Trashed and Scattered

My truck’s engine roared as I floored it down the freeway. Weaving in and out between cars would get me in a little more trouble than I really needed right now, but I didn’t actually give a fuck. My fiancée and I were stalked outside our window last night, I got a kid on the way, and now our fucking manager wants to send us cross-country for a few secret tours. Yeah, talk about awesome. Case of the fucking Mondays. And yet no one else in the world would give a fuck.
I rip into Matt’s parking lot and have my engine off barely after I throw the shifter into park. As I slam my door, I stomp through his front door and slam that behind me too. I assumed my face was radiating crimson. So far it was Phil and Matt sitting at his bar, just bullshitting. They shut right up when I sat down and slammed the ceramic counter with my trembling fist. “So is that what we’re all about now, just changing plans? Getting up and going whenever someone gets a phone call?” My last statement was fixed on Phil. Clearly he became extremely uncomfortable. Even Matt seemed a little off-hinge.
“Geez, Brian I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal.” Phil coolly replied, trying not to cower. I was always one of the bigger, bulkier guys in Avenged and besides Matt, had the biggest temper. Phil used to cross it all the time and it’s not like he wasn’t used to me yelling at him. “Look, all I asked you guys to come down for was to discuss some ideas about a possible tour. A few states, nothing drastic, nothing overseas or across the border. New York, Tampa. Seattle maybe. Plain and simple promotion.”
I rubbed my face with the palm of my hands and calmed down a little. It didn’t seem that harsh, but Jesus. We spent every waking minute at the studio. Some alone time with our loved ones would have been highly appreciated. “Listen. I didn’t come here to attack anyone. I’m not saying anything about a tour until I talk to Melissa. I mean she just found out she’s pregnant, and the incident last night means I gotta worry about installing a fucking high-security alarm system…it’s not like we can just up and go.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be immediate.” Phil assured us both. “You know what, let’s just wait ‘til the other three get here. Then we’ll have a nice chat about it. Congratulations on the news, by the way, Brian. Heard about it but never made it over last night.”
“Thanks.” I half-muttered. I felt my knuckles turn white in anticipation. Somehow those other three always managed to be late for everything, and regardless of how close of brothers we all were, I really had no patience for tardiness. It turned into a sour, awkward silence, so I popped a beer. Might have been a little early in the day for a beer, but it would take a beer or two for the ability to put up with the oncoming bullshit.
When Jimmy, Zack and the runt finally stepped in, they immediately joined us. No time for jokes. We all had shit to do today, so Phil’s little emergency meeting wasn’t exactly flying well with any of us. At that point, we might as well have just stuck it out. I mostly zoned out for the whole thing. Matt, Jimmy, and I were pretty much on the same page with leaving for another tour. Zack, driven nuts by his family already, wouldn’t have cared any less and Johnny would have gone just for the booze. I let them talk. But the way things were going, I was getting roped into doing a month-long tour across country to about a dozen major city centres. From Sacramento to Trenton and back down to New Orleans, it would only take a couple months. Only, I’d regret every minute of it for leaving Melissa at home, pregnant, to deal with her symptoms and cravings and baby kicking. Oh, all the fun pre-parenting shit.
We wouldn’t leave until next month. But as I was leaving Matt’s place, I felt the heavy cloud of guilt I always did when I would tell her about an upcoming trip. With the added hormones, I knew this time around it would end with my cheek being sore and her running to the bedroom in tears. No sex for a week or more. And was it worth it? For the screaming fans, the calloused fingers, the drunken hotel room nights? Fuck no. I always missed my baby girl too much.
She met me in the doorway, her arms crossed, like she already knew what I was about to say. As she always did. “So when is it?” I felt my face burn. I pulled her inside and sat her down on the couch beside me and held her hand. “Quick tour. A month, two tops. Matt and I were fighting it. Jimmy too. But Phil…you know how he is. You know how the other two are. I tried, Liss. I really tried.”
“When do you go?” her words were cold.
I hesitated, trying to suck in a couple breaths to help ease off the tension. “Next month. Just the States. No overseas bullshit.”
“Okay.” She whispered, nodding her head. She pulled her hand away and crossed her arms again. I could see deep inside her brown sparkling eyes that the tears were welling up and the angry outburst was soon approaching. She was stewing. And there wasn’t anything my hopeless soul could do to ease her pain. “Okay.” She said again, this time a little louder. But without saying anything else, she got up off the couch and headed for the bedroom. Yeah, called it. There wasn’t much for me to do besides sit around and wait for her to come back out. God, I felt bad. So, so bad.
I waited about ten minutes before going in to check on her. I could hear her sobbing through the door. I turned the handle as slowly and quietly as I could, sneaking through, and climbed across the bed to her trembling body to spoon her. I didn’t want to see her like this for a very long time. It was too hard to handle. I whispered many apologies into her soft hair, hugging her as closely as I could without crushing her and our child. “Melissa, I don’t want to go. I want to stay here and watch your belly grow every single day. I want to be home in bed with you every night. Fucking wish we could just take a leave of absence for a while to focus on our own personal, intimate lives. Everyone in the band. You know that.”
I could feel her nodding but she said nothing. I assumed her sobs were too violent. I didn’t let her go until her fit had ceased. She didn’t turn around to kiss me, nor did she acknowledge that I was even still spooning her. Oh god, don’t get a boner, I thought. Pulling her red locks out of her face, I watched her wipe several tears away and force her head back down into the pillow. I removed my pants and socks and climbed under one of our blankets, making sure to wrap us both. When she cried like this, usually she took a nap. Surely she could have used it. I’d watch her sleep, not wishing to leave her alone, as I’d be leaving her alone sooner than we could both expect. And it pained me more knowing that when I’d come back the little seed would have grown to be a little more noticeable under her clothes.
