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Chapter 128

“Hey, you wanna maybe get out of here?” Nick asked when he came back to Carmyn, who was sitting at the bar, right where he’d left her. In the walk from the dance floor to the bar, he’d decided he didn’t really feel like being in the club anymore. It was too hard knowing that despite everything, despite the dance with Claire and the energy between them, she had gone back to her bachelorette party and would still be marrying Jamie in a week. He couldn’t handle the rollercoaster of emotions anymore; he needed to get out. And if he was being honest with himself, he needed a distraction.

He looked at Carmyn. She didn’t look at all surprised; instead, she grinned and replied, “Sure! Where do you want to go? We could go to my place, if-“

“Sure,” he agreed automatically, smiling back. “Sure, sounds good. Um, lemme just go find my friends and tell them we’re leaving.”

“Alright. You go; I’ll just finish my drink. Meet you back here in a few?”

“Yep. Be back.” Nick walked back across the club to the table in the corner, where AJ, Howie, and company sat. The girls from earlier were gone, he noticed.

“Nicky! There you are!” Howie exclaimed. “Jeez, we were about to send out a search party. Where you been all night?”

“Those chicks were driving me nuts, man,” replied Nick, making a face. “I was talking to a less-annoying woman.”

“Ooh-hoo, so you did find a woman, huh, Nickster?” asked AJ, smirking devilishly and elbowing Nick from his seat. “Scale of one to ten, how hot is she, bro?”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Shut up, J. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know, I think I’m gonna take off.”

“With said woman?” quipped AJ, raising his eyebrows.

“None of your business, J. Nick Carter doesn’t kiss and tell,” Nick retorted with a wink. “Listen, thanks for comin’ out tonight, guys. Sorry for ditching you. If you wanna crash at my place or grab a hotel for the night or something, we could hang out tomorrow.”

“Nah, our ladies would wonder about us,” said Howie. “It’s okay, Nick. We’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, we don’t wanna be at your place anyway, if you’re gonna be there doing the deed with some random chick,” added AJ, making a face.

Nick could feel his cheeks reddening, but he composedly replied, “For your information, we’re going to her place.” With that, he turned and walked away as fast as he could. He could still hear them cackling behind him.

***

“So this is your place, huh?” commented Nick as he climbed out of the cab behind Carmyn and found himself standing before a small house with a stucco roof. Good deduction skills, Captain Obvious, he thought as soon as he’d asked. Who else’s place would it be?

Carmyn chuckled. “Yeah, this is it. I know it’s not much compared to what you’re used to, but what can I say?”

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s fine,” Nick assured her, impulsively planting a kiss on her cheek as they walked up to the front door.

She smiled at him over her shoulder, a seductive smile, one that promised much more than innocent cheek kisses before the night was through. He smiled back, glad she understood. For not only his sake, but for Claire’s as well, he really wanted to get laid tonight. The way he saw it, he’d be in a much better mood for her wedding if he broke the streak of celibacy that had lasted almost a year now.

Ugh.

“Do you mind taking your shoes off?” asked Carmyn as she led him into her house. “Sorry, I just vacuumed.”

“Oh no, that’s fine,” Nick replied. He could sense her eyes on him as he bent over to unlace his shoes. When he straightened, she was indeed watching him. It was a bit unnerving, but he forced himself to chuckle and said, “Sorry, I’m slow.” Leaning against her doorframe for support, he carefully balanced his weight on his artificial leg and lifted his right leg to get the shoe off.

“Can I help you with that?” Carmyn offered as he bent down again to take the shoe off his prosthetic foot.

“Thanks, I got it,” he said, flushing, as he quickly pried off the shoe and set it with its pair neatly off to the side of her front door.

She must have known about his leg, but she didn’t say anything until they were sitting together on her living room couch. Then she looked over at him, pointed, and asked, “Don’t you want to take that off?”

At first he was confused, unable to tell what she was pointing at. His shirt? Inspired by her boldness, he obediently reached for the top button, but stopped when she laughed and said, “No! I meant your prosthetic.”

Letting go of his shirt, he looked over at her in surprise. Okay, so she definitely did know. Still, he’d never known anyone to be so forward about it this soon after meeting him. “Oh… uh…”

“I mean, it’s probably uncomfortable to wear, right?” she added, arching her eyebrows matter-of-factly.

“Actually, no, it’s not too bad,” replied Nick, relaxing a little now that he could see where she was coming from.

