. “What the shit are you talking about?”
Alan sighed in exasperation. “We saw you on TV at the paintball thing, Nyx. You were with Chris, and people know it now, and I’m not taking the chance of bringing you to a local hospital where someone might leak it to the press.”

“That’s ridiculous. Chris said that the paparazzi don’t even care about him anymore.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

“They WILL care if the girl he’s hanging around with comes into the hospital with coke and liquor in her. So I got a doctor to come to you.”

“Alan, you have to stop this. Why do you care if someone finds me out? I thought you didn’t want me with Chris.” I was thoroughly confused and it was making me irritated, which in turn was making me feel worse. Alan stood to his feet and glowered over me.

“It’s not just for you and Chris’s benefit, Nyx. If people find out I’m harboring you in my house, things will go apeshit. And I may not like you and Chris together, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be a total dick about it.” Alan sighed, pulling up a chair close to the bed and taking my hand between his.

“I’m sorry, Alan.” I whispered, and he squeezed my hand.

“Stop apologizing, damn you. Nyx, you NEED to stop. You have to. The doctor wanted to admit you very badly but I made him do all he could here. He said if you don’t stop, you’ll fucking die. And if you fucking die, I’ll hunt you down and kill you twice for leaving me here with your fucking cousin.”

I scoffed. “That’s bullshit. I’m not going to die. Where the hell did you get this jackoff doctor, anyway?”

“He’s my parents’ physician and he’s not a crackpot. Your liver is going to fail, and you’re losing too much weight. You don’t sleep unless you pass out, and you get migraines and nosebleeds because your nose is being destroyed. If you don’t get help, I’ll drag you out of this house and put you in rehab myself. And if you decide to be with Chris, then you either have to tell him or stop. This is just not about you anymore. You have a family in another state and friends that love you. I love you. And I’m pretty damn sure that Chris is getting close to that point, too.”

I groaned and turned my head away from his guilt trip. Everything he was saying was true, and I spent most of my time ignoring the fact that one of these days, cocaine was going to win, and I was going to lose.

“Isn’t any of that important to you anymore?” Alan whispered, gripping my hand.
I looked back at him and sighed, pulling my hand away and wiping my nose with it.
“I want to stop, Alan. I do.” I whispered, trying not to start crying.

“Then let’s try, Nyx. I’ll put you in rehab. I’ll be glad to pay the bill. Christobel can bitch until the cows come home, but I don’t give a shit. You can stop this crap and be healthy, you won’t have to be a slave to yourself anymore. Please, give it a try, for me. And if you don’t want to do it for me, do it for Chris.”

I shook my head. “If I do it, I do it for me.”

Alan looked sad, but he managed a smile. “Whatever. Will you do it?”

I stared up at the ceiling. “I can’t promise you anything, Alan, except that I’ll try.”

He rested his forehead on my clammy hand. “Then that’s all I ask.”
**********************************************

Woke up to that familiar feeling
Staring at an unfamiliar ceiling
Still got your jeans on but you're topless
Headache and the stomach feels nauseous
Grab your shirt off the bedroom floor
And trying to recollect the night before
How'd you get from the bar to this mattress?
And when you got here then what happened?
And where's the who that lives here?
In this house you wanna figure out how'd you get here
But the thought got cut by nature
Find the bathroom the gut got anger
Here it comes can't avoid it
Ain't the first time throwin' up in a strange toilet
Anyone else would leave but
You crawl back to the bed and fall back asleep

All we need is because
So come and party with us
Take care of you when you're passed out
Right there with you in your glasshouse

Close, But No Cigar


I didn’t get out of bed for the rest of the night.

I didn’t bother getting up or cleaning myself off, or even brushing the fur off my teeth. I ignored my phone and refused to talk to anyone, even Alan, who came in periodically to check on me and pleaded with me to speak, which did no good. When he would leave the room, I’d allow my guilt, always repressed before, to flood my insides.

Until Alan had stated my shortcomings so plainly, I had never really given a thought to what would happen to the ones I might leave behind. My drug and alcohol abuse served to please only myself, and nobody had ever really asked me to stop. Plus, now I basically had a death sentence handed to me by some richy rich doctor and even I couldn’t ignore science. I had feelings for a man I didn’t deserve, and I was breaking my best friend’s heart.

I tried to remember the last time I had felt normal, or had fun, prior to meeting Chris, and couldn’t remember when a good time didn’t require liquor or coke or pills. I suddenly realized how fucking pathetic that was. I wasn’t grateful for the things I had been given-things I was blessed to have and never stopped to appreciate-the love and acceptance of a good family, friends like Alan.

I believed in God but did not believe in the institution of church and rarely prayed. Praying wasn’t exactly on my list of priorities when I was in a drunken stupor every night. But I hadn’t forgotten how, and I knew it couldn’t hurt. I could not get on my knees and I could not speak, but I clasped my hands and closed my eyes, sniffling back tears.

“Talk to me. I need you.”

******************************
Chris checked his phone, muttering oaths to himself when he saw that he hadn’t been summoned. No voicemails. No calls back. Did people from Louisiana ever answer their fucking phones?

He hadn’t rolled out of bed till 3pm and still felt nasty, but his hangover was forgotten when he saw that Nyx had not called him back. He had braved the unforgiveable heat to walk down the curb and check for her car, which was there, but that meant nothing. So between gulps of Pepto Bismol, forcing down bread, and popping Ibuprofen, he had paced the length of his living room, debating whether or not to walk over to Alan’s.

Chris tried to tell himself that the girl was probably sleeping, since she had been in nonstop motion all day yesterday, but he could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. He wished he wouldn’t have been so drunk last night, he should have insisted that she stay, no matter how she tried to protest.
So as much as he wanted to march over there and demand to see her, Chris made himself believe that everything was fine, and that Nyx would come around when she was ready. He swore he’d wait.

He waited for two days.
***************************************
As irony goes, Christobel was the one who got me out of bed. For two days I had stayed in bed, not speaking to anyone, ignoring the trays of food that Amparo and Maria brought up for me, my appetite not even stirring for toast or bacon. I let myself become positively rank and would not allow anyone to change my bedsheets. When I was spoken to or interrupted, I either pretended to be asleep or exploded in a fit of anger that left me weak. The maids didn’t want to come near me-I was wasting away. Alan tried his best, but after I threw a lamp at his head, he didn’t come back, and I didn’t blame him. I was in a positive pit of self loathing and self pity and I hated myself for it, but could not find a good enough reason to get up and get my ass in gear. Christobel, however, got tired of it, and our genetic likenesses reared its ugly head on the second day.

I had been lying there trying to find a position that I wouldn’t smell myself, trying not to think of Chris’s mouth on my neck and his fingers in my hair. I missed him and I didn’t want to and had ordered the maids to keep my cell phone far away from my reach. I was almost asleep when Christobel kicked my door open with an sonorous BANG that left a dent in the plaster. How her tiny ass managed that kick, I wonder to this day. I shot upright in bed.

“What the…”

Christobel’s face was alarmingly red and she stormed up to my bed, a little Napoleon.

“You WILL get your funky ass out of this bed, RIGHT now.”

“Fuck off, Christobel.” I muttered , turning over to ignore her. But she grabbed my shoulder, reared her hand back, and slapped me. Hard enough to make my head rock back violently-I saw stars. My nose started gushing immediately. Christobel didn’t even wait for me to recover from my shock.

“Stop fucking feeling so goddamn sorry for yourself, you idiot. All you do is lay in bed and boohoo about how life isn’t fair to you because you have a problem. Get OVER it. Everybody fucking loves you, the family, your idiot friends, even my goddamn fiancé loves you more then me! And you’re going to act like a selfish cunt?!

I just stared at her, agog. I was still struck dumb by her blow, being angry hadn’t even occurred to me yet. She glared down at me, silicone chest pumping, nostrils flared out.

“Everyone has always loved you more then me, and you don’t even deserve it, Nyx. You take advantage of everyone, and still they love you. You’re a heartless, fucked up person, and if this were my house, you would have been on the curb the night you arrived. But it’s not my house, it’s Alan’s, and he’s too wimp and crazy for you to kick you out. But if you don’t get your shit straight, if you don’t stop using and lying, I’m going to go one step further then kicking you out.”

Christobel took a deep breath.

“I’ll call your mother.”

*************************
“You wouldn’t, you bag of plastic!” I gasped, horrified.

“Try me. Just fucking try me, bitch.” Christobel growled, and at that moment she looked so much like me that I actually shrank back from her.

“If your ass isn’t out of this bed in an hour, I’m getting on the phone. And I’ll make sure the entire family comes, and I’ll tell them what you do. And I know that you are terrified of them ever putting you on my level, so if you’re as smart as everyone claims you are, you’ll listen to me.” Christobel barked, and I winced from the truth of that statement. For playing an idiot all these years, Christobel wasn’t as dumb as she looked. As I was trying to recover my voice, Christobel turned like a drill sergeant and hollered for Amparo and Maria. They appeared instantly, probably just listening around the corner, and Christobel pointed at me.

“Get her out of bed. Change the sheets. Lock her in the damn bathroom if you have to, but don’t let her leave before she’s taken a shower. If she gives you any lip, I give you permission to slap the living shit out of the bitch. And when you’re done with all that, bring her up some toast and shove it down her goddamn throat.”

The maids probably couldn’t understand half of what Christobel was screeching, but they understood “slap the living shit out of her”, and their eyes got huge. I got the very nasty feeling that they’d enjoy that part after my behavior for the past two days.

“And,” Christobel added before she left, “if you find any cocaine, flush it down the toilet, and make her watch.”

The door slammed.

I hated to say it, but I was impressed.
***************************************
Chris was sitting on his sofa fidgeting, trying to watch a movie and not his phone, but he had gone through most of his DVD library (which was considerable) and couldn’t concentrate on anything he had picked out. Two days he had been like this! At first he had been worried, and then he had started to feel insane, and now he was really beginning to get pissed. Nyx’s car hadn’t left the curb, at all, and nobody seemed to leave the imposing Crane residence, ever. Her phone was shut off now.

Chris was coming close to a breaking point and had generously partook in massive amounts of Grey Goose because of it, so his hangover was continuous.
It was halfway through the Watchmen on Blu-Ray that he heard the doorbell ring, and he had actually been engrossed in the movie, so his mind was elsewhere when he got up to answer it.

Nyx stood there, on his steps.
********************************************
Chris just stared at her.

She was wearing a red Sinful shirt and loose jeans, and her hair was soft and red and fell over her shoulders. Her eyes were tired but she had that half smile on her mouth. Chris didn’t realize how much he felt for her until he saw her after those two days, and it scared the shit out of him.

“Chris? Do you want me to leave?” Nyx asked quietly, and Chris shook himself out of his stupor.

“No, I don’t want you to leave. Come in.” He pulled the door wider for her, and she stepped past him. A wave of satsuma and mint smacked him right in the face and he closed his eyes.

“Ah, Watchmen.” Nyx nodded at the paused TV, trying to make awkward conversation. “Good movie, saw it in IMAX.”

Chris closed the door and faced her, sighing. “Nyx, where the hell have you been?”
Nyx bit her lips. “That’s what I came to talk to you about.”

A very bad feeling bubbled up in Chris’ already sensitive stomach, but he gestured to the couch, and Nyx nodded and sat down. He sat on the other side of the couch, knowing that if he got close to her, he would not be able to have this conversation. Nyx took a deep breath and clasped her hands together.

“First of all, Chris-I really don’t want you to think I am ignoring you. It’s not like that. I’ve thought about you a lot these two days. Do you believe me?”

“I want to.” Chris said honestly, and she nodded.

“I hope you do, because I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Chris cracked a smile he didn’t feel. “Good.”

Nyx gave him a nervous smile. “Secondly, I’m not coming here to say that I’m going to stop hanging out with you. I really want to see where this is going, if you still want to, after these past two days. I won’t lie, I’m scared to death. I haven’t been with anybody for about three, four years, in any capacity. But there are…there are things about me that I’m not proud of.” Her voice seemed to stick, and Chris saw in horror that she was trying not to cry. He reached out for her, but she shook her head. “I’m fine.”

Patience was not one of Chris’ greatest attributes, but he let her regroup.

Nyx took a shuddery breath. “If you want to still hang out with me, all I ask is that you understand my need for privacy. I’m not the type to talk about my problems or ask for help, and that can be annoying to some people. Before you, this was unhealthy. Now that I’ve met you, and we’ve done things together, it’s easier to get through the day.”

Chris bit his lip and could not say anything, but this time when he reached for her hand, she let him take it.

“All I need is for you to be you, and we’ll see where it goes from there.” Nyx whispered.

Though Chris had a million questions, none of which he could ask without denying her wishes, he could not bring himself to say no to her request. Instead, he nodded, not bothering to think of the consequences this would have, how unfair it was, not knowing that he’d stew in frustration further down the road. All that mattered to him was that Nyx was there, and that she was willing to be with him. Chris pulled her closer until her head fit into his shoulder. He couldn’t speak, and for Chris, that was a miracle. He buried his face into the mint smell of her hair and rubbed her arm. She felt unbelievably real and warm against his side, and Chris finally found his voice.

“Are you going to keep disappearing like that? Just so I can be prepared?” He added quickly, as he felt her tense up. Nyx raised her head and looked at him.
“I’ll try not to.” She whispered, and he nodded, his eyes on her mouth, but he didn’t kiss her. Instead, Chris tucked her head back into his chest and kissed her forehead, then clicked the PLAY button on his remote.

Chris Kirkpatrick was a very, very stubborn man. He didn’t like restrictions and he believed he had the power to change or help people, whether they wanted it or not. For him, agreeing to Nyx’s conditions were just a necessary pretext-he really didn’t think he’d have to adhere to it.

Silly rabbit-Nyx ain't for kids.
*******************************************
Over the next few weeks, I tried my best.

When I got off of work, I tried my damndest to ignore the leftover beers. Whenever I saw Maria or Wade, I hurried away before I could act on the urge to buy coke from them. When Chris and I went out to dinner, I always refused liquor and got a soda instead. Chris accepted my excuse that I was trying to lay off drinking for awhile, he even followed suit, most of the time. As smart as he was, I don’t think he ever suspected anything. I didn’t have to try at home, since Christobel and Alan dumped all the liquor out and forbade any of the maids to get me some, under penalty of termination. And I was not even close to being worth their cushy jobs. I really tried, I did.

But withdrawal was brutal. It was hell to keep up appearances at work, especially in front of Chris, though he attributed most of my fatigue from work, which was lucky for me. When he and I didn’t have plans, (which was rare) I spent most of my time in my room, sweating, puking and crying. Alan would come up sometimes and hold my hand, but gone were the days when he’d give me a bump just to stop me from losing my mind. I was in hell.

But when I was with Chris, it was easier to not think about what would happen when I’d get home. At work, when I wasn’t puking in the bathroom, I was daydreaming about him, something I had never done before with any guy. Try as I might to be tough, the man didn’t let me strut around like an asshole. When I got too sassy, he’d give me a Look, and I’d calm down instantly. It was fucking crazy. Me! Shutting my trap like that! But Chris had a deviousness of his own, he was constantly hamming, performing, teasing. He loved to bait me and see me rise to it, he was merciless when it came to making me laugh; he wouldn’t stop until I was seconds away from pissing on myself. I had never laughed so much before.
When he wasn’t trying to kill me with humor and practical jokes, Chris was hell bent on bringing out my soft side. He pulled out my chairs, opened my doors, respected my hesitancy about being physical, and though I knew he’d never take advantage of me, he always asked me to stay over after a date. After a few times, he knew the answer, but he always asked, but never pressed the matter. I had never been so aroused or confused or shocked by tenderness in my life. It drove me batty. Along with withdrawal symptoms, I couldn’t sleep, I counted down seconds at work until I would hear his motorcycle roaring around the corner to pick me up. I watched old *NSYNC videos and tried to wrap my brain around the fact that I had kissed the man on the train in the Bye Bye Bye video, I even learned the dances, even though I never told him.

We didn’t kiss a lot, even though Chris liked to catch me out of the blue with them, always gentle, never going further then hands on my waist or my back or my hair. I wanted to sleep with him insanely but I could not bring myself to do it. His innocent touches on my back or in my hair started to make my head fuzzy. Sexual frustration and substance withdrawal do not go well together. When I wasn’t puking at home, I was terrorizing anyone who crossed my path.

And then things started to happen in frightening succession.
****************************************
My phone rang just as I was getting out of the bathtub.

I checked the display and smiled to myself, like a cat who got the cream.

“What do you want, Baio?”

“Hey now, sister, don’t sound so excited. What are you doing?” Chris teased, and I rolled my eyes.

“Hanging out with my other boyfriend, Raoul. He bids you hello but told me to let you know that I’m not available.”

“Well, Raoul can fuck off.” Chris said cheerfully, and I laughed.

“So your other boyfriend, huh? You have two?” He said, casually, and I froze.

“Um…well…look, I didn’t mean to say all that…”

Chris started to laugh, and once he got going, it was hard for him to stop. “Nyx, you are paranoid.”

I stuck out my tongue at the phone.

“I heard you do that. Listen, I’m throwing a BBQ next weekend, bunch of my friends are coming, some of the guys you know from the paintball tournament, and I think the rest of the group are going to be able to make it. You’re automatically invited, of course, but I wanted to make sure you’d be okay with all that.”

I gulped. “When you say, the rest of the group-do you mean THE GUYS?”

“Yeah, you know-Joey and Lance and JC and Justin. Who else?”

“Okay, so the guys collectively known as *NSYNC. Right. Got you.” I closed my eyes and uttered a silent oath. I hadn’t ever expected I’d meet the rest of them, to tell you the truth, the thought turned my stomach. These guys were Chris’ brothers, and knew him the best. If they didn’t like me, I had little doubt that Chris would turn a deaf ear to their opinions. Chris talked a lot about them, and they sounded like really good people, but I felt as if a brick had slid into my stomach.

“Nyx? Are you there? Helllllooo?” I almost dropped the phone.

“Yeah, I’m here, Chris. I’m here.”

“I can hear what you’re thinking, and don’t worry about it. I promise, the guys will love you.”

I laughed, but it wasn’t real. “I hope so.”

“Nyx, babe, STOP WORRYING.” Chris scolded, a frequent abomination of his.

“Okay, okay, okay! I’ll stop worrying.” I hastily amended, and the line went quiet for a few seconds.

“You’re still worrying!” Chris accused, and I groaned in exasperation.

“Nyx, if you don’t want to come, I’ll get it.” Chris said, very quietly. I sighed.

“I want to. And I will.”

“Good. I’m glad. I’d REALLY like my brothers to meet my girlfriend.” Chris teased, a little bit shyly.

I chuckled nervously. “Your girlfriend, huh? Let’s see what Raoul has to say about that.”

“Raoul better get the hell away from her.” Chris growled, and I laughed, a real one this time.

“Are you coming over?” He asked, and I heard him tapping impatiently on a surface of some sort.

“Yeah, let me get out of the tub, you pain in the ass.”

Chris growled. “How bout you stay there and I come over instead?”

I snorted. “How about you take a cold shower?”

“No thanks, not as much fun. See you soon. Muah!” Chris smacked loudly into the phone, and I could not help myself-I smacked back.
*******************************************
As the day of the BBQ drew near, my withdrawal symptoms seemed to reach an all time high. This time, I passed it off as the flu, and Chris didn’t take no for an answer-he basically bullied the maid into letting him come up and see me, as Alan and Christobel were off on a skiing trip. I had begged Chris not to come over, to preserve his health for the BBQ, but he was stubborn. When he bustled into my room, carrying a plastic bag of every flu medicine that CVS had to offer, he stopped in his tracks when he saw how pale I was. The bag dropped on the floor, and Chris stared.

I knew what I looked like-pale, emaciated, exhausted. I could keep nothing down, and I went through boxes of Kleenex. The maids cleaned up around me and grabbed things if I couldn’t reach them, but I was mostly on my own for the first day, during which Chris was at the studio and I was still struggling with my pride. Alan hadn’t wanted to leave me, but he had a business deal that couldn’t be ignored, and he told me that he’d be calling the doctor to check on me. The doctor wasn’t due for another two days, and I was fairly sure that nothing in Chris’s little bag would help me.

“I don’t want you to see me like this.” I protested, and he just shook his head. “Nyx, what the hell are you sick with, malaria? You look like death, literally.”
Chris picked up the bag and took a few steps towards me, but I held out my hand. “Don’t come close.” Of course he wouldn’t catch what I had, but he didn’t know that. Chris rolled his eyes. “If I get sick, I’ll dope myself up until the party. Alan left you like this?” I could see anger building in his dark eyes, and I shook my head. “I’m a big girl, for Christ sakes, stop fussing.”

 Chris glared at me. “I’m not fussing, goddammit. Alan’s a dick to leave you like this.”

“He already arranged for a doctor to come and see me.”

“Yeah, when?” Chris challenged, and I sighed. “Two days.”

He laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, okay, two days. Where’s this doctor’s number? I’m going to call him.”

Panic welled up in me. “You can’t! Don’t! I don’t know the number!” I got too excited and promptly started coughing, and Chris sat down in a chair and grasped my hand, those muddy brown eyes squinted in worry.

“Nyx, calm down, babe.”

But I couldn’t-if Chris called the doctor, the doctor would say quite plainly what was wrong with me, and I couldn’t have that. I sucked in deep breaths, but it wouldn’t help. Chris immediately sat on my bed and stroked my hair.

“Nyx, listen to me-you have to calm down. I won’t call the doctor, but if you don’t chill, I will bring you to a hospital.”

I looked up at him, miserable. “What are you doing, Chris? Why are you here?”
Chris attempted a smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You don’t deserve this.” I murmured, not able to look at him.

“Nyx, don’t tell me what I do or don’t deserve. I’m sick of hearing that from you. You think because I used to be famous that I constantly have to be schmoozing or around certain people, that I’m not normal enough to take care of somebody?” Now he sounded angry, and I didn’t blame him. I couldn’t meet his eyes, those dark eyes that knew so much.

I shook my head. “I’m not saying that. You aren’t like that-I really don’t think of you as Chris Kirkpatrick, famous guy. I just…you’re Chris to me. Always have been.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way, and let’s get one thing straight, sister. You’re my girlfriend, and I’m not going to leave you sit here in this room, alone. I’m going to dope your ass up, bring you to my house, watch you puke, and stuff food down your throat, and I swear to God, if you give me any shit about it, I’ll make you listen to Miley Cyrus and/or the Jonas Brothers. Are you getting me?” Chris barked.
He reminded me so much of Christobel at that moment that I couldn’t help snickering, despite how sick I felt. Chris stamped his foot, trying to be firm, but I could see his eyes crinkling in relief. “Stop laughing. I mean it. I’m the nurse from hell.” His mouth moved in funny shapes, trying not to smile, but it didn’t work-in minutes, we were laughing, like we always do.

***********************************************
Without a hitch, I was moved from Alan’s house to Chris’. Chris was remarkably adept at getting people to do his bidding, and with my assistance, he managed to communicate to the maids that I was evacuating the premises, and they were all too happy to help me out of there.

Chris wanted me to stay in his guest bedroom, but I protested against the stairs, so I got to sleep on the bed in the computer room, which was closer to a bathroom. I liked this spot, as we could hang out without me even leaving the bed. He would mess around on the computer or strum on his countless guitars while I slept, and I did a lot of it. The first night I was there, he had lined up at least six or seven shotglasses in front of me, and instead of liquor, poured out medicine, which he watched me drink, under penalty of an ass whooping. Chris was right-he was the nurse from hell. He bossed me around relentlessly, rated my puking on a scale from 1-10, and watched over every move I made. I was too amused to get irritated. But the best part was that he didn’t ask any questions, even though I saw them in his eyes. Every time I got a nosebleed, every time I’d throw up, every time I’d get the shakes, Chris would look at me, barely veiled suspicion in his eyes. This was no flu, and he knew it, but he didn’t want to upset me.

I don’t know if it was because I was willing to get better, or just because some of his medicines were working, but I began to feel improvement. I actually started to want to eat the food Chris made for me, instead of being forced to eat it, and in turn, it stayed down. I actually gained some weight, and my nosebleeds ceased in severity and stopped coming so often. I was able to get up and move around, even if I was drugged up on cough medicine to the fifth power. Chris was proud of himself and strutted around like a peacock the first few days I was walking around, until I fake puked on the carpet to take him down a peg.

After a week, I was pretty much back to normal. I knew in my heart that the withdrawals would probably not stop completely, but it was the first time the feigning wasn’t as hard, mostly because Chris kept me entertained well into the wee hours of the morning.

After my strength had been regained, I realized that it was going to be hard, sleeping at his house when I no longer had the excuse of being sick to keep us apart. During that whole week, Chris acted like an older brother, not my boyfriend, but once I started feeling better, his little touches immediately returned. A hand at the small of my back in the kitchen, his arm thrown over the back of the sofa at night, a kiss on the forehead when he went up to bed that did not feel at all brotherly. The BBQ was two days away and there was a lot to do, so at night we did not do more then watch TV and lay together.

I was scared shitless about meeting the guys from *NSYNC. I had secretly hoped that they would be too busy, would have to cancel, but Chris spoke to them excitedly at night and it was a sealed deal-they’d be there at the BBQ, whether I was ready for them or not. I did not bring up my concerns again to Chris-he had enough on his plate.

The night before the BBQ, we were playing Mortal Kombat again, Chris winning this time (I was letting him) and I was watching him play out of the corner of my eye. In my heart, I knew that something was about to change in the relationship, something momentous was about to happen that would split our relationship into before and after. I had seen it in his eyes when I was sick, when he would look at me in the middle of a joke and wait for my reaction, when he would touch my hand or my face. Chris was the type of man who pretended not to, but wore his heart on his sleeve. He used humor as a shield and didn’t judge me. At times, I felt the urge to run away, to become my old self, to let Chris find another woman who could give him a relationship without ultimatums or secrets or addictions. But the second I’d come close to the decision, he’d look at me and smile, and I forgot all my reasons, I postponed it-just one more day of this, I thought, and I’ll go. But I didn’t.

*************************
The morning of Chris’ BBQ, Christobel left Alan.

Chris heard Nyx’s phone go off from downstairs at 8am, and he heard her answer, blearily. Her voice became concerned, and then sharp and raised. Though he was not by any means an early riser, Chris groggily came down the steps as Nyx was stepping out of the computer room.

“What’s the matter?” He asked, squinting at her.

She looked at him, and Chris saw anger in her eyes, her lips were pinched tight, and there was something in her face that Chris immediately did not like, even though he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Christobel left Alan. I’m going to run over there, I’ll be back to help for the BBQ.” She grabbed her backpack and ran up the steps to give Chris a kiss on the cheek.
“Why is he so upset?” He wanted to know, confused.

Nyx shook her head. “I have no idea, but I can’t just tell him to forget it.”
Chris, who had not been feeling very friendly towards Alan after he had abandoned Nyx, wondered just why the hell not, but then he saw the pleading in her eyes.

“He was there for me, Chris. I can’t just write him off.”

Chris gave her a smile he didn’t feel. “You’re right. I’ll see you in awhile.”
Nyx gave him a grateful smile that tore at his heart, and with a few light steps, she was out of the house and Chris heard her feet against the pavement, then stop altogether.

Jealousy reared its’ ugly head.
**************************************
The first thing I noticed when I ran up the walk was that the Prowler was gone. As this was Alan’s personal car, hate flared inside of me. Not even married, and still trying to take everything. I had to let myself in, because no maids answered my knock. I was shocked to see that the lights were off, nobody called, nobody answered, I strained my eyes to hear the faint familiar sounds of the maids’ feet, but I didn’t hear a sound.

“Alan?” I called, and my voice bounced off the many walls. Nothing. Fear bubbled up in my throat, and I took the marble stairs three at a time. I kicked open their bedroom door, but he wasn’t in it, nor in the adjoining bathrooms. “Alan! Where are you?!” I yelled, kicking every door open, until I finally got to mine. It was already open, and I entered it with dread.

Alan was sitting on my bed, my mirror in his hand, white clogging his nostrils.
When I saw the coke, it was like a snake reared its head. My fingers automatically started itching, and my throat went numb, and all I could concentrate on was the thought of a glass straw in my hand, the drip in my throat, the buzz of it through my limbs. I hadn’t seen a trace of coke in weeks, and now, just as I thought I was kicking the habit, here it was, in Alan’s hands. And I remembered something my old dealer from Louisiana used to say-you don’t kick cocaine, cocaine kicks YOU.
“Alan, what are you doing?” My voice sounded different, as if it were coming from another room.

“Trying it your way, Nyx.” He answered, his voice dead.

I did not come any closer, but circled him cautiously as if he held a live adder.

“Why’d she leave, Alan?”

He shook his head and laughed, but it was a dead sound.

“Why would she stay? And for that matter, why should I care?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know, why do you care? You don’t love her. You don’t need her.”

Alan snickered, but did not look up at me. “But she’s somebody, Nyx.”
“You’d rather have Christobel then be alone? Boy, you have issues.” I shook my head and dropped into a chair, closing my eyes so I wouldn’t have to look at the things in his hand.

“It’s not really so much being alone. I could take that. Hell, I might even like it.” Alan whispered, rolling the straw between his fingers. I clenched my hands. I swear, I could smell the stuff.

“Then why are you in here, snorting?”

Alan let out a cry and I jumped, he dropped the mirror and it shattered on the floor. Coke went everywhere, and this time, I could smell it. I cursed and covered my nose.

“For as smart as you are, Nyx, you can be really fucking obtuse!” Alan yelled, and I looked up at him in shock. Alan had never raised his voice to me before. When I think about it now, I think I deserved it.

“What do you…” I started, but he just groaned in disgust and started to pace the length of the room.

“Haven’t you ever REALLY thought about why I was with Christobel? Or do you even care about somebody else other then yourself?”

Anger burned my throat. “Fuck you, Alan, I-“

“Shut the fuck up!” He roared, and I stared at him, speechless.

“Answer the question! Have you ever considered why I put up with her shit?” He snapped, and I scowled.

“I figured you were the worst of masochists.”

“Wrong! I figured that if I couldn’t have you, then I’d at least have someone who had some of the same qualities, even though with Christobel they were worse. I couldn’t have you, so I settled for someone who at least was in your family, so if I could marry her, I’d get to see you. Because believe it or not, Nyx, you and Christobel are alike in more ways then one, you both just show it differently!” Alan ranted, his finger pointing at me during most of his tirade. It was like a malediction, and I recoiled from it.

“I’m not anything like her and to suggest it is an insult.” I said coldly, and Alan scoffed. “You think that, but your entire family is that way. Stubborn, bullheaded, hot tempered. It’s only in you that the traits are attractive. No wonder Chris is falling for you, any man would. But have you ever thought about the day when he knows, Nyx?”

His words hit a little close to home and my anger was so great that I was beginning to feel sick again, just from my stomach tossing.

“Of course I’ve thought about it, you ass! It’s all I do think about!” I roared, and Alan shook his head. “Then why can’t you let him go?”

“Why can’t you let me go?” I whispered, the words falling on the carpet between us.
Alan sighed in exasperation. “I don’t know! I used to be able to deal with it, because you were so against guys or any sort of relationship. I thought I was safe from having to be jealous. And then you come here and you meet HIM, and you’re gone every night until 2am. The only time I get you to myself is when you’re sick. He gets the best of you and he wasn’t even there at your worst.” Now Alan sounded like he was choking, and as pissed as I was, my heart broke.

“Alan, I…”

“Don’t feel sorry for me, dammit.” He interrupted, and I sighed.

“Then what do you want me to do, Alan? I know the stakes. I’m sorry you feel this way. I’m sorry you’re jealous and you’re hurting. I’m sorry that you can’t let go, but I’m not going to let you go down my path.”

Alan shook his head and chuckled morbidly. “Don’t lecture, me, goddammit. Not when you have him and I don’t even have Christobel. I’ll do whatever the fuck I want.”

Yeah. Okay.

I stood up, walked over, and smacked him hard in the back of the head, like a redheaded stepchild.

“The fuck you will, Alan Crane! I swear to God, if you start using, I’ll tell your parents. I’ll march right over to that architectural shitheap they call a house and tell them you like the booger sugar. And you KNOW what they will do, Alan. And I can promise you, losing Christobel and me will seem like the least of your troubles.”

Alan glared up at me, rubbing the back of his head. “You wouldn’t dare.” I smacked him again, hard across the face this time, my features like stone.

“Try me, Crane. Just fucking try me.”

With that, I stomped out of the room, went to the closet, and retrieved a dustpan and a broom, then stalked back and threw them at him.

“Now clean this fucking coke off the floor, now. And let me watch you flush it.”
Alan snorted. “Very funny, Nyx.”

I felt my face getting dark red. “You get your scrawny, spoiled, nouveaux riche ass out of that fucking chair and clean it up. And if you don’t, Alan, so help me God, I’ll call your parents.”

As Alan hastened to do my bidding, I had to hide a smile. I never thought I’d see the day when Christobel Fontenot would inspire me to kick ass.
***************************************************
I arrived back at Chris’ in plenty enough time to help him set up for the BBQ. When I burst into the front door, he smiled in apparent relief that I hadn’t run back into the arms of my ex boyfriend, and gave me an affectionate squeeze around the waist.

There was lot to do, so we didn’t fart around. Chris had bought a shitload of food and liquor, and I had gotten my mom to send me a few packets of shrimp dip (a brand that was nonexistent in Florida) so I busied myself with making that. Anything to stay away from the bottles of liquor Chris had purchased for the party. He kept sneaking into the kitchen to see what I was doing, and each time I had to chase him away with a spoon.

I knew Chris was waiting for me to talk about what had transpired with Alan, but I didn’t say anything about it and tried to act normal. But between the times I was making food and chasing Chris away from the kitchen, Alan’s words kept coming back to circle my brain, like hungry sharks. I didn’t know what to do anymore when it came to him. How do you tell a person who’s seen you at your darkest that you appreciate it, but you didn’t want them? Guilt coated my stomach like Pepto Bismol.
I felt an arm snake around my waist and Chris’ lips at my neck. I smiled, despite myself. He smelled like sweat and grill smoke, but underneath I could smell his aftershave, and I couldn’t help but to close my eyes. “I don’t think I ever asked you this, but what the hell is that satsuma stuff you wear? I love that stuff.” Chris nuzzled the back of my neck, and I almost swooned.

“Body Shop, girl stuff.” I murmured, and he smiled against my skin. I felt his stubble scratching me and all thoughts of Alan fled my poor little brain.

“Don’t stop wearing it and don’t let me find it. I’ll eat it straight out of the bottle.” He threatened, and I giggled.

“You’re not supposed to be in here, Kirkpatrick.” I warned, but he gently tugged at my ear with his teeth. “Yeah? It’s my kitchen. And I own everything in this bitch.”
I scoffed. “You think so?”

Chris’s hands slipped to my waist and turned me around. His face was inches from my own, and he was wearing that devious little smile that made my knees shaky. “Well, maybe own is not the word.” He whispered, husky, and I felt his hands slip underneath my shirt, against my skin. It felt like a burn, and I was cursing him in my head as I sagged in his arms. Chris chuckled at my reaction and kissed my nose.

“You need to go get ready, Nyx. People are going to get here soon.”

His hands slipped from underneath my shirt and firmly pulled the back of it down, and I gaped up at him.

“You fucking tease!”

Chris shook his head, laughing. “Payback is a bitch, babe.”

“I can’t leave you alone in this kitchen with this shrimp dip. With your appetite, it’ll be gone by the time I step out of the room!” I exclaimed. Chris shrugged. “You’re probably right. Maybe I should come with you while you get dressed, you know, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Dream on, Kirkpatrick.” I moved away from him, pleased when I felt his eyes on my back.

“Oh, I do, trust me!” He yelled after me.

I smiled to myself, but my knees were knocking together, and when I got into the computer room, I closed the door and slid down the length of it, prompting bursting into silent sobs.

Goddamn Christopher Kirkpatrick, goddamn him.

