Twenty-five
Sadie
The tour starts off amazing, and we spend the first month getting to know one another better, making love any chance we get and laughing every day. No one can make me laugh the way Ben does. I still have six weeks before I have to get back and start my internship, but that time seems like it’s going to pass faster than I want. Ben performs every other night, getting better and better and never slowing down. Even though they’re playing the same set, it still seems new and exciting to me every time I watch it.
Ben has agreed to do therapy twice a week, but without me. He says it’s a part of him he isn’t ready to share. I’ll admit, that hurts. How are the most difficult and complex times in his life something he doesn’t want to let me in on? I want to be his friend, not just his wife and lover.
Nick and I are becoming extremely close, bonding over our shared love of cheese fries and terrible action movies. And he is my saving grace on Ben’s low days. I’m not a big fan of the parties the band goes to after each show, so Nick tends to come sit with me on the bus while Ben has fun, and we watch the best of the worst action movies. Some nights, we stay in hotels—the nights when we have time between shows and don’t need to be on the road as soon as the show ends.
The band has been very welcoming and is trying to be a little less crude around me. They have been cutting back on the perverted jokes, they’ve stopped talking about girls they hooked up with in the past, and they aren’t bringing random women back to the bus.
The band didn’t need to change because of me, and I feel guilty because they have. I may be more reserved, but I don’t expect everyone to live the way I live. Hell, I married Ben, and he drinks, parties, has the foulest mouth, and also uses drugs—and I still love him more and more each day.
I will never force anyone to be just a version of me and my lifestyle.
* * *
“That fucker called again!” Ben yells from the back of the bus. He comes barreling through the bunks to where Nick and I are playing cards.
“What happened?” I ask, standing along with Nick.
“Sperm donor called again; I asked you to make that stop. Get me a new fucking number, Nick!” Ben throws open the door and storms out.
“Shit,” Nick mutters, running his hands through his hair. He moves, attempting to go after Ben, but I shake my head.
“Let me. Work on getting the new number. I don’t want him calling Ben anymore.”
Nick nods, and I rush out the door of the bus. The sun is glaring: it’s a hot day in Pennsylvania. I shield my eyes with my hands and watch Ben storming toward the two large metal doors that shield our bus and the trailers that haul the band’s equipment.
“Ben! Wait! No!” I hurry now, running as fast as I can. I catch him right as his hand touches the handle, security following behind him. I push past them and place my hand on Ben’s shoulder.
“Hey! No, please, there are fans out there lined up for tonight, and God knows how many photographers. Please, Ben.” I am grasping, hoping it is enough.
It is. He stops.
Thank God.
“Ben, no!” I watch him lift his arm up and back, his fist in a tight ball, ready to hit the metal door. I am fast enough to jump in front of him, but my arm hits the metal, and I wince. “Ow!” I cry out, but I don’t focus on it for more than a second.
“Sadie, stop, you just fucking hurt yourself!” Ben hollers, and I shake my head. I don’t care.
“So? You almost did too. Let’s go back inside. We’ll talk, and you can call Dr. Davinah.” I place my hands on his abs and rub soothing circles on them, eventually lifting the material to place my skin against his. He closes his eyes tightly, and I look at both guards. I nod and mouth for them to give us a minute. They walk away from us, and finally it’s me and my husband alone.
“Look at me, Ben. Come on, look at me.” I need him to look into my eyes. I need to see him.
Slowly, he does as I ask.
“Are you okay?”
He shakes his head. “No. Why does he keep calling me? Why!” I jolt slightly as his voice rises.
“I don’t know. I told Nick to work on changing the number. Let’s go in, and we will focus on you, Ben. Nothing else.” I cup his cheek.
“Is your arm okay?” His voice is low.
“Yes, I’m fine. I will be even better when we are inside. Okay?”
“Okay.” He leads, and I follow. Releasing the breath I was holding, I thank God he didn’t go out there.
I wish I could fix these times. That I could bottle up the pain, the rage, and the trauma and throw it into oblivion. There are days I even wish that it could be me who carries his burdens. Nothing prepares you to watch the man you love fight himself any chance he gets, all to make it through each day, desperately trying to survive.
* * *
Ben calms down before the show, but after is a different story. We are traveling to Massachusetts, and Ben has been up with Nick and the boys the entire time, the life of the party—but this time he is overdoing it. Usually, he can find a balance, but tonight he isn’t his normal self. I remove myself and head to the back room.
