Nick’s POV:

It’s been three months since my last encounter with Marshall. I had hoped it had helped him get over his ickyness about being with another man but I guess not. He hasn’t called. Maybe he threw away my number as soon as he was out the door.

It’s funny, but I actually miss him. I don’t even really know him, but I miss him. It’s not like we’ve ever actually had a real conversation. Our relationship, if you can call it that, is solely based on sex, but we haven’t even HAD sex. Not really. So in a way I guess our relationship is based on absolutely nothing.

I lie awake almost every night wondering why he hasn’t called. It’s horrible. If I thought I was obsessed before this whole…thing started, well, it was nothing compared to how I feel now. Every time the phone rings my heart jumps. I always wish it’s him, but it never is.

I’ve made a promise to myself. The next time I see him, if there is a next time, I’ll make sure we actually have a real conversation, hopefully followed by hot sweaty sex, but still, it would be nice to know that we can actually have a conversation.

However, I keep thinking that maybe there won’t be a next time. Maybe he’s not interested in there being a next time. Maybe he’s found some girl. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

I can't believe I've actually let myself fall this hard for a man I knew was as straight as an arrow. But he isn't as straight as that; our last two encounters prove that.

“Nick, are you coming?” It’s Brian.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. The Backstreet Boys are at it again. We’re working on our new album. I’m really excited about it actually. I’ve missed hanging with the guys. It’s been so long since we’ve been in the studio together.

“Yeah” I tell him as I rise from the couch where I’ve been sprawled for the past hour. Apparently our break is over and it’s back to the recording.

“Are you alright?” He asks. Should I tell him the truth? The guys know I’m not as straight as the world seems to think, but they have no idea about Marshall. Would it be alright to tell Brian? Would Marshall be alright with someone, other than me knowing about what happened?

“Why do you ask?” I look at him in a way that I hope looks like I have no idea what he means.

“You haven’t said a word in the last hour. All you’ve been doing is sit on that couch staring at nothing.”

“Oh.” Hm…guess I can’t get anything past B-rok.

“Yeah…oh. So what’s up?” he asks again.

“It’s nothing. No biggie” I say.

“Oh don’t give me that!” He exclaims all of a sudden, turning to look straight at me, “I’ve known you since you were barely a teenager, do you really think you can hide when something’s wrong?” I guess not.

“Fine!” I snap, “You wanna know what’s wrong? Fine!” His eyes grow a little bit bigger and he’s just staring at me as I start pacing back and forth rambling on and on about everything that’s happened in the last 4 months.

When I finish, I stop pacing and I just look at him, running my hands through my hair. It’s a nervous habit I’ve had since I was a little kid. Brian is just standing there, his mouth opening and closing without making any sound. Finally I chuckle: He just looks so funny like that.

“That’s an impressive impersonation of a fish you can do.” I tell him. He shakes his head and then focuses on me again.

“So let me get this straight…You made out with Marshall Mathers…THE Marshall Mathers? As in Eminem?” He looks totally confused and I can’t help but laugh.

“Yes, THE Marshall Mathers” I tell him.

“But he’s straight!” Brian exclaims.

“That’s what I thought, until he practically molested me in an alley.”

“And you’re in love with him?” Brian asks. I think the confusion is gone and now he’s back to being the supportive best friend. I sigh.

“Yeah…I…I guess I am.” And I am. I really am in love with Marshall. Not just lust, but real love. How is that possible? Considering that, like I mentioned earlier, I don’t really know him. I guess I’m in love with what I do know.

“And how does he feel?” Brian asked. Well, shucks, I don’t know, and I seriously doubt he’d tell me. Not that he could…unless he called, which he hasn’t so really there’s no way of knowing. All I do know is this…well actually it’s more of a theory, but a pretty good one if you ask me.

“Scared shitless. He’s never ever been attracted to another man, at least not that I know of, and now he’s not only kissed, but he’s also jerked off and gotten blown by another man.” So maybe he’s still scared. Because he really seemed to like it when it happened and maybe he’s just so torn up about why he’s feeling the way he does, and that’s why he hasn’t called.

“Okay…TMI Nick. No need to go into details like that!” Brian exclaims taking a step away from me, hands raised. I laugh. I can’t help but laugh. Somehow, even if we haven’t actually come up with a solution to my problems, this little conversation has gone a long way in getting me out of my funk.

“Are you guys coming or what?” Kevin shout from down the hall.

“Yeah yeah hold your horses old man!” Brian shouts as he reaches up and ruffles my hair before taking off down the hall cackling like a crazy person.

Marshall’s POV:

I’ve spent the last three months trying to get Nick and what happened out of my mind. I’ve done everything I could think of to make that happen. Everything except drugs. I’m not into that shit anymore. I don’t want to risk losing my little girl.

I’ve tried writing. That’s usually like therapy for me. Getting all of the messed up feelings I have inside down on paper. And then feeling the truth of those words when I go over them in my head to a beat that only I can hear. Finally, I act out all of those feelings when I lay the track down. But this time that didn’t work. Every time I sat down and started writing, all I could think about was the way it felt when I was with Nick. And when I looked at the words I had written, it was obvious what they were about. So writing was not an option.

Then I tried drinking, but only when Hailie wasn’t in the house. But drinking alone, just makes me depressed and that gets me to think about my life, and that leads to thoughts of unexpected turns like getting a record deal, being successful, being rich, having a fling with Mariah Carey (what the hell was I thinking?) and finally making out with guys, or actually only one guy. So that’s not good.

That’s when I decided that I would need to go out and drink if I wanted to forget anything ever happened. So any time Proof, Swifty or anyone else for that matter had time, we’d go out to some club and get drunk of our asses. But that reminded me of my last encounter with Nick. A no go on the clubbing.

But being at the club gave me another idea. Somehow, in my fucked up mind, I was sure that all I needed was a good fuck or twenty. So the clubbing continued, except this time the goal wasn’t to get drunk out of my mind, it was to get laid.

It really wasn’t that hard. I just walked in as Eminem and pretty soon chicks were all over me. So almost every night for about a week I fucked some nameless, sometimes even two in one night, but it still didn’t work. Whenever I was about to cum all I could think about was Nick. Kissing Nick. Being sucked by Nick. Fucking Nick. Nick Nick Nick!

And now I’m here. I haven’t fucked any chicks in over two weeks, I haven’t had a drink in the same amount of time. I’ve lost weight too. I have hardly been able to eat anything these past few weeks. All I’m thinking about when I get is Nick. All I think about before I go to sleep is Nick. He’s in my fucking dreams too! It’s like I can’t get rid of him, even though I haven’t seen him in months.

I’ve considered calling him several times. I’ve been so close to doing it. Picked up the receiver, number in hand, but I always chicken out. I mean what the fuck do I say? I miss you? Fuck! It’s not like we’re in a relationship!

About 15 minutes ago, when I was in the shower, I jerked off. And guess what name I muttered when I came. Yeah…that’s right…Nick. I’m starting to realize I’m gonna have to call him. How else am I gonna get over this…this…thing? Okay…I’ll do it now, before I fucking chicken out again.

I just stare at the phone. Fuck! Come on Marshall! You can fucking pick up the phone! But what if I call and it turns out he gave Christina Aguilera’s number or something. No…No, I don’t think he’d do that. I just have to pick it up, dial the number and the wing it. Did I mention that I have no fucking clue what to say?

I pick up the receiver and dial the number before I can change my mind. I really have to constrain myself from hanging up. I hold my breath waiting for someone to pick up on the other end.

Finally there’s a click,

“Hello?”

 

~Part 6~