I was in love.
*******************************************

Sitting in the dark, I can't forget.
Even now, I realize the time I'll never get
Another story of the bitter pills of fate
I can't go back again
I can't go back again
But you asked me to love you, and I did.
Traded my emotions for a contract to commit
And when I got away, I only got so far
The other me is dead
I hear his voice inside my head

Maybe

The Florida sun beat mercilessly overhead as people began to drive up to Chris Kirkpatrick’s house. Nyx watched Chris smile in greeting and hug his friends, who were coming in droves. She didn’t see the now familiar faces of the other NSYNC boys, but she knew it wouldn’t be long until they showed up, and the thought made her stomach lurch. She dropped the blinds and took a deep breath, standing up to check herself in the reflection in one of *NSYNC’s framed platinum records. She didn’t look as if she had been crying for the past ten minutes, which was good, but she did not know which standard she was going to be held up to, so for the millionth time, she considered changing her outfit.

Chris had told her that it was just a BBQ and not a record party, but she knew the girls that hung around entourages like these. They were certain to be gorgeous and tall and scantily clad, and probably would be changing into bikinis when it got hotter. Nyx looked down at herself, dark jeans and boots and blue Sinful shirt wasn’t bad, right? Plus, if they judged her, fuck all of them, she thought, sticking her chin out defiantly, but her expression faltered, and she sagged. She wished she had some coke, just a line or two, to give her courage. She shook the thought away. No, no coke. It was already getting hard to determine where the coke ended and she began.

No, she’d do this for Chris. She owed it to him after him taking such good care of her. She squared her jaw and strode towards the door, but before she could get to it, Chris burst into the room.

“What are you doing, babe? C’mon, everyone’s here.”

Nyx smiled at him bravely. “I’m coming, was just double checking myself.”

Chris grinned appreciatively at her. “Hey, wow, you look hot, spin around for me.” Nyx blushed, but obliged, and he gave her a wolf whistle. “Going to have to keep an eye on you, you’re going to cause some trouble, girl. Joey better step off.”

Nyx cocked an eyebrow. “Isn’t he married?”

Chris shook his head, laughing. “Once a player, always a player, and trust me on it.” He took her hand and pulled her out of the room.

She could see people milling around outside through the glass panes in the door, and Chris sensed her hesitancy.

“You ready?” He asked, peering at her.

Nyx nodded, trying to project confidence she didn’t feel. Chris smiled understandingly at her. “You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

She glared at him. “Nervous, are you crazy? Let’s do this thing.”

“Don’t lie to me, Nyx.” Chris said quietly, and she flushed, ashamed.

“Okay, I am a little nervous, but I’m kind of excited, too. It’s just…they…” She tried to find the words, and Chris shook his head, taking her hands and squeezing them.

“Most of them, you’ve already met at the paintball tournament, and they’ve been asking about you ever since they got here. They want to know where that little bloodthirsty piece of ass is hiding, and if I don’t bring you out soon, they will start wrecking the property. As for the group, I KNOW them, Nyx. And they know about you, so it’s not like they’re not looking forward to it.”

Nyx looked shocked. “They…know about me?”

Chris laughed. “Of course they do, butthead. And they came out to this party to meet you, and if they get here and they find out you’re nervous about meeting them, they’ll bust down my door, grab you, and throw you in my pool. Now, for the sake of my house, get your hot little ass out there.”

When he led her out of the house, she was laughing.
******************************************
Chris flipped the burgers and took a swig out of his beer, standing up on his tiptoes to check on Nyx through the crowd. She was standing with Dave and Ernie, his other bandmates in Nigels 11, and they were evidently teasing her about her paintball techniques, because Dave was imitating her and she was cracking up.

He smiled with relief. From the second she had gotten into the backyard, she had been greeted instantly by the guys from the tournament, and they had immediately taken her under their wing. Chris had asked her if she was comfortable enough for him to start grilling, and she had shooed him away. It felt good to see her laugh and interact with other people, especially his friends. And it made him feel proud when his guy friends had congratulated him about her, teasing him about robbing the cradle. They found her hilarious and extremely hot, and that was a big compliment from some of them. But their compliments were nothing next to the ones he was hoping to get from his brothers, who were on their way over at the moment. He had told Joey and Lance all about her, but it was JC and Justin who didn’t know that much, and Chris fervently hoped they liked her. Lance and Joey pretty much liked everybody, but it was JC and Justin who generally set the tone for the entire band.

Chris flipped over the hot dogs and downed the rest of his Heineken. He was about to root in the ice chest for another one when he heard a huge commotion at the gate to his backyard, and he heard Joey’s loud voice over the din of music and people talking. Chris’s eyes immediately flew to Nyx, who was sitting on the steps leading up to the waterfall. She smiled at him, but it was a tight one, and he sent a reassuring wink her way. Joey got to him first, and Chris abandoned the grill to give him a huge hug.

“Where’s the wife and the kid, Joe?” Chris asked, peering around his best friend.

“They stayed at home, givin Daddy some time to hang with the boys. Where’s your girl? I want to give her a big Joey hug.” Joey looked around, trying to spot Nyx from the description Chris had given him. Chris chuckled. “She’s a bit nervous, Joe.”

“Did you tell her I’d throw her in the pool?” Joey asked mischievously, and Chris laughed. “Yep. I can’t just release her into the wolf den without that warning.”

“Well, point her out before I go picking up all the girls and tossing them in the pool.” Joey teased, and Chris looked towards Nyx and jerked his head in her direction.
Joey looked over and whistled. “Short little redhead? Damn, Chris! You trying to show me up, man?”

Chris snickered. “As if I could.”

“How old is she?” Joey wanted to know, sending a flirtatious wink in Nyx’s direction, which made her blush.

Chris hid his smile behind his beer. “Twenty five.”

Joey waited.

Chris cleared his throat. “Next October.”

Joey clapped him on the back. “Damn, Chris, who the hell gave you permission to rob the cradle!? Twenty four! Justin is going to freak!”

Chris met Nyx’s eyes and tipped his head, and he could tell she was drawing a deep breath as she rounded the slide and approached them. “Joey, this is Nyx. Nyx, this is Joey.” Nyx smiled. “Superman, right?” Joey pulled his “lover man” expression and Chris groaned. Here we go. He took Nyx’s hand and kissed it.

“Piacevole per incontrarlo, bello.” Joey murmured, and Nyx gave him that half smile. “Inoltre, roba caldo.” She returned, winking, and Joey looked impressed. “Are you Italian?” Joey asked, flirting. Nyx giggled. “Close. Greek.”

“Chris, I’m impressed. Beautiful and smart. Way to go, buddy.” Joey punched Chris in the arm, and Nyx flushed.

“Yeah yeah yeah, you’re married, Fatone, watch yourself.” Chris said good-naturedly, slipping an arm over Nyx’s shoulders and offering Joey a beer.

“Married, not dead.” Joey reminded him, and winked at Nyx, who laughed, unable to resist Joey, as most girls were apt to do.

“Hey Lance! Come and meet Chris’ girlfriend!” Joey hollered, and Chris shook his head, unable to stop his grinning. Joey would always be Joey.

Lance appeared at Joey’s side and Chris let go of Nyx to give Lance a hug.

“How’s it going, Poofoo?” Chris teased, and Lance rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Chris.”

“Poofoo?” Nyx asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Aw, God bless her, she’s clueless. I’m Lance, and you must be Nyx.” Lance offered up his hand and Nyx took it.

“Pleased to meet ya, Poofoo.” Everyone laughed.

“Ughhh, Kirkpatrick, look what you started.” Lance groaned. Joey leaned close to Nyx. “You can’t not know Lance and not call him Poofoo.”

Nyx nodded. “Duly noted. Sorry Poof. I just got schooled.”
So far, so good, Chris thought, his nerves at ease for the time being. Two down, two to go. He slipped his arm around Nyx’s waist and whispered, “See, I told you!” Nyx nodded and winked up at him.

“Awww, that’s so cute.” JC’s voice cut into the group, and Chris flipped him the finger, then gave him a slap on the back. JC smiled down at Nyx, and held out his hand.
“Nyx?”

“I sure as hell hope so.” Nyx teased, slipping her hand into JC’s, who laughed.

“Chris has told me a lot about you, I’m glad to finally meet you. I was beginning to think Chris was giving personalities to his blow up dolls, so it’s a relief to know you’re real.”

Chris scowled playfully at JC and shoved him. Nyx laughed, and Chris could see that she was starting to feel at ease. “Where’s Just?” Joey asked, and JC rolled his eyes. “On the phone with the woman. It was torture the entire way here.”

“Oh, Jessica’s not coming? Dammit, she’s nice to look at in a bathing suit.” Joey commented, and everyone rolled their eyes, with the exception of Nyx, who just looked confused. She leaned closer to Chris’ ear. “Jessica?”

Chris chuckled. “Biel.”

“Oh!” Nyx flushed, embarrassed.

A chorus of loud voices rang up once more from the gate and immediately voices began calling out Justin’s name. Chris saw Nyx steel herself next to him, and he tightened his grip on her waist reassuringly.

Justin came sauntering up into their little group just as Chris noticed the burgers burning. He yelped and left Nyx to rectify the problem, leaving her standing alone to receive whatever reception Justin Timberlake was going to offer. Justin gave hugs and backslaps to the other guys, and then his eyes fell on her. Chris, having got the grill situation under control, made a move to return to Nyx’s side, but Joey beat him to it. He threw an arm around Nyx’s shoulder and pulled her against his side. “Hey Justin, this is Chris’s girl, Nyx. Nyx, this is the Paragon of Pop.”

Everyone laughed, but Justin just chuckled and approached Nyx with the patented Justin Timberlake “Make Em Melt” grin.

“Nyx, huh? Well, pretty lady, it’s an honor.”

Nyx blinked for a second, and then regained composure. She stuck out her hand, looked Justin dead in the eye, and quipped, “Same to you, pretty dude!”

Justin looked momentarily stunned, and Chris hid his laughter while the rest of the group roared. Justin was used to girls falling to pieces in front of him, not teasing him, and Chris was secretly proud of Nyx for not doing so, and relieved that he wouldn’t have to be jealous of his best friend.

Justin got over his shock and started laughing, then ignored Nyx’s hand and pulled her into a friendly hug. Whatever tension had been there before, it was no longer existent and Chris winked at Nyx, who nodded gratefully back at him.
********************************************
“So what’s the decision on Chris’ new woman?” Joey asked, cracking open a new beer and tipping his head in Chris’ and Nyx’s direction, where they were talking with Dave and Mike.

“Keeper.” JC and Lance chorused in unison, and they looked at Justin for an answer.

Justin shrugged. “I like her. Chris seems to be happy.”

Joey raised his eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound too
enthusiastic, Just.”

“You’re just weirded out cause she intimidated you first.” JC teased, and Justin laughed.

“She’s definitely different in that way.”

“C’mon Justin, Chris looks happy. Really happy, in fact.” Lance pointed out.

“Yeah, I know.” Justin sighed.

“Then what the hell is the problem?” JC wanted to know, crossing his arms.

Justin took a sip of his beer and looked down at the ground. “I just feel bad because we’ve basically left him behind. He was having a hard time with drinking, you guys, and we were too busy to help him. What if something goes wrong with this girl?”

The other three looked at each other guiltily.

“Dude, Chris is a big boy. He’ll be fine. Let’s try to get to know her. Chris told me that the poor girl was nervous about meeting us.” JC pointed out, and Joey scoffed.

“Nervous, why the hell would she be nervous? Look at us, we’re dorks. Especially Justin.”

Justin rolled his eyes and flicked his finger in answer.

“Was she a fan?” Lance asked, and JC shrugged. “I don’t think so, she doesn’t act like one. She didn’t fall for the Justin test, and I didn’t see her getting all starry eyed with the rest of us.”

“Then she’s down to earth, which is perfect for Chris.” Lance amended.

Justin shook his head. “I don’t know, you guys. There’s something about that girl I can’t put my finger on.”

They rolled their eyes in unison. “Justin, give the poor thing a chance. Besides, we have no room to determine what is good for Chris or not-we’re never around. If she keeps him away from drinking, then she’s got my vote, all the way.” JC raised his beer in a toast to Chris, who seconded it across the pool with a wink.

Lance clapped a hand on Justin’s shoulder and gave him a shake. “I know how much you love him, Just. We all do. But we all knew it would happen one of these days, hell, we hoped for it. Nyx will take care of him.”

Justin nodded. “Or,” He said under his breath, “it’ll be the other way around.”
**************************************
The party was in full swing by the time two o’ clock came around, and after eating, everyone proclaimed Chris Master of the Grill, a title for which he bowed dramatically and Joey pretended to knight him with a spatula. I laughed and sipped my Coke, watching.

I liked the *NSYNC guys, they were every bit as easy going that Chris said they were. Joey was the one I probably could identify with the most-we spent about an hour talking about his experience working on the My Big Fat Greek Wedding movie. JC was a lot more relaxed then I had thought he would be-Chris had told me how stressed out and focused he would get before shows. But he seemed interested in learning about New Orleans, because he enjoyed jazz, and it was fun talking to him. Lance was very shy but as the two extreme Southerners, we both fielded good natured teasing from the other guys and returned the jeers. It was Justin that I wasn’t sure about, and I got the really weird feeling that he felt the same way. I had caught him watching me and Chris together, and I saw a little more knowledge in his eyes then I was comfortable with. I could tell that he loved and respected Chris a great deal, and I could understand his withholding himself in front of me. Justin Timberlake was trying to psych me out. I laughed to myself as I considered the absurdity of that statement. But I couldn’t blame him-wasn’t I trying to figure out the same thing? That I was good enough for Chris, after all?

After eating, everyone started to go into the house to change into their bathing suits, and I panicked-I had not known there would be swimming. As usual, when I started to panic, I felt a nosebleed coming on, and thankfully I wasn’t encumbered in conversation. I made a quick but graceful retreat, and hurried to the bathroom, which was locked, of course.

“Shit.” I looked down into my hand, and it was already stained with red, and I turned to go upstairs, but just then the bathroom door behind me opened.

“Nyx, you need the bathroom?”

I closed my eyes. Christ, the one person I didn’t want to see when I was bleeding all over his best friend’s carpets-Justin Timberlake. “Nah, I’ll just use the upstairs one. Thanks.” I called, and I could feel him watching me as I ran up the stairs. Thankfully Chris’ bathroom wasn’t occupied, and I closed the door and grabbed a wad of toilet paper, sitting with a sigh on the toilet lid.

What was I doing?
********************************************
Justin watched Nyx’s retreating back as she hurried upstairs, away from him. He wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn he saw blood on her face. Just then, Chris exploded into the living room.

“Hey dude, you seen Nyx?” Chris asked, breathless. Justin nodded. “She went upstairs to the bathroom. I was down here.”

“Oh, okay. What do you think of her, Justin?” Chris’s happy smile made Justin hurt inside. He forced himself to grin.

“She’s cool, man. I’m happy for you.”

But Chris knew him too well, and he tipped his head to the side. “But?”

Justin sighed. “Look, dude, does she make you happy?”

Chris raised his eyebrow. “Would we be having this conversation if she didn’t?”

Justin shook his head.

“Justin, come on man. You barely know her. You’re my brother, I know when something’s not right with you. What is it?” Chris reached out and grabbed Justin’s arm.

Justin checked both hallways before stepping closer to Chris. “I’m just worried-you’re recovering, Chris. I don’t want you to get hurt. Does Nyx even know you had a problem?”

Chris, who rarely ever got angry, narrowed his eyes at Justin. “No, she doesn’t. And I’m doing fine, I have been since I met her.” “Oh, really? Then why are you out there chugging beers like there’s no tomorrow?” Justin hissed, and Chris glared at him.

“Oh, NOW you want to show some interest?”

Justin, stung, could not think of a retort.

“Listen, Justin, whether you accept her or not, I’m extremely happy. And if you want to keep her at a distance and freeze her out, then don’t bother coming to my house anymore because Nyx doesn’t deserve that shit from anybody. Especially you.”

Justin felt as if Chris had just sucker punched him, and he swallowed. “Chris, come on. Don’t be that way. I’m sorry, dude, if I made her feel uncomfortable. Don’t be pissed, okay? I’m happy if you’re happy. You know that.”

Chris considered him for a minute, then sighed. “Fine, you prick. Give me a hug.”

Justin, relieved, obeyed, and Chris jerked his head towards the backyard door. “Go and stop Joey before he knocks all the water out of my pool. I’m going check on my woman.”

Justin nodded and watched Chris climb the stairs, three at a time, but despite his promise to Chris, he still felt cold.
*******************************
Chris knocked on his bathroom door. “Hey, babe, you in there?”

He heard scuffling. “Yeah, it’s me. What’s up?”

“You ok in there?”

Nyx opened the door and he walked in, stopping when he saw the bloody tissue in her hand.

“What happened?” Chris wanted to know, peering at her face.

“Not sure, you know how it just starts up.” Nyx shrugged, and leaned close to the mirror to check her nose.

“We need to go get that checked out.” Chris hopped on the counter next to her.

Nyx made a disdainful noise. “I’m sure my health insurance could hold out for something more serious.”

“What if it is serious?” Chris countered, and Nyx looked at him and rolled her eyes. “Nosebleeds? You worry too much.” She threw the tissue into the toilet and flushed it.

“Are you having fun?” He wanted to know, and she grinned at him.

“Yes, I am. You were right, the guys are just big kids. I can’t believe how nervous I was.”

Chris smiled at her. “I knew they’d love you.”

She blushed and tried to hide it by jumping up on the sink next to him.

They sat in silence for a second, then Chris gently bumped her shoulder. “Listen, I wanted to apologize if Justin made you feel uncomfortable. Sometimes he does that to people, and doesn’t realize it.”

Nyx shook her head. “He’s just watching your back. I’d do the same. He’s a good friend.”

Chris shrugged easily, though the conversation with Justin was weighing heavily on his mind. “He won’t do it again, he’ll try to get to know you, now.”

Nyx bumped his shoulder in return. “We should be getting back to the party.”

Chris turned his cheek towards her and tapped it, and Nyx, giggling, pecked him.

As they were exiting the bathroom, the doorbell rang. Chris looked over the balcony in bewilderment. “Who the hell is coming to the front door?”

“I’ll go get it, nobody needs to know who’s in the backyard.” Nyx said, hurrying down the steps. Chris stayed at the top of the stairs, watching as she opened it. He saw her steel herself, and leaned over to see the visitor. Nyx leaned her head against the door.

“Alan.”
****************************************
“I need to talk to you, Nyx.” Alan whispered, and I looked up at Chris, who was dismounting the stairs.

“Chris, it’s just Alan, I’ll be out on the front porch, okay?”

Chris didn’t look happy about it, but he nodded, and I pushed Alan off of the doorstep and closed the door behind me. He still had coke flaked in the corners of his nose.

“Clean your damn face off.” I hissed quietly, looking to make sure none of the partygoers were in the driveway.

Alan rubbed his nose impatiently, looking me up and down.

“Playing hostess?” He guessed bitterly, and I rolled my eyes. “My God, will you grow up? I’m at a party, for Christ sakes.”

“Well, isn’t that fun. You’re at a party while I’m alone at home.” Alan muttered, and I snorted in exasperation.

“Christ, Alan, what do you WANT?!”

“Nyx, I’m going crazy over there. I’m freaked out that I’ll do something stupid.”

“Like what?” I demanded, and Alan shrugged. “I just don’t think I can be alone. Please, Nyx.”

“Please, what? What do you want me to do about it?” I hissed.

Alan looked unsure. “I don’t know, can I come to the party?”

I stared at him, unable to believe his nerve, and started laughing to myself. “Jesus Christ, this is not happening to me.”

“Can I?” Alan persisted.

“First of all, this isn’t even my party. Secondly, there are shitloads of celebrities in the backyard. Thirdly, Chris might feel it’s a LITTLE weird that I let my ex come into his house. And fourth, why am I even having this conversation with you?”

“Because you…” Alan started to say, but the door opened behind me, and Chris stood in the doorway.

“Hey.” I said, swallowing thickly.

“You guys okay out here? It’s hot as hell.” Chris’s eyes settled on Alan’s disheveled condition, and then up to my face.

“Yeah, we’re good. Alan was just coming to talk to me about Christobel.” I said pointedly, and Chris nodded.

“Yeah, heard about that. Sorry, dude.” He took a swig of his beer and considered Alan for a few seconds, then jerked his head. “C’mon, let me get you a cold beer. You like BBQ? Got shitloads of it.”

I shot Chris a grateful smile.

Alan looked at me and slowly nodded. “Yeah, that would be nice. Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Chris opened the door wider, and Alan walked past me, into the house, shooting me a look of triumph. “Come in. Mi casa es su casa. Party’s in the back.” Chris pointed to the back door.

I clenched my fists and tried to relax my face into something not resembling bloodlust, then hopped up the stairs after the two men, who, I swear, were going to give me a nervous breakdown.
**************************************
Chris didn’t have to worry about Alan misbehaving at the party, since the guy was used to schmoozing and talked to everybody, leaving Nyx alone.

He didn’t know why he let Alan into the party, but Chris knew he was annoying the royal piss out of Nyx, who was wearing an expression of supreme irritation. If he did it, it was only to get the guy from under Nyx’s hair, and he didn’t think the guy would be so ill bred as to actually cause drama in Chris’ own house. He kept an eye on him, though, and was thoroughly amused to see him strike up a conversation with Lance.

People were splashing about in the pool, so Chris urged Nyx to put on her swimming suit, and while she was inside, Chris took a running leap directly into the pool, splashing Alan a bit, which was his intention.

He was double dunking JC and Mike when Nyx came out of the house, wrapped in a towel. When she pulled it off to reveal a very form fitting skull bikini, Chris was only able to stare for a split second, because Joey yanked him under.

By the time he had wrangled out of Joey’s grip, Nyx was already submerging herself in water, and he swam up to her, tossing his hair out of his face. “Hey, you. Nice bathing suit.” She laughed and picked at his tshirt. “Same to you.”

“Fat guy bathing suit. Very stylish.”Chris boasted, and Nyx smirked. “Boy, you wouldn’t know fat if it bit you in the ass.”

“Okay, whatever. Hop on my back, we’ll double dunk JC and make him scream like a girl.”

Nyx, giggling, jumped on Chris’ back, and they plowed into an unsuspecting JC, who did, in fact, scream like a girl. The guys converged on her, and Chris was laughing as they took turns dunking her and being dunked by her. She looked like she was having a blast. Even Justin was helping to dunk her, which relaxed him a little bit.

Yeah, she would fit in just fine.
*********************************
JC and the rest of the guys had to leave the party early to catch planes back to New York, so after a few beers, they thanked Chris for a good time and teased and hugged Nyx like they had known her forever. Lance was the last to say goodbye-he had been talking quietly with Alan for awhile after the others had left, and after a back slap for Chris, he gave Nyx a big hug.

“It was great to meet you, Nyx. Take care of our guy.”

She smiled sideways at him. “I will. Bye, Poof.”

Lance rolled his eyes and waved one last goodbye to Alan, who was lingering in the dark, under the slide. He came up to Nyx as Chris was talking with some of his band members.

“I’m heading home.”

“Are you gonna be okay?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. Alan nodded. “I’ll live. Are you going to come back to the house tomorrow?”

“For what?” Nyx was aware of Chris glancing over.

“It’s still your home, if you want it to be, Nyx.” Alan said quietly, and she looked down.

“I’ll get back to you on that, Alan.” She murmured, and he nodded sadly.

“Thank your guy for inviting me. I don’t want to interrupt.”

“I will. Bye, Alan.”

Alan hesitated, then leaned over and gently kissed Nyx’s cheek. Chris’ jaw tensed and he tried to focus his attention on what Mike was saying, but inside, he was seething. The nerve of that asshole!

Alan met Chris’ eyes briefly, then shook his head and faded into the dark.

Nyx stood there, watching him leave, and Chris would have given anything to know what was going through her head at that moment.

“We’re heading out, Chris-thanks, it was an awesome party. Nyx, it was good seeing you again. Gonna be at the next tournament, right?” Mike mimed shooting a gun and Nyx gave him a thumbs up.

“I’ll be there, guns blazing.”

The guys laughed and waved goodbye, and Chris watched them leave, but mostly he kept seeing Alan kiss her. He shook the image out of his head and walked to stand behind Nyx, who jumped a little. Chris wrapped his arms around her neck, and she hesitated at first, but slowly relaxed into his grip. “It was good to see you having fun today.” Chris murmured into her hair, and Nyx grasped his forearms. “I have fun all the time.” She protested, but he shook his head. “I mean with other people.”

Nyx smirked. “You act like I’m anti-social.”

He shrugged. “Not really anti-social, just a loner. Maybe it’s just strange to me. I can’t stand being alone.”

She squeezed his arm. “I can tell.”

“Is it really that obvious?” Chris asked, his eyebrows raising, and Nyx turned around to face him.

“It’s not a bad thing. You were used to being surrounded, completely, all the time. I’m not surprised that you have a bit of monophobia.”

Chris snorted. “Okay, with your big words, Dr. Freud.”

“Hey, don’t you have a psychology degree or something?” Nyx teased, poking him, bending to pick up a few plates of BBQ on the lawn table.

“Yeah, but all the terminology goes out of my head after a few beers. Why are you picking up?”

She raised her eyebrow. “Um, because it’s a goddamn mess out here?”

Chris waved it away. “Don’t worry about it right now. The maid comes in the morning.”

Nyx looked with disbelief at him, then around at the mess. “This is a lot to pick up.”

“Babe, I’m putting her six kids through college. Trust me, don’t worry about it. Come on.” Chris took the plates away from her and led her into the house by the hand.

Nyx followed him dutifully into the kitchen, where he opened the fridge and after rooting around a bit, pulled out a bottle of wine.

“You drink wine?” She asked, snickering.

“Not really. Do you?” Chris was searching through his drawers for a cork remover.

“Never really developed an opinion about it.” Nyx moved the empty bowl of shrimp dip out of the way, then jumped up on the counter.

“Well, I’ve been having this in my fridge for about three or four years. Got it at some stupid record party, they were giving it out to everybody. I have no idea if it’s good or and I can’t pronounce what it is, but we’re going to give it a shot.” Chris finally found a cork remover and she watched him wrestle with it for a few minutes, trying not to laugh.

He caught her eye and shook his head, sheepish. “So much for looking cool.”

“Give me that thing.” She hopped off the counter, grabbed the bottle of wine and a sharp knife, then walked over to stand next to the trash can. One quick move with the knife had the top off and into the trash, and Chris whistled.

“Not bad. Where’d you learn that?”

“I’m full of hidden talents.” Nyx said dryly, handing him the bottle.

Chris looked like he’d like to respond to that, but wisely decided against it, and started to search his cabinets.

“I don’t think I have any glasses for wine.”

“We can drink out of the bottle.” Nyx suggested, taking it out of his hand and looking at the label. It was shit, but most wine was. Just one drink of it couldn’t hurt, she thought, but she still felt nervous. “I shouldn’t be doing this.” She thought to himself.

Chris was watching her, and she looked away, self conscious.

“Come on.” He held out his hand, and she took it.

It wasn’t until she realized that they were heading upstairs that she felt she was going to faint.
***************************************
Chris had a balcony in his bedroom. Why, he had no idea. He himself had no use for a balcony and had he built this house, the damn thing wouldn’t even be there. He had probably been on it once, if that. But now he led Nyx to it, unlocking the French doors and allowing her to enter first. Chris’ throat was dry, and felt fuzzy from the beers, so it was a relief to lean against the iron railing. Nyx held out the bottle to him.

He shook his head. “Ladies first.”

“Why do you think I’m offering it to you?” Nyx winked at him, and he gave her a mock angry face, but took the bottle from her. Chris knew nothing about wine and grimaced as he drank, but he was thirsty and it helped.
“That bad?” Nyx wanted to know, and he nodded. “It sucks, but it’ll get the job done.”

Nyx met his eyes. “What’s the job to be done?”

Chris didn’t answer, just held it out for her to take again. She took it with hesitation, but put it to her mouth and took a hard drag off of it. They looked out over the glowing pool and the tiki torches and the palm trees, still in the muggy Florida night, not talking. She handed him the wine bottle and he took a long sip from it.

Chris finally spoke, not looking at her.

“Do you want to be with Alan?”

She sighed with exasperation. “Where is that coming from?”

“He was staring at you the entire time.”

Nyx shook her head. “And how do you get me wanting him from that?”

“I don’t know. I just feel like he knows things about you that I don’t. The things you won’t tell me, to be exact.” Chris retorted, and Nyx glared at him, the sudden ferocity taking Chris aback.

“Of course he knows things. I’ve been knowing him since high school. Is this you being jealous, Chris? Because if it is, it’s kind of ridiculous.” Nyx’s anger was so quick that Chris found himself unable to respond, he could just stare dumbly at her. She groaned in frustration and turned away from him, covering her face.

“Why does everyone think I want him, or that we’re supposed to be together? I can’t BE with Alan, I told you that. I told Christobel that, I told my parents that. I told ALAN that, time and time again, and yet it won’t stop biting me in the ass.” Nyx muttered.

Chris narrowed his eyes. “Why, because he’s rich? Because I hate to break it to you, Nyx, but me and Alan aren’t that different.”

Nyx laughed bitterly. “You really believe that?”

Chris snorted. “Yeah, I believe that. And of course I’m jealous. I’m not used to feeling that way either, so I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t give me shit about it. It frankly scares me a little bit.”

“Why would it?”She asked acidly, and Chris rolled his eyes.

“Because the guy knows things about you that you’ll never tell me. And don’t tell me he doesn’t,” He warned, seeing her about to argue. “because every time I see him, he’s looking at you with this sick dog worried expression. It pisses me off royally, but what am I supposed to do? I’m trying really hard to not ask questions, Nyx, but this won’t work if you don’t trust me.”

The anger vanished from her face, quickly replaced by shame. “I do trust you.”

Chris scoffed. “Yeah, okay, but you like to disappear for days a time and not give me any explanation why. You get nosebleeds constantly, you don’t eat, and you were so sick a week ago that I was scared you’d fucking die in my house.”

Nyx closed her eyes and looked away from him. Chris looked at his hand on the wine bottle and his knuckles were white. He took a deep breath and lessened his grip.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered.

Nyx shook her head quickly and did not meet his eyes. “Christ, are you crying?” Chris moved closer to her, tentatively putting his arm around her waist and trying to look at her face. To his relief, she did not shake him off, but let him pull her against his chest. Her transition from scathing rage to meek and submissive blew his mind.

“You want to know the glaring difference between you and Alan, Chris?” She whispered against his shirt, and without waiting for a response, she spoke, as if she had to get the words out of her or they’d burn her alive.

“When it comes to Alan, I can’t be me, I can’t breathe. But being with you…I don’t have to watch what I say or worry about what fork I’m using or if I’m going to impress everyone around me. Being with you…it’s like I’m meeting myself for the first time, and I love it.” She looked up at him, her eyes imploring him to understand.

Chris’s throat stuck, and he swallowed thickly as he stared at her. He could not speak, he couldn’t form a coherent thought. Seconds that felt like days passed, and since he couldn’t tell her how much that meant to him, he, Chris, who never shut up, pulled her face up to his and kissed her.
******************************************
Chris backed me up against the iron railing, his mouth slowly, hungrily, moving with mine. I couldn’t stop him, I didn’t want to, I was fuzzy from the wine and drunk on my feelings. His lips moved, were everywhere, on my cheek, my nose, my jawbone, like he couldn’t decide which part he liked kissing the most. I could hear myself breathing heavily, unable to stop him. His hands, cold from the wine bottle, slipped underneath my shirt, and I gasped as they hit the warmth of my back, which was sunburned. It felt good after the shock had melted away, and I could not move away, as I usually did when his hands snuck that way. Chris, encouraged, slid them further up my back, and I found his mouth and could not stop once I got started.
He moaned and pressed me closer to him roughly, trying to gain the upper hand. I felt his thumb graze over the clasps of my bra, and I tried to ignore the WARNING alarms screaming in my head. Chris suddenly pulled away, our lips ripping apart like a seam, his hands withdrawing from underneath my shirt and spinning away from me, cursing.

“Chris?” I asked, my voice breaking, and I reached up, felt my mouth, buzzing and tender. He didn’t answer, just took a very hard drag off of the bottle of wine, his chest heaving violently.

I felt rejected. And drunk, which I hadn’t expected from a few sips of that crappy wine. I suddenly hated myself for being so easily hurt and began to wish we had something stronger then wine. Why had I even told him that? The man was commitment shy, hell, he said it himself in a few interviews that he was terrified of marriage. Why the fuck had I gone in over my head? Why even bother with all this if he was going to get freaked out sooner or later? To my horror, I felt tears in my eyes, and I forcefully blinked them back.

Chris was not looking at me, he was bracing himself against the iron railings, staring at his pool. After a few minutes of muttering oaths to himself, he turned around and slid down the length of the railing, sitting on the cold concrete floor of the balcony, his eyes closed.

I stayed silent, feeling used and horny and pissed beyond belief. Why had the fucking man made me care about him? What was the use of him being charming and funny and cute if he was going to flip out the second I showed even a sliver of deeper affection for him?

Suddenly, Chris spoke.

“Nyx, please come here.” His voice was soft, but I could feel his tension. Great, here it comes. I was about to be dumped by a man who once willingly rigged himself to fly above a crowd and sing Christopher Cross songs. Perfect. My legs did not want to move, but I found myself folding myself next to him, my entire soul braced against whatever Chris Kirkpatrick would say next.

He didn’t say anything, as it turns out. He turned those muddy eyes on me and stared down at me, and buoyed by my anger, I glared right back. And then he raised his arm and beckoned me wordlessly to lean back into him. Confusion replaced anger. What the hell was he doing? Chris draped his arm across me and took a very hard pull of the wine, then set it aside.

Okay, now he was dragging it out. Yeah, not having that.

“If you’re going to dump me, at least hand me that wine bottle. It would give me the outmost pleasure to crack it against your skull.” I retorted, then immediately regretted it. God, dramatic much, Nyx? Chris choked and started coughing, and then, to my great irritation, started to chuckle hoarsely.

“What’s so goddamn funny?” I growled, and he stopped laughing abruptly.
“Where did me dumping you come into this picture?”

“I don’t know, you just flipped out on me. And I know how you can get about commitment, so I figured I crossed the line.” I explained, feeling my face become red.
Chris snickered. “Babe, if I were that scared about commitment, I would not call you my girlfriend or introduce you to my best friends. And for the record, I had no idea there was a line TO cross.”

“But I thought you were like, against relationships.” Now I was starting to feel stupid.

Chris smiled and shook his head. “I used to be. Hell, I thought I’d be like that forever. I was content to be a partying kind of guy. And then you come out of nowhere with your cute little accent and your no bullshit factors and hell, I’m only human. For the record, where the hell did you get that information? I’ve never told you that.”

I know when I blush because it’s a very, very rare event, and in this case my entire face and neck went the color of a coke can. “Um. An interview…on some website.”

Chris chuckled, which surprised me. I would have figured that would have annoyed him, but instead he seemed very amused. “And what else did you find out about me?”

I met his eyes. “Not much else. I know I could learn everything about you from a few simple clicks, but it didn’t seem right. Not when I can ask you myself."
Chris’ eyes softened and he traced my cheekbone with his finger. The contact made my eyes close. “You don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve heard someone say they don’t know my favorite color, or my middle name, or what I liked in a girl.”
I smiled, my eyes still shut. “You like silver, you always wear it. I saw your middle name on one of your awards in the computer room, and you like eyes because you always check mine first after asking a question.”

I heard him smirk. “Are you sure you didn’t check out any websites? Kirkpatrick.nu? NSync.com?”

I opened my eyes and looked at him. “No. All I know is that you were a member of *NSYNC, you had many questionable haircuts, and you usually flank Justin on the left in music videos.”

At this, Chris could not help howling with laughter, and I blushed again, feeling stupid. It was a few seconds before he stopped his chortling, and I felt self conscious. I felt his fingers on my cheek again. “I don’t know whether to call that really cute or really disturbing, so I’ll call it disturbingly cute.” His tone was very affectionate, and I flicked my eyes up at him shyly.

