Brian Littrell knew that once the tossing and turning began, he wouldn’t be going to sleep anytime soon - by that point, he was already far too awake.

He crept out of bed, not disturbing Leighanne in the least, as he knew he wouldn’t. He grabbed his jeans from that day from where he had set them on the chair and pulled a t-shirt out of his bureau drawer. He dressed without thought, without caring how haggard he may look - a distinct change from his routine by day, to say the least. He then tromped down the stairs, stopping only once more to snag something - his well-hidden secret - from a drawer in his desk. After he retrieved his keys from their resting place in the kitchen he was out the door.

The warm Georgian night came as little comfort to him as he climbed into his SUV. Top of the line at the time, what a vehicle... Of course, he had only bought it to top AJ and his car purchase - he wasn’t even sure he wanted this car and there sure as hell was no need for its incredible traction and towing capabilities. Brian started the car, simultaneously starting his thoughts as well.

It wasn’t just that he had to get up. He had to think. Correction - his thoughts needed time to run rampant in his mind, again. It wasn’t even thinking because surely if it was he’d simply think these thoughts away. But he had no control of them. During the last Rolling Stone article - themed the Boys in the bubble or some such nonsense - the reporter had inquired if he had any dirty little secrets. Terror had shot through his heart as he tried to play it cool. No, Backstreet Brian had no skeletons in his closet, no sir. Why, he only swore using words that were in the Bible. He wouldn’t take pictures with half-naked models. He didn’t club. Backstreet Brian had nearly died from a hole in his heart. He counted his blessings every day and thanked God profusely. Backstreet Brian had nothing to hide.

How he’d envied AJ and his honesty. AJ demolished stereos when he was angry and broke into the hotel minibars when he was fifteen and had crying jags in his car and he smoked and he had even spent time in rehab...Damn, and AJ was still loved. AJ had nothing to hide - not Backstreet AJ, not Real AJ.

Or maybe they were the same.

He could hardly imagine how great that must be.

Brian grabbed his precious secret from the passenger seat where he had tossed it. Attempting to keep his eyes on the road, he fumbled the small box open and pulled a chocolate brown-colored cylinder from within. He put one end in his mouth and flicked his lighter to life, taking a deep inhale and revelling in the mellow rush that washed over him. Clove cigarettes. God bless them, nothing was quite like the first drag. If there was a God to bless anything, at least. He smirked.

Brian knew how everyone saw him - still and always the sweet choirboy from Tates Creek, Kentucky. Eternally good. Eternally pure. But it wasn’t him. No one knew this creature that lived inside him, his true self. His Real. There were people that were good at their very core - his mother was one of them - but that simply wasn’t him. This was Real Brian - Midnight Brian. He had everything to hide.

The Brian that smoked.

The Brian that swore - using words that weren’t in the Bible. “Fuck,” he muttered, then took another drag. “Mother fucker!” Once more - a loud one, for good measure - on exhale. See? He could do it.

The Brian that wondered why he read the Bible at all.

The Brian that questioned God’s very existence at times.

The Brian he was so ashamed of.

Damnit.

Why couldn’t he just be who he really was? So there’d be a ruckus - the “fallen angel” stories would run rampant. Maybe he’d lose fans. But who cared?

“Fuck,” he repeated. He smiled wanly. Man, sometimes a good “fuck” just did the trick.

He knew he’d lose more than that. He’d lose his parents’ love and respect. He’d lose Leighanne. He’d lose so many of the things that made life worthwhile.

But he’d gain himself. He wasn't a bad person, he was just confused. Maybe that was worse.

He lit another cigarette.

He remembered when these feelings started. God, could he only have been five? His parents told him he should thank God for everything. Brian felt differently - he felt like cursing God. Stupid God, who had made him sick. He would never be like other little kids, never. “No, Brian, mustn’t run so hard.” “Brian, that’ll put such a strain on you.” “Brian, please, you know that just isn’t possible.” And whose fault was that? It only made sense that it was God’s. Why should he thank someone that did that to him? How could he?

But his Baptist faith was a strict one, with little room to question or doubt. So Brian threw all his doubt into the deepest corner of his heart and put everything he had into proving that he did believe in God. Proving that he was thankful. Proving that he was good. Just proving something, to someone. To anyone. To everyone.

Brian took a drag and licked his lips. How anyone could smoke real cigarettes he didn’t know. These were so much better, and the faint sweet taste they left on your lips was the best. They even smelled great - like Halloween, someone once said.

Brian, for a long time, thought he had his duality under control. But eventually living as a Bible-abiding God-doubter (dare he say God-ha--? no, even that he couldn’t do), will wear on a soul. Maybe no one else knew his inner struggle, but he did. And God - should he exist - did too. He was afraid that he’d be punished, and at the same time scoffed at himself for even thinking that such a thing was possible. After all, how could he be punished by something that didn’t exist? Then again, what if he was wrong? Many nights it kept him awake. Nights like tonight. Nights like the last three years. Nights where he just had to drive.

Drive and smoke.

Drive, smoke and curse.

“Fuck yeah.”

And think.

Correction - give his thoughts needed time to run rampant in his mind.

Again.

Brian tossed the butt out the window and reached for another. When he stuck his finger in the small foil package he was dismayed to find that had been his last cigarette.

Damnit.

“No, fuck.”

He tried to think where the nearest all-night convenience store was but came up short.

“Fuck!”

With a sigh he turned around in the closest parking lot and headed for home.