Nick
I knew I
should have told the guys the truth when the door was open, when I had the
chance to come clean. It wouldn’t have
comforted them to find out I had Stage IV cancer instead of a cocaine
addiction, but at least they might have been sympathetic, instead of pissed off
at me. I didn’t want their sympathy,
though, so I put up with their anger instead.
The next
four days were the hardest part of the tour.
We made our way up the California coastline, doing a show a night, four
in a row – five, if you counted our performance at the gay pride parade in San
Francisco. The good part about being so
busy was that the guys and I didn’t have much of a chance to keep arguing about
whether or not I was doing drugs; we were forced to set aside our differences
and be professional. The bad part was
that I was struggling just to keep up.
For weeks, I’d
been using caffeine to counteract the fatigue that the chemo caused. But now, with the guys and Cary all watching
me like hawks, I couldn’t rely on Red Bull anymore. I didn’t want to. Blacking out like that, feeling my heart
speeding out of control, and having to be shocked to slow it down again had
scared the shit out of me. I never
wanted to experience anything like that again.
But without the boost of caffeine, I was exhausted all the time.
Our first
day in California was supposed to be a chemo day – the intrathecal kind, which
meant an injection into my spine and a full day of lying flat to avoid the
spinal headache that would follow if I didn’t.
But we had a show in Temecula that night, and I begged Cary to let me
skive off chemo. “Please… I won’t be
able to perform,” I said, sounding like a little kid asking to stay home sick
from school – except that I guess what I was doing was the opposite.
I expected
a lecture about how the chemo schedule was more important than the concert
schedule, and how my health should come first, so I was really surprised when
Cary nodded and said, “I think we should wait a few days.” When I raised my eyebrows, shocked at how
easily she’d agreed, she added, “Your blood counts are low. Giving you more chemo now will just kill off
more of the healthy cells, and you’ll be more susceptible to infection. Let’s just worry about getting you through
the next few shows, and then you can finish off this cycle.”
I could
have kissed her. She even called Dr.
Submarine, who actually agreed with her that delaying the treatment by a few
days would probably help more than hurt.
Cary was making good on her promise to get me through the rest of the
tour, so I had to keep up my end of the bargain, too. But it was hard, even harder than I’d
anticipated.
By Monday,
the day of our second show in San Francisco, I was totally beat. While the other guys spent our free morning
out and about in the city, I lay around in my hotel room, and when we got to
the venue, I lay around on my tour bus.
I didn’t get up until I absolutely had to, until Cary was saying, “Nick,
it’s almost time for the soundcheck party.”
“Kay… I’m
coming,” I mumbled, dragging myself out of my bunk. “I just wanna brush my teeth first…”
I felt like
I was wading through quicksand on the short walk to the bathroom at the back of
the bus. My feet felt heavy, like I was
wearing shoes made of cinderblocks, and my legs seemed slow and weak. I might as well have been trying to walk in
the wrong direction on one of those moving sidewalks they have at airports; I
put all my energy into each step just to keep myself moving forward. How in the hell was I going to dance tonight,
feeling like this?
I pulled
myself into the bathroom, leaning heavily on the wall, and turned on the
light. It was not very forgiving to my
reflection in the mirror. My face looked
pale, like something had come along and drained the life out of me. In a way, I guess it had, only that thing
wasn’t some kind of bloodsucking creature, like a vampire. Its name was chemo.
I reached
for the toothbrush I’d left perched on the edge of the sink. It felt like a five-pound weight in my
hand. The toothpaste was even worse; it
took all of my strength just to squeeze a little dab of it onto the brush. It almost wasn’t worth it, but whatever I’ve
said before about the ancient Egyptians having perfect teeth without brushing,
I still don’t like to sing with bad breath.
So I dragged the toothbrush back and forth across my teeth a few times,
swished the toothpaste foam around in my mouth, and spat into the sink. My spit was the color of Christmas cookie
frosting – light green from the toothpaste, with swirls of light red from the
blood. My gums bled every time I brushed
my teeth now, even if I tried to brush lightly.
They were getting pretty sore.
I rinsed my
mouth and the brush and then shut off the water. As I straightened up and turned to leave the
bathroom, I got dizzy all of a sudden. I had to grab the sink with one hand and
the wall with the other to keep myself upright.