“You know, after you said that, I suddenly realized something: I don’t even know my own girlfriend’s last name.” Chris said thoughtfully, and I shook my head, grinning.

“Gonna have your people do a background check on me?”

Chris snorted. “Don’t be silly. Come on, tell me, or I’ll feel like an asshole.”

I shook my head again, giggling. Chris turned his body to face mine.

“Nyx, I have to know your last name. What am I supposed to call you when you’re being a brat?”

“Brat?” I supplied unhelpfully, and he shook his head. “What is it?”

I sighed, trying not to show that I wanted to kiss him senseless for his request.
“Dufrene. My last name is Dufrene.” I whispered, and Chris’s eyes crinkled as he considered this.

“Nyx Dufrene. French?” He guessed, and I nodded. “It’s common in my part of the state.”

Chris kissed my forehead, a very unexpected and tender gesture. “You are everything but common.”

This, for some reason, made my eyes tear up very rapidly, and I concentrated hard on the concrete between my legs. I could feel his gaze on me, but he didn’t force me to look up at him, and for this I loved him even more.

Instead, he hugged me very close to his side and sighed. “My head is fucking spinning. This wine is getting to me.”

“Do you want to go inside and sit on the couch?” I suggested, and Chris groaned. “Walking is not an option. Besides, the wind is starting to blow. It feels good out here.”

It DID feel good out there, and I relaxed my body and leaned into him. We sat that way for quite a while, not talking, and Chris would take frequent drags off of the bottle, though he didn’t offer me any. This was fine with me, oddly enough. It was nice, sitting with him like this. Plus, he wasn’t twitching restlessly like he usually did. Just at the point where my back was beginning to cramp, he cracked his neck and exhaled slowly.

“I need to get up. My legs are starting to lose feeling.”

I agreed gratefully, and we stood up, cracking our backs and sighing in relief. He reached out and took my hand, and the movement made look up at him. Chris pulled me gently against his body and kissed the corner of my mouth.
“I can’t believe you thought I was going to dump you.” He chuckled softly, and I felt the vibrations of his words on my skin. I closed my eyes.

“You’re unpredictable. I never know what you’ll do.”

I felt him smile, and he rubbed his nose against mine affectionately. “Coming from you, that is incredible.”

I tried to smirk, but the smell of him was making humor difficult. “I guess we’re more alike then we want to admit.”

Chris’s mouth touched mine tentatively, then pressed harder. “Yeah, I guess so.” He amended gruffly, and I felt my knees getting weak as his hand cupped my neck. Who could have ever thought that he could be this tender, I thought dizzily. My mind was forever trying to figure out the Chris I knew and the Chris portrayed in the videos and pictures, and it was hard. I shouldn’t have even wasted time on that, I should have given him credit for being more then just skin deep. Like I always say-shoulda coulda woulda.

He wasn’t trying to eat me alive like he was before. It was like he understood on some level that he had freaked me out and was trying to rectify it the only way Chris knew how-to render me into a stuttering idiot. And he did it well. His lips left mine and touched briefly on my jawbone, his free hand yanking teasingly at my belt buckle. Okay, now I could no longer blame the wine for my lightheaded state. This was just fucking torture.

“Nyx Dufrene,” He mused softly, nipping at my ear.
“Chris Kirkpatrick?” I mumbled back.

“If we don’t stop here, I’m going to say something crazy and then YOU'LL probably dump me.” He whispered, his tone teasing, but I could feel the worry beneath his tone. I froze. Chris nodded and took a step away, his eyes trying to remain carefree, but the moment was heavy. His hand slid from my cheek and his fingers grazed my collarbone. I gulped.

“You, say something crazy? Never.”

He laughed darkly. “Don’t try me.”

“Chris…”

He put his finger to my lips, shaking his head. “Don’t even start, Nyx. Let’s not and say we did, alright?”

Absolute daring like I had never known in my life seized me. I made a decision and I clung to it. I pressed my mouth in a very non-innocent way to his finger, and his dark eyes widened. I could see the lights from the pool reflecting off of them and it made me tremble in a way that was no way related to withdrawal.

Chris pulled his hand away from my mouth roughly and grabbed me. And as he kissed me, both of us stumbling back into his bedroom like in a bad movie, I did not have time on whether or not I was doing the right thing. All I could feel was his hands in my shirt, against the warmth of my stomach, his mouth drawing at mine, like he was trying to burn me. I could not concentrate on the sudden flurry of events around me, like my shirt hitting the ground and feeling it below my feet. I reached behind him and unknotted his bandanna, and Chris let out an almost angry oath, pressing me so close to him that I could feel the consequences of my actions. I hadn’t felt that reaction so baldly since I had been with Alan, and my brain started screeching- stop, stop, stop!!!! Abort!

But I couldn’t, and I buried my face into his neck. He had shaved the other day and the feeling of the smooth skin turned me on, and I nipped him, making him jump.

“Nyx, I don’t want this to happen when we’re drunk.” Chris groaned, his fingers digging into my back almost painfully. “You need to learn to shut up sometimes, Kirkpatrick.” I growled back, and he shook his head, but I felt him fumbling with the back of my bra.

“These stupid fucking things,” Chris said through gritted teeth, “what have you got against the ones that snap in the front?”

“Gotta make you work for it, boy.” I yanked his shirt over his head, and when his face popped back into view, he looked quite deranged, which almost made me laugh, but I held it back. He pulled me up against him, and until this point, I didn’t realize how feeling his skin on mine would affect me. The full realization of what I was doing hit me in the face, and I tried to kiss him in order to hide my panic, but Chris gently stopped me and made me look at him.

“Nyx, you’re trembling. I’m more then glad if I’m causing it, but you’re starting to scare me. Let’s calm down for a second.”

Calm down? Fucking tease. He could give me a run for my money.

“Why?” I whispered, but my voice was shaking.
Chris leaned his forehead against mine. “Because I’m about to lose my fucking mind, that’s why.”

“Oh, that’s all?” I tried to joke, but it fell flat and I bit my lip, cursing myself.
“Lord knows it’s been a long time for me, but I’m guessing it’s been even longer for you. Normally, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, but as we’re pretty drunk, I don’t want to do this and wake up to find you gone. And you’d be gone. I know you.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You do?”

Chris kissed my nose. “Yeah, and it’s driving me fucking nuts. If we do this, if we sleep together, I’m not responsible for what I might say or do during or afterwards.”

“Do you want to?” My words were so quiet that I wasn’t sure he heard, but I felt his chest shake with mirthful laughter. “Do I want to? Jesus, Nyx. What do you think?” He pulled away and looked pointedly between us, and I flushed. “Oh. I suppose you do.”

He snorted. “How long has it been?”

“Four years. Maybe five.”

Chris gasped. “Fuck, high school? My God. Don’t say anymore, I’ll do something crazy.”

“How long for you?” I didn’t really want to know, but I had to. Chris quickly did some math in his head and shrugged. “Eight months, roughly. Probably more then that. It was forgettable, obviously.”

“Good.” I muttered, but he heard and I felt, not saw, his relief.

“Point is, I do not want you to run. To tell you the absolute, terrifying fucking truth, I’d rather never sleep with you then to never see you again.” Chris confessed, and my heart felt like someone took it and stomped on it. “Oh.” I said, in a very small voice.

“Why has it been so long? Did something happen?” Chris questioned anxiously, and I shook my head. “No. Nothing like that. It’s…Alan was…a little too eager. It didn’t…well…it hurt more then…”

Chris’s nostrils flared. “Little prick.”

I shrugged, the memory of that very clumsy night making me need a line more then ever. In actuality, it had taken Alan about an hour to get an erection, and when he had, he wasn’t very gentle. Since then, I was ashamed that I couldn’t perform to a man's liking and was deathly afraid that the next time would feel like the first, and if that was what sex felt like, I’d gladly pass. But during my time with Chris, I walked around constantly imagining it, thinking very unchaste-like things, then hating myself for thinking about those unchaste things. I didn’t pause to think about what having sex with Chris would entail. Which wasn’t surprising-I never think about the bigger picture. No wonder my life was a mess.

“Don’t call him a prick. Shit, he didn’t know what he was doing.” I didn’t even know why I was defending Alan at this very crucial moment.

Chris rolled his eyes. “Babe, inexperienced or not, you are way too much woman for that little shithead.”

I giggled, despite myself, and Chris smirked. “You think that’s funny, huh? I need a cold shower and you’re standing there in your damn bra laughing at me.”

“Oops.” I looked down and blushed.

“Nothing ‘oops’ about it.” Chris looked down between us and sighed. “I need to take care of that, babe.”

I suddenly realized that it was either going to happen now or happen later, and if it happened now, I’d deal with whatever came. All I knew was that I was sick of letting Alan, or myself- hold me back from things. I never stopped to really appreciate Chris’ consideration of me, which was a dick move. I wanted him. He wanted me. If there was…love there, I was sure I felt it strongly enough to not run in the morning. I gathered up every nerve in my body, me, who jumped into mosh pits and held a knife to a dealer’s throat, me, who never knew fear before this, and cupped his face.

“Then I’m right here.”
****************************************

 Maybe

Lips against my chin, my throat, the hollow at the base of it. Chris' hands holding mine on either side of my head, his weight on top of me, his smell in my nose, breath against the place of my heart. All of it terrified the living shit out of me. The feeling from the wine was gone. All I was left with was the consequences of my decision. No turning back now.

But Chris, contrary to his restless nature, did not seem in a rush. My bra was off and I felt the coldness of his mouth on my breast. The feeling made my back arch and my breath ragged. I didn't remember this from years ago. This was tenderness. His hand left mine and he ran it along my hip. His lips moved across my chest. When I made myself look down, his eyes were on mine, and they were so dark that it made the sensations more intense. I've never seen Chris look that way before.

He slid back up to face me and we kissed, pausing to take breaths, then going back at it, soft, teasing, unhurried. My heart hiccupped in my chest. This Chris was too much for me to take. Goosebumps broke on my skin. Chris hummed against my lips, pleased, and his fingers tangled in my hair, pulling gently. His body was pleasantly heavy on top of mine, and I forced myself to relax, this wasn't so bad. He was certainly in no way like Alan. He kissed to kiss, he touched to touch. I loved it, but it was breaking my heart.

Our lips separated and our eyes met as he shifted off of me slightly, his hand sliding down my stomach and quickly fumbling with my belt. He looked at me fearfully, as if I were seconds away from stopping him. It was at that moment I knew, it didn't take him inside me to realize how much Chris Kirkpatrick really cared. I promised myself silently to never compare him to any other representation I saw on Youtube.

To this day, I can't have any other view of him.

I smiled encouragingly at him, and he gave me a side smile. I felt my belt leaving the loops, one by one, and he gave me room to arch my back. He undid his own shorts next, kicking them off of the bed. I hadn't felt this much of his skin against mine since we had started dating-it felt inexplicably amazing to me. I almost laughed to myself when I saw how dark he was in contrast to my white, and Chris smiled sheepishly at me.

"What are you laughing at?"

I covered my mouth. "Nothing. Trust me, don't feel bad."

Chris rolled his eyes and buried his face in my hair, groaning. "Don't say that to a guy when his pants are off, on top of a girl. It's not nice."

"Sorry. I just realized how you make me look like an albino."

Chris's body shuddered with laughter and he raised his head to look at me.

"Is that all?"

"I swear it." I made a move to cross myself.

"You are really white." Chris observed, catching my hand and measuring my skin against his.

"That's the French in me. We don't believe in tans."

"Well, I like it. It's hot." Chris pressed a kiss to the back of my hand. "Now, can we get back to being serious, now? I was rather enjoying making your eyes roll in back of your head."

I tried not to blush. "Get on with it, then."

"Okay, smartass. You asked for it." And when his mouth began a slow, agonizing trip down my chest, I shut my trap. His tongue dipped briefly into my belly button and I groaned, moving my hips. He moved to kneel between my legs and seized my pants, pulling them off of me so slowly that I wanted to scream. Chris' mouth pressed into a hard line when he saw my panties, trying not to laugh.

"Wow, pirate panties. Very fitting, Captain."

I laughed raggedly. "Thought we were supposed to be serious?"

"You have to be serious. I never said anything about me." His fingers teasingly pulled at the band of my red underwear, and I closed my eyes, biting my lips.

"Those are my favorite underwear. Don't make fun of them."

"Would never." Chris assured me, leaning down and kissing directly above the pantyline.

I didn't have a chance to say something smartass in return, because he did a move that I hadn't anticipated. In one quick move, my panties were off and sliding down my one leg, and Chris was pressing his mouth against my knee, my leg, almost all the way down to my ankle, before the panties joined the rest of the clothes on the floor. I didn't have much experience with men, but I knew that this one had an idea of what to do, and I was a goner.

"Look at me, Nyx."

I opened one eye and he was sitting between my bare legs, his hand running along the length of one of them, his mouth twisted in that devious little smile. Jesus Christ.

"Don't stop looking at me." He ordered, and I, in a state of absolute shock, could do nothing but nod my head dumbly. I saw his head bend, and my heart beat so fast that I thought I'd have a nosebleed, which would have been fucking shitty. I had never done this, as crazy as it sounds. After having the bad experience with Alan, I certainly didn't want anybody going down there with their mouth or their parts.  Chris had no idea that he was about to blow my mind.

The thought to stop him had barely entered my head before I felt his lips...down there, you know, and it felt like someone had shocked me with a live wire. Evidently he liked what he was doing, because he stopped with the slow bullshit and started doing things to me with his mouth that made me hiss like a pot of boiling water. My knee hooked over his shoulder and he immediately rewarded it with a heart-stopping movement of his tongue. I instinctively put my hand over my mouth, not understanding the sounds coming out of my throat. Chris snapped his fingers and grabbed my free hand, then gestured impatiently for my other one. I laid my hands in his, cowed, and he held my wrists firmly down into the sheets. His eyes seemed to say, "Don't even think about covering your mouth. I want to hear everything." This assertiveness was so hot that I no longer gave a fuck about sounding possessed. I moaned and twisted, gasped and sighed, and Chris, encouraged, immersed himself fully in his task.

This went on for what seemed like forever to me, but in reality was probably five minutes, and with another quick move with his lips and teeth and tongue, I felt the slow pressure in me implode. I jerked up, unable to help myself, gasping like I'd never get air again. Chris took hold of my hands again and squeezed them till they hurt, but he did not move himself from his position and his eyes would not leave mine. He didn't stop until I was weak and dizzy and absolutely dumb with pleasure.

Without missing a beat, he slid up my body and looked at me, hard.

"Kiss me."

I did not hesitate and tasted myself, mixed with the wine on his breath. This kiss was not like the others, it was not hesitating, it was no longer testing the waters. It left me boneless and slack and I was so out of my head that I didn't really notice Chris kicking off his boxers, his mouth still fused to mine. He broke away from me with the desperate sound of a man on the edge, and when I felt him between my legs, a part of me returned abruptly to Earth.

Chris' hands cupped my head, his mouth opened, and I knew what he was going to say before he said it.

"Yes, I'm sure." I said quickly, searching his eyes.

And just as quickly as the forceful Chris had come, he left. The side of his mouth turned up and I felt him wrap a strand of my hair around his fingers, rolling it around.

"It freaks me out when you do that." He admitted.

"Same here." I replied quietly, and he took a deep breath and buried his face into my neck. I felt his body move, and when I felt him inside me, I bucked, hard. Evidently he had anticipated this, because his body kept mine down, but I felt him groan and shudder.

"Jesus Christ."

Yeah, that wasn't even close to how badly I needed to take the Lord's name in vain, may he forgive me. There had been a flash of pain. I had the sudden, very unsexy thought of cobwebs being knocked down, and a faintly familiar tunnel of pressure. Chris pressed his face against mine, the stubble scratched me, and I heard him taking desperate breaths in my ear. I knew he needed to move, so it was with caution that I bent my leg and hooked it over his hip.

"Fuck." I heard him hiss, and he started to move, slowly. I closed my eyes and felt him move to kiss me, I responded instantly with relief. Kissing him made my head dizzy and kept me from thinking, and it was best if I didn't think. The kiss was deliciously fast and his mouth was so fucking soft, and I slid my fingers into his hair and pulled on the short spikes. This felt nothing like Alan. I could easily see why now people wanted this, why people got addicted to it and spent countless hours in bed, why this could turn into a drug of an entirely different kind. I bit gently on Chris' lower lip and he growled into my mouth, increasing his speed. Now the dull pain was starting to dissipate and I was able to move my hips in the same way I did when I danced, and Chris apparently liked this, because he had to break away from kissing me and brace one hand on his headboard.

He did not stop looking at me, and I know it sounds a bit corny, but I could not stop looking at him either. Something passed between our eyes and I was afraid he would say it, we had a really strange habit of anticipating things out of each other, but thankfully, he didn't. I say thankfully because I wasn't sure of what I would have done if he had. But Chris didn't need to, really, because at that moment, I felt it. That sounds cliché and dumb, and I'm sure you'd like to hear that he whispered it or slowed down or even stopped to tell me, but he just shook his head, more to himself then to me, and bit his lip, his breathing caught on words he feared.

Maybe I should have said it.

Maybe then I wouldn't be in the hospital, now. So many maybes, and none of them matter.
_____________________________________________________________________

Do I divide and fall apart?
Cause my pride is too sly to hold back all my dark
And the ship went down in sight of land
And at the gates does Thomas ask to see my hands

I know you'll come in the night like a thief
But I've had some time alone to hold my lies inside me
I know you think that I'm someone you can trust
But I'm scared I'll get scared and I swear I'll try to nail you back up

So do you think that we could work out a sign
So I'll know it's you and that it's over, so I won't even try?

                                                      Implode

My eyes snapped open.

Light beamed through the open balcony doors, still flung open from last night. It filtered through the palm trees outside and made ragged shapes on the wall, still in the early morning humidity. I did not recognize the sheets I was wrapped in and for a very bad second there, I almost freaked out. But then I felt the ache in my hips and legs and I closed my eyes and slowly exhaled.

Oh yeah, I slept with a member of a boyband last night.

Wow, I never thought I’d ever say that. Let me say it again-I slept with a member of a multi platinum boyband , who once shared a stage with Michael Jackson. But that thought really didn’t take me aback as much as the next one did-I had slept with Chris.

You’d think this would not sound like such a big deal, considering he WAS my boyfriend, and boyfriends and girlfriends DO that. But for me, it was a huge deal, and I reminded myself that I had sworn not to run. No matter what happened, I could not run.

My stomach was uneasy and I made a quick opinion-wine sucked. If I’m going to have a hangover, at least let me drink something cool beforehand, like absinthe or tequila or rum. The funny thing was, I always knew I’d end up having drunken sex with SOMEBODY down the line, it was bound to happen-but I never thought wine would be the stimulant and I certainly never anticipated the magnitude of my choice on who to sleep with, nor how much it would mean to me.

Chris grunted and shifted in his sleep, and I rolled onto my back to look at him. His hair was sticking up in every direction and he was sprawled on his stomach, one arm hanging off the side of the bed. Like the first time I had ever seen him sleep, I couldn’t really believe how young he looked. To my surprise, I had to battle down the insane urge to wake him up and show him what he had taught me last night.
That scared me so much that I sat up abruptly. Chris didn’t move-he was a very hard sleeper and probably wouldn’t wake up until after lunch. I, on the other hand, had to go to work, and I slowly swung myself out of bed, stretching my limbs slowly until I felt them pop. My back seemed to be on fire, and I rubbed at it absently, then reached down to grab my shorts and bra. After slipping them on hastily, I tiptoed across the room and closed the French doors to the balcony, and the room became mercifully dark. Chris huffed in his sleep and rolled around, but I hurried into the bathroom and closed the door, quietly.

When I saw myself in the mirror, I groaned.

I had stubble burn on my neck, my lips looked swollen. My hair was giving Russell Brand a run for his money, and when I turned sideways, I saw five fingernail marks in my back, faintly red. I swore to myself. Damn man. When had that happened?
Maybe when he was coming? My brain supplied helpfully, and I shook it out of my head. I didn’t even want to go there. If I did, I’d go into the room and do things to Chris that I could never tell my grandchildren, assuming I lived long enough to have any.

Seeing the marks on my back made me look myself over more carefully, and when I peeked down my shorts, my face burned. Damn beards. No wonder I felt raw down there. If Chris hadn’t looked so damn good with facial hair, it wouldn’t be worth it. When I looked at the mirror, I didn’t recognize the person looking at me with confusion. This person had gotten royally laid last night, without the aid of coke or hard liquor. This person had actually enjoyed it AND was in love with the person who had slept with her. I closed my eyes. It hurt to think that way, I couldn’t start off my morning with something that heavy. I needed water and Pepto Bismol. And possibly band aids. A whole plate of bacon to stave off the hangover would be nice, too. I was not ready to face how much I had changed, probably because I never have before.

And all of it was because of that fucker in the next room. And I mean ‘fucker’ in the most affectionate way, of course. And literal, now, I guess. Dammit.

I sighed and turned the water on to wash my face.

The door opened behind me and I froze.

“Hey, what are you doing-holy shit.” Chris stopped as he saw my face and hair. His eyes were half open and he squinted blearily at me. He hadn’t found his shorts, so he was dragging the dark blue sheet behind him.

“What the hell did you do to your hair?”

I blushed bright red, unable to look at him in the mirror.

“You did that.” I accused, and he chuckled, his voice still foggy with sleep.

“You helped.”

I could not argue with that piece of logic, so I hastily tried to change the subject. “What are you doing up so early?”

Chris raised his eyebrows. “I need to pee.”

“Oh, right.” I flushed again. Jesus Christ, since when did the word ‘pee’ make me a nervous wreck? “I’ll get out of your way.”

Chris was amused by my being flustered and he shuffled forward to press a kiss onto my bare shoulder. As he did, he caught view of my back and he turned me towards the light. His hands made me shiver, remembering last night.

“Did I do that to your back?!” He exclaimed, and I could only nod and try to make a joke out of it.

“They’re my battle scars.” I said proudly, and Chris laughed. “Never really heard it described that way.”

I shrugged and turned to leave the bathroom so he could do his business. Of course, he stopped me, his eyes still blinking back the harsh halogen lights of the bathroom.

“Do you feel okay?” He asked quietly, and I nodded, unable to speak. Chris studied me for a quick second, then kissed my cheek and let me go.

“I’ll just be a second and you can get back in here.”

I nodded and left the bathroom, closing the door behind me. The second I did, I mouthed a curse to myself and grimaced. Unbeknownst to me, Chris was doing the same thing behind the closed door.
********************
After he had peed, Chris took a deep breath and splashed water on his face. He felt uneasy, and it had nothing to do with the wine. Nyx was already acting weird-fuck, why had he let her get her way last night?

Um, because she’s got a flat stomach and great boobs and she smelled like satsumas and you fucking love her, you dumb twat?

Chris rolled his eyes. You stay out of this, he mentally scolded, and the Undisputed Truth did not answer, which was disturbing in itself, because you must really have to fuck up for your internal voices not to reply to you. He cursed himself for letting his dick lead him. Now she’d run and he’d have no one to blame but himself. He could have said no, but he was a man and being a gentlemen only went so far. And what Chris knew is that she felt and tasted and smelled like…God, he didn’t even know. The thought of it was enough to make him almost barrel through the door and take her right there.

He tried to push all this out of his mind and opened the bathroom door, but Nyx was no longer in his bedroom. He listened closely and he could hear faint noises from downstairs, so even though it was an ungodly time in the morning, Chris stumbled over to grab his shorts from where they lay on the floor.

After he had yanked on a black hoodie, he went downstairs. The second he rounded the corner, he smelled that goddamn satsuma. It made him think of last night so vividly that he halted on the stairs and inhaled sharply.

“Chris, is that you?” Nyx called, and he answered, trying not to sound too nervous.

“Yeah, I’m right here.”

“Oh, okay.” He peeked down the hall and the door to the bathroom was open, so he went in. Nyx was sitting on the toilet lid with a container of orange stuff that could only be the satsuma, her hair brushed and normal looking, wearing a green t-shirt. The satsuma smell was overpowering, and he blinked. She was rubbing it quickly on her bare legs and arms, and she gave him a quick smile that had no tension in it. Chris relaxed a little, and leaned against the wall, not trusting himself to get close to her.

“You’re not going back to bed?” Nyx wanted to know, looking up at him. Chris almost didn’t hear her, he was watching her hands. He started.

“I might, later. I’m up now.”

Nyx raised her eyebrows at him, but said nothing as she put the top back on her body butter and stood in front of the mirror, digging in a small bag on the counter. Chris just watched her.

She met his eyes in the mirror and tentatively smiled. “What, do I have something on my face?”

Chris smiled, almost to himself. “No.”

“You’re looking at me weird.” She cocked her head at him.

“Am I allowed to look?” Chris countered, pushing himself off of the wall. She immediately flushed-Chris loved it, he didn’t think he could ever get tired of putting that color in her face. He wasn’t used to having that effect on anybody.

He expected her to say something smartass, but she shook her head and bit that lower lip of hers. “You did.”

Chris nodded, not touching her, but hovering close.

She started rummaging around in her makeup bag again, and he couldn’t help himself.

“You going somewhere?”

“Work.” Nyx, trying very hard not to look at him, leaned close to the mirror and began applying her dark eyeliner.

Disappointment seeped through him. He’d never tell her, but Chris hated her work and the fact that she had to go and do it so frequently. She was so damn smart and she was a fucking waitress, for Christ sakes. Deep down he knew that he should be grateful for her having a job on such short notice, for it was what kept her in Florida, kept her close to him. The thought of her going back to Louisiana was something Chris didn’t even entertain, tried not to, in fact.

He was suddenly aware that he was hanging out in the bathroom, just watching her, like a clingy freak. But Nyx didn’t seem to mind, and it was only till he saw her grimacing and dabbing some light brown stuff on her neck that he spoke up.

“What are those?”

Nyx turned around and rubbed her chin at him, her eyebrows raised and her mouth in that fucking side smile. Chris bent closer. “You’re kidding. I did that?”

“You did. You branded me with your goatee.” She affirmed, throwing him a wink, and Chris started to feel a bit better. Surely she wouldn’t sleep with him, flirt with him, and then just leave, right?

“Does it hurt?” He asked, and she laughed and turned towards the mirror, where he caught her grinning to herself.

“Not on my face, it doesn’t.” She lowered her eyes at him, and Chris’ dick got rock hard as he realized her implications.

He laughed, even though it hurt like fucking hell. “That so?”

Nyx nodded, her eyes crinkling up at the corners. Ugh, he wanted to tell her, so bad. He had wanted to tell her last night, through the entire goddamn thing. And if Chris didn’t leave the bathroom, right now, he’d blurt it out and possibly fuck up things when they seemed they would be fine.

“I’m gonna go and get something to drink. You want?” He offered, and she shook her head. “No thanks, babe. I’m good. I’ll be out of here soon.”

Chris stopped on his hasty way out of the bathroom. She had never called him babe before. He sneaked a look at her, but she evidently didn’t see his surprise, she was brushing her hair again.

He didn’t really need something to drink, but he needed something to do with his hands or else he’d be putting them on her, and he couldn’t trust himself. Chris’ heart was racing as he looked through the fridge, not seeing its contents, just standing blankly there in the cold air. This was scary-he had sung countless cheesy songs about being crazy about a girl to the point of stupidity, but he didn’t think it would ever happen to him. He was thirty seven, not fifteen! And he had certainly not EVER had sex like that with anybody, not even Dani, and he had dated her for two years. For only having sex once or twice five years ago, Nyx knew how to move and how to respond to him, just as she had been on his motorcycle. And when he remembered how tight she was-good God, it was enough to fucking kill him on the spot. Chris leaned his head against the refrigerator door-the cold air felt good on his hot face.

Chris knew for the rest of the day he’d be useless.

From the other room he heard Nyx’s cell phone ring and the sound of her voice answering made him take a deep breath. Calm the fuck down, Kirkpatrick. Stop acting like a complete queer. He listened without meaning to the conversation, though he couldn’t really hear much, until he heard her sigh with exasperation.

“Mom, I’m not-…” Her voice got closer.

Chris grabbed a bottle of water so he wouldn’t look stupid and unscrewed the top, trying to look nonchalant. He saw a flash of green disappear into the computer room, then the sound of her shoes on the tile, heading toward the kitchen. She caught his eyes as she entered, and rolled her own, mouthing, “Mom”, and he snickered. It was hard to think of Nyx having a mother, or rather, he didn’t know the force of power the woman had to be in order to bring someone like Nyx into the world.

“No, Mom, I did not know that Christobel was back, neither do I care. I thought she said she’d never come back?” Nyx stopped and leaned against the counter, then mimed a talking mouth with one hand, shaking her head. Chris made a face at the word Christobel, and Nyx nodded in agreement. Suddenly, she froze.

“Oh, she told you about a guy, did she?” Their eyes met. “Is she lying? You never know.”

Chris tried not to smile.

“Well, you tell Christobel big hug, big kiss for me, big fat ‘go to hell’, too. Muah. Tell her Florida was not sad to see her sorry ass go.” Another pause. “I know she’s family, Ma, and don’t give me that guilt trip. No, I know we don’t have much family left. Okay. Yeah. What? Coming home?”

Chris felt sick, and she sighed as she gazed at Chris. “Not right now, Mom. Things…things are good for me here, now. Yeah, I gotta go. Work. Yeah. S' agapo to you too. Bye.” Nyx snapped her phone closed and nervously laughed. “Mom drives me nuts. Yours like that?”

“Sometimes.” Chris amended, and she shot him a mischievous look. “Poor woman is probably saintlike for putting up with you. Should send her a flower basket.”

Chris laughed. “She’s got me and four other girls. What do you think?”

“I don’t even know your Mom and she deserves a friggin’ monument.” Nyx declared, and Chris smirked. “I wanted to buy her a crown and she said no thanks, so I got her a house.”

“Fair trade.”

“How many languages do you speak, anyway?” Chris questioned, taking another drag of his water. Nyx smiled widely; the sight made his heart catch. “Enough.”
“How do you say, ‘I demand a kiss, wench’ in Greek?” Chris wondered aloud, winking at her, and Nyx went beet red.

“There’s…um…wow. Filise is the word for kiss, but wench I’m not sure about.” Nyx stammered, and Chris could not help but throw back his head in laughter.
“Well, get over here and filise me, dammit.” He said, in mock severity, and to his surprise, she drew closer to him, close enough for him to pull her against him. Her mouth met his in what was becoming happy familiarity, and Chris closed his eyes and could not explain the relief he felt. Nyx sighed a little against his touch and leaned into him, her arms sliding around his neck.

And then her damn phone went off.

Chris groaned in irritation and Nyx pulled away from him, pulling out of her pocket and checking the display. She groaned and made a growling noise deep in her throat, pocketing the phone and ignoring the call completely.

“It’s Alan, I forgot I need to go over there this morning and check if he’s doing anything stupid, like drunk dialing socialites.”

He snorted. “Does he know any?”

“No idea. Do you? Lord knows they could only be an improvement on my cousin.” Nyx sighed, and gave him a look of what he hoped was regret for not finishing their kiss.

“I have to go to work.”

Chris forced himself to smile. “Alright. I’ll see ya later, babe.”

“I get off at 2. We’ll go do something, if you’re not in the studio.” Nyx cocked her head to the side and he nodded. “No studio today. I’m going to sit around in my boxers and scratch myself all day long until you get back.”

Nyx snorted. “Gee, the next time someone’s asking what you’re doing with your free time off, you tell them that.”

“I’ll let you take pictures to corroborate.” Chris promised, and she crossed her eyes and scrunched up her nose. “I should only be so lucky.”

“You are.” Chris amended, then tapped his cheek and Nyx giggled as she came forward and pecked him a kiss. “Yeah, I suppose I am.” She winked at him, spun, and walked out of the room.

As soon as she left the room, Chris sighed and mimed a gunshot through the head. Today was going to suck.

How many times have I looked like that, I wondered wildly, crazy to the point of carelessness? Seeing someone else doing it made me realize how fucking horrible it looked. It looked sick.

"So you fucked him, huh?” Alan spoke, and I jumped; I had no idea that he knew I was standing there, my mouth open, trying to deal with the conflicting urges to use or be disgusted.

“What the fuck are you doing, Alan?” I whispered, and he dropped the glass straw with a PLINK sound on the hardwood table. His head swung towards me, his eyes wild and scarily unfamiliar in his face, which I’d know from anywhere, no matter how fucked up I was. Looking at him was like looking through a sideways door where I sat in a corner and clawed my own hair out.

“Answer me. You fucked him.”

“Christ, Alan, that isn’t any of your business.”

He coughed and wiped his nose, I could see blood snaking its way out of one nostril. I felt so sick. His eyes accused me and it made me wince. This was judgement, after all I had done before?

“I know you did.”

“Were you watching in the window or something?” I retorted, and Alan chuckled bitterly to himself.

“I’m not that kinky.”

Silence fell between us and I forced myself to step into the room, even though I could smell him from across the room, and the need to go after that coke was fucking crippling.

“Have you been doing this all night?” I asked quietly, and he nodded, trying a mirthless smile. “I can kind of see why you like this stuff. Insane rush.”

I sank down into a chair near the door. “You’re supposed to be the together one, Alan. I’m the fucked up one. Why are you giving up everything?”

Alan glared at me. “Oh, I have everything? Says the girl freshly fucked from Chris Kirkpatrick’s bed while I have no one?”

I felt rage implode in my chest. “Stop saying that word!” I shot hotly, my face reddening.

“What word? ‘Fucked?’ What, did he not call it that?” Alan snapped, and I felt tears well in my eyes, as hard as I tried not to.

“C’mon Nyx, tell me. Did you fuck him just because he was famous?” Alan jeered, and my nails dug into the side of the sofa. I looked at Alan, absolute hate crashing through my stomach, the tears stopping almost as soon as they had started.

“No more then I fucked you for being rich.” I said acidly, and Alan was taken aback.

“We were different. We didn’t fuck.”

I howled in vicious laughter. “You’re right. It took you an hour to even get to it.”

His face darkened and even I could not believe my ugliness. I had never said a word about his inability to perform, it was a level even I didn’t like to fall below.
“You’re lucky you’re not a guy. I’d get you killed for that.” Alan said tightly, his eyes little slits in his face.

I snorted. “What, you part of the Mafia now? Bring it the fuck on, asshole. I could take you without blinking a goddamn eye. What I should do is fucking leave this room and let you OD.”

I had never felt rage and hate like this, and I had said and done some really fucked up things. But Alan was pressing that internal button that I had, the one I had never even considered pushing, because it was the part of me that would not mind separating someone from their life.

“I never did that to you.” Alan pointed out angrily, and I fixed him with my most disdainful glare.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Alan sighed in exasperation.

 “Nyx, I’m gay.”

I just sat there, my mouth hanging open in what I’m sure was a very unattractive manner. My brain could not grasp the two concepts-Alan, gay? Like oil and water. Iraq and peace. Complete oxymorons.

He just sat there, looking very sick, as if he wished he could snatch the words out of the air and stuff them back inside himself.

“You’re not gay.” I managed to croak.

Alan snorted. “I think I’d know if I were gay.”

I shook my head. “It’s the coke and the liquor and everything else making you think crazy shit. Once I thought I had bugs attacking my tongue.”

He shook his head, quite sadly. “No, I think I’ve known it for awhile.”

“Since when?” I screeched, the full comprehension finally swooping down on me like angry bats.

He shrugged and fiddled with the straw on the table. “I don’t know.”

“But you slept with Christobel. You slept with me, five years ago.”

Alan scoffed in impatience. “Nyx, please don’t tell me you’re that clueless, I know better. Christobel and I never once saw each other naked, Jesus Christ, that’s gross. I paid her to keep her mouth shut. You should know your cousin-she’ll do anything for the right price.”

“And me?” I whispered, my throat dry. Things were starting to make a terrifying amount of sense.