“Oh, really? Sorry, I just assumed… well, see, my older brother is an amputee, and he’s always complaining about his prosthesis killing him. I just thought maybe you’d want to get more comfortable. I don’t mind.” She smiled broadly.

“Oh – thanks, but I’m okay for now,” he assured her. “I’m used to wearing it pretty much all the time.”

“Really?” She wrinkled her nose. “Even in bed??”

Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrows. This conversation was just the slightest bit weird, but, figuring this was just her way of getting to know more about him and his situation, he went with it and replied, “Well, no… not in bed.”

She smiled. “Well then,” she began seductively, “like I asked before, don’t you want to take it off?”

Wow, she moves fast, he thought, but he supposed that wasn’t a bad thing. He wasn’t really a big fan of the small talk before sex with groupies, so why should he feel any differently about her? Apparently she just wanted to get laid too, even if it was by a one-legged guy.

“Okay…” he said slowly, standing up, “but, are you sure you’re… okay… with this? I’ve been known to freak women out when they find out I’m missing a leg.” He thought of the pretty Hispanic girl he’d met in a club shortly after Claire had left him, the one who had taken him back to her hotel room and promptly flipped out on him when she discovered his prosthetic leg. That situation had been so utterly humiliating, he definitely didn’t want a repeat.

She waved her hand impatiently. “I told you, my brother’s an amputee. I’m more than okay with it,” she swore, offering him a crooked smile.

“Okay then. You wanna just head to your-? Well, where do you wanna-?”

“Bedroom?” she interjected. “Yeah, come on.”

Nick had a distinctly weird feeling in the pit of his stomach as he followed her back to her bedroom, but he brushed it off as nerves, telling himself it was just because he hadn’t gotten any in so long. Of course he was nervous about it.

Sex just hadn’t been the same since he’d lost his leg. Before then, he had never worried much about his performance; he knew there were millions of girls who lusted for him and would give anything just to get in his pants. He’d been arrogant and egotistical, but what else would you expect from the most popular member of a world-famous pop group?

Maybe cancer had been his ego-check. Now he was constantly afraid he was just going to disappoint them or, worse, disgust them. In his mind, he faced the risk of self-humiliation every time he followed a woman to bed, and he hadn’t done that since the tour.

So no wonder he was nervous, he reasoned.

Carmyn led him into the bedroom, which was just an average woman’s room, and closed the door. She immediately tore off the shrug she had been wearing and then slid down her pants, leaving her in nothing but a form-fitting camisole and panties. Turning towards him, she inched backward to her bed and perched on the side, clasping her hands together expectantly. “Well? Get comfortable,” she urged him, smiling.

Nick raised his eyebrows, but obediently followed suit. He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside, then reached for his jeans, unfastening his belt and the button at the fly. He hitched the pants down slowly, easing them over the catches in his metal leg, and stepped out of them so that he was standing in nothing but a wifebeater and his boxers.

He caught her staring at his artificial leg for a few seconds, and then she looked up at his face. “You can take the prosthesis off now,” she said. “I told you, I don’t mind. I’d rather have you without. It looks… clunky.”

Nick frowned down at the sleek silver leg as he released the suction valve on the side and started to slide it off. Well, I’d rather not have to wear one at all, thank you very much, he thought sarcastically, but he didn’t say anything. Something about her comments bothered him, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was exactly. She didn’t seem freaked out or ready to run, but something about her reaction seemed… off.

Still, he sat down on the bed next to her, laying his artificial leg carefully across the floor alongside it. “There, that’s better,” she said with a smile, and, to his surprise, reached out and patted his thigh, the thigh of his left leg, the one that had been amputated. Her touch sent a warm tingle over the sensitive skin there, and though it actually felt good, his first instinct was to recoil.

As he flinched, their eyes met. “What?” she asked, her eyes searching his. “I didn’t give you a shock, did I? I… I thought that it would feel good. I’ve heard that the skin of a stump is supposed to be extra sensitive.”

The way she enunciated the word ‘sensitive’ was oddly sexual, as if she were talking about her breasts or the inside of her upper thighs, as his fingers crept up them. But her hand was nowhere near that part of his body; it was still resting on the end of his thigh, gently massaging his flesh, caressing his skin there. For a moment, he couldn’t speak; it felt good, almost as good as having his back scratched or his shoulders rubbed, and yet, it was just weird, feeling her fingertips trace over the ugly scar that ran across the end of his stump, the place where they had sewn his skin back together after sawing off the rest of his leg. How could she stand to touch him there, on the part of his body he found most repulsive?

