After she called, he tore up the sheets on his bed-the sheets they had slept in, cuddled in and made love in. That was when his anger gave way to emotion, as little trinkets of hers were scattered all over his house, and he couldn't escape her. He felt trapped and was suffocating in his own heartache. He had repeatedly been physically sick.
His mobile phone buzzed on his bedside table. This was the fourth call of the day. He had unplugged his house phone, and the answering machine stored many messages from worried friends, family and band-mates. Aaron had let himself in once or twice the day before, bringing over some food and messages from Brian. Aaron was sympathetic but felt guilty as he could do nothing for his older brother. He gave Nick the standard "plenty of fish in the sea"
philosophy, offering Nick his amateur advice, but Nick told him to get out. He returned a few hours later to say goodbye as he was going to be gone for a few days. That was the first time Nick got out of bed. He hugged his brother and said goodbye. He then returned to the comfort of his bed.
He held his vibrating phone in his hand and read who was calling. This time it was AJ. He hung up the phone and found his way into his inbox and selected the "delete all" option. Going through each of Paris' individual texts would do him no good, so he got rid of them all. He chucked his phone back onto the table and lay on his back staring at the white ceiling. He was in nothing but a pair of shorts, and wanted to get up and get dressed but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He smirked to himself. "The fans will be pleased."
He thought to himself. All they had to say was that they hated Paris. She had her good qualities, but Nick struggled to remember them, lying in his bed, his broken heart dying in pieces next to him. He had trusted her, and where had that gotten him? Nowhere.
Nick eventually crept out of his bed for something to eat. He switched on the TV while he ordered a pizza. He was thinking of getting some ice cream too. A part of him wanted to be physically sick to take his mind off the emotional pain and torment. He decided against it.
"In celebrity news, hotel heiress and sex-tape Goddess Paris Hilton and youngest Backstreet Boy Nick Carter have ended their seven month- well, if you can call it a relationship-relationship. Paris claims her psychic advised her to end the on/off turbulent affair…" Nick held the phone to one ear and listened with the other. His stomach churned in him, and he no longer felt like eating. A female newsreader continued the story.
"…In true Paris fashion she did not take time to grieve and simply went out to party, sporting numerous bruises which have been instigated to have been caused by Carter…" Nick slammed the phone down, and turned up the television. His blood rushed, and his breathing increased. He did not need these allegations again. "… Although spokespersons have yet to comment, Paris has neither confirmed nor denied the allegations…" The story went into a clip of another journalist asking Paris about her bruises, to which she said nothing, and walked away. Nick's head lowered steadily into his hands, and tears found his eyes. His body ached all at once, and on cue he could hear his office phone ringing. He knew it would be his lawyer. He switched off his TV, willing and prepared to knock it over but he didn't. Instead, he gained his composure and spoke to his lawyer.
The evening came around quickly, and Nick found himself back in bed, but not for long. An empty tub of Ben and Jerry's that had arrived with his pizza when he regained his appetite was empty and sitting with a spoon on the wooden flooring of his bedroom. His stomach was cramping. He was in agony. He fell out of his bed in a rush to his bathroom. He kneeled at the foot of his toilet as he began to wretch. Lifting the lid, and violently throwing up into the puddle of water inside, he wished he would throw up until his body couldn't handle it anymore. These thoughts only made his heartache worse. He had plugged his house phone back in, and all he could hear was the bleeping of the answer phone as call after call arrived. He had bolted his front door also. He didn't want even his nearest and dearest seeing him like this.
He was listening to a message from Kevin on his answering machine when Nick tossed back three sleeping pills into his throat followed by some water. He lay in bed with the lights off waiting for the pills to take effect. Kevin's voice made him cry.
"…We've been calling and calling man, we just wanna know that you're ok. We'll be seeing each other in a couple of days, but you're my little bro and I can't believe what that bitch has done to you.
Please just call someone yeah? Let me know. See ya, peace." The room filled with a brief silence before the answering machine began relaying options. "To save the message press one." "To delete the message press two." "To replay the message press three." As Nick began to feel drowsy these messages were being distorted in his mind. "To fall asleep and never wake up press one." "To call that lying tramp press two." "For a direct line to a new life press three."
