39. Catastrophize – Stella
When I wake the next morning, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. I’m a bit hungover, and for a moment, I think that splitting a bottle of champagne was probably not the best idea we’ve had, especially since I’ve been the one asking him to drink a bit less, but it was a special occasion.
We got married!
I shift a bit, doing a total body scan to see how I feel, and I’m pleased when the only real discomfort is a slight headache and an ache in my wrist. Last night, right after we got married, we went down to a tattoo shop, where I got my first tattoo. A small heart is on the wrist of my left hand, and the letter R is inside of the heart. Riggs got a star for Stella in the same place, a star I can just barely see from where he’s curled up on the bed.
He looks so fucking handsome, peacefully sleeping, his hair a mess, his face soft and boyish, and I start to tear up for a moment like the sap I am, thinking about how I get to wake up to him for the rest of my life.
All of my dreams are coming true.
We can now travel the world together, write songs, and be together. I can sit at the wings of the stage and watch him play and live out his dreams. I’ll write music for Atlas Oaks and other bands who have already started to reach out to me about ghostwriting. Eventually, we’ll start a family, and we’ll bring our kids on the road with us and have our home base in Ashford. We’ll take them to our spot in the woods and show them where we fell in love.
Love songs start twining through my mind, and I wonder how long we have until soundcheck if it’s enough time to get Riggs’ guitar and start playing around with a new song.
My giddiness must be contagious because slowly, I watch Riggs start to stir, and I reach up, brushing his hair back from his face. When his eyes open, his greens out of focus, I whisper, “Good morning, husband,” with what I know is a goofy smile.
He blinks again, one, twice, three times, then smiles a bit wonky.
“Husband, huh?” He asks, slowly sitting up and leaning against the headboard, pulling me in close.
“Well, yeah,” I say with a small laugh.
Riggs presses his lips to my hair. “One day, soon. Once tour is over,” he says.
And suddenly, my bright, golden morning has a rain cloud.
“What?” I asked, hoping I heard him wrong.
He speaks into my hair, oblivious to the panic coursing through me. “You know I can’t wait to marry you, but we’re going to do it right when it finally happens.” The world spins as he pulls back and sits up. I watch him stretch, but the confusion and nausea that hits me has nothing to do with the champagne. “What happened last night?” he asks, looking around the room. With the words, my gut drops to my feet.
“What?”
“What happened? How’d we get here?” He looks around the bridal suite of the hotel he insisted we stay in last night to celebrate, and I think I’m going to vomit.
“I don’t… we… You don’t remember last night?” I ask, and he stares at me, slowly blinking as the pieces come together. I close my eyes and breathe deeply before asking my question. “Were you… were you drunk last night?” Suddenly, he looks nervous. Anxious, even. He tips his head, giving me a boyish smile that usually works at easing my concerns.
“Just a little,” he says.
“Just a little? You don’t forget an entire night after just a little bit of drinking. When did you start drinking, Riggins? Where was I? I would remember you drinking enough to black out.”
“Come on, Stell. Don’t be like that.”
Don’t be like that.
Don’t be like that.
He doesn’t remember last night.
He doesn’t remember getting married. Doesn’t know it happened. The ring he slid onto my finger feels heavy and hot, just like the tears burning behind my eyes.
He was drunk.
Was it my fault?I ordered the champagne. It was my idea. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m the one who’s been asking him to slow it down, and there I was, asking him to do the exact opposite.
But I didn’t black out, and my tolerance is obviously lower than his.
He leans over to the bedside table and grabs his phone, completely immune to the panic I’m feeling. “Fuck, the guys texted. I’m late for sound check.” He stands, looking around and pulling on his jeans. “You good here?” I stare, feeling my heart breaking with an understanding of what happened and uncertainty about what to do next. I nod weakly, and he looks around his brow furrowing.
“Hey, hey,” he says, moving to where I’m now sitting in the bed and pulling me into his arms. “I’m sorry, okay? I just had a few drinks. We had a good night, I just got carried away, yeah?” I roll my lips into my mouth and bite down, nodding. “We’ll talk tonight, okay? We’ll go straight to the room after the show and talk.” I nod again, and he pulls back. The look in his eyes is conflicted like he knows he has to go but is scared to leave me like this. I shake my head and sniff.
“It’s fine, Riggs. Go. We’ll talk later.” Another moment passes before I hear his phone buzz again. Probably Reed calling to tell him to get his shit together, and he sighs, pressing his lips to my forehead.
“Love you, little star.”
“I love you, Riggs,” I whisper, and then he’s gone, leaving me to stew in my panic.
“Hey, babe, what’s up?” my sister asks, picking up on the third ring. There’s laughter in the background, and I’m pretty sure she’s with her friends or in her dorm with her roommate. Normally, I’d let her go, let her live her life, but right now….