Alan’s eyes softened as he looked at me. “I’m sorry I never told you that you weren’t the reason for…you know, the problem I had back then. I always thought it bothered you, kept you back from having relations with other guys.”

I let out a breathless snort of disbelief. “Christ, you think?”

“Nyx, let me tell you something-you are enough to make any man’s head spin. Shit, even mine, and I know I love the cock. It’s never been you, God, you know how much I hated myself for it, back then?” Alan tried to make a joke out of it, but he could only manage a painful smile.

“So, what the hell was all that junk about wanting to be with me again? Were you trying to prove to yourself that you weren’t really gay? I mean, fuck, Alan, I’m really confused here.” My head was spinning, my stomach rolling uneasily.

Alan considered it. “I think it was that and the fact that, if not for all the things keeping us apart, you’re still the woman I’d want to be with, if I did want to be with a woman at all. Plus, I sort of selfishly thought sooner or later you’d get tired of being alone and would come back, and maybe I could tell you and we could be fucked up together, if we had to be.”

I glared at him, my nostrils flaring. “That’s despicable.”

Alan waved his hand at me tiredly. “I know. It’s a horrible thing to think. I told myself that even if worse came to worst, I wouldn’t tell you that. I couldn’t ask you to be with me just for the fear of me being found out. And then Christobel came along and she was perfect, in a way. She’d do anything for some money and it made her happy to think she was getting one over on you, though I’ve always thought it was very much the opposite. The worst part of it is that I would rather live with that damn woman for the rest of my life, paying her to keep quiet, rather then having anyone find about it.” He shuddered at the thought, and I knew instantly what he meant-his parents. They weren’t the most open minded folks around. If Alan came out, his cushy life would end in a second. As long as he stayed in his closet, his future was secure, he was the only Crane child and would stand to gain everything for his silence. Pity bubbled up inside of me, a feeling that I could not help when it came to Alan.

“What were you paying my cousin?” I wanted to know, bracing myself for the answer. Alan laughed. “If I told you, you’d kill me.”

“Probably so.” I admitted, cracking a small smile.

“Let’s just say it was enough to keep quiet, and it worked, for awhile. But she left, and I’m sitting here freaking out because I have no idea what she’ll say or do.” Alan yanked at his hair in frustration.

“Did you make her sign a contract?” I asked, since I knew rich people had contracts for everything.

Alan nodded. “Yeah, but Christobel-you know her, Nyx. She doesn’t keep honor in the highest regard.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” I muttered under my breath, and sighed. “Why did she leave if it wasn’t because of me?”

Alan smirked. “Oh, it was because of you, but not in the way you think. She left me because she knows I let you do coke. And you know what she said on her way out, with all her shit?”

“This ought to be rich.” I rolled my eyes.

“She looked at me and said, and I quote-‘I don’t like the fucking bitch, but she’s family.’”

This was like a double whammy after the whole ‘I’m gay’ thing, and I started to choke, making sputtering noises.

“That’s why she got you out of bed, Nyx. I was confused at first, because no offense, I thought she didn’t give a rat’s ass about you. But it turns out, Christobel does have what appears to be a very grudging respect for you. And when I mean grudging, I mean she’d rather die then admit it.”

I shook my head, my mouth dry. “This is too much.”

Alan raised his eyebrow. “Is life finally getting a bit too real for you?”


I flipped him off, scowling. “What else did she say?”

He shrugged. “Then she told me that if you died and the family found out I was helping you through withdrawal by giving you more and more coke, she’d out me so fast my head would spin. I really can’t say I’d blame her, but Nyx, I didn’t know what to do.” Alan pleaded, and I waved off his apologies, a lump in my throat.

“Don’t.”

A very awkward sort of silence descended on the room, and I leaned my head back against the seat, my brain hurting from all of this information. Alan was gay. Christobel actually gave a shit about me. I was in love with Chris. It was just way too much data to process at 8:30 in the morning, and I still had to get to work. I raked my hands down my face, groaning.

Alan broke the silence first. He fumbled in his pants pocket and drew out a piece of paper, and tossed it with a harsh laugh onto the table, on top of the coke.
“What’s that?” I asked, from between my fingers.

Alan sniffed. “Lance’s number. He gave it to me at the party.”

I uncovered my face. “You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. Imagine that,” He let out a very humorless laugh. “you fall in love with one popstar, and the one gay member of the damn band looks at me for one second and figures me out. Fucking gay dar.”

I laughed, despite myself. “Well, you gonna call him back?” I teased, and he shot me the finger, his face reddening.

“Hell no. It’s one thing being gay and it’s another popping up to your parents and telling them not that not only do you love the wrong gender, you picked a famous one to queen around with.”

“Lance is cute! And Southern. Can’t get much better then that.” I protested, winking, but Alan just waved my words away.

“Shut up, asshole. Besides, off the subject-I could not help but notice that you didn’t deny the ‘in love with Chris’ comment.”

Heat flared up my neck, and I cursed to myself. “Fuck you and your divine queen knowledge.” I muttered. Alan’s eyes got wide. “Holy fuckin Christmas, I was just taking a stab in the dark.”

I grabbed a fussy pillow from behind me and hurled it at his head. It fell pathetically to the floor beside him and he didn’t even notice, because he was goggling at me.

“My God, Nyx. You really are, then?”

I kicked at the floor in supreme exasperation. “I don’t fucking know, Alan.”

“Oh, don’t even lie to me, Nyx. I know you too well. Jesus God, this is serious. What, is he the first person you’ve ever loved?” Alan peered at my face, and I fought down the urge to throw something hard at him, like a bowling ball.

“You say that like I’m a heartless shrew.”

“You are.” Alan admitted, and I gave him a Look. “Thanks, dickface.”

“I can’t believe this. Are you going to tell him?” Alan was still wide eyed, staring at me.

I snorted. “Gee, I don’t know, I’ll think about it while you paint my toenails and have a pillow fight. Fuck, Alan, I don’t know. Yes? No? Maybe? Probably so? All those fit. I just don’t know what to do.”

“Tell him.” Alan suggested, and I screeched in indignation. “Yeah, I’ll tell him when you tell your parents you’re a flaming homo.”

“Look, Nyx-I saw the guy looking at you yesterday. The motherfucker is gone, do you hear me? Who’s to say he’ll judge you? I looked him up on the Internet. Dude came from practically nothing-who is he to pass judgement on anything? He seems like a really understanding guy.”

I gave Alan my ‘are you fuckin serious’ look, and he sighed impatiently. “Nyx, all I’m saying is, maybe he’s what you need to straighten up, fly right. When’s the last time you had a drink?”

“Last night.” I shot back, and Alan glared at me. “You drink in front of him?”
“Goddamit, MOM, he has no idea. And for Christ sakes, it was wine. It made me tipsy. Plus, he was much drunker then I was.” As soon as the words left my lips, I realized how bad it sounded.

“Oh, so Mr. Boyband got you fucked up on cheap wine and had sex with you?” Alan exclaimed, and I hastily jumped to rectify my mistake.

“Good Christ, no, Alan, have you forgotten who you’re talking to? How many times have I been three sheets to the wind and fought off horny idiots? Do you really think I would let him have sex with me like that?” I scowled, and he held up his hands in supplication. “Okay, okay, point taken. But if you were both drunk, and he tried, and he’s not in traction, then that must mean you wanted it.”

I shot up from my chair, flushing red. “Since when is all this goddamn information your business? For the record, just so we can get off the goddamn subject, I was the one who pursued it, okay? He didn’t want to, not while we were drunk, but I got him to. Happy now?”

Alan just gaped at me. I raked my hands through my hair and cussed to myself, falling back into the chair again.

“I think you’re breaking my mind.” He confessed, and I let out a hard laugh. “Gee, you think? You’re gay, Christobel grew a heart, and I’m the biggest tramp in Florida. Why don’t the men in jackets come and take us away?”

“Well, one thing’s for sure, he sure as hell didn’t give it to you hard enough to get that fucking chip off your shoulder.” Alan’s words made my ire rise again, but his tone was mischievous, and I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself.

“Some things never change, Crane. Not even with a righteous lay.”

“No, and that’s the problem. Look, if you love him, Nyx, don’t be an idiot. If you can’t tell him, you have to try.”

“I did try! I have been trying! I’ve been in hell, Alan! Hell! You don’t even want to get to where I am now. It would boggle your fucking mind.” I shook my head and let out a disgusted sigh.

“I’m proud of you for trying.” Alan said softly, and I raised my eyes to look at his, not trusting the unfamiliar words. Awkward silence stretched between us, and I gruffly nodded at him.

“Thanks.” That was all I could let myself say, and felt my legs pulling me up of my own accord to cross the room and give Alan a tentative hug. He returned it, and I was relieved to feel that we were just Alan and Nyx again, just without the regrets and the pity. Except now we had huge secrets between us, and I didn’t want to think about having to deal with it right that second.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” He said quietly, into my ear.

I smirked into his shoulder. “I’m honestly kind of disappointed in myself for not figuring it out sooner. I mean, what hetero wears fucking duck shorts?”

“Fuck, would you get off the duck shorts, Nyx?” Alan pinched me and I snuck him a light jab in the stomach in return.

“God, no. You’re lucky you weren’t assailed on the street by angry queens.” I joked, and he pushed me away from him, making a face.

I sank down into the chair opposite him and tried not to look at the coke spread out all over the table.

“Where’d you get all that?” I jerked my chin at it. Even I had never seen so much coke before.

Alan managed a sad little smile. “Money gets you everything, my dear.”

I reached over and picked up the straw, it felt familiar and comforting below my fingers, like an old friend. My entire body was quivering with anticipation, I couldn’t help myself. Chris’ influence on me only went so far, unfortunately-I was still me.

“Well, in honor of your queenliness and my inability to stay away from men who are too good for me, let’s snort a few celebratory lines together.” I wiggled the straw at him.

Alan gasped. “Nyx, are you crazy?”

“I’m an addict, as you once called me. And don’t even sit there and tell me I can’t, because this is my straw and you’ve been high as a kite all night.” I threatened, and Alan shook his head and reached to take the straw from me, but I pulled it out of his grasp.

“One line, Alan.” I begged, unable to keep my eyes from the white powder sparkling dully up at me.  “One, and we’ll flush it.”

“Nyx, one is too many for you. Stop it, didn’t you hear anything I just told you? That I’m proud of you for trying to stay clean? Fuck, sometimes I don’t believe you have a brain between your ears.” Alan folded his arms and sat back into the seat, scowling. I met his eyes.

“Don’t do that. Don’t be my father. You have no idea how badly I need this.”

Alan glanced over at me. “No, Nyx. You have no idea how badly you DON’T.”
“One and the same, from where I’m sitting.” I bent my head and hovered above the lines, pushed the straw inside my nose, and gave a hard, almost painful pull. It burned more then I remembered and I fought to keep my composure, enduring the harsh chemical smell as I quickly finished the line. It hit my fucking brain like a sledgehammer.

“Oh.” I tossed my head back and sniffed a few times, and I felt Alan’s eyes on me.

“Oh, that’s fucking fantastic.” I muttered, rubbing my nose. My eyes met his and I held out the straw.

“If you can do it all night, you can do it one more time.” I said, quietly.

I thought he’d yell at me, but instead he slid it from my fingers, and I watched my best friend do the one thing he was too good for.

I’m such a bad fucking person.

He hadn’t gone back to sleep, had spent the morning watching TV, thinking about Nyx, texting Joey, thinking about Nyx, Twittering, and thinking about Nyx. After a while, he had retired to the backyard, restless for something to do, hoping the maid had forgotten to do something so he could occupy his mind. Unfortunately she wanted to keep her job and had done a thorough cleaning on the backyard, so Chris was grilling a few hot dogs so he could clean up all over again. He wasn’t really hungry, but anything was better then sitting on his ass and wondering if she’d come back.

He had forgotten the ketchup and was entering the house to retrieve it when he heard noises coming from the computer room. Chris paused and listened.

“Hello?” He called out, suspiciously.

The noises stopped. “Chris?”

Oh thank God. Chris forgot about the ketchup and rounded the corner to greet her.

“Hey, babe, what’s-…” He stopped in the doorway, his eyes on the suitcase sitting on his spare bed. Nyx looked up at him, her eyes wide, her arms full of clothes, still in her black waitress’s uniform.

Chris felt his stomach lurch, and he leaned against the doorframe.

“I knew it.” He said quietly.

Nyx bit her lip. “Knew what?”

“That you’d run.”

His words made her sigh, and she dropped her clothes into the open suitcase.
“Who says I’m running?”

Chris folded his arms. “You’re packing a suitcase. Not exactly hard to put together.” Nyx sat down on the bed slowly, taking a deep breath.

“Christ, see, that’s why I didn’t want last night to happen.” Chris said disgustedly, and she shook her head. “Don’t be like that, Chris.”

“Like what? Sorry, I just don’t like people fucking with my feelings. I apologize if it’s a foreign concept to you.” His words were acid, and he expected her to fly at him, but she just closed her eyes.

“I don’t want to fuck with your feelings, Chris.”

“Fine, then what’s with the suitcase?” He retorted, jerking his head at it.
“It doesn’t mean what you think it does.” She intoned quietly, and he exhaled, looking away from her. “An open suitcase only means one thing.”

“It doesn’t mean that I’m leaving you.”

At her words, Chris’ anger vanished, and he turned to peer at her.

“You’re not?”

Nyx laughed, and the sound soothed Chris, who, for a second there, was considering kicking something, preferably the suitcase.

“God, you must be catching my paranoia. No, I’m not leaving YOU. I’m just going back to live at Alan’s. He’s alone in that big house and I’m worried about him.”
“I’d be throwing a party if I were him.” Chris said uncertainly, and she snickered a little. “That just means that you and I both aren’t masochists. I don’t understand him, either.”

“You don’t have to leave, you know. I love having you here.” Chris’ words came out in a rush, and he wanted to knock himself a good one. God, what a pussy.

Nyx nodded. “And it’s not like I don’t like staying here. In fact,” She smiled softly to herself. “I like this place tons. It beats that huge piece of shit house.”

Chris couldn’t argue with her without sounding like a clingy idiot, so he didn’t press the subject any longer. He relaxed against the doorframe, putting his hands in his pockets so that he didn’t grab her.

She grinned at him. “I can’t believe you thought I was dumping you.” She teased, and Chris rolled his eyes heavenward.

“Haven't we been through this before? I thought you were going to feed me that bullshit line of wanting to be friends.”

Nyx’s hair caught the light as she vehemently disagreed. “I don’t believe in that line.”

“Good, because I was going to tell you-I want to do things to you that I don’t want to do to my friends.” Chris took a step closer and Nyx’s eyes widened, her face went pink. She stood up hurriedly and began to resume packing, trying to hide her face.

Chris couldn’t believe he was talking like this. Who am I, saying this shit? He wondered, and had to bite his cheek to stop from laughing, almost humming a few bars of his song out of full reflex.

“Besides,” She spoke up, catching Chris by surprise. “it’s not like I’m not going to come back over, or that you can’t come over to the house. Alan doesn’t mind you coming by. Christobel’s not around to fuck with you, either.”

Chris let out a derisive snort. “I doubt it very much that Alan doesn’t mind, Nyx.”
She caught his eye. “Trust me, he doesn’t.” She said, very quietly, and oddly enough, Chris believed her.

Nyx zipped her suitcase and pulled it off of the bed, then sat down on it. She patted the spot next to her, and almost immediately, Chris’s stomach began to do the stupid little flips that always occurred when he was close to her. He sat down next to her, immediately smelling the satsuma wafting off of her skin.

Nyx, slowly, tentatively, slid her hand onto his. “I’m not going to run, Chris. Do you believe me?”

Chris looked straight at her. “Sometimes.”

But his fingers closed around hers, and the corner of her mouth turned up. “Fair enough.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few seconds, and then Chris squeezed her hand. “Are you hungry? I’m making hot dogs outside. Which are probably burnt by now.” He added wryly.

“I ate at work, but I’ll get changed and come outside with you.” Nyx yanked at her tie and made a face.

Chris picked up her hand and kissed the back of it, then got up and left the room, not knowing if he should be full of relief or sadness.

It had been harder then I thought it would be, to lie to him.

But how was it a lie, I wondered, when I would be coming back?

“Hola Amparo. ¿Cómo es usted?” I asked, and she looked at me in surprise. I couldn’t blame her. Two weeks ago I had taken a swipe at her, like a scalded cat.

“Bueno, Señorita. I take your suitcase?”

“Gracias.” I began to climb the steps, I was exhausted from the day’s events, not to mention emotionally bankrupt. I was flying high and hadn’t eaten since the BBQ, and I knew I wouldn’t be hungry for about two days.

Alan wasn’t in my room when I entered, which was a relief, because I was tired of being accosted every time I came back to the house. I sat down on the side of my bed and put my hands on my knees, hanging my head, my eyes closed. I had to be sure about this. Was I really serious, was I really going to jump off the cliff, was I going to do the thing I feared the most, facing life? The prospect was more terrifying then loving Chris, losing my family’s favor, even death.

I swallowed and fought back the wave of bile in my throat. One thing at a time. Tonight was my last chance. If I got through tonight, I’d take anything God dealt out to me, good or bad, because I don’t hope for the former and I deserve the latter.

I reached over to my bedside table and picked up the phone.

When it connected, I spoke.

“Venga arriba, Maria. Sólo.”

I didn’t care. I wasn’t even worried about whether I’d live. I just knew that this felt fucking awesome. Out of nowhere, I started humming a few off key notes of “Hey Jude” and sank lower in the tub.

“Don’t make it bad, take a sad song-make it better…”

I closed my eyes, but they were still rolling around behind my eyelids. My jaws were killing me from all of the clenching.

Nyx, you need to stop.

I groaned. “Shut up Alan.” I flung my arm out of the tub, but I didn’t hit him. I did manage to knock over the absinthe bottle, but nothing came out, it was empty.
“Oops.” I slurred to myself. “Pick that bottle up, Alan.”

But he didn’t answer, and I opened my eyes, glancing around blearily. Nobody was in the bathroom with me. A chill slid down my back, but I thought it was the water growing cold and I immediately started to climb my way out. I was still in my clothes, soaking wet, and I slipped on the side of the marble tub and rolled to the tile, my head smacking against it.

“Ow.” I muttered, but did not make a move to get up. I laid there in a wet puddle and my eyes blinked rapidly.

Look at me, Nyx.

Chris? I fought to keep my eyes open. Fuck me, I was so tired.

“I can’t, Baio. I’m going to sleep.” I murmured, rolling over on my side. Blood dripped onto the floor; I tasted the iron of it between my lips.

This wasn’t fun anymore.

I didn’t move from my spot for awhile.

The X was starting to wear off, but I knew I still had coke in my system, so I wasn’t going to sleep any time soon. I had never felt so drained in my life-my damp body felt like limp spaghetti. I heard the maid knock once more.

“Señorita?”

“Too much noise.” I muttered, my fingernails scratching dully at the carpet. I heard a pause and finally, the sound of shoes turning and fading down the hallway.
Up on my bedstand, my cell phone started to vibrate and Avenged Sevenfold blared through the seven thousandth loop of Atmosphere on my Itouch. It felt like someone was taking a knife and severing my head in two, so loud was the sound in my ears. I dragged myself to a sitting position and managed to knock it off of the bedstand. The name on the display blurred as I squinted.

Chris.

Ugh, couldn’t answer it. I put it down and let it go to voicemail, my eyes drooping.

Why had I done this? Remind me again why I had chosen to engage in the most intense substance abuse I had ever done, right when I had everything to live for? I couldn’t remember, I dimly thought of wine and the impossible white of Chris’ teeth, the way he looked at me as he pulled off my helmet at the paintball tournament. Alan’s voice came out of Chris’ mouth, and the words were all out of sync. Haha. NSYNC, out of sync. I made a funny.

Doctor says you’ll die.

“I’m tough.” I muttered, my mouth filling with blood from my nose, which kept gushing sporadically, no matter how many pieces of toilet paper I had jammed into it.

“Look at me, Nyx.” Alan said urgently, but it was Chris’s mouth that formed the words, and the last thing I remembered before spiraling into a deep, dark nothing was that I had everything to gain, and that’s why I had done this.

My lips felt cracked and blistered, my nose was on fire and I was pretty sure I had bloodstains on the neck of my shirt. I hadn’t brought any clothes with me to this hotel, which was far away from Vizcaya Park and certainly not a place where anyone of Chris’s or Alan’s stature would go. I had woken up, puked for an hour, then grabbed my bag and went downstairs to check out. My phone was off. I had ten voicemails, but had listened to none.

It was over.

Chris hurled his phone into the sofa, barely missing the edge of his coffee table. “Goddammit!” His jaws snapped over the word, and he fell onto his couch, his arms over his face.

Sixteen times, he had tried calling Nyx. And that was just in the past two days. She had vanished from the face of the Earth, again. And Chris had been stupid enough to believe that she had been telling him the truth. Shit, she had acted convincingly enough. She had actually kissed HIM on her way out, not the other way around. Chris fought to remember the look in her eyes as she turned away from him and walked down the driveway. Had she looked sad? Angry? Frustrated? Happy? God, if he could only remember!

Chris stood up, grabbed his phone, and hurried out of his front door.

Implode

Open up, Alan, I know you're in there!"


Chris banged the door as hard as he could, ignoring the pain in his hand from the coat of arms.

He had come over here twice before, but nobody had answered the door. Now he was determined to fucking camp out on the doorstep until someone arrived or someone left, Florida heat be damned.

To his surprise, the door opened almost immediately. The maid that had answered the door on his first time to the Crane residence stood there, her eyes wide with shock.
Chris racked his brain desperately for the right words. Languages went right out of his head; the only way he remembered them was to sing them, and he had a sneaking suspicion the maid would be confused if he started shouting "This I Promise You" at her.

"Um, shit…how do you say it…¿dónde está Nyx? ¿Dónde está ella? ¿Dónde está Alan?" He asked desperately, hoping those were the right words. The maid shook her head.
"Ella no está aquí, señor!"

Shit, what the hell did that mean? Chris gave up, shook his head, then mimed entering the house. She immediately swung open the door to let him in, and without even looking
back at her, Chris hurried up the steps, ignoring her yelling after him in Spanish.

He flew into Nyx's room, almost knocking down the door in his haste.

The room was immaculate, and so was her adjoining bathroom, which he checked quickly. Her toothbrush wasn't even there. He sagged and sat down on her bed, breathing hard from running up the steps. He heard feet pounding up the stairs and he closed his eyes. Let them come. He wasn't leaving until she came home.
"Chris?" Alan hurried into the room, then stopped, his eyes wide as he took in Chris on Nyx's bed, glaring at him.

"Where is she?" Chris barked.

Alan threw up his hands in desperation. "Chris, your guess is as good as mine. The last time I saw her was when she came home from your place. She had her suitcase, and then she went to work."

"What did you say to her to make her leave?" Chris demanded, and Alan looked at him like he had lost his mind. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"She came to my house, packed her shit, and after awhile of us hanging out, she came back here. She told me she wasn't going to leave me, and she did. And she was perfectly fine before she came over here. What the hell did you tell her?" Chris had never felt so angry in his life, with the exception of Lou's betrayal.
Alan sighed and sat down in a chair next to the door. "I didn't say anything to her, Chris."

Chris snorted harshly. "I'm famous, not stupid, Crane. You had to say something."

Alan sent a dark look at him. "Chris, trust me. There's a lot you don't know about Nyx."

"Yeah, no fucking kidding." Chris shook his head, huffing in exasperation.

"There is nothing between Nyx and I." said Alan, calmly, and he ignored Chris's massive eye roll. "I thought there was, but…well, like I said, there's a lot you don't know."

"Well, why don't you tell me? God, is this a Louisiana thing, not ever talking about things? All these secrets. It's fucking ridiculous." Chris ranted, and Alan sighed and rose from his chair. He sat next to Chris on the bed and seemed to pause before he spoke.

"Chris, how good are you at keeping secrets?"

Chris looked at him in hard disbelief. "I spent most of my adult life hiding mine from the public. What do you think?"

Alan looked down at the floor, heaved a deep breath. "If you ever repeat what I'm about to tell you, I'll sue you blind, do you hear me, Kirkpatrick?" His look was so fierce that Chris was taken aback, and could only nod. Alan reached into his pocket, withdrew a piece of paper, and handed it to Chris, who took it. He squinted at the numbers and letters, and at first they didn't make any sense, but as they unscrambled, Chris' eyes grew wide.

"This is Lance's number. Why do you have Lance's number?"

"I've been carrying it around since your BBQ like an idiot." Alan admitted, and Chris looked up at him, his mouth dragging the ground.
"Yeah." Alan amended sadly, and Chris, his hands numb, handed the piece of paper back to Alan, who pocketed it immediately.

"Why are you telling ME this?" Chris wanted to know, thoroughly confused.

"Because I figure you've got too much to lose, and I needed to tell somebody else. I'm sorry if I dumped on you. I just," Alan sighed. "needed to get it out of me."
"I understand." Chris said slowly, but he wasn't sure he did. "But if you're...you know…why do you seem like you're in love with my girlfriend?"

Alan looked down at his hands. "I was at one point. Hell, I'll always love Nyx. She's easy to love, despite being a complete pain in the ass. How can any guy NOT love her? But I realized recently, very recently, that it's a different sort of love, and I was only fooling myself. You ever had that happen to you?"

Chris nodded absentlyf, Dani's sad face flashing across the front of his brain.

They sat there in the quiet room, not talking for what seemed like ages. Chris's brain was whirring. Alan was gay. Alan was carrying Lance's number around. Lance, Chris's brother. The two ideas were repelling magnets, they would not stick.

"Chris?" Alan's voice cut through his thoughts.

"What?" Chris asked a little irritably, he didn't like being confused.

"Did she say she'd come back?" Alan sounded sad. Chris looked at him.

"Yes."

The other man spread his hands. "Then she will."

I parked my car against Alan’s curb and cut the engine, leaning my forehead on the steering wheel.

I wanted to go back to sleep, but I couldn’t. I had been sleeping for the past four or five days, if you could call ‘passing out’ sleep. I had things to do, lies to tell, and promises to keep, but I felt as if I were running a rat race. I had to find Chris, assuming he still wanted me. I had to apologize to Alan, if he’d ever forgive me. I had to stop by my work, even though it was probably no longer work anymore. I had to wash my hair and get the gunk off of my body and the funky old sock taste out of my mouth. And maybe for fifteen minutes, God willing, get a little sleep.

The thought of climbing up the sloping green lawn almost made me consider passing out in my car, but the heat was unforgiveable and I stumbled out of my car. Birds chirped. People were mowing their grass, or at least having other people mow their grass. They were having fun and enjoying the summer, but me, I had shit to do, none of it pleasant.

I made it up to the front door, restraining the urge to carry on my tradition of puking in the garden, and banged on the door weakly. Fuck my key.

Amparo opened the door, and when she saw me, she just stared, but I pushed past her, not bothering to say hello or goodbye, just dragging myself up the stairs. One by one, the entire staff ventured into the foyer to watch me climb. Let them watch the freak show. Who gives a shit?

My door was open and I stopped in my tracks when I heard movement inside. Alan, waiting for me. Christ, the man had his own room. I wasn’t in the mood, and I let him know as I rounded the corner.

“Alan, get a life, will you, I-…”

Chris Kirkpatrick and Alan were sitting on my bed.

I halted so suddenly that my feet probably left skid marks in the carpet. They both straightened to their feet the second they saw me. Two pairs of eyes looked me up and down with horror, and they both took steps towards me at the same time.

I felt like I was going to faint. My throat went bone dry. This was not happening. This was not happening. This was not happening.

“Nyx, what the hell have you been doing?” Chris whispered loudly, his eyes taking in the blood on my collar, and I swallowed, hard, my eyes flickering between them. Alan didn’t have to ask. His eyes were searching mine quickly. Chris took a few more steps towards me, but I held out my hand to halt him.

“I’m fine.”

“The fuck you are!” Chris exclaimed, and I winced from the loud noise. “Chris, please.”

“Chris please nothing! You look like you’ve been in a riot!”

My eyes met Alan’s, and he looked hard back at me, no sympathy for the devil there. I dug my own grave and he was letting me lie in it. Who could blame him?”

I looked at my feet. “Alan, please excuse us.”

“I think I’d like to know exactly what Chris wants to know, Nyx.” Alan crossed his arms, and I raised my head to send a look of supreme loathing his way.

“I have no reason to explain myself to you, Alan Crane.”

“Oh, really? I’ll just call your mother then, you can explain yourself to her.” Alan threatened, and I felt my face drain of color, what was left of it, anyway. I made myself control my temper, though, and I bit my lower lip.

“Alan, we will talk later. Please leave Chris and I alone.”

Evidently he didn’t want to make a stink in front of our guest, because Alan wavered under the look I gave him and walked out of my room, closing the door behind him.

Chris tried once more to approach me, but I shook my head. “Don’t. I don’t smell so great.”

“Like I care about that.” He muttered, pushing my hand out of the way and grabbing me in a hug. My whole body went lax against his, immediately, relieved to lean against something. I closed my eyes and inhaled the smell of his neck-he hadn’t shaved and it felt strangely comforting to have his stubble rubbing my face. I hesitated, but snaked my arms around him and hugged him weakly against me.

Despite my smell, which was probably reaching epic proportions, Chris didn’t let go of me for a few minutes, which felt unbearably good. During those four days, I had missed him to the point of insanity, even going as far as to cry out his name a few times. It no longer scared me, I felt bulletproof now.

“Where have you been, Nyx?” Chris whispered into my hair.

“Does that matter? I came back.” I pulled away to gaze at his face, those brown eyes achingly confused and angry and frustrated. He exhaled. “That’s not the point, Nyx.” His arms withdrew from around me, and I felt cold, like someone had tossed me into ice water. Chris turned and walked to sit on my bed, and I followed. We didn’t speak, I was afraid to trigger anything. What if all my efforts had been for nothing? I cursed myself for not thinking of the consequences, as always. What if he gave up?

The tension between us was unbearable, but I could not speak. I hadn’t thought of a good excuse for my whereabouts. I thought I’d get to see him after I had cleaned up; I thought I’d have time to concoct a story. Just goes to show you that God laughs at plans.

Chris looked at me, and I resisted the urge to return the look for a few seconds, but his gaze was too strong and I looked back at him, my chin held high. If he was going to dump me, I wasn’t going to falter.

“I don’t know what to do, Nyx. I’m at a loss here. You say you’re not going to disappear, and then you do. No calls. I almost called the cops-I called a few hospitals, but no one had any record of you. Then you show up after four days of nothing looking like someone beat the living crap out of you. What the hell is going on?”

I exhaled. Here goes everything. When the words came out, it was like a dam had broken. “Chris, I had to go away. I had to get over some stuff. More importantly, I had to get over my fear of being with you. It was a really selfish and dick move on my part, and sorry isn’t good enough, so I won’t insult you with it. I wish I had a good excuse. I wish I had some answers for you. If you want to walk away, by all means, I would think the better of you for it. God knows, I’d love to walk away from myself sometimes.”

Chris punched the comforter of my bed in exasperation, making me jump. “God, Nyx, what the living hell are you talking about, walking away? Should I? Probably. Will I? No. Probably not. But the next time you go running off like this, I will. I’m not a masochist, Nyx. Don’t play with me.”

I swallowed hard, taking his threat to heart. Chris, like me, was not a bluffer. I had not expected this from him, though, this sudden leniency. I had expected him to glare at me and leave me, tell me this was way too much for him to handle, even though he didn’t know the half of it. Now I know, much later down the line, that Chris has always been a sucker for a lost cause, because he thought he used to be one. But I didn’t know this at the time, so I was at his mercy.

“I don’t plan on playing with you.” I whispered. My voice sounded like it had been rolled in wet cement.

“Well, can I ask why the hell you look so messed up, or is that overstepping the boundaries of what I need to know?” Chris asked snidely, and I couldn’t exactly jump his ass for his flippancy. I would have asked the same question to myself.

“I got sick again.” I said, in a very small voice.

“So you disappear somewhere and don’t let anyone know where you are? Nyx, that’s fucking crazy. I mean, I KNOW you have better sense then that.” Chris scowled at me.

“Evidently not.” I muttered, looking down at the floor.

“I mean, are you like, terminally ill or something? Cancer? Eating disorder? What? And don’t insult me by telling me it’s the flu.” Chris warned, and I snorted, despite myself.

“Chris, do I honestly look like the type to have an eating disorder?”

“It takes all kinds. Believe me, I know. I’ve seen it.” He said shortly.

I let out a deep breath. “I don’t have an eating disorder, I sure as fuck hope I don’t have cancer, and I don’t have a brain tumor or a patristic twin growing out of me somewhere. Lots of people get chronic nosebleeds. Maybe I have an ulcer. I don’t know, I’m not a doctor. I just know that I’m tired of getting that way, and if settles your nerves, I’ll go see one.”

Chris’s eyebrows shot into his skull. “Oh, there’s no doubt about that. I’ll drag you myself.”

I scoffed. “I’d like to see you try, Kirkpatrick.”

He gave me one of those patented Christopher Kirkpatrick Looks that made me shut my trap. I hated those things. They made me feel like a child, which I probably deserved, come to think of it now. He took a long sideways look at me, then groaned into his hands.

“I swear, you drive me fucking nuts, Nyx.”

“I’m sorry?” I whispered, not able to meet his eyes. He exhaled slowly, then reached over and squeezed my knee. The sudden contact made my chest contract.

“At least you keep me on my toes.” He gruffly amended, and I tried a smile.

“Somebody’s got to, Kirkpatrick. Who’s going to kick your ass when you get on your late night Bruce Lee marathons? You almost kicked a hole into your living room wall.”

“Hey, give me any shit you want, just not about the man.” Chris threatened, fighting back a reluctant smile. But I was on a roll.

“Or when you ate a whole pack of Pixie Stix and prank called everybody in your phone? Not to mention the one time you and Dave farted over speakerphone for an hour, trying to recreate some sort of football cheer? I keep YOU on YOUR toes? Pfft.” I mock scowled at him, and by now, he was laughing into his hands, unable to help himself. This encouraged me, I was relieved to get off the subject of the last four days. If it there one thing I was good at, it was making Chris laugh. Even though I pretty much sucked at everything else.

“By the way, your living room will never smell the same. I’m surprised that you didn’t call someone to fumigate.” I teased, and Chris waved me away, still chuckling.

“Okay, okay, don’t pick on the gassy old guy. Consider me called on my bullshit.”

We just sat there and looked at each other, trying not to smile.

“Forgive me?” I whispered hopefully, and he reached over and took my hand, shaking his head.

“I shouldn’t, and you should be ashamed of yourself, trying to change the subject and making me laugh like that, but I can’t resist you, you pain in the ass.” He said wryly, trying to be stern, but Chris sucks at staying mad, so I knew I was in the green.

“Duly noted. Feelings of shame are washing over me.” I held up my hand. “Catholic school girl’s honor.”

Chris groaned. “I’ll pretend I never heard that you were a Catholic schoolgirl.”

I made a face and looked down at myself. “Can’t really blame you when I smell like this.”

He leaned in and sniffed my shoulder, then crinkled up his nose. “You smell like…metal. Definitely not as good as your satsuma stuff.”

I didn’t bother informing him that the reason I smelled metallic is because I basically laid in my own blood and sweat for four days. I stood up, affectionately mussing up his hair. “I’m going to go jump in the shower. I shall emerge smelling of satsumas, as apology for the last four days.”

Chris snorted. “Sister, what you put me through these past four days goes beyond smelling like satsumas. No, I think you owe me big time.”

I widened my eyes. “Christ, I said I was sorry! Don’t make me wear your leather pants again! It’s just not right!”

Chris tapped the side of his cheek in exaggeration, pointedly ignoring me. “Let’s see-first thing, you’re going to sleep at my house tonight. Second, you’re going to tell me more about that Catholic schoolgirl thing, and I’ll probably have you send off for it. Third, you’ll make me tacos-and enjoy it.”

“Is there a fourth, you diva?” I asked acidly, but I was willing to do all that, and more, if he wanted to forgive me.