Completely disconcerted by now, he finally grabbed her hand to stop her. “Sorry, but… what the hell are you doing?” he asked bluntly, staring at her in total bewilderment.

A faint, pink blush appeared high in her cheeks, as she smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I get… carried away. I should have told you… I lied to you earlier. My brother’s not an amputee; I don’t even have a brother. I hope this doesn’t scare you away; maybe you’ve already guessed, but actually, I’m… I’m a devo.”

Nick blinked at her, shaking his head in confusion. “Come again? You’re a what?”

“A devo… a devotee?” she repeated, watching him closely, as if she expected to see a look of recognition on his face. But apparently his blank expression gave away the fact that he had no clue what she was talking about.

A devotee? Like a fan? he wondered. So she was a Backstreet Boys fan. Big deal. Was that all? It didn’t explain her sudden strangeness, but it wasn’t like it mattered to him whether she was a fan or not.

He was just about to say this when she cleared her throat loudly. “Um… I’m sorry. I just figured that with as famous as you are, you would have met people like me before. ‘Devotee’ is the term we use for people like ourselves… people who are attracted to amputees.”

Nick stared, trying to process what she had just said. “Wait, are you saying you… you’re attracted to amputees?” he repeated her words, wrinkling his nose. “What the fuck does that mean?”

She leaned closer to him, seduction in her eyes once again. “Well, it’s just like how you’re attracted to certain types of women… women with blonde hair, or big boobs. I’m attracted to…”

“Stumps?” Nick spat the word with distaste, looking down at his mutilated leg, which she had just been fondling. When she didn’t deny it, just staring at him with wide blue eyes instead, he jerked away from her, his heart starting to pound. “God damn, are you for real?? That’s fucked up.” He put his own hands over the stump of his leg, feeling a sudden need to protect it, the way a woman might cover her breasts.

“Why?” her voice rose. “Why is that so ‘fucked up’ to you? It’s no different than you liking me because I’m blonde!”

He nearly laughed at that. “Yes it is! It’s sick!” he cried and ran his fingers across the scar she had touched earlier. “See this, this right here… this isn’t natural! It’s not something I was born with, like your hair. I was mutilated, by cancer… they cut my leg off. You think I enjoyed that?? No! It’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, and you think it’s… attractive? Sexy?? How can you say that??”

“Because I do! It is sexy to me! Other women might not think so, but… but that’s exactly why you should be with me. I love you exactly as you are,” she emphasized, reaching out to touch him.

He recoiled again, squirming out of her reach, and shot up from the bed, grabbing the bedpost at the foot to help himself balance on one leg while he reached for his prosthesis. “You don’t know me!” he retorted, trying to get the leg on as quickly as he could. “You just met me! And from the sound of things, you only brought me home because I’m a fucking gimp that you have some sick fetish for. How is that supposed to make me feel??”

“It’s not like that!” she protested, but Nick could see it no other way. He hobbled quickly around the room, gathering his clothes. He nearly tripped as he hurriedly tried to get his jeans back on, and he didn’t even bother with his shirt, just balled it up in his fist and carried it with him as he made a beeline for her front door. “Wait, don’t go!” she cried, chasing after him as he put on his shoes, tugging on his arm as he reached for the doorknob. “Please, Nick, just stay and listen to me; try to understand…”

“No, you try to understand,” he snapped, twisting out of her grip and grabbing her arm roughly. “I’m not gonna be the object of your creepy sex fetish, lady, alright? Take it somewhere else, or… or get some help or something. Just… just stay the hell away from me, ‘cause I’m not interested.” Pushing her away, he wrenched open the front door and stumbled out into the cool January night.

He could hear her start to sob as she stood in the doorway, but thankfully, she didn’t try to follow him as he hurried up her driveway, walking as fast as his prosthetic leg would allow. He couldn’t get away soon enough. The problem was that he had no ride; they’d taken a taxi to her house because neither of them were in any shape to drive. He would just have to call another cab. But first, he had to get away from her house.

He set off walking up her quiet street, his blood pulsing loudly in his ears, his breath coming in and out through sharp, angry pants. For a minute or two, he was so overcome with emotion, a feral mix of anger, revulsion, humiliation, and shame, that he couldn’t even think straight. He could only walk, fists and jaws clenched tightly, chest heaving.