My heart was pounding hard, and for a scary few seconds, I was afraid I
was having another arrhythmia, like I’d had from the caffeine. I stood there in the doorway for a minute and
put my hand over my chest, feeling my own heart beat. It wasn’t beating crazy this time, racing and
skipping around like it had before, but I still didn’t like the feel of it
thudding against my palm.
I just need to lie down for a few more minutes, I thought, give it a chance to calm down. I staggered weakly back to my bunk,
swaying with dizziness, and collapsed onto the thin mattress. It felt so good to lie down again; I closed
my eyes, wishing I didn’t have to get back up.
“Nick?” I heard a soft whisper in my ear and a light
hand on my shoulder. I opened one eye,
and Cary was kneeling next to my bunk, looking at me with concern. “You really don’t feel good, do you?”
I couldn’t
remember the last time I had felt
good. There was no use lying about it,
not to her. “No,” I croaked. “I feel like shit. I’m so fucking tired…”
She pressed
her hand to my forehead, tracing over my eyebrows with her fingertips. It felt so nice, I closed my eyes again. “You can’t do the show like this,” I heard
her say. “What do you want me to do?”
“I dunno…”
“Well, we have
to figure out something. Someone’s gonna
come looking for you if you don’t go in there for soundcheck in the next few
minutes.”
I just
groaned. I didn’t have the energy to
think of a lie, or to even care that I couldn’t. I almost felt like throwing in the towel and
telling her, “I give up. Just go tell the guys the truth. Tell them I can’t perform tonight and why.”
But before
I could get around to forming the words, Cary said, “I think you’re just
severely anemic, Nick. Your blood counts
are low, and that’s why you’re feeling so bad.
If you would just let me take you to the hospital, they could give you a
transfusion, and I bet you’d feel a lot better.”
Something
in her tone of voice made me open my eyes again and look at her. She was looking back at me hopefully. It was like she wanted me to be able to perform that night. She was on my side. Somehow, the realization gave me some
strength. “Do you think there’s time
before the show?” I asked. “Would I be
able to perform tonight?”
“If I’m
right, and that’s all it is, you might be able to. We’d need to leave now, though. You’d have to skip the soundcheck party. Can you do that?”
“I don’t
have much of a choice,” I mumbled. “I
can’t go in there like this.”
Cary
sighed. “Finally, we agree.” She stood up and started pacing back and
forth outside my bunk. “I know,” she
said after a minute or so. “The guys
think I’m diabetic, right? So, if my
blood sugar suddenly skyrocketed, and I couldn’t get it under control, I’d need
to go to the ER. You, as the ‘concerned
boyfriend,’ would insist on going with me to make sure I’m okay. They’ll buy that, won’t they?”
I
smiled. “Listen to you, you little
mastermind… plotting and scheming and coming up with lies… I’m a bad influence
on you.”
A guilty
look came over her face, which was turning red.
“You’re right… this is horrible.
I hate having to lie. We should
just tell them-”
“No,” I
interrupted, before she could finish.
“We’ll tell them exactly what you said.
It’s good. They’ll buy it. And at least then hopefully I can get through
tonight’s show.”
Just like
that, we’d switched back to our old roles; Cary was the uncertain one, and I
was determined. If I didn’t make it to
the show tonight, if I had to tell the guys the truth, I might never get
another chance to perform. I had to try
her idea; if it worked, I’d at least buy myself more time. “C’mon,” I said, struggling into a sitting
position again. “Let’s go.”
Cary looked
like she wished she’d never suggested the plan, but she went along with it
anyway. I had to hand it to her – not
only was she clever, but she was a pretty good actress, too. When we walked into the theater together, she
was holding onto me, doubled over, like she was the one who needed support,
instead of the other way around.
“Guys,
Cary’s sick,” I said to Brian, Howie, and AJ, who were messing around backstage
while they waited for the VIPs to be brought in.
They all
looked at her in concern, and I was glad she was playing it up – it took their
attention off of me and how sick I
looked. “What’s wrong?” Howie was the
first to ask.
“It’s my
diabetes,” Cary answered shakily. “My
blood sugar’s all out of whack; I think I might be in keto. I need to go the ER, right now.”
I could tell
she was acting – her voice was just a little too weak and wavery, like someone
who’s faking sick on the phone – but the guys totally bought it. If I hadn’t known better, I probably would
have, too. She knew enough about what
she was talking about to be convincing.