“Don’t tempt me. Joey once made a sex tape while he and Kelly house-sat for me. It’s probably still there and I’m not afraid to dig for it.”

I made a yuck face and Chris laughed, rising to his feet. “Go take a shower. I’ll be at my house. Door will be open.” He kissed my forehead, and I nearly fainted with relief.

“You have to stop leaving your door open. One day a fan’s going to come in while you’re sleeping and rape you, and I’ll have to cut a bitch.” I complained, heading into the bathroom.

“Does that mean you’re jealous?” Chris called after me, grinning like an idiot. I turned and fixed him with a evil smile.

“Immensely. And I enjoy playing with my food before I eat it.”

I’m not prone to being egotistical, but really, a girl has to pat herself on the back when she smells like Bourbon Street and still manages to make her boyfriend’s jaw drop. I closed the door on Chris’s wide eyes and awestruck expression and leaned against it, taking a deep breath.

So far, so good.
***************************
Four or five days were not enough for Nyx to completely detox. In reality, it takes weeks, sometimes even months, maybe even years, depending on the severity of the addiction. As far as hers, well, she had a long way to go before she’d be free. Nyx began to try and repair herself, staying away from liquor the best she could, skirting from situations from which she could acquire cocaine or Ecstasy. It wasn’t easy, and a few times she almost gave in, but always stopped before the buy, the transfer, the snort, the sip.

She wanted drugs and liquor, sure, but she had wanted Chris more.
*************************

“So, what’s the word, Doc? How am I looking? Dead yet?” I teased, yanking down my shirt.

Dr. Triche, Alan’s physician, sighed and tucked his stethoscope back into his lab coat pocket. “Your lab tests came back, they look much better.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” I forced myself not to look at the clock. Chris was picking me up from Alan’s in an hour to go to another paintball tournament, and I still had to run and grab my stuff.

“You’re gaining weight back, slowly, but you’re much better then you were when I last saw you.” He reported, studying the folder in front of him. My face flushed. Last time Dr. Triche had seen me, I had been comatose, and probably topless.
“And my nose?” I asked hopefully, but Dr. Triche shook his head. “Your nose shows significant damage, Nyx. If you are using, I’d try to seek help, especially since your nosebleeds are only going to increase. Plus, you have had a recent break.”

“I’m not using at the moment.” I said slowly, trying to process his words.

“Well, while we’re on the subject…” Dr. Triche rolled across the room in his chair and closed the door to the examination room. Fear was slick in my throat.

He looked down at my tests again, then up at me. When he spoke, his words were gentle, but their effect was no less crippling. “If you start using cocaine again, it’s unlikely you’ll make it to the end of the year without hospitalization. Your condition is so severe that I am having a hard time not admitting you to the hospital right now- your liver shows signs of deterioration. For your size, you’ve done an incredible amount of damage. There are programs…-“

I held up my hand, my head spinning. “Do you have a bathroom?”

The doctor paused, his eyes sad and knowing. “Hallway.”

I immediately jumped off of the table and flung myself into the hall, groped for the door handle, slammed the door behind me, and promptly puked.

Everywhere.
****************************
Chris stopped his Harley in front of Alan’s house, killing the motor. He yanked off his helmet and grabbed Nyx’s purple one, then hurried up the front walk.
The door opened before he even reached it, and Nyx stepped out onto the porch, holding her backpack, and her face was so devoid of color that Chris thought at first that she had just witnessed a double beheading. He rushed up to her.

“Babe, what’s the matter?” He grabbed her hand, it was ice cold.

She looked up at him in dull surprise, as if she had just realized his presence.

“What?”

“You look sick.” Chris peered into her eyes, anxious.

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t insult my intelligence. What’s the matter?” Chris asked impatiently, dropping the helmets into the deep grass behind him.

“They took blood at the doctor’s office. It always flushes me out, and I hate needles.” Nyx waved away his concern, but she seemed to be looking straight through him, and Chris, not buying it, gave her a sharp little shake.

“What?” She snapped, her eyes finally focusing, and then she winced. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to jump at you.”

“It’s alright. Are you sure it’s only the needles? Do you need me to get a cookie or something?” Chris asked lamely, hating that he didn’t know how to help her.

“Why, you have some?” Nyx joked, poking his side. This sudden glimpse of his girlfriend made Chris sigh in half exasperation, half relief.

“Not on me, but we could stop at Starbucks. You can buy a six dollar coffee and throw it at some pretentious hipster’s face.” Chris suggested, and Nyx roared with laughter. “We can’t stop there, it’s bat country.” She grabbed his hand and bent down to grab her helmet, which Chris had gotten custom made for her a few weeks ago. It had a huge Jolly Roger on the top, and he had never forgotten how she had tackled him into the sofa for it. Mostly because they had almost fallen off, and she had still been wearing it.

“Ready to kick Mike and Ernie’s ass?” She winked at him and started pulling him down the driveway, Chris following with an amused smile.

As they reached the bike, Chris stopped her. “Are you going to be able to hold a gun and roll around? Don’t your arms hurt?”

Nyx sniggered at him. “Chris, when did you become a mother hen?”

“Be serious. Show me your arms.” Chris glared down at her, not really angry, but the look always worked, and Nyx, with an impatient sigh, dropped her helmet and yanked up the sleeves of the motorcycle jacket she wore.

The crooks of her pale arms were riddled with red marks. Chris goggled at them. “What the fuck, were they shooting you up?!

Nyx scowled and tried to pull them down. “My veins suck.”

Chris reached out and took her wrist, not allowing her to hide them. “Whether your veins suck or not, those nurses are vampires; this is ridiculous.” He exclaimed, drawing her arm closer to his eyes, but not daring to touch them.

“Oh, will you stop fussing, you ass. See, I’m fine?” Nyx pulled her arm out of his grip and bent it back and forth to show him that she could still move it. Chris winced. “If you say so.”

“I do say so. Let’s get going, I’m ready to kick some ass.” She grabbed her helmet and moved to stand expectantly in front of his Harley, which Chris had unearthed a few weeks back from the depths of his garage. Since then, they had abandoned the Suzaki.

Chris could do nothing but pull his helmet on and straddle the bike, but he could not get those damn red marks out of his eyes. What kind of doctor was Alan sending her to? He made a memo to have a personal talk with the man when they returned. He felt Nyx slide on behind him, and he tried not to think about how badly her arms must have stung when they wrapped around his middle.

“Thundercats are go!” He heard her yell as they took off, and even Chris had to smile. You had to hand it to her-nothing ever kept her down.
**********************
After the paintball tournament, Chris and I returned to his house, sweaty, paint streaked, and laughing our asses off.

“Did you see the way I landed Joey with that one to the back of the helmet? Big boy went down like a champ!” I crowed as they stepped into the kitchen, and Chris snickered. “I wish I would have had a camera. Joe’s face was priceless.”

“It was like watching a building fall in slow motion.” I countered, and Chris laughed as he rooted in his fridge, handing me an ice cold water.

“You are, by far, the most ruthless girl I have ever known.” He commented wryly, withdrawing a beer for himself. My eyes landed on it and could not look away, my mouth went dry. The sound of cicadas echoed loudly in my ears, they always came when I was withdrawing from alcohol. My skin felt prickly. I swallowed, hard.

Your liver is deteriorating.

“Nyx? Hello?” Chris waved his hand in front of my face, and the sudden movement made me jump out of my trance.

“Yeah, sorry, it’s the heat. Went space cadet.” I laughed weakly, then closed my eyes and started gulping the water, anything to keep my eyes off of that damn green bottle.

Chris set it down on the counter, thankfully, and waited until I had stopped drinking to step forward and pull me close. The feeling of his hands, even through his paintball gloves, made me close my eyes. He gently took the water bottle out of my hand and set it behind me. He smelled like grass and sweat and that great woodsy Chris smell that made every gland in my abused nose twitch.

“Hey.” He murmured, rubbing his blue flecked nose against mine.

“Hi.” I whispered back, and he kissed the corner of my mouth, once, twice, three times, then went for my lips, much rougher then usual. I slid my arms around his neck and took control of the kiss, pushing him back and pulling him in again. I felt his tongue run along my bottom lip and reciprocated with a moan, even though I was surprised by his forward manner. Ever since my disappearing weeks ago, Chris was careful not to do anything to encourage me, and so we hadn’t had sex again. Now I not only feigned for coke and liquor, but I was obsessed with the thought of being with him again in that way.

Call me a tramp. The man was absolutely maddening.

I knew he was wary of sleeping with me because he didn’t want me to disappear again. I wish I could tell him that being with him was not what made me leave, it was, in fact, one of the big reasons I came back. But I couldn’t tell him that without telling him the rest, so I just plotted and schemed ways to drive him to insanity. The schemes usually worked, but Chris was holding out better then I had expected. My obsessive nature took over-when I wanted something, it was only a matter of time until I had it. Yeah, now you can see how I got the rest of my issues.

Chris broke away from me, breathing hard, his eyes glowering at me from under those goddamn lashes. “Stop trying to kill me, woman.” He scolded, but I just smiled, my eyes still closed. “Stop driving me that way.”

Chris shook his head and gently nipped at my lower lip. “You first.”

“Butthead.” I countered, and I felt him shake with repressed laughter. “You suck at pillow talk.”

“Oh, is that what this is? How gay.” I joked, poking him in the belly.

Chris sighed and wrapped his arms around me tightly. “You exhaust me sometimes.”

“That’s a feat in itself.” I remarked, and he gave me a half smile, kissing my forehead, but almost immediately making a face. “Yuck. Paint.”

I reached up and wiped a smudge of blue off of his forehead. “Speak for yourself. You look like a Smurf face raped you.” For some reason Chris found this extremely entertaining and buried his face in my shoulder, his body shuddering against mine.

“You are also the most politically incorrect person I’ve ever met.” He chuckled, kissing my neck affectionately.

I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

“Anytime.” Chris pulled away from me with one last squeeze. “I need a shower. And so do you.”

I sniggered. “Yeah, I’d say so. Go wash the Smurf off your face.”

Chris, who had picked up his beer, almost spit it out as he laughed. “Stop saying crazy shit while I’m drinking!” He accused, and I threw up my hands. “I’m sorry! I can’t help it! I am what I am.” I did an almost perfect imitation of Popeye and Chris, his lips pinched in an effort to not laugh, took a big gulp of his beer, holding up a hand to stop me from saying any more. Watching the liquid leaving the bottle brought back the buzzing of the cicadas. I closed my eyes and forced myself to remember pictures from DARE class back in elementary school. Shriveled up livers. That’s what I had to look forward to, if the cicadas got too much to bear.

Chris tossed the now empty beer bottle in the trash and the sound brought me abruptly back to Earth. “I’m going to jump in the shower upstairs. You can use the one down here. Don’t worry about the hot water.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek, then turned and bustled out of the room, leaving his woodsy smell behind.
I just sat there, staring at the bottle, hearing him bound up the stairs.

Oh Chris, I thought. You’re so lucky you’re worth it.
******************************
Chris’ shower downstairs was only half as elaborate as the one in his bedroom, which meant that it was more then enough for a King or a Queen to enjoy. It was spacious enough for me to sleep in, enclosed by glass, the walls and floor a dark cobblestone. I had never used the shower before and had stuck to the huge bathtub instead, when I was sick and staying here. Back then I had locked the door, even though Chris would have never intruded. Now I left it slightly open, my heart beating as I stepped onto the cold stones, hating myself for being such a tramp. I knew in all probability that nothing would happen. As devious as he was with all his comments and touches, Chris was more a gentleman then anything. This used to reassure me. Now it just pissed me off.

I turned on the hot water, as hot as it could go, and grit my teeth as it burned my skin. I should have really gotten into a cold one, but as a Southerner I was generally opposed to anything cold. Besides, the hot water took my mind off wanting Chris and wanting the liquor and everything else. It numbed, it burned, it helped, if only a little. My skin was turning an angry red, but I didn’t care. I tilted my face to the spray, the sunburn on my face aching painfully. The glass around me immediately fogged up. I could see nothing outside of it, not even the floor. Not that it mattered. I had a thing about being in a shower naked, especially a glass one, and I was wearing a bra and boy shorts. Different colors of paint fell around my feet, dissolving instantly in the heat. I tried not to think of Chris upstairs.

“Nyx?”

I let out a terrified yelp and almost slipped. Chris’ voice was coming from right outside the shower stall. I squinted, but I couldn’t see anything but a vague form, and black shorts.

I gulped. “Yes?” I tried to make my voice sound normal.

“Is the water hot enough?”

I looked down at my bright red arms. “Yeah, you could say that. Is there something wrong?”

He didn’t answer. “Chris?” I whispered, but the water drowned me out.
“Can I…can I come in there?”

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holyshit holyshit.

“It’s your shower.” I said off-handedly, but my throat was very dry. Be careful of what you wish for, by the way, God always seems to give it to you and laugh at your reaction.

The glass door to the shower opened and Chris stepped through, wearing only a pair of black trunk shorts. When he saw me, he stopped and stared. I was suddenly aware of how grateful I was to have my little shower tick. If I would have been naked, I would have dissolved and gone right down the drain with the paint.
I could not joke. I could not tease. There was no room for that in here. All I could do is stand there in the hot water and watch him watching me, and he seemed to be unable to stop doing it.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, loudly enough to cut through the water.

Chris shook himself out of his trance and gave me one of those trademark

Kirkpatrick ‘Smartass’ grins. “Conserving water. Doing my part.”

I raised my eyebrows coolly. “Aren’t you just the celebrity environmentalist?”

The only thing between us was the hot spray and that didn’t stop him, not for a second. Three steps had me against the stony wall, and before I could even think of a comeback, Chris’s mouth was against mine, his tongue was in my mouth, and his arms were pulling me to him as if he was trying to stuff me inside himself. I moaned instantly, my self consciousness gone, my fear swirling down the drain, no pun intended. Chris’s hands were tangled in my wet hair and I grabbed his forearms, tasting the Heineken on his breath but no longer caring. The stones dug into my back but nothing could have pulled me away from that spot.

This Chris was not interested in being a gentleman. This Chris was grasping and desperate, and I could only mirror his vigor.

It was only until Chris broke away from me, finally, for air, that he felt the water on his back and he almost screeched. “Jesus Christ, why is the water so hot?”
“Is it?” I asked innocently, and Chris made a face and groped for the tap, sighing in relief when slightly cooler water rained down on us. Goosebumps burst out instantly on my skin, but I couldn’t care less as he turned his back on the water and slipped his arms around me again.

“What are you doing in here, Chris?” I murmured, not looking at him. I felt his fingers brushing aside my hair.

“Want me to leave?” He breathed, ensuring a big fat mental NO as I felt his fingers slip below the band of my boy shorts.

I shook my head. “Not on your life.”

Chris rubbed his nose on mine. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Took you long enough.” I barely managed to get the words out as the fingers traced an idle path on my hip.

I felt the vibrations from his soft laughter on my cheek. “I can’t be a saint all the time.” Lips pressed against my neck, once, twice, three times, and then a slight nip, making me jump, the stones against my back cutting deeply into my skin. I hardly noticed.

“Does this mean you’re finally taking advantage of me?” I could barely let myself hope.

“Nyx, by this point, I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t.” Chris murmured, his mouth on my collarbone now. I reached up and gently raised his face to mine, meeting his eyes, which were determined as they searched mine for things he’d be sure to find, provided he looked hard enough.

“Nyx, I…”

I put a finger to his mouth, almost drunk with terrified anticipation.
“Show me, then.” I said quietly.

Chris’ eyes darkened, those goddamn brown eyes were killing me. And as he obeyed my silent plea and leaned in to kiss me hard, his hand slipped lower until I rocked against him, unaware that the whispers of ‘yes’ were my own.

Again, I dodge a bullet.
**********************
Late at night, the air was cool
We snuck into the swimming pool
I went under and you followed
Let's not think about tomorrow

everything is perfect now

everything is perfect now - i held my breath
everything is perfect now - you held my hand
everything is perfect now - moving away
everything is perfect now - further from land
everything is perfect now - the stars were bright
everything is perfect now - the water clear
everything is perfect now - i felt your heat
everything is perfect now - as you swam near
everything is perfect now.

The Ties That Bind

I love my cousin, but I hate her.

From the time we were young, it was always Nyx. Nyx is so smart and Nyx is so pretty and Nyx is hilarious and Nyx is the fucking savior of the Earth. Christobel, why can’t you be more like your cousin? Christobel, if you don’t get to losing some weight, your cousin will beat you by getting married and having children. Christobel, you can’t eat Nyx’s bowl of ice cream. Have some carrots, instead.

We were born into a large Greek family, and when I say large, we usually had to rent out a banquet hall for family reunions. When people think of those kind of families, they think we’re all close, despite our numbers, we can’t play favorites because there’s too many to pick from. Well, you’re wrong. Nyx and I were born a year and three days apart, and she’s always been the favorite. Her and my brother, who looks like he came from another father, so different are our looks. I tried and tried to become better then Nyx. I wanted the same amount of attention that she was able to score just from walking into a room. I wanted people to listen to me as if I had important things to say. I wanted to look like her.

While I was tubby and awkward, Nyx was skinny and sharp. When we were younger, she and I were best friends, despite my intense jealousy of her. Apart, I was the odd one out, but together, we caused havoc at family get togethers, holidays, and crawfish boils, and there were many. I learned quickly that I’d get attention as long as I stuck to her side.

I regarded her back then as a pain in the ass, but I loved her and would kill for her, given the chance, and I knew she felt the same for me. The same mantra, drilled in both of our heads-God first, but family second, and never forget it. My brother Scotty was a year older then her and two years older then me, and he made it no secret that he would rather hang around Nyx then his own sister. My brother ended up gay and it explained his aversion to me-he liked to be surrounded by pretty, interesting people. I was neither. I was a blip on the map, and though my family will adamantly deny it, but my mother’s choice to marry into a non-Greek family really separated me from the rest of them. Nyx didn’t discriminate, though, I’ll give her credit. She tried to give me the spotlight when it wasn’t offered to me. At Christmas, when the adults’ backs were turned, she’d hand me a few of her presents, her pile much bigger then mine. “Take it,” she’d whisper. “I don’t need three doctor Barbies. Besides, I’m trading Scotty for his GI Joe.” Nyx would give me an extra piece of chocolate when we’d lay down in the back room of our Grandma’s house, scoffing, “I don’t know why they’re not giving you more cake, cuz.”

Because I’m fat, I wanted to tell her, and you have no idea how hard it is to be held up to your standard all the time. But I would take her little gifts, whether they were cake or Barbies or her pity. Pity was all I could hope for.

But then we grew up, and it became extremely clear that while we were family, we were as alike as oil and water. Nyx’s father is French and he is much more reserved then our loud, nosy, passionate family. She became more like him, quiet, cynical, shelving conformity. I, in turn, had always wanted to fit in, and so I tried in vain to edge over into the highly regarded position that she no longer wanted-the funny, endearing one. The family smiled at me and endured my efforts, but it was to no avail. French or not, Nyx was the top dog, would always be. The cakes and Barbies stopped coming, and so did the pity. Nyx and I started sniping at each other as soon as we entered puberty. No longer was it possible for our parents and grandparents to avoid a world war by getting us the same birthday/Christmas presents. And then Nyx, deep in some sort of misguided adolescent angst phase, started drinking on the quiet.

And this was not, at the time, something out of the ordinary. If you didn’t have a driver’s license, you had two choices-go to Walmart, or get drunk, or go to Walmart to get drunk, and arrive at Walmart while drunk. Boredom, tons of it. Our family drank too, a lot more then I’m willing to admit, but I was never interested in getting drunk-food was my poison of choice.

 I would watch Nyx crash through the door of our grandma’s guest bedroom, her arms loaded with little shotglasses. “I stole a shitload of ouzo. Nobody saw me do it, they’re drunk as hell out there.” She’d say, already glassy eyed, and I’d watch in reluctant admiration as she’d line them up in a row, surveying her acquisitions with pleasure. She’d take two in her hand, toast me sardonically, then throw them down her throat in rapid succession, followed by a mumble of "Opa!"

This used to be funny to me. She’d drink them all, one after the other, not stopping to make a face, and stumble around the room for my benefit. I laughed so hard that I’d fall off the bed. It was all in good fun, until Nyx decided that shotglasses were too easy and began sneaking bottles of ouza and/or tequila into the room. I’d listen to her puking it up late at night in the bathroom across the hall. I wasn’t laughing now, I was just plain disgusted.

When cocaine entered the picture, Nyx went from being sort of abrasive to completely out of control. She’d lock the door after family dinner and line up the white powder on the table, not bothering to explain to me what the hell she was doing, bringing that stuff into the family’s house. She no longer gave a fuck about what I thought, something she expressed with glares and punches. Along with the stolen bottles of liquor, this was going beyond the normal activities of most kids of our age. It got so bad that I started sleeping on the couch when we came to visit, I couldn’t sleep in that room anymore with the smell of puke. She’d keep me up with her nonstop twitching and jumping.

And the worst part is, she was still the favorite. She’d sit next to me, coked out of her mind, surrounded by her parents and our grandparents, drunk as hell, and they’d have no clue. They would ignore me and talk to her the entire time, and they didn’t even know. I’d glare at her when they weren’t looking, and if I muttered something snarky under my breath, Nyx would take her fork and jab it into my leg. “Shut up, fatass. Nobody is listening to you.” She’d sneer, her words slurring. The love I once felt for my cousin was quickly being replaced by hatred. I didn’t recognize the person in her body.

And then Alan came along out of nowhere. He was always fated to be the preppy frat boy type, but he tried to impress my cousin with his Hot Topic clothes, and for some reason it worked. He would start coming over to the family house and having dinner some nights, and the family was more then happy to meet Nyx’s boyfriend. I had never had one, so I just sat sullenly next to her, hating her so hard that I was surprised she never felt it. He would speak to me kindly, but rarely. To him, I was just another cousin who dulled in comparison to Nyx. He was crazy about her, and it drove me insane.

It was worse then torture, sitting there two or three nights a week, listening to the not –so subtle hints from my family to Alan about buying a ring, which he would have done in a heartbeat. Nyx would scowl and change the subject, every time, very pointedly. Fucking idiot, I wanted to say, he’s rich! He’s perfect! You ungrateful bitch!

They broke up two months afterward. Nyx barely noticed, but I’d see him sometimes in Walmart or at the mall, and he looked miserable, all the time. I hated her for breaking his heart. I could treat you well, I wanted to tell him, she is incapable of love. I knew, however, that there was no chance of scoring Alan if I couldn’t stop eating everything in sight, so I bothered my father until he got me gastric bypass. I got skinnier almost instantly, but it didn’t matter. Alan was still mooning after my addict cousin, who was more in love with things she could snort out of her nose and pour down her throat. It got to the point where just seeing Nyx would make me seethe with hate, and I let her know it. One time I went too far and she knocked me down, then put her boot against my throat. When she leaned down and glared at me, I couldn’t see anything familiar in her eyes.

“You’re not my family, so keep your fucking opinions to yourself. Skinny don’t fix ugly, Christobel.”

I hate to admit it, but I was scared of her after that. I didn’t see her too much afterwards, either. We went to separate places for Hurricane Katrina, but when we came back-well, I don’t want to talk about it, but her addiction got worse. And that was the only time when I didn’t blame her for it, because Nyx had seen things that would have sent me into the fucking mental asylum. But, I don’t like to remember it, so, let me wrap the rest of this up.

About two or three years later, roughly, Nyx and Alan had hooked back up, but it was over almost as soon as it started, and Alan got the hell out of dodge, unable to deal with the heartbreak twice. He left for Florida. Nyx moved out of her parents’ and got herself an apartment in Kenner, working at a law firm, which I’m sure didn’t drug test, because at this point she was flying high. With her out of the way and with my new look, I tried again to make my family see me in a different light. It didn’t work, suffice it to say, all they would do is talk over me or ask me if I had talked to Nyx. It got to be too much. After Thanksgiving dinner, I stood up and told every member of my family that they could go fuck themselves sideways. I left the next day for Florida.


I remember Alan’s face as he opened his door and saw me standing there, bags in my hands. They got huge and then he rushed towards me and grabbed my arm.

“Christobel, what are you doing here? Did so

mething happen to Nyx?! Is she…” Alan gulped, assuming the worst. I scowled and yanked my arm away.

“She’s still alive, unfortunately. I didn’t come here to talk about her.”

He let go of me as if I had burned him. “Then why are you here?” Alan asked, looking extremely confused, as we had barely spoken over the past few years.

I gathered up my nerve and glared at him. “I’m here because I think you’re lonely and I know I am, and I’m sure I can treat you a hell of a lot better then my dumbass cousin.”

His eyes had narrowed. “Don’t talk about your family like that, Christobel.”

I felt my face getting red. “Shut the fuck up. She’s not my family, she’s made that quite clear over the years.”

Alan sighed. “She’s got her problems, Christobel, but you know you can’t just dump her out.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to just accept her shit because she’s my family? Well, she hasn’t done me, or you, for that matter, any good, so why don’t you just man up and get over it?”

“Christobel, you don’t even want to be with me, we don’t even know each other.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t care, and you’re right, we don’t want to be with each other and we don’t know each other. But I don’t want to be in Louisiana anymore, compared to her every time I turn around.”

Alan scoffed and folded his arms and moved to stand in front of his door, blocking my way. “Give me one good reason why we should be together, Christobel. One good one. I can’t wait to hear it. I’m waiting to hear what this has to do with me.”

I looked straight at him. “Because my family has decided you were a piece of down and out pussy for not proposing to her when you had a chance. Because if you marry me, you’re automatically part of the family, and by being a part of my family, you’ll be able to hear about Nyx, and don’t give me that look, because I know you aren’t over her.”

Alan’s mouth dropped, but he couldn’t deny the truth of my words.

“Besides,” I muttered, pushing past him. “she’ll be back. She always does when she fucks up.”

Three days later, after signing a prenup (unfortunately, Alan wasn’t as stupid as he looked) and countless other contracts binding me to silence, I had a huge rock on my finger and was Alan Crane’s acknowledged fiancé. My family was shocked to hear it, and I had to endure countless questions of why I had stolen Nyx’s man, but I had taken care of my fate and left Nyx to hers.

On the outside, I gloated on how they had all been wrong; I was the one who would get married first, I was the rich one, the favored one, I would be loved, I would knock Nyx off of her pedestal. But on the inside, I was always aware that my engagement was a sham, that my fiancé didn’t know if he liked women or men, and I was basically a paid whore. And Nyx, to my supreme irritation, didn’t show up at the door, threatening to kick my ass from stealing Alan from her. She didn’t care, reported my family, and that royally pissed me off.

And then, as I predicted, she came back. Out of nowhere, and not for Alan, but back all the same. I had been content enough to be a paid whore, though sometimes it hurt to feel so lonely. I was more in love with being thin and lady of a huge house, rich, no one to tell me I wasn’t good enough. I was on top of my perch, laughing at everybody else, and in the space of a day, my cousin came in and knocked me off of it. Before I knew what had hit me, she was driving the maids crazy, bleeding over carpets, breaking bones, dating popstars, stealing my clothes and my liquor and buying cocaine from my maids. Alan was spending nights on the floor in her room, and while Alan and I were anything but in love, I still seethed with jealousy. It seemed like no matter what I did, she’d always get one over on me.

And then, if you please, that fucking boyband member coming in here and looking at her as if she was the best thing since hot pockets. Chris Kirkpatrick had no idea what he was in for, and I spent my days imagining how I could take him aside and telling him how my dear cousin, for all her funny quips and her thin body, she was nothing but a fucked up, spoiled drug addict. I had no interest in Chris myself, I’m more of a Justin fan, but even he didn’t deserve Nyx’s bullshit.

And now I’m back in Louisiana, the place I abhor. I’m staying in the old spare bedroom that Nyx and I used to share, and remembering all of this. I can even almost see her hanging off the side of the bed, imitating Robin Williams, making me laugh, drunk on ouza. It seems like eons ago.

I don’t want to tell anyone this, but I guess it has to come out-I’m scared to death. I can’t even sit here and muster up anger that she managed to kick me back to Louisiana and now lives in the house I stood to inherit, with a famous boyfriend and my ex-fiancé at her beck and call. All I can think of is the Nyx I knew, the one who used to line up shots, grab her black fedora, and dance to Michael Jackson to make me laugh, after everyone else made me cry.

My cousin is going to die.

And I can’t let that happen, because family comes only after God, and try as I might, I cannot ignore the ties that bind me to her.

I hate my cousin, but I refuse to let her die.

The sun is gone and the flowers rot
Words are spaces between us
And I should've been drown in the rivers I've found of token lost
And I should've been down when you made me insecure

So break me down if it makes you feel right
And hate me now if it keeps you alright
You can break me down if it takes all your might
'Cause I'm so much more than meets the eye

Fade to Black

He wasn’t the biggest morning person, Chris. Most of the time he’d sleep till noon, sometimes until three, if he had been drinking the night before, which meant his days were usually half over before he had begun. Years of rising up at the ass crack of dawn to go to interviews and concerts and soundchecks had finally caught up with him. He used to think, back in *NSYNC’s heyday, that he’d give up all his money and fame just to have a year to sleep, and he was usually the most energetic. But he got what he wished for, and *NSYNC was over, and he quickly tired of monotony. What he’d do, he surmised, for a two hour concert, a backbreaking dance rehearsal.

But for all his hatred of monotony, Chris relished a nice hard sleep, preferably brought on by loads of alcohol. In fact, it wasn’t until he woke up the next morning after the paintball tournament that he recalled never having slept that well, even while drunk. And his reason…

Shit, his reason wasn’t in bed with him.

Chris’s grogginess dissipated in a second, and he sat up in bed, blinking furiously at the empty spot next to him.

She ran again. She’s not coming back.

That thought simultaneously infuriated and scared the shit out of him. He jumped out of bed, not caring that he was naked as the day he was born, and yanked on his black shorts, which were still damp from the shower last night. The coldness of them on his skin made him screech.

What a great way to wake up-naked, alone, and now wet.

Chris hurried down the steps, cursing himself and Nyx and his dick and all the factors that made him into the world’s biggest fool. Damn her and her goddamn lies. Damn him and his stupidity. And damn his dick for making him into a pushover. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

When he reached the foot of the stairs, Chris heard something hissing from the kitchen. He immediately stopped, his thoughts on a crazy fan, or a boa constrictor, or an alien, possibly. Nyx never even occurred to him, as he had already written her off as gone.

Then he heard what sounded like tinny music, accompanied by more hissing. Chris looked around frantically, finally seizing a pair of nunchucks that were inexplicably sitting underneath the coffee table. He had no idea how to use the damn things, but Chris figured throwing it would have at least some sort of an effect. He wished he had a shirt. Meeting a fan would be so much easier with a shirt on.

Chris drew closer to the door of the kitchen, nunchucks held in one hand, fully prepared to scream at this unseen specter, flail if necessary. He peered around the doorway, and what he saw made his jaw drop.
************************************************
I adjusted the goggles around my face and poked suspiciously at the frying eggs and bacon. The tile of the kitchen felt cool under my feet and the smell of the food actually made me hungry, something that surprised me. I HAD gotten a good workout last night, I admitted to myself, blushing bright red.

I had woken up instantly, and the three things I realized off the top of my head is that one, I was starving. Two, I was happy, like nauseatingly happy, like a Disney-bluebirds-landing-on-my-hands kind of happy, and third, I was really naked. I had kissed Chris, passed out, then hopped out of bed to investigate the depths of Chris Kirkpatrick’s fridge. I was shocked to discover that he actually had food in there, he wasn’t exactly what you’d call a shopper. Most of the time he had beer in his fridge, and meat to cook with on the grill. Guy stuff. So imagine my shock when I unearthed eggs and a pack of dead pig.

I had been rummaging around for a frying pan when I had happened across a junk drawer, and in it, for no apparent reason at all, except for it being Chris’ house, were a pair of yellow and black goggles. Not sunglasses, goggles. I lifted them out of the drawer, studied them, then looked back at the package of bacon. The decision was easy.

And this is how I ended up wearing nothing but a tshirt and shorts and a pair of Chris Kirkpatrick’s goggles, making eggs and bacon, on his stove, in his kitchen, dancing.

Unfortunately, this is also how he found me.
**************************************
Well they say the sky's the
limit
And to me that's really true
But my friend you have seen nothin'
Just wait 'til I get through

Chris stared as Nyx danced in her place in front of the stove, a spatula in her hand, with a pair of his goggles he hadn’t seen in ages, giving her the look of a slightly psychotic bug. She wore nothing but her boy shorts and a t-shirt. Her eyes were closed, so she didn’t see the little smile that crept across Chris’s face as he watched her move, her hips moving back and forth. She bent over the frying pan and flipped a piece of bacon, which evidently made Nyx happy, because she quickly spun in place and struck a pose.

“I’m bad, I’m bad…”

Just as she was apparently congratulating herself, grease flew out of the bacon pan and got her right in the arm, and she screeched.

“Fuckin’ bastard!”

Chris couldn’t help but erupt with laughter from his spot in the doorway. Nyx swiveled to face him, her eyes huge behind the orange lenses, spatula brandished like a sword. When she saw him sinking to the floor, unable to breathe, she flushed a color previously not seen in nature.

“How long were you watching me?!” She demanded, yanking the goggles off of her eyes. Chris could barely speak, he just shook his head, still engrossed in mad, screaming laughter.

He was laughing at her, yes, but mostly he was laughing in relief that she hadn’t left him. The whole dancing while making breakfast thing had been too cute for words, but it was nothing compared to how he felt seeing her there, in his kitchen.

Nyx put her hands on her hips. “Christopher Alan, you better stop laughing at me, or I’ll beat the living God out of you with your own spatula.” She raised it threateningly, and Chris waved her away, rising to his feet, still chuckling.

“That was probably the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Nyx dropped her stern pose and smiled mischievously, crossing her ankles and bowing grandly. “I try.” She turned to the stove and poked at the contents of the spitting frying pan, turning down the stove. “Fucking bacon. I swear, it’s like the pigs having their revenge.”

Chris hopped up on the counter next to her. “It smells good. I didn’t know I had bacon.”

Nyx snorted. “Yeah, it was buried underneath about sixteen packages of steaks. Don’t you ever eat anything besides meat, boy?”

“Hey, a man needs steak to live, babe.” Chris reached over and gently tugged the goggles off of Nyx’s head. “God, do you know how many photo shoots I went on with these? I thought I had lost them. Where’d you find em?”

Nyx sniggered. “In a drawer beneath a jumbo pack of Pixie Stix. And a Playboy.”

Chris immediately flushed, but Nyx just chuckled. “It’s cool. Olivia Munn was on the cover. Was a nice surprise.  Why do you hide your Playboys in the kitchen?”

Chris shrugged and slid the goggles over his face. “Not like I have chicks coming in here and rooting through my shit all the time.” He winked at her to let her know he was kidding.

She nudged his knee. “I would hope not.”

“You need help?” Chris asked, jerking his chin towards the frying pan. Nyx shook her head. “Nope. Be ready in a few minutes. By the way, I found a bottle of Tabasco in your fridge, major kudos to you.”

“I can’t remember the last time someone’s cooked for me.” Chris admitted.

“Cooked for you in general or cooked you ‘morning after’ food?” Nyx stipulated, and he laughed. “Neither. Thanks, by the way.”

Nyx cast a sideways look at him. “For the food or the morning after?”

Chris leaned over and kissed her forehead. “For both. Now, show me that little spin you did.”

She chuckled. “Only if you do it with me.”

And fifteen minutes later, when the maid walked past the kitchen, she caught sight of Nyx and Chris collapsing against each other, laughing hysterically. She wasn’t fazed, she had caught them that way many times before.
************************************************
Chris returned from the bathroom to find Nyx perched on the stone island, eating what was left of the eggs and bacon, after he had demolished most of it. When he saw her there, he felt something in his heart give, like a rusty spring, and he could only stop in his tracks to watch her sit there, one leg propped up on the counter, his goggles around her neck, looking for all the world like she actually belonged there. Chris couldn’t remember the last time he had actually had this much fun, except back with the guys. Watching her made the words rattle around inside his throat, they sat at the edge of his tongue.

