My Fucking Nightmare

I miscarried only two days after we got home from Las Vegas. The doctor told me I was pregnant only for three weeks, and by the time my body realized the hormonal changes it was enduring, it rejected the foreign growth that had lodged within my uterus. After that there was only blood. And not just a little trickle, either. But a hellish flow that ruined my underwear and favourite work pants.
Matt had no idea. I had hoped to keep it from him as long as I could and manage the bleeding within the bathroom of my apartment, but I couldn’t control it. The flow was too heavy and I was in enough pain to put anyone in a coma. So when Matt finally stopped by to see me before work, finding me on the bathroom floor unconscious, he freaked the fuck out. I missed my shift that night and my boss was pissed until I told him what happened, not that he needed to know.
But that was beside the point. He was devastated. I was devastated. And to make matters worse, while I was staying overnight in the hospital for observation, he got a call from his manager saying they were expected to go on tour in two weeks’ time. Two weeks’ fucking time. I wasn’t ready for that. Not to mention, I needed his support. I blamed myself for losing our baby. I blamed myself because I didn’t anticipate to start growing a tiny life form in my uterus so I stuck with the hard-core partying, the stressful long hours of work. And now I was both emotionally and physically paying for the loss of this baby, both because I knew that while we weren’t ready it would have been a blessing in disguise, and then the fact that if we did decide to have kids down the road I’d be too worried to even try.
God, it hurt so much. Doctors constantly poking and prodding me with needles. Taking my blood pressure and doing test after test. The obstetrician told me I was fertile and that the only reason I miscarried was because I put too much stress on my body. I guess stress can manifest in ways where you’re caught totally unaware. And looking back, I remember being worn down. I remember wanting to break down and cry since I married Matt without hesitating. Not taking time to consummate our marriage, diving right back into our chaotic lives once again. Yeah, it hurt.
Honestly, I imagine it hurt him far more. I don’t know as far as egos go, but just as a man I imagine he thought of all the possibilities that were just so suddenly nullified, lost within the membranes of my own body. Matt mentioned several times that all he wanted was a son. Perhaps a daughter after, but a son for sure, so that if he ever did have a daughter she’d be protected by her brother. Something to carry on the family name, if not anything else.
Melissa visited me all day in the hospital most since the boys were so busy with their conferences and photo shoots. The album only came out two or three days after I was hospitalized and it had already sold hundreds of thousands of copies. Matt called me every hour or so to see if I was okay, constantly apologizing for his absence. I never truly knew what to say to him. Like I said, I felt as though I betrayed him on a deep level. I couldn’t give him what he wanted and I unconsciously thought that he constantly held it against me, no matter how often I was reassured otherwise.
I went home a day later and wouldn’t get up off the couch, unless I had to pee. I wasn’t hungry, just so tired. So, so tired. Some might call it depression, what I went through. Every single time Melissa came to see me she’d bring an update on how the guys were doing with the album promotion. And she herself, after publishing her article on the Ghost Adventures lockdown she did, got famous too. Her boss called her constantly offering her jobs across the country. She turned down most of them, explaining that she’d pick them up after the boys went on tour. I felt genuinely happy for her but I had no way of genuinely expressing it.
Ugh, the tour. I kept reminding myself, panicking, getting sadder and sadder. Feeling lonelier every inching hour and day ‘til I had to accept that I wouldn’t see my husband for months. I didn’t know how Zack’s wife did it, or Jimmy’s. Johnny had it easy. No one tied him down. As for Brian and Melissa, they seemed to have some weird telepathic connection. We could sense it. For a time it was awkward, the silence between them, then the occasional sideways smirk and the side glances. They’d disappear for hours at a time. We all knew what they were doing. And they were so happy. They didn’t have the drama Matt and I had. No miscarriages or unintended pregnancies or rushed marriages. Just pure, unadulterated love. I had no choice but to envy them as much as I was happy for them.
And Matt and I could only try so hard to be like them.
I wasn’t sure how we were going to survive this tour. The obstetrician forced me to request a leave of absence from work, since I’d need to be on bedrest for a week or so. Which I guess was nice since I got to spend one of the remaining two weeks with Matt. But still, it wasn’t the same. He had that sorrowful look in his eye. I knew what that look meant. I didn’t want to deal with it. So for the second week, we disassociated. I laid on the couch and watched as many movies as I could, trying to drown out the sadness that only kept welling up.
The rehearsals in the garage kept me up. Matt and Brian got together probably every night the last week before they left to go over some of the more hard-core stuff. The lyrics, any last minute tweaks. Setlist planning. All that bullshit every single band had to go through before exhausting themselves playing shows every single night. The other two married boys spent their nights with their families. As usual, Johnny indulged in some expensive naked women.
Then the time came that I had to say goodbye. Honestly it lasted maybe five minutes. A quick kiss on the mouth in the doorway with Matt and his pack slung over his shoulder. “I’ll call you once we land, okay?” he promised, but I didn’t say anything. All I tasted was the salt in my tears and the bitterness at the back of my throat. This wasn’t what I signed up for.
“I love you,” was all I could manage to choke out. He left, speeding off in his truck, leaving me in his house with Bishop whining at the door. I couldn’t wait any longer. So without hesitation, I gathered all my shit up that I left around the place, tossed it all in a bag, and left the house. I looked back at Bishop in the front window, pawing at the glass, reminding myself that I’d have to be back at some point tonight to put him out for a piss and tidy up a little more, but I just wasn’t in the fucking mood.
The pit in my stomach had already gnawed too much away at me. I needed to sleep. For a whole year if I had to. Just to pass the time until they came back.

Notes

As you may have noticed I changed the title pattern. It's gonna get darker from here on out. Stay tuned!

Votes and comments are much appreciated.