“Should we
call an ambulance?” Brian asked.
Cary shook
her head, maybe a little too quickly.
“No, we can catch a cab outside.
I’ll be alright; I just need to get my insulin level regulated.”
“I’m going
with her,” I added, to explain the “we.”
“I’ll be back by showtime.”
I saw the
way the guys exchanged glances, but then Brian said, “Go. We’ll cover for you.”
Howie
nodded in agreement. “Call us when you
know something, okay?”
“Sure,” I
replied.
“Hang in there, Cary,” Howie added, squeezing her arm.
“Thanks,”
she whispered.
It was as
simple as that. We walked out of the
theater, past a few fans who were still lurking by the backstage door, and
hailed a cab. Once the taxi had pulled
away from the venue, I leaned my head back against the seat and let out my
breath in a sigh of relief. I felt an
overwhelming sense of déjà vu as I heard Cary tell the driver, “We need to go
to the nearest hospital, please.”
I turned my
head towards her. “You were good back
there.”
Her face
got red. “Don’t say that. And don’t make me do that again. I know it was my idea, but I felt awful lying
to them like that, faking an emergency.
We should have just told them the truth.”
“Drop the
cancer bomb on them right before a couple hundred fans came in for
soundcheck? Yeah, right. That would have been a shitty thing to do –
to the guys and the fans. It’s better
this way,” I insisted.
She
sighed. “You have to tell them the truth, Nick.
You have to. I think you should do it
tonight, after the show. We’ve got a day
off tomorrow; it would give everyone some time to deal with this and decide
what to do.”
I knew she
was right. But just thinking about it
made my stomach hurt. “We’ll see,” I
muttered, staring out the window.
***
At the hospital,
they drew my blood and ordered a complete blood count. The results weren’t a surprise to anyone,
especially Cary, who had called it all along.
My counts were low across the board – red cells, white cells, and
platelets.
The doctor
agreed to give me a transfusion, so while we should have been getting ready for
the show, Cary and I sat around in a little room in the emergency department,
while a bag of blood ran in through my port.
“Sorry about all this,” I apologized, when I realized it should have
been about time for her to take the stage.
“You’re supposed to be performing right now, not stuck here with me.”
She
shrugged. “I wouldn’t have been able to
go on anyway, after almost dying of ketoacidosis.” A mischievous smile came over her face, and
she winked at me. I had no idea what
that big word meant, but she added, “That happened to Crystal on Idol, you know. That’s where I got the idea. The guys and the girls had to switch nights
one week, in the semi-finals, ‘cause she was in the hospital. She wasn’t supposed to perform, but she did
anyway, the next night. She’s almost as
stubborn as you.”
“Passionate,”
I countered. “I like the word
‘passionate’ better.”
“Passionately
stupid,” Cary giggled.
“Hey,
now…” I gestured down at the IV line
running into my chest. “I’m here, aren’t
I? I’m doing this. And you didn’t even have to twist my arm this
time.”
“’Cause you
knew you would have collapsed onstage tonight if you didn’t.”
She was
right, of course. There was no way I
would have made it through the show, feeling as bad as I had been. I was starting to feel better, though, as the
healthy blood circulated through my body, boosting my counts. It was better than Red Bull. “I’m like a vampire,” I joked, then put on my
best Transylvanian accent. “I must have blood for strength.” Cary giggled again, and I added, “I’m a scary
vampire, not one of those sparkly kind.
But still sexy. Scary, yet sexy…
like Dracula. Or Kiefer Sutherland.”
Cary was
grinning. “You’re Kiefer Sutherland, not
Edward Cullen. Gotcha.”
I bared my
teeth for her and gave her my most piercing, smoldering stare. Instead of being seduced, though, she just
giggled again. I guess the fact that I
was lying in a brightly lit hospital room with a tube of blood hanging out of
my chest kind of ruined the sexiness. Oh
well.
Cary’s
attention returned to her phone, which she had been messing around with off and
on ever since we’d gotten there. I’d
figured she was just checking texts or playing Snake or something, until she
announced, “Well, the news has made it online.
The fans are freaking out.”
“What?”
She waved
her phone. “Someone posted on a message
board that you weren’t at soundcheck.
There’s a whole thread of frantic speculation about what could be
wrong.”