Nyx caught him looking and she immediately wiped her mouth. “What, do I have egg on my face or something?”

Chris shook his head. “I just can’t believe you’re still here.”

He expected her mouth to fall open, but Nyx could always surprise him when others could not, and she grinned mischievously at him. “Of course I’m here. Where else am I going to find excellent grease repellent goggles?”

Chris snickered. “Probably at a Backstreet Boy’s house.”

Nyx made a face. “You know, I was rather enjoying my Tabasco eggs and my dead pig, and then you had to come in here with that.”

“Couldn’t help myself.” Chris didn’t want to press his good luck by expounding on why he was glad she was still around, so all he could do was move between her bare legs. He took her plate from her hands, set it behind her, then pulled her close against him. Nyx obligingly slid her arms around his neck, and when she slid her legs around his waist, Chris groaned and buried his face into her neck.

“Damn you, woman. Here I am, trying to be studly lover man, and you have to make me feel all idiotic.”

Nyx giggled. “Hey, you’re the one who took away my food.”

“You’re the one sitting on my kitchen counter, lookin all…you know, hot and stuff.” Chris countered, biting her gently on the collarbone.

“How profound.” Nyx said dryly, but she jumped all the same, and Chris chuckled.

“You say that, but you can’t resist the Kirkpatrick charm.”

He thought she’d tease him, but instead Nyx slid her fingers through his hair and gently pulled him away from her neck, her eyes so dark he felt like he could fall into them and never find his way out.

“Unfortunately for us both, you’re right. I can’t.”

And before Chris could ask just what the hell she meant by that, her mouth was on his and all rational thought just fled him on the spot.
***************************************
I had intended to kiss him softly, I swear. A peck, if that. But the feeling of his hands on my bare knees and the just-woken-up smell of him, well, it was like kerosene. Chris tasted of eggs and bacon, a little bit of myself, and orange juice, and the combination was unusual, but it was somehow inviting as all hell and I could not help myself.

He had not been the only one surprised to still find me there in the morning. My feelings for Chris were so scarily real now that my legs started twitching the second I put them on the ground. I had wanted to get back in bed and bury myself into him, this man who infuriated me and teased me and made me feel like I fit in his crazy world. I felt with him the same easy acceptance I had once upon a time, with my own family.

So I had stayed, though it went against my core nature. I had cooked the man I loved a breakfast and I had let him put his hands on my bare legs, I had let him see me at my most unguarded. I guess this means love, I don’t know, I’m out of practice when it comes to all that. I knew I hadn’t changed, but somehow, I wasn’t the same.

“The maid.” I gasped against Chris’ lips; he was starting to take control of the kiss and his hands were now tangled up in the back of my shirt. Chris shook his head, our lips still touching, pulling me closer to the edge of the counter. “I sent her home. Didn’t want to make her jealous.”

“How kind.” I gasped, and Chris sniggered. “I know. Now shut up.”

He nudged my legs closer around him and kissed me hard, his hands slipping underneath my t-shirt, and I would tell you more, but really, it’s just not polite for a Southern girl to say.
**************************************
It was the first time in my twenty four years that I stayed in bed all day, having insane amounts of sex like a reasonably healthy person Really fucking good sex, too. And when I say ‘bed’, I use that term loosely. Chris was as adventurous in bed as he was in everything else. The couch, the bed in the computer room, the shower, the damn kitchen counter again. I was completely and totally at his mercy, and I could tell he was loving it. I tried to regain the upper hand many times, but Chris wasn’t having it and it always resulted in me putting claw marks in whatever surface we happened to be on, and sometimes Chris himself.

I could not believe the man’s stamina. Every time I thought he was done, I’d get attacked again. He had three times more energy then I imagined guys my age would have.

It was only till we were on the kitchen island again that Chris finally sagged against me. “Dammit, woman, you’ve worn me out.” He groaned, his damp head on my shoulder. He was slick with sweat.

“Good God, Chris, it only took you about three or four hours.” I said sarcastically, but in reality I was so dumb with elated joy that words felt clumsy in my mouth. He shook with breathless laughter.

“Can’t help it, babe. Couldn’t get enough. You taste perfect. Bacon and…mmmhmm, Nyx.” He teased, and I was promptly horrified, covering my mouth. “Christ, you’re kidding me.”

Chris shook his head and pulled my hand away from my mouth, kissing it. “Sorry darlin, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

“I know, but what man wants to taste dead animal?” I made a move to hop off of the island, but Chris stopped me. With his mouth. And continued to stop me for several mind numbing minutes.

By the time he was done, I was almost drooling. Though I’m glad I didn’t. It would have put quite a damper on the moment.

“This guy loves dead animal.” He murmured, and I smiled, my eyes closed. “Good, but you’re still not getting the rest of my bacon.”

“My bacon!” Chris reached behind me and before I could stop him, he had stuffed a piece of cold bacon in his mouth and swallowed it, sticking his tongue out at me.
I pouted. “Not fair.”

Chris rubbed his nose against mine. “That’s life, babe.”

Tell me something I don’t know, I thought.
************************************
Since they had to get out of the house before they wrecked the furniture, Chris suggested they go to the mall. He wasn’t a big shopper, but he needed to buy some jeans and shirts, for he had lost a tremendous amount of weight, and everything was much too big for him. Nyx agreed, but all he could think of while he was watching her dress was undoing her progress.

On their way out, Chris handed her one of his hats. “I’m not sure you’ll need it,” He said wryly, “but just in case.” Nyx didn’t argue, and when she pulled the beanie on Chris thought he had never seen anything more adorable in his life.

They took his PT Cruiser because it was starting to rain, and by the time they got to the mall, Chris was seriously considering turning the car back around, going home, and never getting out of bed with her again. Just looking at her singing along to Buckcherry was enough to make his hands itch. This was insane, he thought, parking. He had never wanted someone this much.

Unfortunately, the rain brought in more people then it kept away, and though Chris wasn’t usually worried about being mobbed, he felt extremely exposed in the middle of all those people. Nyx kept close to his side, not touching him, but with a reassuring wink, Chris grabbed her hand, signifying that it was all right to project the image of being together. The days of being caged by his fame were over.

Or so he thought. Because when they stopped in Affliction, a twenty something blonde girl looked over at Chris and her eyes immediately bugged out. Chris internally sighed as she began to edge closer to him, waiting for the inevitable.

“Excuse me, but you’re Chris Kirkpatrick, aren’t you?” The blonde girl asked excitedly, and Chris pasted his smile on. “That would be me.”

“I’m sorry to bug you, but can I please get your autograph? You guys were the best.” The girl was blinking breathlessly up at him, evidently flirting, but Chris was all too aware of Nyx next to him, tensing. This was the first time she had been exposed to any of his fans. But Chris could not turn the girl down. He squeezed Nyx’s hand and let go.

“What was your name again, sweetie?” He asked, and the girl blushed. “Christine.” Of course it was.

She handed him an Affliction receipt and a pen, and he tried to think of something funny and Chris-like on it, but he was aware of Nyx moving further away discreetly. They had never discussed the protocol for dealing with fans, so she was evidently giving him space.

He grinned at the girl as he handed back the receipt. “There you go, Christine. Thanks for still liking us.”

He expected the girl to blush again and hurry away, like they always did, but instead her eyes cut to Nyx, who was acting very interested in a pair of men’s swim trunks. He knew what the girl was thinking instantly, and Chris, with one last tolerant smile, waved at her and made for Nyx.

“I’m sorry, babe.” He murmured to Nyx, and she looked up at him, wide eyed. “For what?”

“Was that weird for you?” Chris asked gently, and she sighed. “A little, but I figured hanging to your side might make her uncomfortable.” Chris discreetly looked around the store, then slid his arm around her waist. “I don’t care if she’s uncomfortable, but it was thoughtful of you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Nothing about being thoughtful. Believe me, if she would have kept batting her eyes at you like that, well, me and Christine would have had problems.” Chris laughed, pleased. “There’s that jealousy again. I gotta say, I’m loving it.”

Nyx blushed, but tried to hide it as she flipped through a few shirts. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She mumbled.

Chris just chuckled and started flipping through the shirts, hoping to finish this soon so he could drag her back to the house and do things to her that, if I told you, would make your hair curl. But Nyx found a few shirts that he actually liked, and he didn’t argue when she pushed him into the dressing room. Chris was, of course, naturally a performer, and he hammed it up every time he burst out of the dressing room. He prissed and preened and shook his butt in the mirror, delighting every time he’d make Nyx erupt in uncontrollable laughter. By the time he stopped striking Brüno-esque poses, Nyx was on the floor, holding her stomach.

They were still snickering to themselves a few minutes later as they approached the counter. While Chris was waiting in line, Nyx wandered away and started to try on hats. Chris wasn’t paying attention to her, he was searching for his credit card. It wasn’t until she tapped him on the shoulder and he had turned, sighing, expecting a fan,that he saw her, really saw her, and his heart stuttered in his chest.
**********************************
I turned to the side and tilted the black fedora across my eye rakishly.

“What do you think, Baio, is it me?” I struck an overly dramatic Madonna –like pose .

Chris seemed unable to speak for a few seconds, but then he smiled, slowly and affectionately. The sight made me literally tingle, I shit you not. “It is very you.”

He plucked the hat off of my head and dropped it on the top of the counter, along with his clothes. I immediately started to argue (it was a $60 fedora!) but he held up his hand. “Nyx, I don’t want to hear it. I’m getting it.”

“But you..” I started to say, and Chris shot me one of those Looks. I huffed, defeated. “Fine, you pain in the ass.”

Chris rolled his eyes and handed his credit card to the pierced clerk, who, I have to say, looked more then amused at our little exchange.

“Say thank you, Chris.” Chris teased, poking me in the side. I poked him back, but grudgingly parroted him. “Thank you Chris. Butthead.” I stomped away, not afraid of Chris being offended by my less than grateful reaction. He acted the same way when I’d steal the check from him at dinner. We were both too independent for our own good. Besides, I loved the fedora. I had been willing to fork over $60 of my own money for it, but the man was too quick for me.

I was flipping through a rack of Sinful shirts when I felt the fedora drop onto my head, and I turned to smile at Chris. “You didn’t have to get me that, Baio.” He rolled his eyes. “I know that, but I wanted to, so hush your mouth.”

I saluted him sardonically, and Chris snickered. “Plus, you look hot in that thing. Keep it on.”

“Oh, I plan to never leave the house without it.” I tilted it to one side, and Chris took his beanie from me and yanked it over his own head. “Come on. I’m hungry. Shopping is hard work.”

I snorted. “That’s cause you were acting like a total spaz."

Chris just rolled his eyes again and took my hand, pulling me along.

We hadn’t even reached the food court (yes, Chris likes food courts) and I started to feel an uncomfortable amount of eyes on us. And before I could even turn to Chris and tell him this, about a group of five or six girls besieged us. Well, besieged him, really.

Chris sighed and let go of my hand, giving me an apologetic look. I just shrugged, took his bag from him, and took a few steps away from the little group. I tried not to watch him out of the corner of my eye, but I couldn't help it and was surprised at how good he was with them. The girls weren’t young, they had to be around my age, but they were acting like a bunch of crazy ass teenagers. They teased him and shyly cast their eyes down, flirting, asking questions so quickly that I couldn’t keep up. Chris just laughed and took it all in stride, he teased them back (he did not flirt) and signed his name on whatever they shoved at him. He even took pictures with them and gave them hugs. It was sort of surreal to watch. I was used to having him all to myself and usually forgot he was famous, but it quickly dawned on me that I was not the only one who thought Chris extremely endearing. He made stupid faces in the pictures with them and thanked them all for their compliments. It was kind of fucking touching, to tell you the absolute truth.

Just when I thought he’d come back to me and I would go unnoticed, one of the girls, a very big chested brunette, looked over at me, and then back at Chris. She nudged her friend and tilted her head towards me. I pretended not to notice, turning my head, pretending to be extremely interested in Mignon Faget’s jewelry cases.

“Is that your girlfriend, Chris?” The brunette asked, sounding very disappointed. I tensed. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, bitch.” I thought, trying not to scowl at her. I knew anything negative I did would reflect on him, and I didn’t want that, but I wanted to kick her. Chris looked back at me, his eyes were amused, and he turned to the girls with a very nonchalant look on his face. “Yep, that’s her. Now, ladies, I’ve got to get going. Thanks for coming over and saying hi to me, though.” Chris winked at them, gave a wave, and turned away. He grabbed my hand and we tried not to look like we were hurrying away. I heard one of the girls say something like, “What the hell is he doing with HER?” The need to run after the cunt and break her shin was almost crippling.

Chris’s jaw was set and he was quiet until we walked into Macy's. “Some of our fans, they can be like that.” He explained, wincing a little. “I don’t know why.”

I forced a smile. “You’re great, that’s why. I really don’t blame her for wondering, but I’d still love to kick her ass.”

Chris just squeezed my hand and gazed down at me. “Don’t worry about them.”

I snickered. “Them? I’ve got better things to do. Besides,” I bumped his shoulder. “I’ve got to get used to it sometime, right?”

Chris just stared straight ahead. “That doesn’t make it right.”
*******************************************
Mud, so much mud. A fetid smell, it was almost unbelievable. The mud itself was incredible-knee high, and it was like someone had glued cement blocks to my feet. I could hear my breathing, loud and uneven, through the mask. My knee knocked against something hard, and I winced and cursed. I stuck my gloved hand into the mud and tried to fight back the nausea. My fingers trailed across a dial and buttons. The washing machine. My hand came out of the mud and I made a face, wiping it across the hazmat-like suit I was wearing. Just then a wave of something absolutely foul hit me full in the face, and I stopped in mid wipe. It made the rest of the house smell like a Glade Plug In, that’s how rank it was.

I could hear cicadas in my ears, the faint calls of voices outside, yelling at each other. My mouth felt slick and tasted of cold chili. Denial. Guilt. Fear. Revulsion, but I had to see. I fought my way through the mud this time, almost falling on my face in some places, praying to God I was wrong. I turned down what used to be a hallway. Small fish lay on top of the mud, wriggling frantically or dead. I paid them no mind.

The door was wedged shut by the mud and something in the next room. I threw my weight against it, but it was like moving a building. I grit my teeth and tried again, bracing my feet in the slippery mud and groaning. The door moved a few inches, and I turned to get better leverage against it, but my gaze fell through the crack of the door.

And that’s when I saw the hand, dirty, pale, covered in leaves, sticking out of the black, souplike mud.

Cicadas.
*******************************
I woke up screaming my head off.

Sweat matted my hair to my cheek and I seemed to be in the middle of an island of dampness. I didn’t recognize where I was for a few seconds; I could not stop screaming. It was like someone had flipped a switch inside me.
Footsteps thundered down the steps and my door was flung open. Alan rushed in, wearing a pair of boxers and nothing else. When he saw my face, he understood, and immediately I found myself tucked into his bare shoulder, his hands on my back, stroking, cajoling, whispering words I could not hear through my terror. . He did not smell or feel like Chris and a part of me wished he was, but there were arms around me and at the moment it really didn't matter who they belonged to.



My body was shaking from withdrawal and immense fear and I was surprised I hadn’t pissed myself. I did not have the strength to put my arms around Alan. I did not have the strength to stop my tears. I just leaned against him and sobbed, cicadas buzzing angrily in my ears, the whole world mud and pain and horrible smells and fish flopping on the surface.

We didn’t move for hours.
******************************************
I’ve been around this world, yet I see no end.
All shall fade to black again and again.
This storm that’s broken me,my only friend.
Yeah

In this river all shall fade to black
In this river ain’t no coming back
In this river all shall fade to black
Ain’t no coming back

Withdrawn a step away, just to find myself
The door is closed again, the only one left
This storm that’s broken me my only friend

In this river, all shall fade to black.

I hate to say it but it has to be said
You look so fragile as I fuck with your head
I know it shouldn't but it's getting me on
If sex is the drug, then what is the cause?
-Papa Roach

It is amazing the things a person will do in order to fit in.

Cheat, lie, steal, kill, smoke. Take another shot, it won’t kill you. Tonight.

Take another toke, it’s just pot. Have unprotected sex, because who knows, the Russian roulette has five other empty shots in it. Fuck it. You have a good reason. You’re in love. You’re safe.

And then you find out you have liver disease. You understand that it WILL kill you. You watched your doctor pretend you weren’t lying through your teeth when you told him you weren’t drinking anymore. You don’t tell anybody. Not your family, the few friends you have. Not even the man you love, and you’re looking at him when you’re sucking that lemon, his tequila warming your belly. You want to fit in, and you want his friends to like you, and you want to prove to the world, as always, that you kick ass no matter what you do. You succeed, but only on the surface. Inside, every shot brings you closer to a fate you’re not even sure you want anymore. You’re beginning to see the bigger picture, but you won’t get help. All you want is to be the toughest, the hardest, the most impressive. You want to prove to the world that nothing-not liver disease, not holes in your nose, not alcohol poisoning, can bring you down. It’s a heavy price to pay, but you think it’s worth it.

After all, you surmise, wiping your mouth, it’s just a few shots. What more damage could they do?

Well, let me tell you-those few shots mean everything.
*****************************************
Time passes.

I go to work, I go to Alan’s, I go on dates with Chris. I drink at parties, but I don’t touch coke. Funny how I go for the substance that will kill me the fastest.

I don’t think, I just do.

Chris and I love each other, but we haven’t said it. I know he feels it and he looks at me sometimes like he suspects things, but we don’t say the words. Neither of us wants to appear weaker first, but I can see it when we’re playing video games, when we’re out with his friends, paintballing, when we’re in bed. Every morning, after I sleep over, Chris looks at me like he’s still shocked to find me there. I don’t plan on running, though I might not have a choice one of these days. I want to tell him, God, do I want to tell him. It’s so selfish.

But pride covers a multitude of sins and every morning that I wake up, I think, “I’m not dead yet, so I’ll go with the flow.” Dr. Triche calls my phone every other day, but I never answer. I don’t want a sentence yet. Even with withdrawals and shakes, life is finally worth something. Work drones on. I live for the next shot, the next kiss, the next party, the next time I’ll get to feel Chris tickling me or teasing me. I live for the second I climb on back of his motorcycle and we go off to raise hell. I can’t think beyond any of that.

And then, everything gets royally fucked.
**********************************
It’s a Sunday when my little lie of a life explodes in my face.

I was in a rush that afternoon because Chris and I were supposed to go to some sort of racecar thing with some of his friends. I was running around my room at Alan’s like a fool, searching frantically for my shoes. I was withdrawing like fucking crazy and had to stop every few minutes to run into the bathroom, so I was nearly late. Nothing else had been on my brain besides Chris and the cold beers they’d be certain to serve at the racetrack.

What a fucking joke.

I had just flushed the toilet when the door to my bedroom flew open and Alan stumbled in, his face as white as a sheet.

“Nyx, she’s back.” He gasped, and before I could ask him what the fucking hell he meant, I looked up, and there she was, red faced, furious, and ready to slit throats, if necessary.

Christobel had returned.
*********************************
Later that day, Chris Kirkpatrick rolled onto his back, panting hard. Sweat poured off of his face in rivulets, and he tried in vain to catch his breath, to no avail. He was getting too old for this shit, he thought, but he could not help the stupid grin that crept across his face.

He looked over at Nyx, who was laying next to him, her chest heaving, her body damp beside his. Their eyes met, and she smiled back at him. Satsuma filled his nostrils, and Chris reached down and took his hand in his.

“You’re going to kill me, babe.” He chuckled, kissing her bare shoulder.

“You’re going to KILL me, Baio. Even a girl of my age can’t compete against a guy who once performed sold out concerts every night of the week.” Nyx teased, and Chris snorted. “That was many moons ago, babe. I’m just an old fart, now.”

Nyx giggled. “An old fart who just fucked me retarded.”

Chris looked over at her, his mouth dropping to his chest. “That’s a horrible way to put it!”

Nyx rolled over on her stomach and propped her chin on his collarbone. “Well, the truth is the truth, no matter how you cut it.” Her voice was suddenly hard and dark. She had been getting that way, lately, and he had no idea why.

“Still, that’s harsh. I don’t think of us that way.” Chris muttered, a bit hurt. She raised her chin, searched his eyes, trying to find humor, but when she found none, her stone face disappeared, and she sighed. “I’m sorry, babe. I was just kidding. You know I don’t think of it like that.”

Chris didn’t believe her, but he wasn’t in the mood to fight, so he just pasted on a fake smile and closed his eyes. Nyx snuggled against him, and try as he might to be annoyed at her insensitivity, he could not resist pulling her against him.

“We need to get out of bed.” He murmured, and Nyx giggled.

“Who says?”

“Me, because if I stay in here any longer with you, certain important parts of mine are going to fall off. And that would suck.” Chris teased, but made no move to get
up, playing with the ends of her hair.

“We don’t want that. I rather like those parts.” Nyx agreed, burying her face into his chest. Chris smirked.

“Do you, now?”

He felt her smile into his skin. “Something like that.”

Chris gently tugged her hair. “Show me, then.”

“Damn, boy, do you ever run out of energy?” But she winked at him as she slid down his body, and Chris shook his head, ready to deliver a smartass reply, but then he felt her mouth and his jaws snapped shut.

Yep, food could wait.

I almost told you that I loved you
Thank god I didn't 'cause it would've been a lie
I say the damnedest things when you're on top of me
I almost told you that I loved you
***********************************
Chris leaned against the side of the refrigerator and surveyed its’ contents dismally. Or rather, lack thereof. He had been too busy having sex with Nyx to actually go through the motions of housekeeping, so they were shit out of luck when it came to having something to eat.

“Babe! We’re gonna have to leave the house! No food!” He yelled, reaching inside to push aside a six pack, hoping to find some hot dogs or sandwich fixings. No dice. He sagged.

“Perish the thought!” Nyx hollered back, and Chris snorted. “Speak for yourself, woman! I’m fucking starving!”

“Well, then we’ll go grab something. I need to get a newspaper anyway.” Nyx entered the kitchen, pulling her hair into a sloppy bun. Chris closed the refrigerator door and peered at her in confusion.

“What do you need that for?”

“To line your cage with.” She teased, and Chris rolled his eyes in impatience. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

Nyx averted his eyes, digging into a cabinet for a glass.

“I want to look for an apartment.”

There were very few moments in Chris’ life where he actually went speechless, and this was one of them. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had been waiting for her to freak out and say that she was going back to Louisiana; he spent more then enough time trying to figure out how he would actually stop her when she did, and now he didn’t even have to.

“Here?” Chris croaked, and Nyx glanced at him, grinning a little. “Where else, Nepal?”

Chris shook his head. “Right, I know. I’m just…wow. Why the sudden decision, though?”

Nyx leaned against the counter, looking at him over the edge of her cup. “Well, I can’t stay at Alan’s forever and drive him nuts, can I?” She mused, winking.

Chris knew what he was going to say before he even said it and couldn’t stop himself. “Orlando’s apartments are pretty pricey. You could stay here.”

For a second he cursed himself, expected that ‘deer in headlights’ look from her. But to his surprise (again), Nyx just shook her head, snickering.

“What, and run up your water bill? Nah, it’s not polite. Besides, I’m sure there HAS to be a place in this town that I can afford.”

Chris doubted it seriously, but he just nodded, too overcome by relief to prove her wrong. Nyx peered at him.
“What, did you think I was going to take off again?”

Chris couldn’t lie. “Yeah, sort of.” He admitted, and Nyx shook her head, coming over to slide her arm around his waist.

“I like it here,” She mused softly. “I like it here with you. There’s always something to do or someone to go see. I’m not ready to go back to Louisiana; there’s too much history for me there.”

Chris wanted to ask her just what kind of history she meant, since she never told him anything much about her past, but he was too grateful for the sudden gift she was giving him. He kissed the top of her head. “I’m happy to hear that, babe.” Really, he was fucking elated, he wanted to throw a goddamn parade, but he didn’t want to seem like a freak, so he just kept it simple.

“Such little faith in me, Kirkpatrick.” Nyx teased, giving him a one armed hug and moving away to poke into the fridge. “Holy fuck, you ARE empty.”

Chris held back the words he wanted to say, but they rang through his head as he watched her root around.

What else am I supposed to have?
*****************************************
It had been too long of a day.

Wade sighed as he exited the small office that the entertainment company kept, a block away from the beach. He could smell the jumbo pretzels that the snack shop sold down the street, and the scent of the ocean was painful in his nostrils. He hated his life, the nagging, the responsibilities, the wife, the kid. Well, maybe not the kid, but the wife. All Wade had wanted in life was to catch a few waves, take a few tokes, and hold down a menial job. Instead, the condom breaks and he’s fucked.

He was the last one to leave, every night. Usually a few waitresses stayed around after getting back from their events and they’d smoke a bowl with him or have pity sex, but he never left early. Most of the time he’d sit in the back next to the closet full of extra uniforms and think about grabbing his paycheck, packing his shit, and getting the hell out of dodge.

Wade was enamored completely in these impossible plans, so it wasn’t until he had almost reached the door of his truck that he spotted Nyx sitting on the tailgate, smoking a joint, not looking at him.

He halted, hating himself again for the wave of fear that almost sent him hurrying back into the office. There was once a time where he had wanted nothing more to get Nyx into bed, but those days were very much over. Now, he tried to do everything in his power to avoid her, and this ashamed him, because really, look at her. Barely five feet tall. Wade himself stood around 5’9 and was of considerable size. He could hold his own against most men, for Chrissakes.

But there was something about Nyx that scared him-given the choice, he’d gladly fight someone twice his size rather then mess with her. Barely contained violence rose off this girl in waves. Her eyes snapped at you and demanded and glared, no matter who you were. Wade could never remember seeing her smile, unless it was the grimace that she passed off as one. He had a feeling that if she wanted to, she could tear him into pieces.

“Hey Wadey.” She spoke, still not looking at him, and Wade felt sweat pop out on the back of his neck. This is ridiculous, stop being a pussy, he thought, but had to force himself to walk nonchalantly forward and place his work clothes in the back of his truck.

“What are you doing here, Nyx?”

She took a hard toke off of the joint, which he recognized as one of his. “Waiting for you, obviously. Took you long enough to get out here. I’d have a buzz if this weed wasn’t so skunky.”

“The weed’s not skunky.” Wade scowled, and she looked at him. He almost recoiled. There was something dead and hard in her eyes. He was all alone. This was bad.

“Are you kidding? It’s so skunky I’m surprised it hasn’t sprayed me yet. For a weed dealer, you’re not very good at discerning quality.” She threw the joint down on the ground and stepped on it.

Wade sighed. “What do you WANT, Nyx?”

Nyx smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She sidled around the truck, walking towards him. Wade steeled himself, not allowing his feet to step back, which was what he really wanted to do.

“Christ, I want so many things. A monkey, for one. A pot of crawfish would be nice, too. World peace, if I were feeling charitable. But what I want you for?” She shook her head, her hand running along the edge of his car. Wade’s stomach lurched.

She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Not for sex, obviously. I’m not desperate. Not for a friend, the wife wouldn’t like that. And given the fact that you’re mostly useless, well, only one thing comes to my poor, addled, helpless mind.”

Now she was standing in front of him and glaring up at him, and Wade restrained to urge to piss himself, but barely.

“I want the name of your dealer.”

Wade blinked in shock. “Why?”

Nyx rolled her eyes. “Cause I want to buy him a gift basket and go to dinner with him. Why else, dumbshit? I want to sell.”

Wade just stared at her, dumb with incredulity.

Nyx sighed with exasperation. “As you seem to be incapable of basic comprehension, let me spell this out for you: I want to know who you deal for. I want to know who your friend deals for, too. And I’m hoping to find out the same information from that person, and so on and so on. Are we getting the picture, or do you need me to find a diagram and explain it to you?”

Wade closed his mouth and found his nerve. “Why the hell should I give you all of that information?” He snarled, knowing from the second he did that it was a very, very bad idea to mouth off to this girl.

Nyx smiled all of a sudden, and it was very hard, and very tight, and absolutely terrifying. Wade could not help himself now, he stepped back. The insane smile didn’t leave as she drew closer to him.

“Because, if you don’t, then I’ll go to the boss, and I’ll tell him you fuck underage girls. If you deny that, I’ll go to the girls and threaten them until they tell him. And then, if you continue to say no to me, though I’d hope you were smarter then that-I’ll find your wife and tell her. And I’ll keep on going on in that manner until you give me the thing that I want. Are you getting all this, Wade? Because I really hate repeating myself.”

Wade could not believe that a girl who looked like she belonged in high school was blackmailing him this way. Why am I taking this, he thought wildly, I could take this girl any day of the week.

Nyx suddenly started laughing. “Oh, Wade, please don’t tell me you’re doubting me. I don’t think I could take that kind of hilarity. I may just blow out my falsies.”

“If you would do all that, why wouldn’t you just go to the cops?” Wade retorted, and Nyx shrugged, scratching idly at a spot on his truck.

“Because it’s too easy. I like dissembling things methodically. Going to the cops would put you in jail and make you worthless to me. But don’t get comfortable-I won’t rule the idea out.”

“You’re fucked in the head.” Wade managed to say, and Nyx rolled her eyes heavenward.

“Don’t preach to the choir, Wade. It’s boring. Now, please tell me you believe me. I have lots of things to do, and none of them involve terrifying you further into compliance.” She leaned against his truck and looked at him expectantly, crossing her arms.

“Are you on some sort of power trip from fucking your boyband boyfriend or something? Because, Jesus, Nyx, this is incredible.” Wade barely got the words out of his mouth before Nyx’s hand was on the back of his head, slamming his face into the side of his truck. Wade felt his nose give and his teeth tore into his tongue; his head flared with pain. As he stumbled in a small circle, holding his nose, Nyx looked at him, eyes burning.

“You better shut your mouth before I shut it for you.”

The whole world was pain, oh god, so much pain, and fireworks were erupting throughout his skull, shrill, unforgiving. Wade felt his knees hit the pavement.

“Fucking bitch!” He groaned, and expected a kick in the ribs for his cheek, but Nyx just chuckled and crouched to his level.

“What did I tell you about preaching to the choir? Now, are you going to give me what I want, or do I have to start fucking up your life, piece by piece? Because I’ll be honest with you, Wade-I’m damn good at it. Hell, I do it to myself, all the time. Now be a good boy. Give Nyx what she wants, sha. We’re all happier, that way.” Her voice was so sweet, you’d think she was talking to a baby or a puppy or even her stupid fag boyfriend.

Wade shoved his hand in his pocket and thrust his cell phone at her. “Cole. Take his number. Get the fuck away from me.”

Nyx took his phone and stood up, leaning against his truck. “Smart boy. I’m going to give you a little more credit from now on.” He could see her taking out her Blackberry and transferring numbers, not giving a shit that he was bowled over on the cold ground, his face dripping blood all over his white polo shirt.

It was only a few seconds, but it felt like hours until she bent down to face him. “I’ll tuck your phone back in your pocket for you, since you seem otherwise engaged.” Wade felt her fingers against his leg, and just her slight touch made him almost choke with fear.

Nyx’s hand came up and gently nudged his bloody chin, making him look reluctantly up at her.

“Damn, dude. You look like me after a long weekend.” She chuckled morosely. Wade could not speak; he could only just goggle at her.

She studied his face, her eyes no longer hard and flat. She looked amused, as if she was observing something interesting in a zoo.

“I’ve got to get going now, Wade. You know how responsibilities are-they never stop calling, even when you’re having fun. Especially when you’re having fun.” Her hand left his chin and she rose to her feet, looking down at him with a smirk.

“Thanks for helping me out. I’ll stay out of your way now, except, of course, if you do or say anything that makes me angry. I don’t think you will, though. You learn fast.”

Wade closed his eyes and gingerly touched his nose, which almost made him scream.

Nyx chuckled and patted him condescendingly on the head.

“Yeah, I know it hurts like a bitch. Lots of ice. Painkillers work, sometimes, but liquor is your best bet. See you later, Wade.”

She turned and strode off, and when she disappeared around the side of his truck, Wade finally gave in-he collapsed against his truck and did not get up, for a very long time.
*****************************************
You may think all of this sounds like it came out of a bad action movie, one that bombed at the box office and made critics on the Internet start bawling. But I wouldn’t make this shit up. Life is ugly, and people do what they have to do. Shit, that’s probably why I’ve had such bad karma. I don’t have any other excuses for human nature-it just is what it is, and it happened. All of it did.

Unfortunately.

Fill Me

"He who makes a beast ouft of himself

Gets rid of the pain of being a man."-Hunter S. Thompson

Hangovers.

Shaking.

Fear. Blinding. Intense. Fucking crippling.

Heat, so much August heat. Cicadas, I hate them, I want to fucking kill every cicada in the Southernmost region.

I close my eyes to block out the sight of the contents of my stomach falling into the toilet. It seems like I spend most of my life staring at the bottom of a fucking toilet, but hey, I can't bitch. I do it to myself.

I am starting to see the signs of the cirrhosis. Eating is something I might do once every other day, because once I eat, the results aren't pretty. It's not just puke anymore-it's blood and bile and chunks of my stomach. It's hard to catch my breath, especially when I sit up too fast. I'm constantly exhausted, though I can never sleep. All I do is shake and hallucinate and sweat.

You may ask me how I manage to hide these symptoms from Chris. It is almost impossible and I think he is starting to notice, but thankfully Nigels11 has him very occupied, so I'm able to hide my hands in my pockets, hold back the bile, smile when I'm terrified. When Chris is at the studio or doing radio interviews, I'm in my room at Alan's, hugging the toilet. Alan tries to talk to me, but I cannot let him know. Nobody must know.

I know you are getting frustrated with me, reader. I know I keep saying I'll stop drinking and then pick it right back up again. But alcoholism isn't this heroic road that people conquer in most stories. Having a drinking problem is like roaring down an icy highway, equipped with tires that have little to no traction. You fuck up constantly.

I hadn't had a drink in a week. Since the party at Chris's, and the night following it, I had told myself that I had to stop. I was almost 97% sure that Chris had said THE WORDS to me while we were drunk, and I can't remember if I answered or not, but I do know that when I woke up, I was facing a breaking point. It was either kill this demon liquor or be killed by it, and I wasn't interested in it anymore.

I just lied to you.

Of course I'm fucking interested in it. I would give anything to be rid of these shakes, these nightmares, this uneasy stomach. I would have sold my soul to the devil for a bottle of anything, wine, a weak Smirnoff, fuck, wine coolers. But every time I would drag myself to my feet to go to the kitchen, my stomach would revolt, and my knees would give out. Constant war.

But look, I can't bitch.

I do it to myself.

___________________________________________________

The second Dr. Triche entered the tiny examination room, Nyx flew at him.

"You have to give me something. I'm losing my goddamn mind."

Dr. Triche had been disturbed many times as a doctor, but he had never been as unsettled as he was now as he stared at Nyx Dufrene.

The bags under her eyes were enormous and her skin looked like dull paper. What used to be determination had morphed into helplessness, and Dr. Triche was alarmed by how wild her eyes were. He could see the bones in her face. Nyx Dufrene had once been a striking, ferocious woman, but now she was nothing.

"Sit down, Nyx." Dr. Triche tried to move her towards a chair, but she shook her head in frustration.

"I don't want to sit. I want you to give me something. My God, I'm losing my fucking mind."

Her hands went to her hair and yanked and she spun away from him, her small, thin body racking with nerves.

Dr. Triche hurriedly closed the door. "Tell me what's going on, Nyx."

She turned and faced him and took a deep breath, leaning against the counter for support. The doctor could see her veins from across the room.

"I haven't had a drink for a week now. I can't eat. I can't think. All I do is puke. I can't sleep. I know it's all my fault, but goddammit, give me something. Amitryptiline. Diazepam. Librium. Anything! Rat poison. Shit!" Nyx tugged at her hair in frustration.

Dr. Triche sighed and looked down at her file. "I can't give you those things, Nyx. You have an addiction to prescription pills."

