Part III: Breathless
Chapter 101
His cheeks were still red, chapped and stained with dried tears,
the imprint of the back of his hand etched into one of them after a few hours
of restless sleep. Now his eyes
struggled to open, swollen and sealed shut with sleep, crusted with the salt of
his tears. Finally, he managed to pry
his lids apart, wincing and using his fists to rub away the burning sting. Blinking rapidly, he rolled over and squinted
at the face of his digital alarm clock, the red numbers blurring in front of
him. He managed to make them out. 6:32 a.m.
It was far too early to be up; the sun had not even risen to chase
away the fading darkness of the spring night.
But there was no falling back to sleep now. Though he had apparently cried himself to
sleep after hours of thrashing beneath the covers, overwrought, Nick Carter
felt in no way refreshed. He was still
exhausted, and now that he had returned from his brief retreat into dreamland,
he immediately sank into the depths of depression, where the reality of his
situation lurked like one of those creepy fish in the documentaries about the
bottom of the ocean, just waiting to strike, to snap at him and swallow him
whole.
He might as well be trapped inside Monstro’s belly already, for
the previous day’s nightmare had already seeped across midnight’s boundary,
assaulting the new day, purging the morning of its innocence.
Sleep had briefly lifted the weight from his shoulders, but now it
came crashing roughly down upon them again, as the decision he must make
harassed his dazed brain.
Let them amputate his leg?
Or continue to fight, with both legs but half the chance of survival?
Fatigued and numb as he was, the morning provided him with enough
insight to realize this was not a decision he could or should make alone. He needed support. He needed his friends, his brothers.
He reached for the phone, then realized it was too early to call
Brian and certainly not Kevin, who was a full three hours behind out in
California. He opted for a shower
instead, hoping it would refresh him and clear his mind. Instead, he stood under the spray for at
least half an hour, numb to the scalding water that burned his skin, aware only
of the worry that burned his mind.
By the time he had finally stepped out of the shower, his skin
red, the bathroom thick with steam, and absently toweled himself off, it was
7:30, and he knew the phone call could wait no longer. The worry was eating away at him, and he had
to share it with someone before it killed him.
If the cancer did not kill him first.
Or Brian, who would surely not be too happy about being awoken at 7:30.
Then again, Brian wouldn’t be too happy once he heard the news
anyway, so what did it matter?
Nick sucked in a deep breath, his whole body trembling, and dialed
the phone number of his older brother and truest friend.
***
“Hello?” Brian Littrell
sounded harassed, and Nick swallowed hard.
“B-Bri?” he croaked, feeling as if a cotton ball had somehow
lodged itself into his mouth.
“Yeah? Speaking?”
“Nick. This a bad
time?” Nick could faintly hear Baylee
screaming in the background and knew that it was.
“Oh, hey, Nick. Good going
there, buddy, you woke up my son. What
are you doing calling so early? It’s
like… 7:30! Why are you even awake?” Brian sounded perplexed, and for good
reason. Nick always slept in late on
days they weren’t working.
“Brian… I gotta talk to you.”
He didn’t even beat around the bush; he just said it, his deadpan voice
contrasting sharply to Brian’s, which was a colorful blend of amusement,
confusion, annoyance, and grogginess.
“Okay… what’s wrong?” Immediately,
Brian was alert and serious, all traces of aggravation washed out of his tone.
Nick swallowed hard, but the nonexistent wad of cotton only seemed
to wedge itself further back in his throat.
“Um… Bri…” he managed to squeak, his throat growing even tighter as
tears threatened. “Th-there’s some stuff
I haven’t told you.”
Brian drew in a sharp breath.
“Like what?”
Nick shut his eyes and divulged, “I relapsed.”
“Relapsed?” Brian repeated.
“You mean… th-the cancer’s… the cancer’s back?” His voice wavered with emotion on the last
word, and Nick hated himself for having to upset his best friend.
“Yeah… I found out about six weeks ago.”
“Six weeks?!” Brian cried.
“You’ve known for over a month, Nick?
Why… why didn’t you tell me? I
thought you weren’t going to pull that keeping secrets shit on us anymore! What’s the deal?”
“God, Bri, don’t be mad, that’s the last thing I need,” Nick
pleaded, yanking at his short crop of hair, struggling to keep his emotions in
check long enough to get the bad news out.
