Chapter 1

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Nick's P.O.V.
My life started way back when I was born, but I don't have much memories on that. I wasn't even a year old. The first memories I do have, are happy ones with my family.

My mother Denise.
My father Kevin Sr.
My oldest brother Kevin.
My second to oldest older brother Joe.
And lastly my little brother Frankie.

Life hadn't been a lot for us, but I have always been content with my family.

Life, apart from our family, was hard on all of us.

Kevin got bullied in school. Joe had to wear Kevin's shakedown clothes. I got diagnosed with Diabetes and Frankie is eight years under me, which got him labeled; the Bonus Jonas.

But not by us or our neighborhood. No.

By our fans, because my two older brothers and I are in a band. We're called; the Jonas Brothers. We got famous by making music and Disney signed us for for a movie called Camp Rock. They only wanted Joe, but they finally got all three of us to join. It was the coolest thing I had ever done in my life!

But then we went on tour. I got thirsty a lot, got moody and it's not like I wanted to be moody. I mean, we were touring, and I was living my dream.

I rejected all thoughts that told me something was wrong with me. I denied it every single time. I'm young, healthy and not cooped up in my room playing video games. Sure I was healthy.

I was wrong. Kevin started it. He had looked at me while I was changing, in a non-creepy way. He'd looked over accidentally, happens when you change in the same room, and he saw how tiny I was.

He went to mom and dad with that and then they all wanted to know what was going on with me. I figured I was going to get checked out at the hospital and I bolted. I was terrified of what they would tell me.

I was so scared about everything that was going on with me. I thought I was growing up. I'd seen how Joe had started going through his puberty. I was 13, I was bound to start someday.

I hid myself outside, far away from home. I'd taken my phone with me but regretted that as soon as it started to ring. I knew I couldn't ignore my family for long and even if I didn't want to, I was smart enough to know I needed to be looked at. Because whatever it was, I was going through, I figured it couldn't be good.

And it wasn't.

I had answered to Kevin's call. I crawled from my hiding spot and waited for my family to come pick me up. They were all there. Joe had gotten out of the car and I had to sit in between him and Kevin.

The drive to the hospital was silent. Frankie sat in the backseat. He was asleep. Mom and dad were silent. The radio was off. Kevin and Joe were both staring out their windows and I couldn't help but look around at all of them.

They were so tense and worried that it got me frightened. There was so something wrong with me.

Mom put her arm around me while we walked towards and into the hospital. I didn't want to be touched, but she was upset, so I decided to let her have it and not throw a hissy fit about the touching. I knew she needed the comfort. Even if I didn't want it.

But I knew I needed it. I would have run off if she had let me go in that moment.

A doctor in a white coat came for me and he shook hands with all of us, except for me. After I didn't shake his hand, he withdrew his hand awkwardly.

I apologized to him for that later. He responded, telling me I wasn't the first to be afraid. Kids don't have a lot of good memories about men or woman in white coats who poke, prod and put needles in them.

He was funny. He joked about his equipment, calling them by weird names. He had even given his stethoscope a name; Luke.

He explained that he named it after one of his first patients who didn't know what to call it, so the boy himself had named it Luke. He also thought it was less scary if it had a normal name like Luke.

He poked and prodded me, mostly into my stomach, to feel if something might feel off. He didn't feel anything strange.

He had called my parents in who explained to him that Kevin was the one to speak first. So Kevin and Joe were also called in, which made Frankie tag along, as he was five years old.

Kevin had to explain how weird I'd been acting, Joe exaggerated on a lot of things and the doctor ended up drawing blood.

I held my dad's hand and squeezed it as hard as I could when he drew the blood, because it hurt.

He then proceeded to leave the room, announcing that he was going to get my blood away for research and that he'd grab something for me on the way back.

He came back with a black little bag. He emptied the contents on the hospital bed next to me. There were multiple tiny things, but what scared me were the needles. I didn't want more needles to be put in me. I wasn't afraid of them, still aren't, but that doesn't mean I laugh when they're put inside my body.

He explained to me what it was. A kit.

The doctor explained how he got the meter ready and explained how he got the lancet device ready and what he was going to do to me.

He lined the lancet device up with my middle finger and I flinched when he pricked it.

When the doctor let go of my hand, I shook the pain out of it.

He had collected blood from my finger on a strip thingy in the meter he had described earlier.

And after he looked at the device, he got a call from someone. He had turned to me and said;

"I am diagnosing you with Type 1 Diabetes." He says. I was scared. What is that?

"Am I going to die?"

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