After he’d put some distance between her house and him, his body started to relax. His breathing calmed, his heart slowed, and the sound of rushing blood left his ears. But still it filled his cheeks, which were hot with the embarrassment of the situation that had just taken place. He felt degraded and ashamed, like he’d been taken advantage of, even assaulted in a way. If she had grabbed his dick instead of his stump, he probably could have filed sexual assault charges. But as it was… this was just too weird.

He couldn’t really wrap his mind around it, the idea that someone could not only accept his amputation, but find it the most attractive thing about him. It was just… warped, and sick, in his mind. Claire had accepted it, Veronica had accepted it, but this girl, Carmyn, had flirted with him at the bar and lured him into her bedroom just because of it. That wasn’t right.

She’s messed up, he thought, shaking his head. His hand was shaking too, but involuntarily so, as he reached into his pocket to find his cell phone. In fact, his whole body trembled with the emotions of what had just happened, and his voice caught in his throat as he spoke to the cab company. They assured him that a taxi would be there in ten to fifteen minutes to pick him up, and so he stopped walking and sank down onto the curb. He could immediately feel the dew of the night start seeping through the butt of his jeans, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t possibly feel any more uncomfortable than he had inside her bedroom, and still did.

Letting out a shaky sigh, he looked around and hoped that no one would see him sitting out here. He wished the cab would come now. All he wanted was to go home, take a hot shower, and try to erase the memory of her words, her touch, and everything about this night.

A dry laugh escaped his throat as he realized it would probably take a lot more booze to accomplish that.


I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don’t know where it goes
But it’s home to me, and I walk alone

I walk this empty street
On the boulevard of broken dreams
Where the city sleeps
And I’m the only one, and I walk alone

I walk alone, I walk alone…

My shadow’s the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart’s the only thing that’s beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
Till then I walk alone

I’m walking down the line
That divides me somewhere in my mind
On the borderline
Of the edge and where I walk alone

Read between the lines
What’s fucked up and everything’s alright
Check my vital signs
To know I’m still alive, and I walk alone

I walk alone, I walk alone…


***

Nick had disturbing dreams that night, nightmares that involved Carmyn, and awoke to his alarm with a start, the stump of his leg throbbing with familiar phantom pains.

Wincing, he sat up in bed and reached over to slap his clock off. Then, tearing off the covers, he rubbed his stump until the pain went away. The pain, combined with the memory of Carmyn’s caresses and the hangover the alcohol had left him with, made him feel queasy. He stood up slowly and reached for the crutch he kept near his bed, using it to help propel himself into the bathroom.

Standing at the sink, he turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face. Blinking drops of water from his eyelashes, he stared into the mirror at the reflection of his dripping face. He looked pale and wrecked from the night before, the hangover and lack of sleep leaving dark bags under his eyes. He rubbed them wearily, trying to get rid of the puffiness.

He longed to just climb back into bed and sleep away all the bad feelings and memories, but he wouldn’t let himself. His support group meeting started in less than an hour, and he wanted to go. No, he needed to go. He had to talk to somebody about what had happened last night because it was still too confusing to deal with on his own, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to let it go until he did.

And so, after another hot shower, two cups of coffee, and three Tylenol, he found himself making the familiar route to the fifth floor of Tampa General for his meeting. The regulars were all there, and they greeted him like always as he walked into the conference room. He said hello and good morning, tolerating the usual small talk, but once the meeting started, he was very quiet.

On the drive in, he’d decided not to bring his experience with Carmyn up during the regular meeting. It really had nothing to do with his having had cancer, he’d reasoned… and also, he still felt humiliated whenever he thought about it. He didn’t want to have to sit there and talk about it in front of all those people, even though he had come to know them all fairly well. But he knew he owed it to himself to at least bring it up to Jack and Deb, the other two amputees in the group, and see what they had to say about the issue. They were the only two who might really understand.

When the meeting was over, he rushed to catch Jack before he left. “Hey, Jack, could I talk to you for a minute?” he asked the old man, touching his gnarled forearm, which sported a faded sailor’s tattoo.

“Sure, son,” replied Jack, his normally twinkling brown eyes searching Nick’s seriously. “What’s the trouble?”

