NINE
Saturday. 10:00am. Laying in bed.
Check-out is in an hour. I've had little-to-no sleep and check-out is in an hour. Who did this? Who thought of this brutal idea? Do these hotels not realize how many people have hangovers or hardly get any sleep? If you reserve a night, it should be until the next night. Not eleven in the damn morning.
Tonight's show is going to suck ass. I know it. Zac probably knows it. There's no sense in denying it. There's a walk at three. I should probably get out of the bed. We should probably already be heading to the venue.
Which reminds me: Why haven't Ike or Zac been pounding on my door already?
I lay there for another several minutes, not ready to move. I figured maybe once I had HER, I'd be done with the whole thing. The chase would be over and I could move on with my life. Except that last night had been the most thrilling thing I had ever done. Add the fact that she's engaged onto it...
Last night, or this morning, rather, I tossed and turned in a restless sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about her relationship with her
fiancée. I still couldn't wrap my head around the idea of an open relationship. How does a couple just go off and do whatever they want and then just meet back up in the middle like nothing ever happened? Where's the jealousy? The resentment? The distrust?
Why don't I feel guilty about having sex with her yet?
Maybe I'm kinda into the whole open relationship thing? I try to imagine my wife with another man. Who's to say she hasn't been already? Except the thought infuriates me in more ways than one. I'm infuriated by the idea of her with another man, yet I'm infuriated with myself for not feeling guilty for my own dishonesty.
Why doesn't this bother me? Why am I counting down the imaginary time until I get to have HER again? What does this say about me? What does this mean?
__________________________________________________
Sunday. 2:02am. Bunk.
And we're back to the small, dark bunk again. I kinda missed it, if I may be honest. My own little private cocoon where I can be alone
and spy on whoever I want wherever I want and nobody will know about it but me. Sometimes privacy is the biggest luxury there is.
I can't believe my eyes are still open, honestly. Tonight was probably the most horrible show we've done so far on this tour. I'm not sure if the fans noticed or not. They probably did but they seemed to have fun anyway. I hate when we have an off-night. It feels like we've cheated the fans. It was my fault and I know it. I have to start getting more sleep.
Except that I'm laying here with my cell phone in my hand, lighting up my bunk. I open up the app and scroll the wall. Since it's been so long since she's been active, I figure she HAS to be back in the game.
And she is. I smile, regardless of the fact that she's posting about her new engagement and every fan on the wall is gushing over the picture of the ring she posted. It is a nice ring. I could have done better.
Goddammit.
Shaking the thought out of my head, I stare at the post full of replies. Do I do it? Do I slip in and post? Is it too soon? If I start doing it too much, people will notice I'm singling her out. Do I really care, though? Yeah, I guess I kinda do. I don't want people getting the
wrong idea. Even though in this case the wrong idea is actually the truth. Wow, how often does that happen?
I do it anyway. The post is from two hours ago so maybe most of these people, including HER, aren't on anymore. "Congrats," I say. Short, sweet, impersonal. And then I wait.
______________________________________________
Sunday. 2:34am. Eyes closed.
I don't even realize I've dozed off until the alert on my phone wakes me up. My eyes snap wide open and I find my phone still in my hand. I expect a notification from the app, but imagine my surprise when it turns out to be a text message. From HER. "What are you doing?"
"I think I was sleeping," I text back.
"No, I mean on the app. I see you creeping. :) "
"Correction. You SAW me creeping. Now I'm sleeping."
"Want me to stop texting you?"
"No."
"Are you going to fall asleep on me?"
"I'm awake now."
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For waking you up."
"You're so weird."
"Takes one to know one."
"I guess you got me there."
"Are you upset?"
"At what?"
"My engagement."
I sigh and put my phone down so that I can rub my eyes. I don't know the answer to her question. Am I upset? Am I disappointed? Do I have a right to be either of those? I mean, I'm married. I'd be kind of a douche if I told her the engagement bothered me and then went home to my wife. Maybe it's better this way. Maybe if she isn't legally a free woman, life would be a little easier. I
wouldn't be the only one sneaking around.
Except that they have an open relationship. Suddenly the thought of her fiancée fucking another woman sickens me. I'm not sure why. I just can't think of anyone who would want to cheat on her, whether they had an agreement or not. Not saying that my wife deserves it, either...
Damn, I really gotta stop seeing both sides of the equation, here, to save what's left of my sanity.
I text back, "I'm not upset."
"Are you sure?"
