Chapter 38
“Yeah,” Nick gulped,
“that’s her.”
Brent
laughed. “Who’s that dude she’s
with? That the guy she cheated on you
with?”
Nick could feel
his face turning red; Brent had gotten it out of him shortly after the break-up
that Leah had slept with another man.
What he didn’t know was that the man in question was none other than
Justin Timberlake, Michael Jackson wannabe, ghetto, white trash little prick
that he was.
“No,” he
answered, staring at the young man sitting with Leah. He looked nothing like Nick; dark-haired and wiry,
wearing glasses, and dressed in some preppy ensemble that belonged in a Gap
ad. He made a face; what was she doing
with some drab, preppy kid like that?
As soon as this
thought hit his mind, another one flashed through, this one even more unnerving
– Oh my God, I’m actually jealous of him!
Scowling, he spun back around on his bar stool, putting his back to
Leah and hoping she hadn’t seen him looking at her and Mr. Goody Two Shoes over
there.
“You should go
talk to her,” Brent suggested, an amused smile creeping over his face.
“I’m not gonna go
talk to her,” Nick said flatly, rolling his eyes and taking another swig of his
Pepsi. “I’m over her. She can rot in Hell, for all I care.”
Brent’s grin grew
even wider, but all he said was a skeptical, “Okay…” and turned to Lane, who
was sitting on the other side of him.
The two got lost in their own conversation, and Nick ignored them, glad
to drink his soda and stare into space in private.
A light tap on
the shoulder interrupted his thinking.
Jerking out of his daze, Nick spun around, nearly choking on a mouthful
of Pepsi as he saw who was standing behind him.
It was Leah. Hand in hand with Preppy. The nerve of
her! Nick thought, seething. But,
choosing the mature path, he turned his lips up in a cool smile and said
simply, “Leah.”
“Nick,” Leah
returned, smiling. “I thought that was
you. How are you doing?”
Instinctively,
Nick’s hand went to the hem of his shirt, giving it a tug to make sure it
covered his chemo pump. “Fine,” he
answered stoutly. “And you? I see you’ve found yourself a new toy.” He nodded to Preppy.
Leah’s smile
faded momentarily, her brown eyes blazing.
But almost instantaneously, the anger in her eyes flickered out, and
another smile came over her lips, the same lips Nick had touched with his own,
many a time. God, how he loved her lips…
Stop
it! You do not! You hate her; you hate every thing about her!
“Nick Carter,
meet David Hammond.”
David politely
held out his hand to shake, but Nick ignored it, muttering only a “hi” in his
general direction. Only when his hand
fell did Nick steal a peek at David. The
first thing he noticed was that this kid (man, really – his age was more
apparent up close, though he still sported somewhat of a baby face) had
money. His preppy gear was Armani, and
the gold watch on his wrist was surely a Rolex.
Probably all
Daddy’s money, Nick
thought nastily, with a smirk of self-satisfaction. At least he had earned his own
wealth.
“David, would you
order me another drink?” Leah asked sweetly, and David immediately went to the
bartender to fulfill her wish. Nick
rolled his eyes.
“Nicky,” Leah
said, her voice low.
“Don’t call me
that,” Nick hissed.
“Nick,
sorry. I want us to talk sometime. Maybe we could go out… for coffee or
something, maybe? Whatever you
want. I just… don’t like leaving things
unsettled like they were with us, you know?
I have some things to explain, and-“
“We didn’t leave
things unsettled,” Nick said through gritted teeth. “I told you to get the hell out of my life
and leave me alone. Did you not
understand that?”
“Nick, I-“
“I meant it then,
and I still mean it now, Leah. You’ve
got that David guy, so why are you still after me? Let it go.”
“I’m not ‘after
you,” Mr. Ego. But I still care about
you as a friend, and I don’t want you to be an enemy. Can’t we just talk?”
“We’ve talked
enough.”
“Nick…” She stared at him, her eyes pleading.
“Look, maybe,
okay? I gotta go.” Before she could say another word, he slipped
off the stool, brushed past her, and hurried off to the bathroom.
“Nick!” she
called after him. “What happened to your
leg?”
