"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.