"We're just having fun, right?"
"Yeah..."
"What? What does that mean?"
"Nothing. Just you're right, we're having fun."
"Are you having fun?"
"Of course I am. I always have fun."
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing, why?"
"You're acting weird."
"How do you know how I'm acting?"
"I'm texting you, aren't I?"
"Text is the keyword here."
"So what's wrong?"
"Nothing, like I said."
"You're lying."
"We can't fall in love with each other."
"That was random. Why do you keep saying that?"
"Just thought I'd remind you."
"Remind me? Or yourself?"
"I gotta go."
Shit! Why can't I just stop while I'm ahead sometimes? I text back, "You don't have to go. I'm sorry. I was forward. And maybe a little wrong in saying that."
"I really do have to go. I have an early day tomorrow. I have to pick him up from the airport."
"How long is he home for?"
"Until he gets called out again."
"Is this conversation because you don't know when you'll talk to me next?"
"I don't know. It's not like that."
"Isn't it?"
"What do you want?"
"In regards to what?"
"Anything. Everything."
"That's a loaded question."
"I know."
Shit! What is her deal tonight? She seems more inquisitive than usual. More emotional. Actually, this is probably the most emotion I've seen out of her since we met and it's over a damn text message. Surely she's not...she can't be developing feelings. Not NOW. If she is, it's impeccable timing.
"I want to know you," I text back.
"Why?"
"Why not?"
"That's not part of the plan."
"I wasn't aware there was a plan."
"I try not to get to know my sexual escapades."
"That's all I am to you? A sexual escapade?"
"Like you're complaining."
"Maybe not. But I still want to know you."
"Well...you ARE the first one who's ever actually internet stalked me. BEFORE sex, that is."
"I put a lot of work into that. A lot of time and effort."
"Didn't it get you what you wanted?"
"It got me what I didn't expect."
"And that's not enough for you?"
"I don't think it is."
"Look, remember what I said. I gotta go."
"Don't shy away from this."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I gotta go."
"Fine. But don't ignore the second part of 'fuck buddy.' "
"Now who's the weird one?"
"Go to sleep."
I put down the phone and close my eyes. As if the sex isn't enough to think about already, this conversation happens. She's right. We shouldn't fall in love with each other. I don't see any reason why we would. I DO want to get to know her, but I'm far from any
emotional attachment to her. I think. But yet here she is--I think she might be developing feelings she didn't expect to have. Or maybe--is it a woman thing? To women, is it hard to differentiate between a simple crush and emotional feelings? I mean, I have a crush on her, sure. But do I have an emotional attachment to her? Absolutely not.
I don't.
Right?
_____________________________________________
Sunday. 9:46am. Head pounding.
I lay in my bunk and open my eyes from, yet, another night of restless sleep. My head is killing me. The bus has stopped. I need caffeine, yet I can't bear to move because all my head does is throb. I HAVE to start getting more sleep. I just have to. I can't keep
functioning like this.
I fish my cell phone from underneath me and see a missed call from my wife. Let's just keep adding to the pressure, shall we? Actually, that's really not fair. She's innocent here. I love her. And I miss her. I honestly, really, do. Like I've said before, the road can get lonely. And my wife? Well, she doesn't know that I watch. She doesn't know what I wait. She doesn't know that I depend on--well, on someone else. I finally feel a twinge of guilt for the first time since I started following HER online. I almost appreciate it. It lets me know that I'm still human. That I'm not a complete and total monster. Yet.
The twinge of guilt is gone in mere seconds. That's all it takes. I'm not losing any sleep over guilt. And if I am, then it's something that's buried deep in my subconscious somewhere. No, I'm losing continuous sleep because of HER. Because I spend all my free time in my own head trying to figure her out. I haven't really had anything to go on until recently. And even that little sliver of information I have about her still tells me nothing. It's driving me insane. I mean, she's absolutely right. We're just having fun. Why would we even need to get to know each other? Why would we need to make it more complicated? Why would we want to?
Why does she fascinate the hell out of me and simply "having fun" isn't doing it for me anymore?
I review the conversation from last night that I forgot to delete. I usually try to delete all that stuff as soon as the conversation ends. I don't need my phone falling into someone else's hands. I look at one of the last things I said to her. I used the term "fuck buddy." I squeeze my eyes shut and cringe, disgusted and embarrassed with myself. My head throbs in response and my eyes squeeze shut tighter. I'm such a fucking moron. Who the hell says "fuck buddy" anymore? What am I, 19 or something? No. I'm not. I couldn't think of anything more eloquent to say than that? Seriously?