She made a snarling sound. "None of which were found in my bloodwork. Trust me, out of everything I do, prescription pills are the least of my worries."

Dr. Triche shook his head. "I cannot give them to you, Nyx."

Nyx clenched her fists and she started to tremble so badly that Dr. Triche tensed in his chair, ready to call for help, should she explode on him.

She did something worse-she begged.

"Please, Dr. Triche. Please. Amitryptiline can't possibly do anything for me except get me to sleep. That's all I fucking want at this point. I just want some goddamn rest." She buried her face in her hands and began to sob, and Dr. Triche winced. He hadn't known Nyx for very long, but he was smart enough to realize that this was a woman who did not cry unless she was at her wit's end. And Dr. Triche wasn't sure he wanted to see the outcome of that.

He felt himself waver. She WAS right. Amitryptiline was an antidepressant and though you COULD overdose on it, it was not commonly used for getting high, and he could plainly see that Nyx was in dire need of sleep. But Dr. Triche knew how addictive personalities worked-whatever he gave her, she'd use and abuse, even if it got her high or not. He didn't want to take the risk.

"Nyx, I want to help you, but I don't know if I could just give you a prescription and let you walk out of here." The doctor said cautiously, expecting another outburst, but Nyx just shook her head and slumped on the ground, burying her face in her hands.

"Nyx, you need to go to a hospital." Dr. Triche said quietly, after a few moments of tension-filled silence. He heard a sound that resembled muffled laughing, and Nyx raised her eyes to meet his. They were wet and bitter and Dr. Triche couldn't believe how miserable she looked. For someone twenty four years old, she looked closer to mid-thirties.

"Yeah, that would look great. What do you think I should tell everybody? That I'm suffering from ‘exhaustion', that I'm dehydrated? Which unbelievable excuse should I feed to them? Keep in mind, I'm dating someone famous. He knows what those words mean." Nyx wiped her eyes and pulled her knees to her chest. Dr. Triche hesitated, hating to admit that she was right.

"I could give you a mild sedative." He suggested, and Nyx looked sideways at him. "How long will it take to work?"

He shrugged. "An hour or two."

She smirked. "And then I'll be back wanting another."

Dr. Triche just looked evenly at her. "It's a start, Nyx."

She leaned her head back and smacked it gently against the cabinets, her eyes wide and open and dead looking.

"Do what you have to do."

Dr. Triche rose to his feet. "I'll get a nurse."

Before he could leave the room, though, Nyx's entire body propelled forward and she grabbed blindly for the small trash can next to her. Dr. Triche watched in mixed pity and revulsion as she grasped it close to her chest and vomited into it. Blood. Chunks of stomach. Bile. Her fingernails were grating into the side of the cheap plastic trashcan and she was trembling uncontrollably. The doctor slowly resumed his seat on the stool, unable to tear his gaze away.

Not in his 36 years of practicing medicine had he EVER seen a detox like this. Nyx didn't even look like a person anymore-she looked possessed, her eyes glassy, her face drained of all color, the flow still coming and coming. Dr. Triche knew he should call an ambulance, but he was pinned down from horror, from disgust, from sympathy.

Nyx exhaled sharply, as if she had been held down underwater, a desperate bid for freedom. She retched once more, but nothing came out except spit, and she shakily wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Dr. Triche slowly let out a deep breath that he didn't know he had been holding until now.

"It's like the fucking Poltergeist." Nyx muttered, pushing the trash can away from her. From where he was sitting, the doctor could see beads of sweat along her hairline.

"Is it like that all the time?" Dr. Triche questioned, and Nyx smiled a little, her eyes closed, face pointed to the ceiling.

"Mostly. You got a special performance, though. Those were new colors."

His shaking hands opened her medical file and groped uselessly in his pocket for his pen. "I'm just going to ask you a few questions." He said, swallowing, his throat dry.

Nyx waved a shaking hand at him. "Nothing but time."

He slipped on his glasses and squinted down at his notes.

"Last time you ate and kept down food?"

"Two days ago. Wait, kept down? Four days." Nyx made a face and nudged the trash further away with her foot.

The doctor marked it down.

"Last menstrual cycle?"

"Two months ago."

"Last date of substance abuse?"

Nyx fixed her eyes on him, and they were deep and dark and determined.

"A week since alcohol. A month without cocaine."

Dr. Triche paused. "You stopped using cocaine?"

Nyx shrugged. "For the moment, I'm sure."

Dr. Triche bit his tongue and marked down her reply.

"Last date you had sexual intercourse?"

Something passed across Nyx's face, so quickly that the doctor wasn't sure he had seen it at first. It had looked like sadness. Tenderness. Strange to see that on her face.

"A week ago." She said softly, and looked down into her lap. Dr. Triche pretended not to notice.

"Are you on birth control?"

Nyx nodded. "Deprovera. Doubt I"ll get pregnant at this point-knock on wood, but I'm still protecting myself."

"Always smart. Are you feeling well enough to stand up? I want to take some blood and urine samples." Dr. Triche pocketed his pen, and Nyx laughed dryly.

"Don't believe me, doc?"

"Standard procedure." He lied, and Nyx just snickered. "Nothing about this is standard procedure."

Dr. Triche couldn't agree with her more.

It was almost twilight as Chris pulled alongside the curb at the Crane residence.

One quick check of the driveway assured him that Alan and the detestable Christobel were not around, or so he hoped. He was way too tired to deal with Christobel, who always looked at him with this smug little smirk every time he stopped at the house. She always looked like she knew something he didn't and was enjoying his ignorance thoroughly.  He tried not to come to the house if he could help it, something that Nyx understood, hence why she was always over at his.

But Nyx hadn't been answering her phone all day, and Chris was worried. Ever since that night they had gotten drunk and messed around, she had been getting more quiet, more withdrawn, paler. When asked about her behavior, she'd only shake her head and offer up a small smile. "Stop worrying, Chris," Nyx would admonish, "you're starting to get gray hair."

Really, he had all the reason to worry, and if he got gray hairs from it, so be it, but Chris knew what had happened that night. He had been wrecked, sure, but he knew he wouldn't forget the way her eyes had locked in on his, the words coming out of his mouth before he could stop them. They had floated in the air between their lips and hung there, and Chris had wanted to take them back and bury them deep inside himself.

But she had not answered. Chris wasn't even sure she had heard him, which was somehow both reassuring and disappointing. He remembered not wanting to sleep, even though the alcohol was impossible to resist-he had been terrified that she would run.

He had woken up alone and gone downstairs to find a state of incredible disarray in his living room. Chris's heart had been in his throat.

But he had entered the kitchen and there she was-leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded, staring at the refrigerator as if it held all the answers to life. She had looked incredibly vulnerable and lost and tiny and Chris had felt something in his heart disengage, start whirring, and warmth had flooded him from head to toe.

Nyx had looked over at Chris, disheveled, wide eyed, relieved beyond belief, and without showing a hint of surprise of seeing him, sighed.

"We're out of fucking bacon."

Chris hadn't even responded-he had just gone forward and pulled her into a hug. He tried to put a lot of unsaid feelings into the hug and Nyx evidently got the message, because she blushed when he finally set her down.

"What was that for?" She had asked, ruffling his hair.

Chris just shook his head. "For being here."

Nyx just blinked at him, confused.  "Where else would I want to be?"

He smirked. "A house where the fridge is stocked with bacon."

Nyx shrugged and nodded. "I don't ask for much."

No, Chris had thought, as he led her upstairs, but you're going to get it anyway.

He shook his head free of these thoughts and pulled off his helmet. It was hot and muggy and Chris suddenly had the incredible urge to find the nearest bed and crash for the next week or two. He had forgotten how exhausting it was to get a record out, and Chris wondered how he had ever made it through the days back when he was with *NSYNC. Lots of pixie sticks, he thought wryly, and faster metabolism.

He approached the door, which had ceased to be as forbidding (unless Christobel lurked behind it) and rang the doorbell, hoping Nyx would answer the door, but it was one of the maids and Chris smiled tiredly at her, not needing to say anything. The maids knew him by now and said no more then ‘hello' or ‘goodbye' as he passed, but he always tried to be polite to them.

The maid that answered the door (Benita? Burrito?) stepped aside and allowed Chris to move past her, and he nodded in thanks, waving off her gestures to take his jacket.

The house was dark and still and the only sound he heard was the soft Spanish music coming below from the kitchen. Usually when Chris arrived, he could hear Nyx pumping out the radio at top volume from downstairs, mostly just trying to piss Christobel off, or she would run down the steps to greet him, or in most cases, intercept him from whatever reception Christobel might offer.  But Chris heard nothing from above, which was unusual.

He quickened his steps, the thought of encountering an empty room and a "Dear John Doe" letter making him slightly sick to his stomach. In fact, his paranoia was so great that by the time Chris reached her bedroom door, he was positive that she was gone.

He knocked softly, but nobody answered, so Chris turned the knob and the door swung open.

The room was dark and quiet but when he saw Nyx sprawled on the bed, Chris slumped against the doorframe in immeasurable relief.

Am I ever going to stop thinking this way? He wondered, drinking the sight of her in. Why can't I just relax and believe that she'll be there when I wake up, when I turn a corner, when I call her phone?

The answer was supposed to come naturally, but it never did.

Nyx was laying across her bed on her side, shoes kicked off, her red hair covering most of her face. Chris could hear her breathing, soft and ragged and familiar, and he moved forward into the room, closing the door softly behind him.

He was never really aware of how much he missed her until he saw her again, and though he called her on his breaks from the studio, hearing her voice was a shitty substitute for this. Nyx was constantly in motion-laughing, teasing, jumping around, and like him, didn't get much in the way of sleep. To see her still and so unguarded was strange, but Chris reveled in the opportunity. He put his helmet on an armchair and drew closer to her, but a flash of silver from the bedside table caught his attention, and Chris's fingers trailed over a blue prescription box.

"Amitryptiline." He read, his eyes furrowing in confusion as he studied the small letters on the label. It gave no indication of what function the pills served, so Chris pulled out the foil package to find two of the little white pills gone. He looked down at his sleeping girlfriend, biting his lip. Nyx made no movement, she didn't twitch or squirm or sniffle or cough. Chris set down the pill box and bent to her level.

"Nyx?" He whispered, pushing her hair off of her face. No reaction. Chris felt a faint stirring of worry. He placed his hand on her back and waited until he was reassured by the steady rise and fall of her body, but she was freezing cold.

Chris gently shook her, but nothing happened. Okay, now, this was bad.

"Nyx. Babe. Wake up." He whispered loudly, patting her on the side. Nothing. She didn't even stir.

Chris looked around frantically to see if there were other pill bottles that he had missed, but the room was immaculate. He debated on whether or not to call 911, but she WAS breathing, right? She wasn't bleeding or choking. It looked like she had just passed out or gone into a coma.

Chris snatched the blue box off of the side table and quickly scanned the label again, which advised the user to take one pill a day. ONE. Two were gone.

"Dammit." He ground out from between his teeth, and dropped the box again. This time, he rolled Nyx to her back, fully prepared to shake her or slap her or whatever drastic measure it would take to revive her, even though Chris suspected she'd kill him afterwards.

But as soon as he rolled her over, Nyx's eyes dragged open and she blearily focused on him for a split second before emitting a shocked squawk and yanking away.

"Chris, what the hell are you doing?!" She gasped, pushing her hair off of her forehead. Chris glared at her, although he wanted to go limp with relief.

"Waking you up from this coma-like sleep you were in. I shook you and called you and it was like you were dead."

Nyx groaned and buried her face in her hands. "Scared the living shit out of me."

Chris bent down and scooped up the blue box and tapped her on the arm with it. Nyx's face rose. Her eyes were bleary and she looked drawn and pale and absolutely exhausted, but she raised an eyebrow at his expression, which was beyond stern.

"What the hell are these?" Chris demanded, and Nyx rolled her eyes and sighed, taking the pills out of his hand.

"Stuff to help me sleep."

Chris rolled his eyes. "Sleep, or go into a coma? The damn thing says to take one, Nyx. You took two. What the hell?'

Nyx rubbed her eyes and set the box next to her. "I've taken these before. One doesn't work. I'm sorry if I freaked you out."

Chris softened-it was almost impossible to be upset with her when she looked so worn out. He reached forward and tugged gently on her hair.

"What time did you take them?"

Nyx yawned and shrugged. "What time is it?"

Chris pulled out his phone and checked the display. "It's seven o'clock."

Nyx's eyes grew wide. "Goddamn. I've been out since eleven in the morning. Must have needed more sleep then I thought I did." She stretched out her arms and cracked her neck, and Chris, watching her, was alarmed at how pale and washed out she looked. Her actions were sluggish and her eyes were dull and he doubted very much that the pills were taking that much out of her. He bit his lip, knowing he shouldn't ask, but he couldn't help himself.

"Babe, are you doing alright? You look sick."

He expected an eye roll and a trademark Nyx Dufrene admonition to stop fussing, goddammit, but she just gazed back at him, her shoulders heaving in a big sigh.

"I do feel blah, but it's just all this crap about finding an apartment and searching for a new job. And you of all people should know how insomnia can get to you." She smiled a little and reached over to trace one of his tattoos with her fingernail.

Chris shook his head. "I've felt pretty dead on my feet before, but babe, no offense-you look like you've got swine flu."

She chuckled. "No offense taken. That's how I feel. It'll go away, though. I just need some goddamn sleep."

"I agree with you there. I'm worn the hell out. Remind me why I'm producing an album again?" Chris groaned, falling back to lie on the bed, throwing his arm over his eyes.

She snickered. "To reclaim the wet dreams of little girls everywhere."

He made a face. "Christ, Nyx. That's gross."

"Yeah, I know." She huffed and fell back to join him, but they did not touch. Silence blanketed the room and Chris felt himself begin to drop off-this bed was incredibly comfortable. He assumed that Nyx was doing the same, but he felt her shift next to him, and he looked over at her and smiled. "What?"

Nyx was gazing at him as if it was the last time she'd ever lay eyes on him again.

Chris's smile dissolved and he watched her watch him, biting her lip, her eyes full of sadness and regret and...fear? He had never remembered seeing this kind of emotion in her before. It looked as if she was about to burst into tears. Chris immediately straightened up.

"What's the matter?" He whispered, anxious to fix it, fearing that she would start bawling, which he had never seen her do before. Nyx shook her head and her mouth opened, but before she could get out a word, her body jolted and before Chris could even blink, her hand was over her mouth and she was barging through the bathroom door, slamming it behind her.

He was almost on her heels, but the bathroom door was locked and he could hear the faucet running and the faint sounds of retching.

"Nyx! Open up!" Chris yelled, yanking at the doorknob, but it wouldn't budge. He pressed his ear to the door and strained to hear something, anything, but all he heard was little gasps. It sounded like a child whimpering.

"Nyx, goddammit, this isn't funny. Open the fucking door." Chris growled, throwing his shoulder against it, which produced no results whatsoever.

"I'm fine, Chris!" He heard her choke out, and he stared at the door in exasperated amazement.

"You sure as hell don't sound fine!" He retorted, and the toilet flushed in answer, and right before he was about to knock down the door, it flew open and Nyx stood there, her face wet and white as a sheet; she had to lean against the door for support.

"What the hell was that?" Chris demanded, and Nyx tiredly waved him away.

"I must have a bug. Don't get close. You don't need to be getting all sick right now, with the album."

He gave a snort of epic proportions. "I think I'll survive. Come on, bed."

Chris expected her to resist, but she took the hand he offered and let him lead her to the bed again. By the time he had yanked off his shirt and shoes and slid into bed next to her, Nyx was asleep.

Though he was exhausted himself, Chris forced himself to stay up and watch her, at least for a few minutes more. He settled himself closer to her so she could pick up his body heat (the woman was like a walking AC unit) and contemplated her without touching her. He loved this woman, and a part of him didn't want to, but a part of him needed to. The part that didn't want to love her was the part that resented her closemouthed status on almost everything, her secrets, the lies she told him (oh, Chris knew she lied) the almost constant refrain of wondering whether or not she'd be there the next morning. He hated himself for getting carried away by the liquor and the emotions and telling her the three words that had never really left his mouth before. Chris hated not knowing, he hated the limbo, the restraint.

But Chris loved her, and that dimmed everything else-the frustration, the anger, the fear. He had gone through extremes in his life-from being dirt poor to being filthy rich, to being a nobody to being a worldwide sensation, from a hardcore bachelor to a man on his knees in front of this woman. He wanted Nyx to know that he loved her, he wanted to be able to say it, get it out of his system before it devoured him, but something in her eyes always begged, pleaded, warned-don't say it. I'll run.

So Chris bit it back. Every time she smiled at him, every time they said goodbye on the phone, when they were together in bed or out paintballing or hanging with his friends-he felt the words dangling precariously at the edge of his tongue. It was only until their eyes met would they climb back down his throat.

His eyes felt heavy. His mouth was dry. He wanted a beer, but he was too tired.

She had been about to say it, Chris thought drowsily, he was positive.

But her sickness kept her back.

Two weeks, no liquor.

I am losing it.

Every day is a test, and I barely pass.

I  grew immune to the Amitryptiline in a matter of days. I had expected that, but I was angry. I needed something. Anything. Fill me, goddammit. Fill me.

Pills, liquor, drugs, fucking give me something. Food, dick, anything. I want to stop feeling so empty.

I am more terrified without liquor then with it. Without it, I don't know how I'm going to lie about the new job opportunity coming my way. Without it, the hand and the smell and the cicadas swarm over me. Without it, Chris's love is achingly real, so close I can touch it and feel it and it's terrifying and every conversation we have is becoming strained because I cannot reciprocate it verbally. Without it, I don't know who I am.

Noon on a Thursday. Chris is at the studio and will probably be there until eleven or midnight, so I came back to Alan's after work had finished. I'm in a fucking mood, man. I feel like Sparta-kicking everybody I fucking see. My stomach is aching and a headache is raging behind my forehead and I know I need food. The most I can keep down for more then an hour is saltines with no butter, and sometimes bread, but I want some fucking food. I want Popeyes fried chicken, crispy and hot and steaming Cajun mashed potatoes, I want a juicy burger with cheese and bacon and ranch and goddamn French fries. Anything, goddammit. Fill me with something. And just let somebody try to stop me.

I stalk into the kitchen and the second Amparo sees me, she averts her eyes and hurries out of the room. The two younger maids take her cue and follow her. Nobody looks directly at me. I don't give a shit. Fuck sober people. I hate them all. I go straight to the industrial refrigerator and throw it open. I'm immediately disgusted by what I see-Christobel's yogurts and Slimfasts and Lean Cuisines and Alan's fucking vegetarian bullshit. I want some goddamn meat, for Christ sakes. Fill me.

There's no liquor, and I know it, but I still search every inch of the fridge and every cabinet on the walls. This takes me awhile because the kitchen is as big as a goddamn hotel lobby, and by the time I'm finished, I'm practically insane with hunger. I stand in the middle of the kitchen and my mind whirs relentlessly. Can't drive in this state of mind for food. Nothing to cook, and even if there was, I was in no state to be around a stove or an oven. Fill me, goddammit.

I wrench my Itouch out of my pocket and connect to the Internet. A few impatient clicks gets me the number to the nearest pizza delivery joint and I look at their menu. Everything. I want everything.

I stalk over to the phone mounted on the wall and I punch in the number and I order two large pizzas. Supremes. Breadsticks. Fucking brownie bites-I've forgotten the taste of chocolate.

The phone call is over and I slam it back onto the wall and I screech for one of the maids. Benita appears instantly, but she is terrified of me and stays at the other end of the kitchen. I throw money at her and tell her that food is coming, to bring it straight to me, and if she doesn't, I'll report her to the fucking INS or something. The money is gone and Benita with it before I can threaten her further. My legs are shaking and my stomach is trying to revolt at the very thought of food, but I fight it and I pace the kitchen. I curse. I yank at my hair. I punch things. I cry.

My phone rings, and it's Chris, but I don't answer. I can't. I can't let him hear me cry. I'm Nyx Dufrene, for Christ sakes. I don't cry-I kick ass. Chris doesn't need a woman that falls to pieces, and right now, that's what I'm doing.

Voicemail. I ignore it. Doorbell rings, I hear hushed voices from the foyer, the door opens and closes. I smell the pizza before it gets to me and when the maid appears I tear it out of her hands and she throws the change at me and runs away. Run, bitch, or I'll eat you too.

I throw open the lid to the pizza and I inhale it. Cheesy, meaty, REAL fucking food. My stomach recoils in horror but I just smile to myself-get ready, motherfucker. Sending some shit your way. I pick up a slice and I shove it in my mouth, manners be damned. I chow down on it and it travels down my throat and it feels hot and burns my mouth but I don't care. Something, anything. My stomach immediately tries to send it back up, but I resist. No, I need to eat. Go fuck yourself. Seconds. Thirds. Fourths. By this point I've passed my normal threshold for food intake, but I don't care. I start in on the cheesesticks, and my god, they're so good. Cinnamon sticks, god, they're good too. Brownie bites. The chocolate mixes with the cheese and it doesn't taste great and my stomach tries to use that as an excuse, but I shake my head and continue to force down the food. Fuck you. It's my turn.

I'm covered in cheese and chocolate and cinnamon. My shirt is stained with it and so are my jeans and I don't care. That was the best fucking meal I've ever eaten, goddammit. Best, ever. I try to stuff another brownie bite in my mouth, but I can't take anymore. I cough it back up and my phone rings again and I ignore it again. I'm full. For the first time in a week, I'm full.

I rest my hot forehead on the cool ceramic tile of the island and breathe deeply through my nose. The anger is still there but it's not as blinding. There's just the old familiar weariness. It's bone deep and it makes me start sobbing again. Look at me. I'm a pig.  I'm just a scared pig in a person's body.

Fear. Shame. It's all coming up. Along with my food.

Fuck.

I push the chair out of my way and I stumble to the closest bathroom, but I barely make it, and I don't even close the door. I just grab the bowl and hold on tight and do what I do best-get rid of the good stuff.

Fill me.

___________________________________________________

Christobel slid quietly into the bathroom and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. She glared at Nyx's back, heaving over the toilet bowl. The sounds that were coming out of Nyx's throat were disgusting, but Christobel wasn't a stranger to binging, so she could deal. Plus, she had seen this from Nyx many times.

"Why don't you just move in here?" Christobel asked disgustedly, and Nyx barely turned her head.

"Fuck off Christobel." She groaned, but immediately began retching again, and Christobel made a face.

"Yuck. If only Mr. Boyband could see you now. Should I get the digital camera? Be a great one for the newspapers." The younger woman grinned with malice and Nyx's body froze. Her eyes locked on her cousin and they were like chips of granite.

"The fuck you would."

Even on her knees, yakking up her insides, Nyx was incredibly formidable, and Christobel had to force herself not to flinch.

"Not yet. But soon, if you don't get the fuck out of here."

Nyx growled. "I'm looking for a place to go, asshole."

"Here's a novel idea, dear cousin. Go back to fucking Louisiana. We don't want you here." Christobel snarled, but Nyx just shook her head, sighing.

"YOU don't want me here, Christobel."

"No. I don't. You're the fucking savior of Earth back home. Why the fuck do you have to come here and screw with me? This is MY fucking home, Nyx, I'm the queen, I'm the goddamn savior of Earth here. Me, not you." Christobel took a step closer to Nyx, her finger almost in the other girl's face.

Nyx's eyes narrowed and before Christobel could blink, her cousin's fingers were wrapping painfully around her wrist and dragging her closer until their faces were inches apart.

"You're the queen of nothing, you cunt. All you are is a fat girl in a thin girl's body, whining for the breaks you think you deserve. You want to be in my position? Go ahead, take it. Have it." Nyx's teeth were clenched and she smelled like sour pizza and chemicals. Christobel almost peed on herself. Nyx's fingers were like stone and though Christobel tried to squirm out of the grip, she wasn't letting go. The bones felt like they were giving in.

 "Try to live up to their standard and be used against everybody else as a sliding scale on how perfect they are. Look at me, you fucking bitch-do I LOOK perfect? Do you WANT to be their pet, their goddamn savior? Do you want all the pressure? Fucking take it!" Nyx roared, flinging Christobel away from her and turning once again to the toilet.

Christobel's back hit the wall and she stood there, grasping her wrist, staring in open-mouthed terror at her cousin, who wasn't paying attention to her anymore, just vomiting into the toilet as if she wanted to empty out her organs. Blood was falling rapidly into it, and Nyx's fingernails were scratching wildly in the porcelain. Christobel looked down at her wrist-it was black and purple already and an imprint of fingers could be seen clearly against her tan, but that wasn't even painful compared to what she was looking at.

Before Christobel could open her mouth to retort or scream or call for help, Nyx did something that she hadn't done in years, at least in front of her own cousin.

She started to sob.

The last time Christobel had seen her cousin cry was when they were seventeen years old and Nyx had broken her arm. That hadn't even been crying, really-more like an anguished howl, but this wasn't like that. This was a desperate, ragged, broken keening that seemed to come from another person, hidden in the angry body that had become Nyx's over the years.

Christobel felt the apron strings tugging at her-family only after God; but she could do nothing but stare in wide eyed terror at this display. She knew she should do something, comfort Nyx, call the hospital, call Alan, call Chris, but Nyx seemed beyond consoling or medical attention or anything that Christobel had to offer. The end was here and it was going to break her and Nyx had burnt her bridges too well.

Christobel took a step out of the bathroom, holding her wrist, unable to pull her eyes away from the scene. And when she spoke, she intended for it to hurt, but all she could manage was a whisper.

"If this is the price, then I don't want to pay it."

Nyx let out a gasping, bitter laugh. "About time you fucking got it."

Christobel bit her lip, and without knowing why, without wanting to and yet being unable to stop, she gave her cousin the only gift she had left.

"You don't need to pay it either."

Nyx's eyes met hers and for the first time in years, Christobel saw the face behind the face behind the face.

It was begging for help, but Christobel turned and walked away, leaving Nyx to her toilet, her decisions, and her pride.

Family only after God, she thought, but God can have my family, I don't want them anymore.

 Caught here in a fiery blaze, won't lose my will to stay. 

I tried to drive all through the night

 the heat stroke ridden weather, the barren empty sights

 No oasis here to see, the sand is singing deathless words to me. 
Can't you help me as I'm startin' to burn (all alone)

 Too many doses and I'm starting to get an attraction

 My confidence is leaving me on my own (all alone)

No one can save me and you know I don't want the attention.
As I adjust to my new sights

The rarely tired lights will take me to new heights

My hand is on the trigger I'm ready to ignite

Tomorrow might not make it but everything's all right

 Mental fiction, follow me;

 show me what it's like to be set free.

I should have come back for you.

I’m so sorry that I didn’t.

I’m sorry that I turned out this way, I’m sorry for letting you down. Out of everybody, you’re the only one that matters, the only one that ever has. I’m so fucking sorry I disappointed you-hell, I’m sorry that I’m disappointing you NOW, wherever you are.

If this is the price for leaving you alone in that darkness, I’ll pay it, gladly, till the day I die.

Unfortunately, that may be soon.

S’agapo. I’m so goddamn sorry.

Alan got to Starbucks fifteen minutes early, so he wasn’t really expecting to see Lance there. His heart beat furiously in his chest, but it wasn’t from fear of being caught anymore. Since the meeting at Lager’s, he and Lance had met up at least six different times in six different places, and nobody had recognized them or paid attention to them in the slightest. Alan hadn’t expected it’d be that easy-after all, Lance was pretty easy to pick out in a crowd, but if people knew who he was, they stayed away for politeness’s sake. To the casual observer, Alan and Lance were just two guys grabbing a beer. Nothing about their actions suggested that the pair were any more then friends. Alan still wore the hat and still picked places that were a reasonable distance away from Orlando’s main vein, but he had long since gotten comfortable.

If he had any nerves at all, it was because of Lance and Lance only. Nothing had happened, no kiss, no touching under the table, no come on, but the implications were still there and Alan felt them.

Lance was never anything but polite and funny and wonderful, and most of all-understanding. He never tried to push Alan further then he was willing to go, and that was the most endearing thing to him.

Nyx had laughed as Alan had come home after one of their outings to tell her all about Lance. He had been breathless and happy and otherwise completely “poofu’d” out, as she had termed it.

“So he’s a perfect Southern gentlemen, then?” She had asked, amusement in her eyes, and Alan had rolled his eyes and flipped her off. “Yes, he is.”

“That’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. I’m going to buy you two parasols and big floppy hats.” She had teased, and Alan had shoved her.

“Shut the hell up. I’m having an epiphany here!” Alan scolded, and her eyes had widened.

“You’re in love with him?”

Alan shrugged, his jaws hurting from the huge smile that would not vacate his face.

“I’m in something with him.” He had admitted, and Nyx had reached over and ruffled his hair, a little grin on her lips.

“You’re in like with him.”

Alan considered the words, sinking down into an armchair.

“Yeah,” he mused softly. “I could be in like with him.”

Alan could not help grinning to himself as he located an empty booth (always in the back and never near a window) and slid inside. These past few weeks had been like being released from a cage-even Christobel was easier to deal with, though she was still on her rampage of getting Nyx out of the house. Alan was able to endure her fits of rage and her threats only because he had Lance to look forward to-most of the time everything else was white noise. The monotony of work, the fear of his parents, the fear of being outed-it was almost worth this, whatever it was.

Like. I’m in like with you.

“What are you smiling at?”

Alan started and looked up to see Lance raising an eyebrow at him, smirking, and his heart did a swooping dive.

“Nothing. Having a blonde moment.” Alan said slowly, and Lance chuckled. It was deep and warm and Alan felt like a foolish girl who couldn’t stop blushing.

As they always did (to keep up friendly appearances) Lance stuck out his hand and Alan shook it, trying to ignore the little bolts of excitement that the contact sent through his body. Lance sat down and Alan couldn’t help but marvel at how good and loose and comfortable Lance seemed to be. It was something he couldn’t get over every time they met. He seemed to be so at ease with everything that it transferred over to Alan, at least for the time being.

“Did you order yet, or…” Lance tipped his head towards the counter, questioning, and Alan shook his head. “No, not yet. I don’t know what you like.”

Lance shrugged. “Coffee is coffee.”

Alan guffawed. “Not in this place. There’s at least sixteen different kinds of foam and at least a thousand ways to mix it and shake it. Nyx would kill me if she knew I was here. She has a personal vendetta against this place.”

Lance snickered. “She doesn’t seem like the coffee type.”

“Only if she’s throwing it in your face.” Alan admitted, and the other man laughed again.

“Speaking of Nyx, Chris told me she’s been sick lately. Is she okay?” Lance peered at him from across the table and Alan hesitated.

Nyx is not sick. She’s an alcoholic.

God, how good it would feel to get it off of his shoulders, he thought. To tell somebody, anybody, how scared he was for his best friend. Nyx wasn’t sleeping and she wasn’t eating and she barely spoke except to scream at people to leave her alone. Alan almost grimaced as he thought of the horrible sounds that came out of her bathroom these days. To tell Lance-wonderful, understanding, nonjudgmental Lance, to share the burden, to admit fear-it would be a godsend.

But Alan couldn’t. Lance was one of Chris’s best friends and he doubted very much that Lance would keep a secret like that from a man who was almost his brother. Plus, Nyx had been very understanding and very discreet about Alan’s own situation, and he owed her as much.

Yeah, but your situation won’t kill you.

Alan met Lance’s eyes. “She just caught one of those bugs that are going around. Plus, Christobel is kind of giving her shit about staying at the house, so she’s kind of stressed about finding a place to live.” It was a bald-faced lie and Alan hated himself for it, but what was he supposed to do?

Lance nodded in sympathy. “I hope she gets better, man. Chris sounded really worried about her. I like Nyx a lot-she strikes me as the type of girl that can handle herself.”

Alan smiled distantly. “Yeah, she’s tough.”

He apparently didn’t sound too convincing, because Lance, perceptive as he was, cocked his head to the side.

“Does it bother you to talk about her?”

Alan shook his head. “No. Things aren’t like that anymore.”

Lance nodded, playing with his car keys, waiting for Alan to elaborate.

He took a deep breath. “It’s just…well…I’m worried about her, that’s all.”

Lance look concerned. “She’s that sick?”

Before Alan knew what was coming out of his mouth, he blurted out the truth-well, as close to the truth as he would allow himself to get.

“The past few years have been…difficult for her. Combined with her…well, her disposition, sometimes she can’t be tough. That’s why she’s sick.”

Every word was a stab of betrayal against Nyx and Alan cursed himself; goddamn it, how could he have said that?! Lance wasn’t dumb, he was anything but! What the fuck was wrong with him!? Alan almost groaned aloud and could not bring himself to meet Lance’s eyes, knowing that if he did, the other man would see everything. And everything was enough to get him killed.

Instead, Lance did the most wonderful thing. He remained adorably ignorant and merely nodded in that nonjudgemental ‘Lance’ way that Alan was starting to love.

“Well, you don’t need to worry. Chris is going to take care of her, trust me. He may look like a hardass on the outside, but helping people is what Chris loves to do.  It’s like an involuntary action on his part by now.” Lance’s words were intended to reassure Alan, but they didn’t.

He shook his head, smiling grimly. “Nyx isn’t the kind of person that accepts help.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “I know you’ve known her a lot longer then I have, Alan, but she didn’t seem that militant when I met her. In fact, she seems pretty levelheaded.”

Alan looked down at the table.

“When we were in high school, I was being harassed by a bunch of assholes. It was mostly standard hazing shit-why I was such a little freak, why I thought I was better then everybody else because my parents had money, why I hung out with people like Nyx. It was annoying but I mostly ignored it when I could. One day, they got tired of me not playing their stupid little game. They drove all the way out to Lakeview to find me, because that’s where I hung out most of the time, with Nyx and her family.” Alan stopped to take a deep breath-this memory was something he tried to block out, especially now, but Lance’s eyes on him were too penetrating and too warm to ignore, they made him want to spill everything. Dangerous. He forced himself to continue.

“They passed by, didn’t see us, but evidently Nyx saw them pass by, because the next day after school, she approached them in the parking lot. She didn’t say a word. She walked straight up to the biggest one, swung her backpack, and when it hit his face, his entire mouth was shattered. By the time I got to her, she had already attacked the other one, the one that harassed me the most. Once she started…” Alan swallowed and could not continue for a few seconds, and was all too aware of Lance’s eyes widening at this recollection.

 “Once she started, she couldn’t quit. She got on top of him and started scratching and punching and hitting him in the head with her backpack. Nobody was stopping her. Nobody was helping him because he had been an asshole to most of them. But nobody was cheering or laughing. When the cops got there, it took two of them to drag her off, and they broke her arm in the process. That was the only time she ever made a sound, and it was like she was laughing as she was screaming. Sometimes when I look at her, I hear that goddamn noise. I hear her laughing as she’s being dragged away.” Alan didn’t realize he was trembling, didn’t know why he was telling Lance Bass this, didn’t know why he picked this particular memory to share with a boyband popstar, did not know why he was giving his best friend’s secrets away like poisonous candy. He had tried all these years to not give people reasons to judge Nyx, but if Lance did, so be it. It was out of his system.

“What happened to the guys?” Lance asked quietly, and Alan took a deep breath. Get it out, get it all out.

“When they got to the hospital, all three of them, it wasn’t pretty. The guy that went down first is pretty much okay as far as I know. He had to have complete dental surgery afterwards and never fucked with me again,” Alan laughed mirthlessly. “but the other guy, he’s almost brain damaged. Their families pressed charges, and Nyx almost went to jail, but she…she got out of trouble, someone helped her out. I remember being in the triage room with her when the cops came to talk to her. Christobel was there, she was the one the family sent to watch over the situation. I remember Nyx wearing her school uniform, sitting up on the table, someone putting a cast on her arm. She didn’t have any remorse, she was totally calm, totally removed from the situation. I remember the cops holding her backpack. When they opened it and pulled out at least five bricks, she started laughing. Like it was all a huge joke.”

