Swollen Issues II - Chapter Five
"S-set me up again," Nick slurred as he clumsily set
the shot glass on top of the bar
counter.
"Don't you think you've had enough?" the bartender
questioned as he studied the blonde
haired customer.
Nick shook his head. "Nah, I-I can s-still feel
it!"
"Feel what?"
Waving his hands in the air, Nick tried to brush the
bartender's questions off. "Just pour
the fuckin' drink!"
The bartender stared at him.
Nick started slamming the glass up and down several
times until he missed the bottom of
the glass and watched it skid off the counter onto the
floor. "I'm fuckin' Nick Carter and I
get what I want!"
"Not in this bar son," the bar tender muttered as he
walked away from Nick, shaking his
head.
"Fine!" Nick shouted. "Anyone want to come with
me?"
Feeling a tap on his shoulder, Nick twisted around to
see who it was. It wasn't anyone he
had seen before.
"Nick, come on, I've called a cab to take you
home."
Squinting, Nick tried to read the name plate that was
on the man's shirt. Due to the state
he was in, it was a useless effort. Taking a firm grip
on Nick's left arm, the man escorted
him from the bar and opened the taxi cab's door. After
trying several times to get Nick to
sit up in the cab, he gave up and left him laying
across the back seat. "Take him to this
address, and don't take him anyplace else," the
bouncer directed to the cabbie.
"You people are on crack!" Nick mumbled from the back
seat.
The driver accepted the slip of paper. "I will make
sure he goes no place else."
********
Nick awoke to the sound of his answering maching
going off. He half listened to his
father speaking into the phone. "Please Nick, call us,
your mother and I are worried sick
about you. We've left you several messages, please
just call us, we love you."
Nick groaned as he heard his father's voice. He
figured he didn't love him at all. This was
all a false statement to get him to call. How could
someone say they love a person when
they judge them and accuse them of being on drugs? And
his mother! How could she say
she loved him when she not only accused him of being
on drugs she also accused him of
wrecking his life, letting himself go!
"Please call us, we love you,"Nick mocked as
he laid on the floor. "Yeah, right. I
know who loves me," he stated outloud to himself. His
eyes drifted towards the bookcase
and the picture album he kept on the bottom shelf. He
crawled over to the bookshelf and
pulled the album out. Leaning against the wall, Nick
sat Indian-style, laying the book
ontop of his crossed legs.
“That’s it right there!” Nick announced as he grabbed
the phone. “I’m calling the people I
know who will be my friends no matter what! The hell
with family and the hell with
Backstreet Boys and management!”
Quickly dialing phone numbers as if his life depended
upon it, Nick made plans for the
evening.
********
“Hey doughboy! Good to see ya,” Jason chuckled as he
slapped Nick on the back.
“Doughboy? Where the fuck did that come from?” Nick
asked as he pulled away from one
of his best friends.
Jason looked a little embarrassed when Nick called him
on the nickname that he had just
tagged him with. “Well, um, I dunno, I guess you’ve
just been living the good life since I
last saw you, just skip it, stupid name to even say, I
don’t know why I say what I say, I do
know I’m ready for a another beer though.”
Nick looked at him suspiciously. He wondered if the
remark was geared towards his
weight but then he decided to let the remark pass.
Jason was one to make stupid
comments. “You’ve been running a tab on this, right?”
“Yeah, the bartender said you set up the bar for a tab
for tonight, right?”
“Yes I did, a running tab, drinks on me!
“Alright!”
As the night wore on, Nick soon became too drunk to be
able to stand on his own two
feet. His friends were less than friends as they
continued to supply drinks to their host, not
paying attention to or completely ignoring the fact
that Nick was become so intoxicated
that he wasn’t able to form complete sentances and
kept passing out and waking up. To
make matters worse, pictures were being taken of Nick
as the night wore on and he was
less aware of his surroundings. Pictures that were
going to be sent to the press and across
the internet.
******
A blaring commercial startled Nick awake from his
sleep. His head throbbed as he
struggled to open his eyes.
“Omygod, what did I drink?” he mumbled.
“Just about the entire bar, sweetheart,” I soft female
voice answered.
Nick’s eyes bolted open hearing the voice. He looked
around at the unfamiliar
surroundings. “Wha--wha, where am I?”
“Holiday Inn,” she replied. “You don’t remember?”
Nick pulled his arm out from under her body and placed
his hands on his head. “No.”
The woman slipped out of the bed and padded towards
the bathroom. Nick diverted his
eyes once he noticed she was naked. He lifted the
sheets to discover that he too, was
naked.
“Oh shit, not again,” he moaned.
He heard the water running from the shower. He debated
on whether he could just get up
and leave and never look back or if he still had to
pay this girl for services or was she a
hooker? God, he really didn’t know what to think.
Thankfully, it seemed as if she heard his thoughts.
“Sweetie, you can go ahead and leave,
you told the bartender to put my services on your tab.
You can pay for it there. If you
want to tip me, of course, that’s your own descretion,
but I’m telling you baby, you were
fine! Just fine!”
She didn’t have to tell him twice. Picking up his
clothes, he pulled them on as fast as he
could. Opening his wallet, he grabbed two crisp
fifties and laid them on the nightstand and
slipped out the door.
He felt sick to his stomach, but tried to push the
nausea away. Now was not the time to
get sick. Now was the time to get the hell home. Nick
sadly shook his head as he caught a
glimpse of his relfection in the mirrors on the
elevator. He looked like he had aged 20
years and the body looked like something that belonged
to someone that feasted on food
and booze. This couldn't be him.