I don’t know who to talk to. I’m lost and I’m scared and I just need my sister.
“Evie,” I whisper, and I know with that one word, she knows. It’s that twin bond, or maybe it’s just that she knows me so well. Or maybe the word comes out as broken as I feel.
“Stella,” she says, then the sound of a door clicking and silence fills the line. “Stella, what’s wrong?”
“I did something so, so stupid,” I say, my throat closing, panic filling me with admitting that.
Why didn’t I tell him?
Why didn’t I tell him what happened last night, that we got married, and he clearly was too fucked up to remember?
I know the answer, of course—I was too embarrassed, I was too hurt. But also, I think, in a way, I was protecting him, knowing that it would kill him if he knew he’d forgotten something so important if he knew he hurt me.
Every moment between now and then is making it harder to tell him, knowing I waited.
“What’s wrong, Stella, what happened?”
Her concern is what breaks me, what pushes the painful lump in my throat to start to breakdown into tears, then uncontrollable sobs as I curl up on the bed I woke up in this morning.
The bridal suite.
God, how fucking stupid was I?
“Stell, you’re scaring me,” my sister says as I continue to sob, as it all comes out, the pain and the anguish of what happened, of the truth.
I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself, to make it so words can actually leave my lips, before I speak.
“I… we’re in Vegas,” I say, something she already knows. “The guys all went gambling and drinking, but I couldn’t, obviously, so we just…” I pause and look at the ring on my finger, the one he slid on last night, something we picked out in a random jeweler store on the strip.
A wedding band with tiny diamond stars dotted across.
“Stars for my little star,” he’d said before kissing my hair and asking if there was a thicker version for him. There was, but it didn’t fit so we kept the box with the too big ring he took off almost immediately after the little chapel ceremony, so he wouldn’t lose it in my purse.
God, god, god, I’m so stupid.
“We wandered around. We had fun, it was like… normal. Jesus, Evie.” I take a deep breath before confessing. “We got married.” Silence fills the line.
“I’m sorry; what did you just say?” Her words are stilted and nervous.
Wait until she finds out it only gets worse.
“We got married. We got tattoos,” I say, croaking out the words, staring at my wrist, directly under my ring finger, a heart with the letter R in it. His heart on my sleeve. Riggins got a star in the same spot. “We had champagne to celebrate.” I take a fortifying breath before the next words. “It’s all my fault.”
“What’s your fault?” she asks gently. With the pain in her words, the lump in my throat returns, and I reach for a water bottle, trying to wash it down. I play with the bottle in my hands, watching the water sway with the motion of my hands before I speak.
“I don’t know what to do. He doesn’t remember anything from yesterday.”
“What?” she asks, stunned.
“That’s why I called. Shit, Eve, I don’t care about marrying him. I’d do it a million times. But he doesn’t remember it. He woke up and acted like nothing happened. He just left for a sound check.” She’s quiet again, my logical twin thinking through options and words.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. He has a show tonight, and I didn’t… I don’t know. I froze.”
“You need to talk to him,” my sister says, her words firm. “If he’s drinking still and hiding it… that’s not good,” she says.
“He’s not…” I start, panic racing through me at something I hadn’t even considered. “He’s not hiding anything. We just split two bottles of champagne and…”
“Stella, that wouldn’t make him black out,” she says gently. I ignore it. My mind isn’t ready to process something like that.
“I just… I feel lost. I don’t know what to do. I love him—” Her sharp words interrupt.
“Is that enough, Stella? I love him, and I love him for you, but in a situation like this, is love enough?” I don’t ask her to clarify, instead pausing and thinking about her words.
Is love enough? Is the love I feel for Riggins enough to survive this?
Yes,I tell myself instantly, knowing it’s the truth. Yes.
“Yes,” I say, feeling the word deeply and into my soul. “It’s everything else… he’s worth it. I crack the cap of the water bottle and bring it to my lips as if I need to wash down the words, but I sputter and cough as I take a sip, moving it back to look at the label.
It’s the same water brand that we keep on the bus in the tiny kitchenette.
Except that is not water.
It’s vodka.
“Oh my god,” I whisper.
“Stella?” my sister asks, but I’m barely listening as I put the bottle down and then start digging through his bags.
Three more water bottles.
I open each, smelling the same Vodka smell. I feel sick to my stomach, then move to the trash, finding more water bottles. Two smell like nothing, but one…. One empty bottle smells like vodka.
Evie was right.
“I’m coming home,” I say, my voice cracking as I fight tears once more. I start moving things, tucking my clothes into my bag and Riggings’ things into his. I’ll have to stop by the bus to get the rest of my stuff anyway, so I’ll drop his off when I do. I hope no one is there to stop me or ask me to stay.
Because I need to get away.
He can call me later and talk, but I need space.
And my sister.