This fretting over the tiny things is not helping my headache one bit.
________________________________________________________
Sunday. 9:55am. My brother, the moron.
Maybe calling Zac a moron is a little harsh. Maybe even a bit childish. Actually, no, it's not. Not this time.
As my head throbs and pounds and simultaneously nauseates me as I try to slowly move around to get out of my bunk to return my
wife's phone call, Zac is apparently feeling extremely bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and he wastes no time making me aware of it. Forcefully he throws my curtain open and begins shouting incoherently into my ear.
I am in hell. Absolute hell.
Somewhere between his laughing and my agony, the back of my hand meets his nose, purely accidental, I swear, and suddenly there's silence. After the obligatory four-letter-word oratorio that was delivered to me immediately after the strike, that is. I say oratorio because in the midst of his cursing, he hit some notes I didn't even know he could hit and it almost made me creatively excited, except that my head began pounding again and I was back to square one.
________________________________________________________
Sunday. 9:57am. My brother, the hero.
Enter, Ike. Stage left. "What the hell is going on back here?" he says. "Zac, what the hell is wrong with you? What did you do? Are you BLEEDING?"
"I think it might be broken," Zac says, he voice still muffled in his hand as it covers his nose. There isn't an ounce of blood to be seen.
"Stop being dramatic," I say. "I didn't even hit you that hard."
"You hit him?" Ike asks.
Finally I force myself to get out of my bunk. My head feels like a ticking time bomb and I wish it would just finally explode, but I had to do it. I had to attempt to get on my feet. As I'm gaining my balance, I say to Ike, "I'm not saying a damn thing more to anybody until I'm double fisting a heavy narcotic and the strongest cup of coffee I can get my hands on."
"You guys are unbelievable," Ike says, shaking his head.
"What's even more unbelievable is that I'm still alive," I say.
Ike nods toward Zac. "You're as bad as he is."
"Find me drugs and caffeine and I promise I won't be."
A Lortab from someone's prescription bottle and a double espresso later and I finally feel human again. I make a mental note to purchase some over-the-counter sleep aides before the day is out. I WILL sleep tonight. No matter what.
Saturday. 10:00am. Laying in bed.
Check-out is in an hour. I've had little-to-no sleep and check-out is in an hour. Who did this? Who thought of this brutal idea? Do these hotels not realize how many people have hangovers or hardly get any sleep? If you reserve a night, it should be until the next night. Not eleven in the damn morning.
Tonight's show is going to suck ass. I know it. Zac probably knows it. There's no sense in denying it. There's a walk at three. I should probably get out of the bed. We should probably already be heading to the venue.
Which reminds me: Why haven't Ike or Zac been pounding on my door already?
I lay there for another several minutes, not ready to move. I figured maybe once I had HER, I'd be done with the whole thing. The chase would be over and I could move on with my life. Except that last night had been the most thrilling thing I had ever done. Add the fact that she's engaged onto it...
Last night, or this morning, rather, I tossed and turned in a restless sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about her relationship with her
fiancée. I still couldn't wrap my head around the idea of an open relationship. How does a couple just go off and do whatever they want and then just meet back up in the middle like nothing ever happened? Where's the jealousy? The resentment? The distrust?
Why don't I feel guilty about having sex with her yet?
Maybe I'm kinda into the whole open relationship thing? I try to imagine my wife with another man. Who's to say she hasn't been already? Except the thought infuriates me in more ways than one. I'm infuriated by the idea of her with another man, yet I'm infuriated with myself for not feeling guilty for my own dishonesty.
Why doesn't this bother me? Why am I counting down the imaginary time until I get to have HER again? What does this say about me? What does this mean?
__________________________________________________
Sunday. 2:02am. Bunk.
And we're back to the small, dark bunk again. I kinda missed it, if I may be honest. My own little private cocoon where I can be alone
and spy on whoever I want wherever I want and nobody will know about it but me. Sometimes privacy is the biggest luxury there is.
I can't believe my eyes are still open, honestly. Tonight was probably the most horrible show we've done so far on this tour. I'm not sure if the fans noticed or not. They probably did but they seemed to have fun anyway. I hate when we have an off-night. It feels like we've cheated the fans. It was my fault and I know it. I have to start getting more sleep.
Except that I'm laying here with my cell phone in my hand, lighting up my bunk. I open up the app and scroll the wall. Since it's been so long since she's been active, I figure she HAS to be back in the game.
