Malia slipped the Bible Brian had bought her into the lowest in her chest of drawers. She sat on the floor, Indian-style, dust flying around her head like a halo. 'You need something to believe in,' he'd told her, kissing the top of her head. 'I believed in you,' she thought, blowing on her nails. 'If you'd told me the moon was made of green cheese and little bug-eyed men in silver suits were going to take over the earth, I would have sat there and drank in every word the fell from your lips.'

She peered down into the drawer. A smattering of crystals that Sandra had given her as a part of her 'new age' fling. Fake tattoos and huge silver hoops were wrapped in black fishnet, nestled safely in a corner. And Brian's Bible, which had landed with a resounding 'thud,' was squashed into the middle. Phases, all of them. Moods to wear when she was bored, and toss aside when the day was done.

Inspecting herself in the mirror, she studied the unraveling of her current one. 'Cherry-bomb' hair, Sandra called it. She preferred the dye's name, 'Lustrous Mahogany.' Quite pretentious, but it fit. Names were the accessories to the moods she wore with ease.

Picking at a minor imperfection, she took the time to actually think. She couldn't have been happier if she tried, really. Going out, passing classes, making a decent living--aside from her sham of relationship, nothing could go better. And slowly, burning and self-injury had filled the void that was missing in her life. But what she still didn't realize was that the void wasn't Brian, it was something even her couldn't give her.

Faith in herself.

* * * * *

Leighanne surveyed her makeshift decorating skills. Not bad, considering the whole thing was a 'rush job.'

The condo she had rented for the coming weeks overlooked a field. Not in the least interesting. Good. No press would come, though, for the first time, they would have ample room. Only space for a limited number of cars in the garage. No unexpected 'visitors.' She darted from room-to-room, playing 'hide'n'go'sneek' with herself, giddy to finally be completely on her own.

Unlike some people, she could handle it.

* * * * *

The quiet piano lulled Malia into a doze, almost like a lullaby. A silly and stupid childish urge struck her, and she crammed her ring and middle finger into her mouth. Even though she couldn't see it, she was just acting out on her emotions--that she could rely on no one, hold on to no one, trust no one. No one but herself.

Life was easier that way. Never get too close. Keep people at an arm's length, and over time, they can become another decoration. Why get close to someone you may come to love, and then lose?

Depression. The word was suspended from the ceiling. Therapy. Drugs and treatment she didn't want or need. She did this to herself; therefore she could solve it herself. So she thought. So she led the world to believe.

She tucked her knees in tighter to her stomach she slipped one hand under the second couch cushion, letting her fingers creep towards the center. Bingo. A photo of Brian.

Pressing it between her hands, she fell asleep with her lips resting on top of them.

* * * * *

Three AM
Weeks after Christmas
I throw some clothes on in the dark
The smell of cold
Car seat is freezing
The world is sleeping
I am numb

Numb, numb, numb ... Brian Littrell felt a great number of things, and 'numb' would certainly be one he'd like. It extended far past caring for Malia, caring for Leighanne, caring for anyone.

He didn't need a 'bed buddy,' and that wasn't even AJ's term. He didn't have time for a girlfriend. But if he had to listen to Nick and Lindsay start another 'miss you more' argument he swore he would puke. Inside the bus or not.

His thoughts were rambling now, to keep him company during the starless night. He would've killed for understanding them, for someone to hold him and tell him it would be all right. His mind drifted to more morbid thoughts, and he relished in thinking of suicide, death, the easy way out. 'Pills would be quick and quiet ... a gun was too much ... blood ... he hated blood ... how could one kill themself with a knife?' He wondered. That was the impossible.

The monster in his brain quickly turned to prey on his fear: his heart surgery. Burying himself deeper into his coat he slouched down in the seat.

And I drive
Now that I have found someone
I'm feeling more alone
Than I ever have before

For the first time he was faced with the ridiculousness of his situation. He was in his manager's car, complete with a broken heater (not to mention his broken heart), halfway across from wherever the hell he was supposed to be, in an industrial type town, in the middle of nowhere. And he was thinking about his life philosophy. 'Just fuckin' great.'

He rammed his head back against the rest as he stopped at a red light. 'God, how stupid am I? Wait, don't answer that Littrell ... Now you're talking to yourself? ...'Backstreet Boy Gone Bonkers, Leaves Fans Devastated.' ... Where's the 'off' switch for my brain? ...' Questions, never with answers, shot around his head as he watched his breath appear in the frozen interior.

He pulled into the parking lot of an all-night grocery store. Parking the car over an icy patch, he slid down in the seat.

He had to go back. The clock ticked off another minute. 3:23 AM. No one would ever know. Ever know how close he was to walking away from it all, from falling over that ravine instead of just staring.
She's alone
And I'm alone
Now I know it

* * * * *

"Ow! Oh shit, now I've done it," Malia muttered Her hand was turning a lovely shade of rose as she'd just 'accidentally sloshed' hot tea all over it. Tiny red bumps were starting to form and fear began to clutch in her stomach. 'Breathe … just breathe …' she thought. 'Make it through the next few minutes.'

She wasn't sure what hurt more, her wound or the fact that she was crying all over it.

Can't you see
It's not me you're dying for
Now she's feeling more alone
Than she ever has before ...
As weeks went by
It showed that she was not fine ...
She broke down, and I broke down
'Cause I was tired of lying

* * * * *

Brian crawled back into the hotel room at 4:19AM. Holding his breath, he crossed over to his bed and watched for any signs that Nick was awake. None. He exhaled and feel asleep, fully clothed.

When they boarded the bus the next day, Johnny either was stupid enough to overlook the fact that his keys had been misplaced or he wasn't interested in a fight. It didn't matter either way; none of them were happy with their management at this point.

Brian's heart thumped loudly, and he felt like he was going to die from the pain. For a moment, he wondered if he was having a heart attack. No, of course not ... this was emontional, not physical. The physical didn't bother him. Right. 'Reschedule my heart surgery? Sure, no problem.'

Maybe he was numb. Maybe they all were. It was so easy, so simple. He was beginning to understand Malia's mindset. It was efficent her way. Nothing lost, and nothing gained.

But what they didn't know was that they were wrong. There was everything to gain and nothing to lose. But far too often, people are blind. And even though they may someday open their eyes, often time it's far to late.

She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly
Off the coast, and I'm heading nowhere
She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly

* * * * *

"Nick, look at this," Brian cried a few weeks later. "Look!" He thrust a finger at some line on their tour schedule.

"Yes Brian, we do have to keep touring."

"Read it, oh nevermind, I forgot, you don't know how," Brian replied. "Here. February 8, 1998. Lexington, Kentucky."

"Hey, how come we don't play my hometown?" AJ asked, the first to pick up on what Brian was saying.

"Cool," Nick replied.

"I want to show you something." Brian grabbed Nick and led him farther off-stage.

"What do you want?!"

"I'm going to find her."

Nick just sighed and put his head in his hands.

| Chapter Nineteen |