“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…
“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.
***