“Hold on, I wanna get Deb over here too,” said Nick, leading him over to where Deb was talking to their group leader, Franzi. He waited for a break in their conversation and then cut in, “Hey, Deb? Could we maybe have a word?”

When she saw him and Jack standing there, Deb smiled superiorly, looking pleased by the idea that one or both of them wanted her advice, and nodded. “Of course. What’s going on?”

Corralling the two of them in a private corner of the large conference room, Nick told them briefly about what he’d experienced the night before in a low voice. He flushed red with embarrassment as he realized he was basically telling a forty-year-old woman and a seventy-year-old man about what had almost been a one-night stand. But that wasn’t the point, and they both could see that. Their reactions, however, were much different.

Grandpa Jack looked as befuddled as Nick had felt in Carmyn’s bedroom. “She said she’s got some kind of thing for gimps?” he asked in confusion, as if he hadn’t head Nick correctly. “Well… I’m afraid I don’t know much about that, sonny. Only woman I’ve been with in fifty years is my wife.”

Deb had much more insight. “So you met a devotee,” she said, using the same word Carmyn had used to describe herself. “I can’t say I’m surprised to hear that. Granted, there aren’t nearly as many female devotees as male ones, but one of them was bound to find you sooner or later. A rich, famous, good-looking man who also has an amputation – that’s almost too good to be true for them.”

Nick frowned. He was used to being used for his money, exploited because of his fame, and objectified because of his looks. He didn’t like it, but he understood that it just came with the territory – one of the many perks and curses of being a Backstreet Boy. But this... this was something new, something he didn’t understand at all. When it came down to it, though, all he wanted was to be admired for the person he was, to be loved by a woman who really knew him. In that respect, Carmyn wasn’t much different from girls like Leah, who were just after him for his money and fame. Still, he was much more disturbed by her reasons for lusting after him.

“Have you ever met someone like that?” he asked Deb, since she seemed to be quite informed.

“Oh sure, quite a few, actually,” replied Deb casually. “Most of them aren’t bad once you get to know them and let them get to know you. I’ve even dated some before.”

Nick raised his eyebrows and decided he probably shouldn’t press her for more. He really didn’t want to hear details about her love life. “Wow,” he said. “That’s not, like, weird for you? To be dating someone that you know only likes you because of…?”

“Haven’t you ever dated someone who liked you just because you were a pop star?” Deb interrupted his question with one of her own, eyeing him beadily.

“Well, yeah… but-”

“It’s really no different. What you have to ask yourself is, are they dating you because of just that one reason, or are they dating you because they like you as a person, and that one factor is just what attracted them to you in the first place?”

Nick nodded. He got what she was saying, but he still couldn’t see himself dating someone like Carmyn.

“Just keep an open mind,” Deb advised. “You never know. Sometimes it feels good to be with a person who loves a part of you that the rest of the world considers a defect.”

Looking into her sharp blue eyes, Nick suddenly saw a woman who had been hurt before, rejected because of her “disability,” though Deb hardly treated it as such. He realized he was lucky to have dated women like Claire and Veronica, women who had accepted him for what he was without being weird about it. Others in his position weren’t so blessed.

Even so, as he drove back home later that morning, he remembered that Claire and Veronica were both things of the past. The fact was, he was alone, once again, and the big question remained: Would he ever be able to find another woman who would love him, the way he wanted to be loved?


My shadow’s the only one who walks beside me
My shallow heart’s the only thing that’s beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
Till then I walk alone

- “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” by Green Day


***


AN: Since almost everyone who previewed this chapter asked, yes, a “devotee” is a real thing. I had never heard of it until I started trying to research leg amputations a few months before I got to that part in Broken, but it was seriously like the first thing I found. I was quite freaked out by it, let me tell you LOL, but it seems to be a pretty big issue, from the sites I’ve gone to while researching, so I finally decided that I should write it into the story, for realism… I was thinking, if this were real, the female “devotees” would totally be after Nick. =P Yeah, creepy, right? No offense to anyone; I think it’s creepy LOL. But sort of freakishly interesting at the same time. So yeah… I didn’t just make it up. ;) If you want more info, here’s a good safe Wikipedia article: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amputee_fetishism You can also Google, but watch out for porn. =P

See, now you’ve learned something new… something that maybe you didn’t care to know about LOL, but hey, ya never know when random trivia can come in handy. And you thought fanfics couldn’t be educational… LOL =D