“Oh,
great,” I groaned. I shouldn’t have been
surprised; of course fans would be upset I was a no-show at the soundcheck
party. I guess I just hadn’t expected to
cause a panic or anything. “What are
they saying?”
“Apparently
the guys just said you had a ‘family emergency,’ so first they were worrying
about which Carter was sick or hurt.
Then they decided that, since none of your family’s on the road with
you, and you’re too far to just run home and still make it back for the show –
I guess the guys promised you’d be back – and it wouldn’t make sense for you to
skip soundcheck just to deal with something on the phone, it must involve your
girlfriend…” Her face got pink. “…who they think is me.”
“Heh, them
too, huh?” I smirked, remembering the
days when any girl I was spotted with in public – even my own sister – was
instantly assumed to be my girlfriend.
In some ways, not much had changed since then.
Cary
nodded, her face turning pink again.
“Ever since Salt Lake City.”
I
remembered the emergency trip to the hospital, the fans in the hotel lobby who
had watched us leave together, the pictures online the next day of Cary in her
pajamas with her arm around me, and the rumors that I’d had some kind of
overdose. I didn’t want to know what
they were saying about that.
“Sorry,” I
muttered. “They’ll chill out once I make
it back for the concert.” But even
then, I figured some fans would still be pissed – the fans who had bought VIP
just to meet me. They were the ones I’d
really let down. I felt bad about that,
but I thought, They’ll feel worse once
they know why.
It was only
a matter of time before they found out the truth. I could feel my secret starting to unravel
and knew I couldn’t keep it together much longer. It was only going to get harder to cover up,
the more the chemo messed up my body and the worse I felt. There would be more incidents like the one in
Salt Lake City and the one today, and we couldn’t use Cary’s fake diabetes to
excuse them all. My only saving grace
was that it was the last week of the tour.
Just four more shows to get through, and then I could go home and get
the rest I desperately needed.
We made it
back to the venue with only ten minutes to spare, just enough time for me to
throw on my stage clothes and meet up with the guys backstage. “It’s about time,” grumbled AJ, giving me an
annoyed look.
“I told you
I was on my way,” I replied, putting my earpiece in, while one of our sound
guys hooked up my mic. I had texted
Brian from the cab to let them know I was almost there.
“How’s
Cary?” Howie was the first to ask.
“She’s
okay. She’s resting on the tour
bus.” I was eager to change the
subject. “Did the crowd get restless
without an opening act?” Through the
curtains, I could hear them chanting, “Backstreet Boys! Backstreet Boys!”
Howie
shrugged. “No more than usual. Lani DJed a set and got them fired up, so it
was okay.”
None of
them mentioned any fans freaking out at soundcheck, and I didn’t ask. But word must have spread through the theater
that I hadn’t been there, because when the four of us jumped through the screen
during “Everybody,” we got a bigger reaction than we had all tour – impressive,
considering the place only held about two thousand people.
Maybe it
just seemed magnified to me because, for the first time in the last six shows,
I was actually happy to be onstage. The
blood transfusion had worked its magic, and I felt reenergized,
revitalized. I soaked up the screams and
gave it my all, performing like it was my very last show. I guess, in a way, I thought it might end up
being my last show, because once it was over, I knew what I had to do.
It wasn’t
until I got on the bus that I made up my mind to actually do it, though. Cary wasn’t waiting for me up front like she
usually was. I thought that was weird,
especially since she hadn’t watched the show; I figured she’d be dying to know
how it had gone. “Missed you in the
audience tonight!” I called, as I walked back to the bunks – my way of apologizing,
I guess, for making her miss the show.
The curtain
was drawn around her bunk, which was also weird. Had she gotten so bored, she’d gone to bed
early? It couldn’t be much past
eleven. “Cary?” I said her name quietly,
pulling the curtain aside just enough to peek in. At first, I thought she was asleep – she was
lying on her side, her back to me, the covers pulled up around her. But underneath them, I saw the glow of her
cell phone, which told me she’d just been using it before shoving it under the
sheets. She wanted me to think she was asleep.
That was weird, too. Usually we
sat up and talked for awhile after a show, especially when we were just riding
back to a hotel. I frowned. “Cary?” I asked again. “You okay?”
I waited a few seconds, and when she didn’t answer, I called her
bluff. “I know you’re not asleep…”
That did
it. “How was the show?” she asked,
without rolling over. Her voice sounded
funny.
