nsync in black and white

Fiction by Pen . . . . . not real, made up, purely intended for entertainment

Broken Lance

written for a sky_pie point of view challenge

I went to see Nick Carter again today. I guess I was even more scared this time around, because I knew what to expect.

My first visit, Tuesday, he was in a real shitty mood, so it was easier than I'd thought it would be. I went in there determined not to let anything show on my face, and I think I managed it, although seeing him like that, so thin and trapped in that ugly chair, it was hard. It was really hard.

Harder for him, though, and I knew if it was me I wouldn't want any more pity.

So I played the indifference thing as much as I could. Just him and me, two guys having a conversation and never mind the chair. Didn't even take him a gift, what my momma would say I don't know, but turned out it wasn't such a bad call. He can't do anything, he can't even turn on a DVD player, far as I could see he just sits there all the time waiting. Shit. Bad enough being paralyzed, he has to be bored to death too.

It felt... I felt like I was taking advantage, because some of the stuff I said, I think if he could have he would have upped and hit me. I tried to keep it all, I dunno, neutral, talking about how their albums are selling and all the fans are in mourning and whatever. It was hard, but I couldn't let him see how much I hurt inside, seeing him like that. I always thought there would be time, I always thought that one day we'd be in the same place at the same time and there'd be a chance we could—only I never thought it'd be because he broke his neck. I sat there talking about how it could have been worse, and all the time I was wishing I could make it better, make it not have happened, anything.

I came home and got right onto the web. There's stuff, all kinds of stuff these days, it's amazing what you can do. And online, it doesn't matter if you're paralyzed. Though like I said to Nick, which he wanted to murder me for, I think, it's a good thing he ain't poor.

Called some people, got the brochures. It's not much, but...

So today. Today I took some stuff with me. I was really pleased with myself for figuring out he could use a music stand—I'd hoped Nick wouldn't be upset by it, and it turned out he wasn't, and it worked real well, I could set it up for him at the right height for him to read.

I wanted to kill that nurse when I realized Nick needed his glasses. Had he been sitting there all that time, not seeing things clearly? I made a point of saying something when I went past the desk on my way out, and it won't happen again. Damn right.

So I put the glasses on for Nick, and oh, God, I wanted to touch him so much, stroke his hair, kiss him and tell him I'd be there for him and he was still so beautiful, and I couldn't. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't make me stop. How could I touch him when he didn't have any choice but to let me?

Nick Carter. I wanted him for such a long time, and now I can't even ask.


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