Ignoring her, he
pushed his way through the crowded bar until he made it to the smoky men’s
room, where he threw himself into one of the stalls and locked the door, fighting
to keep a hold on the jumble of emotions that seeing Leah again had evoked.
He stayed in the
restroom for a good five minutes and then emerged hesitantly, checking to make
sure Leah had gone before he went back to the guys. She and Preppy were safely back at their
table, so, hoping they would stay there, he made his way back to the bar and
took his seat.
“You okay, man?”
Brent asked, as Nick hoisted himself up onto the bar stool. “What was all that about with that Leah
chick? She want you back, dude?”
“I think so,”
Nick muttered dryly. “But I don’t want
her back.”
“Haha, isn’t that
one of your songs? ‘Don’t Want You
Back’?”
Nick rolled his
eyes. “No pun intended.”
“Here, the
bartender refilled your drink,” Brent said, sliding the tall glass of fizzing
brown liquid in front of Nick.
“Thanks.” Not really thirsty, Nick absent-mindedly
picked the glass up anyway and took a drink.
He couldn’t really say he was enjoying himself, but then again, he
wasn’t completely miserable either. At
least he wasn’t throwing up. That had
been the biggest of his concerns, so he had taken double the usual dosage of
his anti-nausea medication. It had
proven effective. He wondered if Dr.
Kingsbury had prescribed the wrong dosage because the medication normally
wasn’t much help.
Making a mental
note to ask her about that at his next appointment in two weeks, he swallowed
another mouthful of Pepsi, deeply wishing it was beer instead. Everyone around him was drinking, but he had
volunteered to be the designated driver for the group that night, his excuse
for not drinking. They had only given
him strange looks, for no one actually volunteered to stay sober – it
was an assigned duty. But, relieved to
be free to drink to their hearts contents, they had accepted it without
question. And now he was the only sober
one, the odd man out.
As he knocked
back the rest of the Pepsi, he began to feel ill, the familiar pangs of nausea
creeping up on him. He waited it out,
hoping it was just from drinking too much soda. But when a few hearty belches did not relieve
the sensation, he knew it had nothing to do with the Pepsi. Apparently he had jinxed himself; the double
dose of anti-nausea drugs hadn’t worked so well after all. He sat stock still on the bar stool, breathing
deeply, fighting the urge to run to the bathroom and throw up. He really didn’t want to end up hanging his
head over another public toilet, especially in some grungy bar bathroom.
But eventually,
it became too much to bear. Shaky and
light-headed with queasiness, Nick mumbled a brief, “Be right back,” in Brent
and Lane’s general direction, not even checking to see if they heard him, and
slid off his stool, slinking immediately off to the restroom and praying it was
unoccupied.
God was with him
at that moment, for miraculously, the bathroom was deserted. Ducking into one of the empty stalls, Nick
slammed the door shut, hastily locked it, and knelt down in front of the
toilet. He had no sooner got to the
ground than the dam broke, and he began to vomit. The bitter substance, tinged brown from the
cola, burned as it ripped up his throat.
Choking and gagging, he violently retched, finally expelling all the
contents of his stomach. The panging
ache in his stomach fading slightly, he sank to the ground, weak, dizzy, and
out of breath, not caring how dirty the floor might be. Sitting with his back pressed against the
stall wall, he cleaned his face with a trembling hand. He pulled at his t-shirt, which was now
sticky and damp with perspiration. God,
it was hot in there…
Desperate for
fresh air, he dragged himself up, panting with the effort. He flushed the toilet and turned, about to
leave, when another wave of nausea hit him with full force. Gagging, he turned back just in time to make
it to the toilet, his vomit swirling away with the still-flushing toilet
water. He threw up again, and just when
he thought, once again, that he was done, he threw up even more, not knowing
what he could possibly have left to regurgitate.
Finally, he was
left in dry heaves, retching and choking, yet getting nothing up. Moaning in agony, he pulled himself away from
the toilet and slumped back onto the ground, the tiny stall seemingly gyrating
around him, the walls coming nearer…
Overheated and
dizzy, too weak and sick to move, desperate for some kind of relief, Nick let
his eyes fall shut. The utter misery of
that moment was the last thing he remembered before passing out right there on
the bathroom floor.
***