“Fine…
good, actually. You were right. The transfusion helped a ton; I feel
great. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. I just need some alone time.”
“You just
had, like, two hours of alone time,” I pointed out. “What happened?”
With a
sigh, she finally rolled over, and I could see that she’d been crying. Her eyes were puffy, and her face was all red
and blotchy. “See for yourself,” she
said, handing me her cell phone.
I hit a button to brighten the screen.
She was on Twitter, looking at her @replies. I didn’t have to scroll long to see why she
was upset. Among the messages wishing
her well and hoping that she felt better soon, there were tweets saying bitter,
downright hateful things like, “@CaryHilst i cant believe u made nick miss
soundcheck just cuz u were ‘sick’! grow up u selfish bitch! hes to good 4 u! u
dont deserve him!” and “@CaryHilst whateverz wrong with u, i hope u die from
it! it better of been a life or death sitch 4 u to make nick bail on his fans
that way!”
I sighed,
too, and sat down on the edge of her bunk, tossing the phone down beside
me. “Don’t even think twice about crap
like that,” I told her. “Those so-called
‘fans’ are just unhappy with their own lives and insanely jealous of the life
they think you have with me. Which, as
we both know, is no fantasy.”
She let out
some hybrid between a giggle and a sob.
“I know,” she said. “I know it’s
stupid to get upset over this; I know it’s not even close to the truth, and if
they knew the real story, they’d be singing a different tune, but still… it’s
not fun to be hated, whether it’s for a good reason or not. I’ve been getting tweets like this since
those pictures of us going to the hospital went up last week, but I got hit
with a ton tonight, and it just got to me.”
I squirmed
uncomfortably. “I’m sorry you’re having
to put up with that kind of shit.
Welcome to life as Nick Carter’s girlfriend,” I said flatly. I love my fans, but sometimes I hate the
crazy ones for pulling this kind of shit.
Every serious girlfriend I’ve ever had has had to deal with it – Mandy,
Paris, Julie, Lauren, and all the flings in between. None of them deserved it – well, maybe Paris
– but definitely not Cary. She wasn’t
even my girlfriend, and it was my fault for making people think she was.
Cary
sniffed. “Yeah, well, it sucks getting
that much crap without any perks.”
“Perks?” I raised my eyebrows and smirked, making her
blush.
“Never
mind,” she said quickly. “I’m just tired
of this… this double life we’re living – having to sneak around and pretend and
lie to people. That’s not me, and I
think it’s just really starting to get to me.”
She sat up, wiping her eyes.
I didn’t
know what to say, except, “I’m sorry.”
And I was. I was the one who had
been selfish, getting her involved in my own “double life” and making her lie
for me and take care of me and put up with the guys and my crazy fans thinking
she was no good for me. In reality, it
was the other way around – she was way too good for me. She was everything I had hoped she would be
and more – not just a good nurse who could give me my chemo and keep my secret,
but a good friend who was patient and understanding and sweet. It took someone special to put up with me and
my bullshit as long as she had, without complaining. And now that she was, I knew I had taken this
whole thing too far.
It was
getting to me, too. I didn’t like lying to
my closest friends any more than I liked them thinking I was some lame-ass
druggie. Being on tour wasn’t fun
anymore. Really, I wasn’t sure it had
ever been fun – not this leg, at least.
There had been a few good times on the road, but they were few and far
between all the times I’d lain around on my bus, avoiding the guys while I got
chemo, and the times I’d chugged Red Bull in my dressing room, trying to fight
off fatigue and get myself energized for a show. Even performing wasn’t fun when I was too
sick and tired to enjoy it. I had taken
this way too far. Cary was right, just
like she always was, just like she’d been all along. It was time to come clean.
I
remembered what she had said earlier: “You have to tell them the truth, Nick.
You have to. I think you should do it tonight, after the
show. We’ve got a day off tomorrow; it
would give everyone some time to deal with this and decide what to do.”
Before she
could suggest it again, I added, “I’m gonna tell the guys. Tonight.”
She raised
her eyebrows, looking at me skeptically.
“For real?”
I swallowed
hard. “For real.” And to prove it, I got out my own cell phone
and sent a text message to Brian, AJ, and Howie. “When
we get back to the hotel, will you guys meet me in my room?” it said. “I got
something to tell you.”
***