And she is. I smile, regardless of the fact that she's posting about her new engagement and every fan on the wall is gushing over the picture of the ring she posted. It is a nice ring. I could have done better.
Goddammit.
Shaking the thought out of my head, I stare at the post full of replies. Do I do it? Do I slip in and post? Is it too soon? If I start doing it too much, people will notice I'm singling her out. Do I really care, though? Yeah, I guess I kinda do. I don't want people getting the
wrong idea. Even though in this case the wrong idea is actually the truth. Wow, how often does that happen?
I do it anyway. The post is from two hours ago so maybe most of these people, including HER, aren't on anymore. "Congrats," I say. Short, sweet, impersonal. And then I wait.
______________________________________________
Sunday. 2:34am. Eyes closed.
I don't even realize I've dozed off until the alert on my phone wakes me up. My eyes snap wide open and I find my phone still in my hand. I expect a notification from the app, but imagine my surprise when it turns out to be a text message. From HER. "What are you doing?"
"I think I was sleeping," I text back.
"No, I mean on the app. I see you creeping. :) "
"Correction. You SAW me creeping. Now I'm sleeping."
"Want me to stop texting you?"
"No."
"Are you going to fall asleep on me?"
"I'm awake now."
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For waking you up."
"You're so weird."
"Takes one to know one."
"I guess you got me there."
"Are you upset?"
"At what?"
"My engagement."
I sigh and put my phone down so that I can rub my eyes. I don't know the answer to her question. Am I upset? Am I disappointed? Do I have a right to be either of those? I mean, I'm married. I'd be kind of a douche if I told her the engagement bothered me and then went home to my wife. Maybe it's better this way. Maybe if she isn't legally a free woman, life would be a little easier. I
wouldn't be the only one sneaking around.
Except that they have an open relationship. Suddenly the thought of her fiancée fucking another woman sickens me. I'm not sure why. I just can't think of anyone who would want to cheat on her, whether they had an agreement or not. Not saying that my wife deserves it, either...
Damn, I really gotta stop seeing both sides of the equation, here, to save what's left of my sanity.
I text back, "I'm not upset."
"Are you sure?"
"We're just having fun, right?"
"Yeah..."
"What? What does that mean?"
"Nothing. Just you're right, we're having fun."
"Are you having fun?"
"Of course I am. I always have fun."
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing, why?"
"You're acting weird."
"How do you know how I'm acting?"
"I'm texting you, aren't I?"
"Text is the keyword here."
"So what's wrong?"
"Nothing, like I said."
"You're lying."
"We can't fall in love with each other."
"That was random. Why do you keep saying that?"
"Just thought I'd remind you."
"Remind me? Or yourself?"
"I gotta go."
Shit! Why can't I just stop while I'm ahead sometimes? I text back, "You don't have to go. I'm sorry. I was forward. And maybe a little wrong in saying that."
"I really do have to go. I have an early day tomorrow. I have to pick him up from the airport."
"How long is he home for?"
"Until he gets called out again."
"Is this conversation because you don't know when you'll talk to me next?"
"I don't know. It's not like that."
"Isn't it?"
"What do you want?"
"In regards to what?"
"Anything. Everything."
"That's a loaded question."
"I know."
Shit! What is her deal tonight? She seems more inquisitive than usual. More emotional. Actually, this is probably the most emotion I've seen out of her since we met and it's over a damn text message. Surely she's not...she can't be developing feelings. Not NOW. If she is, it's impeccable timing.
"I want to know you," I text back.
"Why?"
"Why not?"
"That's not part of the plan."
"I wasn't aware there was a plan."
"I try not to get to know my sexual escapades."
"That's all I am to you? A sexual escapade?"
"Like you're complaining."
"Maybe not. But I still want to know you."
"Well...you ARE the first one who's ever actually internet stalked me. BEFORE sex, that is."
"I put a lot of work into that. A lot of time and effort."
"Didn't it get you what you wanted?"
"It got me what I didn't expect."
"And that's not enough for you?"
"I don't think it is."
"Look, remember what I said. I gotta go."
"Don't shy away from this."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I gotta go."
"Fine. But don't ignore the second part of 'fuck buddy.' "
"Now who's the weird one?"
"Go to sleep."