“The truth is, I’ve been having radiation treatments for six weeks, and
when I first found out, I was led to believe they would work. The radiation didn’t have any real bad side
effects, and I just figured that after six weeks, I’d be perfectly fine again,
and no one would ever have to know. I… I
just didn’t want to upset you guys again by telling you if I didn’t have to.”
There was a long pause.
Then Brian said carefully, “Nick, sure we would have been upset, but not
at you. At what’s happening to
you. I can’t believe you went six weeks
worrying about this by yourself and not telling anyone. Didn’t you learn anything the first time
around?” He sounded concerned, yet
exasperated and maybe even a little offended.
Nick suddenly regretted not telling anyone in the first place… at least
it might have prepared them all more for the bombshell he was about to drop on
Brian.
Nick didn’t reply; he didn’t know what to say. He sat clutching the phone tightly and
listening to Brian breathing on the other end.
Finally, as if he had just had a revelation, Brian asked, “So… so why
are you calling me now, after six weeks?
I mean, I’m glad you did, but… but what made you decide to tell me
now? Has something happened?” His voice leapt with worry again.
Nick squeezed his eyes shut, a single teardrop escaping from
between closed lids. As it inched down
one blotchy cheek, he answered in a whisper, “Yes.”
“What? What happened?”
Brian quickly demanded. “Are you all
right? Where are you calling from?”
“I’m home,” whimpered Nick.
“But… but I had an appointment yesterday, with Dr. Kingsbury. And she said… and she said…” He stammered like a broken record, unable to
finish his sentence.
“Oh no… Nick, what did she say?” Brian prompted in gentle tones,
his voice deathly quiet.
“That the radiation didn’t work,” Nick blurted, hiccupping as he
broke down, fresh tears spilling from his eyes.
“That… that… that she wants to cut off my leg!”
“Oh my God,” Brian inhaled.
“She wants to amputate?”
“Yes,” sobbed Nick. “I… I
don’t know what to do, I can’t let them take my leg, but I don’t want to die,
I’m not ready, oh God, Bri, help me!” He
had lost all dignity, clutching to the phone as if it were his lifeline and
weeping as if his very soul were broken.
“Oh, Nick,” Brian moaned.
“Oh God… I’m so sorry, Nick… don’t you worry… I’m going to call the
airport as soon as we get off the phone, and I’m going to book a flight, and…
and I’m going to come down there. It’ll
be all right, Nick. I’m gonna get you
through this, okay? You just hang on; I
can be there in a few hours.”
“O-okay,” Nick whimpered, hiccupping again as his tears
slowed. He had been right in calling
Brian; just the sound of his voice was reassuring.
“You gonna be all right till I get there? Can I hang up soon to call the airport, or do
you need me to stay on longer?”
Suddenly, Brian was talking to Nick almost like he talked to his own
son, and Nick felt foolish, realizing what a pathetic baby he must seem like,
sobbing and carrying on that way.
“N-no, I’ll be fine,” Nick assured him tearfully, trying to steady
his voice. “Just… just get down here…
when you can… okay?” he choked out between dying sobs.
“I will, Nicky, I’ll be there,” Brian promised. “I’m going to let you go now. Okay?
I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay,” sniffled Nick.
“Bye.” He hung up and collapsed
onto his bed in a fit of exhaustion, his nose running and his temples aching as
a headache crept up on him. Caused by
the crying outburst, no doubt. It had
been a long time since he had sobbed like this… well, unless you counted the
day before. He had cried, sure, many
times since his diagnosis. But it was
not often that Nick Carter lost it like this, sobbing like a frightened child,
all thoughts of pride and masculinity out the window.
Then again, it was not often that a famous popstar was more or
less told that in order to live, his leg would have to be amputated.
Yes, Nick thought, blowing his nose, I
think I’ve definitely got a good reason to cry.
With that, he lay down, burying his face in the cool comfort of
his pillow and placing the cordless phone on the bed beside him in case Brian
called back, wishing to go back to his dreamland, where he could relax and
enjoy a world without worry and fear, sickness and pain. He shut his red-rimmed eyes tightly and
turned his head to breathe, letting the pillow cushion his cheek, which was red
and tearstained once again.
***