Bile rose in his stomach as Alan’s brain yanked out those images and plastered them in front of his eyes, forcing him to remember that horrible moment, that sly, mocking laugh. In front of him, Lance’s eyes were so wide they looked like dinner plates, and Alan chuckled wryly despite himself.

“When we went back to school the next week, I thought people would give me shit for having a girl fight my battles. But nobody said a word to me. Nobody ever called me a rich little shithead ever again.”

Lance took a deep breath. He looked nauseous and uncomfortable and Alan felt a pinprick of remorse for sharing this with him. The memory was too sick for therapy, so what the fuck was he doing telling Lance Bass, of all people?

“You’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re kidding.” Lance swallowed, hard.

Alan sighed. “I wish I was.”

“Does…Chris know all of this?”

Alan shrugged. “I doubt it. Nyx says she doesn’t remember most of it. She’s not the type of person to air her dirty laundry.”

Lance shook his head. “I just can’t see Nyx doing that to anybody. She doesn’t seem that violent.”

Alan bit his lip. “You wouldn’t think that when you look at her.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Lance said slowly, and they fell into tense silence as people laughed and conversed around them, typing on laptops and talking on cell phones. The setting was way too surreal for the situation, the story, the whole goddamn bit. Alan could tell that Lance was struggling to find a way to ask a question, and before he could open his mouth, Alan shook his head.

“She’ll never fuck with Chris that way, Lance, so don’t worry. Trust me, if anything, nobody better ever fuck with Chris.”

Lance bit his lip, but he looked relieved. “I didn’t want to ask it.”

Alan smiled. “I know. I get it. Look, Nyx only did what she did because those guys fucked with me and then they rode by her family’s house. To Nyx, that’s an implied threat. You do NOT fuck with her family. Ever.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think that’s a little extreme? I mean, one of the guys is brain damaged, dude.  I mean, I’m sitting here trying to separate the girl I met from the girl you just described and I can’t. I just can’t do it.” Lance sighed and tugged at his hair in frustration.

Alan met his eyes. “Extreme,” he said softly, “is assuming that the two are different.”

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I was forcing myself to walk away from the toilet. My head was swimmy and my stomach felt tender and moody and I wanted to lay down, just for a little while. Five minutes, even. Christobel’s words ricocheted around my brain and banged around in there and I knew she had a point, even though I hated to admit it.

I avoided the kitchen and slowly made my way up the steps, but halfway up I couldn’t do it anymore and I slowly sat down to catch my breath. I was sweating as if I had been in the gym all morning except having a nervous breakdown and puking my innards out. I yanked my cell phone from my pocket and forced myself to straighten up. I had to call Chris back or he’d come over here and I didn’t think I could handle seeing him right now or having to lie. I hated to lie to him and I tried to avoid it at all costs.

I pressed send and put the phone to my ear and closed my eyes. The cicadas were there, they were always there. My entire body felt sticky and my mouth tasted like rancid pizza. Insanity. That’s what this was. Fucking insanity.

Chris picked up on the fifth ring and he sounded breathless, as if he had been running around.

“Hey you, why didn’t you pick up?”

I cleared my throat. “Sorry, I was in the bathroom and didn’t hear it ring. What’s up?”

“Just taking a break from the studio. I’m about to go back in, but I’m glad you called. How are you feeling, babe?”

His concern and his voice and the sound of his breathing made my heart constrict and for a really bad moment there I thought I’d start bawling. But I didn’t, of course.

“I’m feeling okay. It’s just hot as balls out there and I feel sticky and gross. I’m glad you called me, though.” Lies.

Chris laughed. “Of course I’d call you, woman.”

Just then, Christobel started screeching from the kitchen about the mess I had left and I clenched my teeth, pressing the phone harder to my ear. But Chris had ears like a bat.

“What the hell is all that noise?” He asked, and I sighed. “Christobel is having a hissy fit.”

“About what?” He asked incredulously, but Christobel’s yelling reached new volumes and I groaned, trying to stand up without puking all over the staircase.

“Lord only knows.”

Chris sighed in exasperation. “Why don’t you just pack a bag and come to my house and get away from that crazy bitch? I’ll be home in a few hours and you know where everything is.”

I stopped my slow ascent up the stairs, the noises from downstairs becoming faint. Chris’s house, alone. Chris’s house had liquor. Liquor. Tons of it. A whole fucking barroom of it. My mouth felt like the Sahara desert. Fuck.

“Nyx, you there? I gotta go soon.” Chris’s voice was anxious and I yanked myself back to the present, though everything still sounded like it was coming from another room.

“I don’t have a key.” I had to force the words out. It felt like someone had coated my throat in vinyl.

“Come to the studio, I have mine. You know where it is, right?” I heard Chris cover the phone and say something to somebody on his end,  and after a few scuffling noises I heard him say something like ‘dub’ and then his breath was loud in my ear again.

“I’m back, sorry. Do you know where the studio is?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, get your fine ass over here. It’s studio number six. I gotta go, babe. Muah!” Chris smacked into the phone and I laughed despite myself, smacking back.

“Okay, I’ll see you soon.”

“Hurry!” The phone clicked off and I shook my head, pocketing it. I didn’t realize that I was smiling but as soon as I hung up the phone, I remembered what going to Chris’s house would entail. The smile faded. I grasped the railing on the stairs and took a deep breath, but it didn’t work.

I was going to be all alone with liquor in Chris’s house. I hadn’t had a drink in two weeks. I was a recovering alcoholic.

This was not good. This was the opposite of what was good. In fact, the whole idea scared me so much that I almost called Chris back and told him I wasn’t coming after all, that I’d wait till he got home to visit.

And then I realized it was the first time I had ever been scared of drinking the liquor, instead of automatically doing whatever it took to get it inside of me. This epiphany did not invoke any sense of pride-in fact, it scared me even more. Who am I without liquor, I thought, dazedly stumbling to my room. Who am I if I cannot drink? What kind of PUSSY am I when I am scared of something that makes me feel so good?

At the time, it escaped my notice that the same principles could also be applied to Chris and I, but I was a dumbfuck back then, so I’m not surprised.

I got to my room and I went to the bathroom and I leaned against the mirror and looked at myself. In the reflection, I saw the toilet and I laughed mirthlessly to myself. Fuck you, toilet. I fucking hate you. Go fuck yourself, you goddamn porcelain piece of shit. I refocused on myself and almost got sick again at what I saw.

My eyes looked so dull that I might as well have had cataracts. Bags hung from underneath them and my skin was ashy and my cheekbones were showing. My hair looked dirty and lank, my lips were chapped. This is what an alcoholic looks like, I thought to myself. This is what you get when you try to do the right thing about the wrong thing. This is where your decisions got you.

This made my stomach rumble uneasily, but I ignored it.

“This is not a face that Chris could love.” I said aloud, to the toilet and the bathtub and to the sink and to the fucking mirror, the goddamn mirror that shows you the face behind the face behind the face. Saying Chris’s name reminded me that I had to hurry, had to go, had to get the key and go to the big house with all my poisons to wait on a man who I loved but could not tell. This is heaven, goddammit, this is love, is it worth it?

I splashed cold water on my face, stripped, flipped off the toilet again and stepped into the hot spray of the shower. When the water hit my body, it was like someone had taken a towel and smacked me on the back of the head. I took a gasping breath and water dripped into my mouth, I felt the layers of dull bewilderment melt away.  I had forgotten how good a shower felt, how it felt to be clean. The only thing that had been on my brain lately was simply, endure. Don’t bother getting clean when you’re going to get dirty again. Get it all out, endure it, get through it, whatever it takes.

I washed my hair and shaved and made sure to douse myself in satsuma shower gel. I rinsed my face with apricot scrub. I tried to make the best of what I had, even if it wasn’t much. By the time I got out of the shower I was already ‘late’ by Chris’s standards and I had to force myself to ignore the toilet, get ready. Chris is waiting, Nyx. Life is waiting. Get ready. Hurry.

I blowdried my hair and put on a little makeup and tried my best to hide the bags under my eyes to the best of my ability. By the time I was dressed, the need to puke was almost blinding, but I held it back. As gross as it sounds (and it is) I swallowed it back down. No, goddammit. You stay down there. I’ve got shit to do.

I threw some clothes into a bag and made sure I had my sleeping pills, even if they were worth nothing. The clothes I had selected to wear were way too baggy but I had no time to change. By the time I had grabbed my shit and approached the front door, Chris was already calling my cell phone.

The bright sunlight hurt my eyes and it was too hot and life was too real and my fear was painful and immediate, but I swallowed it back down. No, I won’t do this anymore. I’m not going to give in.

Endure.

Chris was waiting outside for Nyx when she pulled into the parking lot. He hopped off of the guardrail (where he had been sitting for the last ten minutes, checking his phone and tapping his feet, goddamn that girl, where was she?) and was across the parking lot before she even stepped out of her car.

Seeing her these days was like a three way assault of emotions-relief, torment, and concern, and they all fought for first place. When she faced him, Chris could not help noticing how her clothes hung off of her in places where they used to cling, how makeup couldn’t hide the weariness in her features, how her actions seemed sluggish when she used to dart around like a hummingbird. But try as he might to be concerned, the sight of her smile still twisted his stomach around and he could not help smiling back. The words tried to escape but Chris bit his tongue and wrapped his arms around her instead.

“What took you so long, woman?” He teased, and Nyx rolled her eyes. “I had to take a shower, Kirkpatrick. I smelled like an ashtray, for Christ sakes.”

Chris leaned over and sniffed her hair. Nyx made a face and gently punched him in the side. It felt as substantial as a puff of air.

“What are you doing, you freak?”

“Smelling my woman.” Chris teased, and Nyx snorted. “Let’s not get down to Eminem’s level, now.”

Chris gasped in mock fear. “You can’t say that! He’ll write another song about me!”

The side of Nyx’s mouth turned up. “Let’s hope he’s not that desperate for material.”

He mock scowled at her and she rolled her eyes and nudged him with her shoulder. “Stop your pouting, Baio, and give me your key.”

“I see how it is, don’t even want to come and hang out with me for awhile.” Chris sighed dramatically.

“I would, but I have some errands to run before I go back to Boyband Land.” Nyx shifted her stance and her eyes were focused on Chris, but she seemed to be somewhere else and he had the very unpleasant feeling that he was being lied to. Again.

But instead of confronting her (as he should have done, the Undisputed Truth reminded him AGAIN) Chris merely dug in his pocket and handed her the key, which she slid into her bag.

“What time are you going to be home?” She asked, and Chris tried to push away the nagging voice of distrust, but to no avail. It was hard to look her in the eye and not show that he knew she was fucking with him.

“Around 8 or 9. Eleven at the latest. If you get hungry, order a pizza. What kind of errands?”

Nyx shrugged. “Gotta stop by work and ask for my schedule. Run to the bank. Grab a paper. You know, usual shit.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him and Chris closed his eyes and hated the way he automatically forgave her when her mouth was anywhere on his body. He could not help himself.

Her lips were soft and familiar and Chris smelled satsuma and mint and the chemical smell of makeup, the fabric softener she used on her clothes. Everything about her smelled right and felt right, but Chris could not shake the horrible feeling that he was holding someone else.

Their mouths separated and he didn’t want to let go of her, didn’t want to allow her to go and do whatever she was planning on doing, which was probably not as innocent as running to the bank. He didn’t think she was cheating on him-she had too much honor in her to do that, and besides, Nyx had been scared enough to be with HIM, of all people. Suddenly the album seemed insanely unimportant and Chris wanted to take her to his house and be with her in any capacity and not let her leave. This crazy thinking almost caused him to blurt out the words, but he made himself release her waist and step away.

Nyx did not seem to sense his reluctance to let her go. Instead, she turned her cheek towards him and tapped it, and Chris pecked her.

“Go back in the studio and rock out. I’ll see you at the house when you get back.” She smiled and squeezed his hand and Chris made himself return her grin, even though the action felt strange on his face. She turned with one last wink and walked back to her car.

Chris took a few steps back towards the studio, but could not let himself go back inside until after he watched her pull out of the parking spot and turn out onto the street, a wave in the rearview mirror, and then she was gone.

Gone to wherever Chris could not follow.

I don’t do the things I told Chris I was going to do. You probably already know that by now. I go to Lagers and I sit there and order three things off of the menu that I don’t even eat. I sit in our regular booth and I get served by our regular waitress, who asks me if I want my usual beer. It takes every last piece of strength I have left to tell her no, to bring me plenty of bread and water. I look at the bar behind her and I gulp, thinking about a tall perspiring glass of wonderful beer, the smell of tequila in a small shot glass, the smell of it clearing out my sinuses.

As I wait, I stare across the table at the back of the booth, where Chris’s head usually is. We come here a lot and it’s weird being here without him and for the first time in my life I wish I was weak so I could go back and see him and not do this. Out of all the ways I use to trick myself into not needing a drink, he’s the best one. I close my eyes and I think of his dark eyes and his smile and the way he laughs and moves and touches me. Chris Kirkpatrick, I need you. I need you to remind me who I am, tell me I’m not a monster. Chris, you’re worth all of this pain, all of this fear, these nights in front of the toilet. Chris, I need to let you go for your own good but I’m too selfishly addicted to the way your voice feels in my ear, the way you sang that night at that bar along to Def Leppard, the way your fingers find their way into my hair. I need you to tease me and to make me believe, even if it is a lie, that I’m better then the life I’m living. All these things I should tell you but I cannot. Fucking joke. A girl like me has no place in your world. I’m a fucking waitress. You’re goddamn rich and famous and talented. What a joke.

There’s suddenly water and bread in front of me and my waitress bustles off and neither looks appetizing; in fact, looks anything but, but I pick up the bread and I tear it in pieces and I stuff a piece into my mouth.

My stomach does not like this and tries to send it back up, but I can’t puke in here and I can’t help but notice there’s two guys in a booth across the restaurant looking at me with curiosity. Chris has taught me how to recognize paparazzi, and these two fit the profile. They’re wearing loose clothing with lots of pockets and I can’t see a camera but I get a weird feeling that there’s one around. I avert my eyes and I try to look inconspicuous. They eye me closely once more but go back to their burgers. I’m not fooled by this.

Oh, I’m so sick. So sick. My eyes dart back to the bar and I make myself look away. I came here for a reason and that reason is not alcohol but I wish I would have ordered to go. I want to try and combat this withdrawal. I’m prepared to eat till I burst and puke it back up, but if my plans are going to be carried out then I have to gain weight. I have to get back to looking normal again, even if I’m just pretending. My stomach lurches and I wish the paparazzi would leave so I could eat in peace; I don’t know how Chris bore it all those years.

My burgers come and my cheese fries come and the smell and sight of them make my stomach turn. I almost ask the waitress to box them up for me but the place is getting busy and I know if I run from paparazzi, they’ll follow me wherever I go. I don’t want to lead them back to Chris’s house. I slowly pick up a fork and I eat.

You know when you eat a lot and you physically cannot put any more down your throat or else you’ll gag? That’s what my first bite felt like. And my second. And my third. I force myself to eat every fry loaded with bacon and cheese and every piece of burger and onion rings; I scarf them down like I haven’t eaten in days, months, years. With each bite, it feels like my stomach will burst. Fuck it, you know the drill-I need something in me besides liquor, any substitute will do. My eyes keep going back to the bar and I keep making myself eat and eat and eat. When I have two bites of my burger left, I almost slump over, catching myself just in time. I beckon over my waitress and ask for the bill, trying not to look desperate, trying not to stare back at the paparazzi in the corner. The bill comes, I pay, I count to thirty five, I leave.

I drive away from Lagers as fast as I can and my heart is pumping and I’m sweating profusely. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. My phone rings-I ignore it. I’m almost out of gas-I ignore it.

Despite my pain, in my head, I start to make plans.

Necessity. That’s all they are. That’s what I think most people didn’t get about me.

I did what I had to do.

Wouldn’t you, if you had to?

 In Like With You

I force my key into Chris's door and my need to puke is so great that I almost fforget to slam the door behind me and lock it.

I don't even remember flying across the living room. All I remember is the familiar white banality of the toilet, the burger and the fries and the cheese and bacon flying out. Evacuating the premises. It comes and it comes and it doesn't stop and I squeeze my eyes shut and wrap my arms around the toilet bowl and brace myself. I taste blood and food and acid clogs my throat and coats my stomach. As much as I don't want to admit, tears force their way out of my eyes and fall into the toilet and I gasp for breath.

As full as I was minutes ago, I'm totally empty.

I reach up and tiredly flush the toilet. My chest is burning and my fingers are aching and I'm tired. I'm so tired. I sit there for about an hour, just breathing and waiting for the next wave to come. I just wait. It will come.

It happens and I endure it and I flush. It happens again and I repeat my actions. I'm a broken record, but I try to be patient. Puke, flush, breathe, wait. Over and over. I forget where I am. Hell follows me wherever I go.

Sixty minutes feels like lifetimes and by the time I get up my entire body is shaking. I need a bath. I need water.  I need more food but I cannot do it. I'm so tired of the toilet.

I pull myself to my feet and I make myself sip water from the faucet and I don't look at myself. Off come my clothes and off goes the bathroom lights and I turn towards the bathtub (why it's there, I have no clue-Chris doesn't take baths) and the hot water feels so good that my eyes roll to the back of my head. I usually don't take baths without liquor and I miss it more then ever but I make myself enjoy the heat of the water. There are jets but I don't bother with them. I just try to breathe in and out and enjoy the heat and the darkness. My insides are lurching but I ignore it.

Time passes.

The bath is over and I dry myself off slowly and dress in loose pajamas and shuffle to the kitchen. I leave off the lights because my head is aching dully. My mouth is dry and I yank open the fridge but when I see the liquor, I freeze.

Beautiful bottles filled with beautiful liquid that make me feel so amazing. Six packs of beer. A bottle of Captain Morgan. Grey Goose. Cicadas. My stomach aches in longing and I clench my teeth and I start to reach for one and I don't know why but I'm-

I stumble backwards and my entire ass is submerged in the mud, but all I can see is the hand. The goddamn hand.

The hand that used to hold me when I was a baby, the hand that would discipline and punish, the hand that wiped my tears when I cried, the hand that cradled my face only weeks ago with sympathy, with understanding, with non-judgmental love. Somewhere underneath that hand are eyes and a mouth and a soul and all of it is being choked by mud and bugs and filth. All that love is buried under this stink and this awful fucking heat.

It's all my fault.

I start shaking. Horror fills me, chokes me, paralyzes me. My fingernails are grating into the side of the splintered doorframe. Tears come but they don't fall and I just sit there in the mud and stare.

It's all my fault.

The cicadas get louder and louder as the sun starts its slow descent and I cannot yell for help or scream in terror and I know I must do both but I cannot. All I can do is remember how that hand felt against my skin.

I had been on my knees, my head bowed, I had been doing penance to the only person in my life that I had genuine respect for. I had felt a touch on my head that felt like a blessing that no ordained priest could give me, and the hand cupped my cheek and gently raised my face. Our eyes met and I saw no judgment. All I could feel was the love I had gotten automatically, unconditionally, since the day I was born. That was the last time I honestly felt I had any strength left, any real drive to change my life and for the better. And I had fucking done this. I had committed murder; I might as well been the levee that broke.

I want a drink, I want fifty fucking drinks. I want a bag of coke and I want to snort it and bump it and smoke it until I become obsolete. I want to find a bathtub and drown myself in it. No. No. No.

This is not happening.

I was so absorbed in my horror that I did not hear the squelching noise of mud being separated by footsteps, I did not see or acknowledge Christobel's presence until she was two steps away from me. I snapped back to Earth in a blind panic and I turned towards her, my hands outstretched, trying to keep her from seeing.  Movie slow motion. Her mouth moved, but nothing came out. Before I could kick her or push her away, her eyes flicked into the room. The hand. The goddamn hand.

Christobel screamed.

It was loud and immediate and the sound snapped back on in my world as if someone had flipped a switch labeled HELL. She tried to scramble into the room but I wrapped my arms around her from behind and restrained her. Screaming. Horrible screaming. I clenched my teeth and held her tighter and Christobel's fingernails raked against the side of the doorway, trying to gain leverage to push me off, but I was much stronger. Screaming and sobbing and flailing. I will remember that scream until the day I die.

"Let me go! Let me go!" Christobel sobbed, and I shook my head roughly, my feet scrabbling to gain purchase on the mud covered floor below us.

"Goddammit, Christobel, it's over, we can't help her!"

"Nyx, let me fucking go!" But Christobel sagged in my arms and all the fight went out of her and the cicadas buzzed outside the broken windows and every particle of my being wanted to get the fuck away from her and get drunk.

Christobel wailed in my arms and the sound hurt my ears and annoyed and frustrated and scared me. I bit my lip and closed my eyes and pressed my forehead against the back of her shoulder.

It had been years since we had really touched, besides trying to beat the shit out of each other. She smelled stale and dirty and her entire body was trembling and shaking. I cursed to myself and did not allow myself to cry.  I couldn't.

"Christobel, you have to be tough.." I murmured, and she laughed brokenly, her words barely discernable through her crying.

"You want me to be tough?"

I slowly let her go and stood up, my legs shaking and my back aching. "Yes," I said quietly, looking down at my younger cousin. "We have to be tough."

Christobel let out a howl of anger and struggled to stand up and face me. When she got to her feet, our faces were inches apart. I stood my ground and I stared at her evenly, my eyes dry compared to hers, wet and red and swollen.

"You have nerve to sit there and say that, Nyx, when you're the one who let this happen."

Fire overcame my dull senses. Murder. I'm going to murder her. Even if her words are true, I'm going to kill her for that, my own cousin.

My hands clenched so hard at my sides that I felt the fingernails cutting into my flesh. The urge to suffocate her in this dank mud was so overwhelming that it scared me. Christobel, unlike every time before, didn't back down. She glared at me, knowing how badly I wanted to hurt her for this, mostly because it's true.

Instead of killing her, I reached forward and grabbed a hank of her hair in my dirty, gloved hand. Christobel tried to scream but I twisted until I had an entire handful, and I yanked her towards me. My mouth at her ear, the smell of death in my nose. She smelled like stale sweat.

"Is that so? Then who the fuck was the bitch who had a chance to come here and see her before it happened, and passed it up to go to the fucking mall? Who the fuck sat here for almost a month and talked to her and spent time with her and helped her when she was sick? Who the fuck did that, Christobel? YOU!? Answer me, you fucking bitch!" I shook her and she stared crying again and despite my words, I knew none of it mattered.

I scowled in disgust and the tears were coming and I couldn't take this anymore, I couldn't take the smell and the sight and the shattered memories that are crowding in with us in this suffocating hallway. I let go of Christobel's hair and I left her alone with the hand, staggering down the hallway, blind.

I left her to spend some quality time with the hand because this is all she's going to get. The tears came and I restrain the urge to wipe them away with my dirty hand. The truth followed me out of the room and attached itself to my hip, where it still remains to this day.

I was there, but not when it mattered.

I withdraw my hand like it's been shocked and I can feel tears welling up in my eyes and that goddamn smell of death clogging my nostrils, even though I'm miles away from that place and that time. Wherever I go, it follows.

I'm breathing heavily and I'm sweating and I want that fucking beer more then anything. Just one. Just one to give the world that dull fuzz.

The cicadas sear through my eardrums and I bite out a curse and slam the refrigerator door. I hurry out of Chris's kitchen, denying my nature once again.

Don't be proud of me.

I'm not.

Chris called around ten o'clock. I was balled up in one of his leather armchairs in the dark, watching Scarlett run out of the Confederate Hospital, sick of death and disease, a woman making her own choice. Smart girl, O'Hara.

I picked up the phone and I smiled to myself as I saw his name on the display. I answered it and turned down the volume.

"Hey, Baio."

"Hey, babe. What are you up to?" Chris sounded exhausted.

I shrugged, his voice sending little points of loneliness stabbing into my heart. "Chillin. Watching a movie on this huge TV you've got. Why do you need to see boogers and earwax on this thing, anyway? Is it necessary to be THAT intimate with your fellow celebrity?"

Chris snickered. "Trust me, when I bought it, I wasn't looking for boogers or earwax. What are you watching?"

I shrugged, my eyes following Scarlett as she and Rhett exchanged words in a carriage, baiting each other. Lying about who they really were.

"Oh, you know, action movies. Transformers, Die Hard, you know."

I heard him smile. "No chick flicks?"

I scoffed and turned away from my favorite movie. Sorry, Rhett and Scarlett. Duty calls.

"Fuck chick flicks. You sound beat."

He groaned. "God, I am. I should be home in about an hour or two, though. We're trying to get as much done as we can."

I grinned, tracing idle designs in the soft leather with my fingernail. "Well, get back to work, then, Baio, so you can get back here."

Chris's laugh was soft and teasing, his voice dropping to a low hum. "Oh, trust me, I will. I never thought I'd say this, but I can't wait to come home."

I couldn't help it; I flushed at his words and Chris heard my soft little intake of breath, which made him snicker appreciatively. I heard somebody yell his name and he groaned.

"Sweetie, I gotta go. Ernie is busting my ass. I need to go put him in his place."

I let out a very exaggerated sigh. "Fine. Go beat up on your boyfriend, if you must."

Chris smacked a kiss into the phone. "See you in awhile, babe."

"Big kiss. Muah."

He didn't hang up immediately. I could feel his hesitation from across the line. The silence was begging to be filled but I couldn't say it and I was afraid he would. These moments were getting to be standard in our phone conversations. Too standard, and too uncomfortable. I bit my lip. I heard his name being yelled again.

"Go, Chris." I said softly.

He sighed. "Bye."

"Bye." I whispered, but didn't end the call until the dial tone hummed in my ear. I let out a deep breath and put my phone aside, burying my face in my hands.

This was impossible.

By the time Chris pulled into his driveway, it was past midnight and there was a light rain falling. His headlights washed over a Louisiana license plate and he bit his lip and killed the motor.

He was exhausted-bone tired and dirty and his brain felt like someone had taken it and wrung it out over a slop bucket. Recording was hell, he thought wryly, I had almost forgot. Singing the lead alone was a hell of a lot more different then having four others backing you up. Fewer margins for error and the pressure was unbelievable. For once, Chris felt a pang of sympathy for Justin.

The windows of his house were dark but the porch light was on and Chris turned off the headlights, but he didn't get out of the car. He just sat there in the dark, wrestling with the combating feelings of excitement and strangeness of having somebody else home before he was, waiting on him.  Usually it was just the liquor and the Unrequited Truth and Chris hadn't realized how lonely, really, he had been.

Come on man, snap out of it, Nyx is waiting.

Chris shook his head, blinking back the fatigue, grabbing his cell phone and hopping out of his car. The rain felt cool on his skin and with every step he took, despite his exhaustion, he felt his excitement mount. Nyx was inside, waiting on him. He shook his head, a wry smile on his lips, taking out his keys and unlocking his front door. Look at you, the Undisputed Truth jeered, acting like a girl.

He ignored that thought and stepped into his foyer, shutting the wet, cold world out. The house was dark but warm and Chris reached over to turn on the light, thinking that Nyx was upstairs in bed.

But the light illuminated his living room and he saw her, curled up in his armchair, her neck bent into her chest, a Steelers blanket falling off of her legs. She was fast asleep and Chris paused, lingering at the edge of his foyer, just watching her.

Every time he saw her, it was the same old thing. Lust, admiration, amazement, fear. He feared her because of the strength of her own character and sometimes when she got annoyed with Christobel or work, Chris could not ignore uneasiness in the pit of his stomach and always thanked God that she wasn't angry at him. She took on the world like an armored tank but when he caught her in these rare moments, she looked barely out of high school, unable to hurt a fly, almost heart-wrenching in her vulnerability. Warmth filled his throat and spread throughout his body and Chris heard the Undisputed Truth chuckle in his head.

So this is what it's all about, Kirkpatrick. This is what you've been too busy partying to enjoy.

Chris ignored this and crossed the dark living room, sitting on the couch to yank off his shoes, trying not to make any noise. Nyx didn't move an inch as he kneeled down in front of the chair she sat in, and Chris knew he should let her sleep, but he could not help himself-he ran his thumb across the back of her hand. Nyx twitched, but her eyes did not open. She absently yanked on the Steelers blanket, pulling it closer around her, unconsciously running her tongue across her bottom lip. Chris's heart stuttered in his chest.

He yanked gently on the blanket and one of Nyx's eyelids lifted to blearily focus on him.

"Hi." He whispered, and a slow smile broke out on her mouth.

"Hey, Kirkpatrick. You're finally here. What time is it?" Nyx stretched, yawned, rolled her neck around to crack it. As tired as Chris was, it was hard to restrain himself from throwing her over his shoulder and dragging her upstairs like a caveman.

"Around midnight." He replied, his hands slipping underneath the Steelers blanket to rub her bare legs. Nyx snickered.

"So the boys wore you out all day and then give me the spoils, huh?"

Chris gently tugged her closer to the edge of the chair. "Nah," he shook his head, slipping his hands underneath her shirt in the back, the heat of her skin searing his hands. "you know I always have a back up stash of Red Bull and Pixie Stix to get ready for you."

Nyx's fingers curled in his hair and the corner of her mouth tipped in that infuriating way that Chris could not resist. "I would hope so, old man."

Chris's eyebrow raised. "Girl, who are you calling ‘old man'? Last time you called me out on that shit, I wore that ass out."

She sniggered. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Kirkpatrick."

Chris snorted. "If I weren't so damn hungry, I'd make you pay for that."

Nyx shook her head, sighing good naturedly. "They don't feed you over there while you're trying to make them rich and famous?"

He shook his head. "I don't think about food until I walk out of there, babe. Everything else goes right out of my brain when I'm recording."

Nyx wrapped her legs around his waist and nuzzled his neck. "Even me?" he heard her whisper, and Chris took a deep breath. She smelled like cotton and leather and satsuma. His fingers toyed with her bra strap.

"You're the reason I can't wait to leave." He muttered back, and Nyx playfully nipped at his neck.

"Is that so? Are the guys unhappy with me about that?"

Chris shook his head. "They're good guys and I love em', but they don't have boobs."

Nyx laughed and the sound of it made chills roll down Chris's spine.

"Well, since you have such a flattering way of appreciating my company, I guess now's the time to tell you that there's a pizza in the kitchen with your name on it."

Chris's stomach rumbled but he ignored it, his mouth finding hers and loving the small gasp of surprise that she emitted into his mouth. She tasted like toothpaste and mint and he ran his hands up her hips, catching her t-shirt and pulling it over her head. She shivered and he loved it, loved that he had that effect on her.

Her mouth was hot and supplicating under his; her teeth gently caught his bottom lip and nipped at it, and Chris groaned. His hands pressed against her bare back and slid up until they tangled in her hair. Weariness was gone and Chris was painfully hard underneath his jeans, all thoughts of food forgotten.

He slowly leaned her back into the armchair, his bad knee aching but not feeling it, still unable to stop devouring her mouth, which kept giving as good as it was getting. Chris reached down, not breaking the kiss, slipping his hand underneath her knee and pulling her leg against his side. Nyx let out a ragged breath as they briefly broke for air. He didn't give her time to say his name or protest-he just pressed against her, watching her in dazed amazement as her eyes widened, feeling him. Her leg pressed against his back, forcing him closer, and Chris closed his eyes and kissed her again, softly this time.

He couldn't explain why he needed her so badly, so much, all of a sudden. All that he knew is that she was here and there was dinner in his kitchen and this was scarily wonderful and unfamiliar and he wanted to thank her in the only way she let him. Chris licked her bottom lip and Nyx moaned and tried to return the favor, but he pulled back, pushing her chin up with his nose, his lips leaving trails of wetness down her throat. His fingers fumbled briefly with her bra strap but by now he had a practiced hand and it came loose. Nyx's fingers were biting gently into the soft leather and Chris smiled against her skin-he loved it when he rendered her speechless like this, he lived for it.

He let his mouth press against the swell of one breast, then the other, dragging it out, each kiss nudging her bra aside. He felt her fingers play dazedly with his hair, run gently across the back of his neck, and Chris let out a groan against her skin, abandoning her breasts and kissing his way down her stomach, ignoring the burning in his knee.

She was wearing a pair of gray boxer briefs but he had no patience for them; Chris hooked his fingers into the sides and pulled them down her legs. Nyx gasped and her head flew up in alarm, but he splayed his fingers across her stomach and shook his head, keeping her gaze locked in his.

Chris bent his head and licked at her slowly, barely letting her feel his tongue against her. Her back arched, her teeth caught her bottom lip and bit down, her fingernails scratched at his shoulder. She tasted like thick honey and Chris moaned and pressed his lips tighter against her, his arms locked hard around her thighs. His heart was pounding in his ears and though he loved tasting her he needed to be inside her before he went fucking crazy, went absolutely spare. He tore his mouth away and staggered to his feet, yanking down his pants in such a hurry that he almost fell on top of her as he tried to kick his jeans off. Nyx curled her fingers into his shirt, her eyes begging, pleading, heavy lidded. Wanted him. She wanted him.

Chris didn't need any more encouragement and he slid his arm around her back and pulled her body to sit up, her legs over his shoulders. One fluid movement and he was inside her and it was like a sledgehammer straight to the head, a rabbit hole he couldn't stop falling into. He ground out her name and braced himself against the back of the armchair, where her arms were holding on for dear life. The world ceased to be one where he was Chris Kirkpatrick and he had obligations and constraints and a name to live up to, even in the smallest sense. All he was at the moment was at this woman's mercy, even if he thought he held the upper hand. He had wanted to be gentle but he could not stop these almost animalistic movements. Each thrust felt like someone squeezing his heart and his bad knee was killing him, but oh God, Nyx felt good, too good to stop. Her hips were shifting and she was whimpering his name (don't stop, Chris, go faster, faster) and he could not slow down, could not do anything but obey.

Sweat beaded on his forehead and her legs were pushing him deeper and Chris half moaned, half winced as she clenched her muscles.

"Jesus..." His arms felt like wrung out spaghetti and his thighs were killing him but seeing her eyes roll to the back of her head was worth it and Chris knew he wouldn't be able to hang on for much longer.

He stopped moving and rearranged his aching hands from where they clasped the back of the chair. Nyx's growl of indignation made him smile shakily, and Chris leaned in and fused his mouth to hers, their lips wet and hot and their faces sweaty. He moved slower but thrust harder and with each one, Nyx's body would shudder, pinned between him and the chair. His knees were almost slipping on the slick leather and his hands were killing him but oh God he was coming and oh God it was like a blinding white headache and Nyx was clenching and bucking and Chris bit his tongue (oh God what am I doing) but it was too late. Their eyes met and there was terror and knowing but it was already done. 

"I..."

It was always too late.

 This scar is a fleck on my porcelain skin

You tried to reach deep but you couldn't get in

And now you're outside me, you see all the beauty

Repent all your sin

I chose to feel it and you couldn't choose

I'll write you a postcard, I'll send you the news

From the house down the road from real love

Live through this and you won't look back

Live through this and you won't look back
 

There's one thing I have to say so I'll be brave

You were what I wanted

I gave what I gave

I'm not sorry I met you

I'm not sorry it's over

I'm not sorry there's nothing to save

I'm not sorry there's nothing to save

 Slaves to the Oikos

December 2004

Lakeview, New Orleans

One shot, two shot, three shot, four.  The ouzo flowed out of the bottle and filled the shotglasses neatly in their little row. Barbayannis, the bottle says, and I tipped the bottle to my mouth and take a hearty sip, my engines warming up before the race. Liquid licorice hits my tongue and I swallowed and took a quick glance around at the library door. I heard the faint sounds of Mariah Carey screeching out a Christmas song (Scotty's doing, trust me) and the catcalls of my family.  I didn't have much time and I capped the ouzo and shoved it back into the liquor cabinet, which was fully stocked, praise the Lord.

 Two quick movements and the first two shots slid down my throat, easy greasy. I took the remaining two and downed them as I approached the library door, shoving the glasses into a library shelf.  I pulled out a fake smile from my pocket and pasted it on my face. Game time.

I opened the door and Mariah, even in overkill mode, is not enough to drown out the laughing and fussing from the living room. My mom looked up from the kitchen counter and scowled at me.