I put down the phone and close my eyes. As if the sex isn't enough to think about already, this conversation happens. She's right. We shouldn't fall in love with each other. I don't see any reason why we would. I DO want to get to know her, but I'm far from any
emotional attachment to her. I think. But yet here she is--I think she might be developing feelings she didn't expect to have. Or maybe--is it a woman thing? To women, is it hard to differentiate between a simple crush and emotional feelings? I mean, I have a crush on her, sure. But do I have an emotional attachment to her? Absolutely not.
I don't.
Right?
_____________________________________________
Sunday. 9:46am. Head pounding.
I lay in my bunk and open my eyes from, yet, another night of restless sleep. My head is killing me. The bus has stopped. I need caffeine, yet I can't bear to move because all my head does is throb. I HAVE to start getting more sleep. I just have to. I can't keep
functioning like this.
I fish my cell phone from underneath me and see a missed call from my wife. Let's just keep adding to the pressure, shall we? Actually, that's really not fair. She's innocent here. I love her. And I miss her. I honestly, really, do. Like I've said before, the road can get lonely. And my wife? Well, she doesn't know that I watch. She doesn't know what I wait. She doesn't know that I depend on--well, on someone else. I finally feel a twinge of guilt for the first time since I started following HER online. I almost appreciate it. It lets me know that I'm still human. That I'm not a complete and total monster. Yet.
The twinge of guilt is gone in mere seconds. That's all it takes. I'm not losing any sleep over guilt. And if I am, then it's something that's buried deep in my subconscious somewhere. No, I'm losing continuous sleep because of HER. Because I spend all my free time in my own head trying to figure her out. I haven't really had anything to go on until recently. And even that little sliver of information I have about her still tells me nothing. It's driving me insane. I mean, she's absolutely right. We're just having fun. Why would we even need to get to know each other? Why would we need to make it more complicated? Why would we want to?
Why does she fascinate the hell out of me and simply "having fun" isn't doing it for me anymore?
I review the conversation from last night that I forgot to delete. I usually try to delete all that stuff as soon as the conversation ends. I don't need my phone falling into someone else's hands. I look at one of the last things I said to her. I used the term "fuck buddy." I squeeze my eyes shut and cringe, disgusted and embarrassed with myself. My head throbs in response and my eyes squeeze shut tighter. I'm such a fucking moron. Who the hell says "fuck buddy" anymore? What am I, 19 or something? No. I'm not. I couldn't think of anything more eloquent to say than that? Seriously?
This fretting over the tiny things is not helping my headache one bit.
________________________________________________________
Sunday. 9:55am. My brother, the moron.
Maybe calling Zac a moron is a little harsh. Maybe even a bit childish. Actually, no, it's not. Not this time.
As my head throbs and pounds and simultaneously nauseates me as I try to slowly move around to get out of my bunk to return my
wife's phone call, Zac is apparently feeling extremely bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and he wastes no time making me aware of it. Forcefully he throws my curtain open and begins shouting incoherently into my ear.
I am in hell. Absolute hell.
Somewhere between his laughing and my agony, the back of my hand meets his nose, purely accidental, I swear, and suddenly there's silence. After the obligatory four-letter-word oratorio that was delivered to me immediately after the strike, that is. I say oratorio because in the midst of his cursing, he hit some notes I didn't even know he could hit and it almost made me creatively excited, except that my head began pounding again and I was back to square one.
________________________________________________________
Sunday. 9:57am. My brother, the hero.
Enter, Ike. Stage left. "What the hell is going on back here?" he says. "Zac, what the hell is wrong with you? What did you do? Are you BLEEDING?"
"I think it might be broken," Zac says, he voice still muffled in his hand as it covers his nose. There isn't an ounce of blood to be seen.
"Stop being dramatic," I say. "I didn't even hit you that hard."
"You hit him?" Ike asks.
Finally I force myself to get out of my bunk. My head feels like a ticking time bomb and I wish it would just finally explode, but I had to do it. I had to attempt to get on my feet. As I'm gaining my balance, I say to Ike, "I'm not saying a damn thing more to anybody until I'm double fisting a heavy narcotic and the strongest cup of coffee I can get my hands on."
"You guys are unbelievable," Ike says, shaking his head.
"What's even more unbelievable is that I'm still alive," I say.
Ike nods toward Zac. "You're as bad as he is."
"Find me drugs and caffeine and I promise I won't be."
A Lortab from someone's prescription bottle and a double espresso later and I finally feel human again. I make a mental note to purchase some over-the-counter sleep aides before the day is out. I WILL sleep tonight. No matter what.