She fell asleep slowly, occasionally a random sob waking her up again for her to stifle. I rubbed her back slowly, all the while keeping her warm and feeling loved. Every passing moment I felt worse and worse about it, but the deed had been done and there was nothing anyone could say or do about it. I wasn’t about to back out on my friends, nor was I about to pack my clothes and guitars and hop on a bus to travel across the country once again. All I could think about for the time was the one song off our title album that we lover boys had written in dedication to our sweet ladies. I always hoped that she’d find some comfort in my absence, no matter how long.
I let her sleep alone for a while longer, perhaps an hour or two. It was just peaking mid-afternoon, close to dinner. I was getting hungry and figured it would mean a lot for her to wake up to a cooked meal. I’d say I was having the weird pregnancy cravings: fresh vegetables and pasta. No meat. It was strange, yes, although we both needed to up our nutrient intake for the coming months. Her health was most imperative for me, and well, I could have gone one or two meals without meat.
I chopped up some bell peppers, red onion, and potatoes. Added a little spice and olive oil. Tossed it all in some tin foil and popped it in the oven for a while. Would pasta really have gone with that aromatic concoction of veggies? Likely not. So I searched the freezer instead and found some sea bass filets that I remember we’d caught a while back. They’d be great with some garlic and lemon grass. Should have become a cook. I laughed at the idea. It was so alien, but I began to envy the idea that I wouldn’t be obligated to leave my wife-to-be once or twice every year for months at a time.
She came out to the kitchen with puffy red eyes and tousled hair, wiping the sleep from her eyes. I immediately felt guilty again and didn’t want to antagonize her any more than I already had that day. She sat down in one of the chairs at the table and played with the linen table cloth that needed to be washed. “How’d you sleep?” I finally asked. She didn’t respond. Slightly annoyed, yet understanding nonetheless, I dished up both of our plates and brought them to the table.
“I’m not hungry.” She plainly said, but didn’t leave the table. At that point I was becoming very irritated, but didn’t lose my cool on her. Instead I just left her plate there and let it go cold. She was a grown woman who could decide to eat if she wanted to. We sat in silence as I scraped my plate clean. I got up and put the dish in the sink and headed downstairs to my bunker to calm down. We needed a little bit of distance for the evening. I assumed she’d make me sleep on the couch, but truth was I’d rather have slept downstairs in the bunker again.
My weight-lifting set was just outside the bunker in another smaller room with a gigantic mirror on the far wall. I had a complex set-up, the whole shindig. Mostly weights for my arms and back. Carrying a guitar for hours on end every day on a tour was incredibly draining, believe it or not. Plus I had to keep my fine physique for the lovely ladies in the crowd. Not that they meant anything in comparison to Melissa, but their screaming kept me going throughout a show.
I turned the radio on and slouched down onto the bench, lifting the bar from the rack. Melissa hated it when I worked out without a spotter, but I wasn’t about to call someone over just to work out and clear my head. Once I reached my zone, I was pressing about two-fifty without breaking a sweat. Matt could press three fifty. Fucker bragged about it all the time. But I suppose he was always bulkier than the rest of us. I was somewhat jealous of him. My goal was to eventually reach his press weight, but a part of me knew he’d have long passed that mark.
I was down there for a good hour or so. Blood was pumping, sweat was rolling. I’d need a shower before bed but my workout was far from complete. Pushing the bar back onto the stand, I sat up and slid over to the shoulder press and loaded some weights up. Started off with an easy hundred. It would get easy fast. Added another twenty-five every fifteen minutes. Didn’t exactly have a fixed set of reps, but pushed up until I was about to pass out. Did it that way for years; probably why Melissa hated me being alone down here. I wondered how she was doing, and if she went back to bed for the night. Or if she’d actually eaten what I made for us.
When every inch of my body was burning, I stretched out and wiped off the sweat with an old towel. I slowly made my way up the stairs, finding Melissa on the couch with one hand on her belly, another on her cell phone. I wonder if she called anyone. A wave of absurd jealousy flooded over me. “Hey.” I called over to her, just before slipping down the hallway to our bedroom to strip down for a shower. As I turned the water on and climbed into the basin, I heard her enter the bedroom. I jumped when she pulled the curtain over and revealed her own nude body, her unique freckles on her shoulders, her beautiful skin. Glowing with pregnancy pheromones, or whatever you’d call them. Fucking stunning. I could never fall out of love with her.
When she entered the shower, the water rippling off her, she wrapped her tiny arms around my neck, barely reaching. She was so small, so delicate. Soft, warm. Comforting. “I’m sorry.” I whispered into her neck. She nodded understandingly. I bent down on one knee so my head was parallel with her belly, fixing my gaze on the almost-absent bulge where my baby grew. Miraculous and yet so simple. “I really don’t want to go.”
“I know.” She whispered, barely loud enough over the flowing water. “But it’s better than a year.”
“I’m gonna make sure everything will be okay while I’m gone. Better yet, why don’t you go stay with someone? Alyshia could probably use the company. She can help you with the symptoms. I’d feel better knowing you were with someone.”
“I’ll let you know.” We showered in silence, if not for the water creating a sort of soft echo across the bathroom space. I washed and massaged her back with her sponge caressing her skin ever so gently. The curly wet locks of her hair clinging to her neck, changing with the flow of the water. After we got out I would wrap her in a towel and carry her to our bedroom where I would lie her down and ensure she felt like she was the only girl the world cared about. As it were, these moments would be a part of the few moments I had left before long.

Notes

Changing back to Melissa's perspective. this was a trial.