A little while later, I’m sitting in bed, reading my book, when he comes stumbling into the room, laughing.
“Baby! Babe! What are you . . . you doing?” he slurs as he plops down on the bed next to me. I smell the heavy stench of alcohol coming from his breath.
“Ben, you’re drunk. Why don’t you get some rest? Tomorrow is a busy day.”
“Pfft, I am not drunk.” He laughs and attempts to look me dead in the eyes but fails miserably, going cross-eyed.
“Okay, yeah you are. It’s time you go to bed and sleep this off.” I close my book and go to stand, but I’m stopped before I can even get up. Grabbing my arm, he pulls me to him and slams his mouth sloppily against mine. I pull away instantly; the taste of his alcohol is overwhelming. I hate the bitter taste of beer.
“You’re drunk. I’m not doing that when you can’t even look at me straight,” I tell him. Standing, I move to the foot of the bed to remove his shoes.
“God, you’re such a prude. You could just say you don’t want to fuck.” He laughs, and I cease moving. Did he honestly say that to me?
“Excuse me?” This isn’t the first time he has gotten high and drank too much, but it’s the first time he has said something mean to me. Since when did he resort to name-calling and demeaning comments?
“Come on, you want to sit here with your nose in your book and avoid sex.” I remove my hands from him and back away as if he stung me. He didn’t need to say that. Regardless of whether he’s drunk or not, it was still mean, and I refuse to be on the receiving end of his insults.
“I’m sleeping in the bunks. Get some rest.” He blows me off and flips onto his front to fall asleep. This Ben is someone I don’t know, and seeing it tonight has turned me off mentally, physically, and emotionally. I honestly hope this will all turn out be a dream and I’ll wake up with him back to his normal self.
What am I supposed to say now? How do I bounce back? Sure, he’s drunk, but that came from somewhere. Is that really what he thinks? Am I a prude? Is sex with me mediocre and lackluster? I’m starting to spiral now. I close the curtain of the bunk and curl into a ball on my side. My hand rests over my heart; it aches in there, like it was ripped from my chest. I cry enough that it physically knocks me out.
* * *
I wake up to the sound of Ben in the bus bathroom losing all the contents of his stomach from the night before. I debate going in to help him, but the memory of last night comes back. It’s still too fresh, and I don’t know what to say. I climb out of the bunk and go to the front of the bus to grab a water and start some coffee.
I hear him brush his teeth then drag his feet through the bus. Everyone else is asleep, and our bus is already at the new venue. We must have arrived sometime early this morning. Checking the clock, I see it’s nearing eight. Ben doesn’t say a word to me and vice versa. He plops down at the breakfast table in the small kitchen area.
I place the water and some ibuprofen in front of him, but he doesn’t even look up at me. His head stays in his hands. His hair’s a mess, and you can smell the hangover. He takes the pills as I pour myself some coffee, and finally he peers up at me. I can feel his eyes searching me, waiting for me to speak first. But I have nothing to say.
“I didn’t mean what I said.” He breaks through the silence.
“I’m sure. I’m going to shower.” With that, I head toward the back of the bus, ignoring him calling after me. Nights like last night make me wish this were one of the times we stopped at a hotel so I could get another room or go somewhere with more space. Create some distance between us. Stepping into the small bathroom with the world’s tiniest shower, I climb in and try to enjoy the slow-running water. It’s not much, but it’s a moment away from the crazy cluster that this tour has become.
Maybe we’ve spent too much time together, and we aren’t used to it. We’ve only been together for a couple months; this could be one of the pitfalls of falling in love and getting married faster than the time it takes to break a habit.
I’m bending down to grab my loofah out of my shower caddy when the door opens. Hurriedly I cover myself, embarrassed, assuming one of the boys has walked in on me naked as the day I was born.
“It’s me.” I look over my shoulder as Ben comes into the small space, shutting the door and closing us in.
“Ben, I’m almost done, give me a minute.” I hurry and lather up my body, wanting to keep distance between us. The building tension feels like it will spill over any minute and lead to an even bigger fight.
I’m starting to rinse when his chest touches my back. I turn, and he’s standing there naked. I don’t know what to do or how to react when he’s this close to me with his sad, sorry eyes—I almost want to give in.
“I fucked up and got way too shit-faced last night. You didn’t deserve me calling you a prude.”
“I guess I’m a prude compared to the women you slept with before me. Sorry I’m not up to par.” I turn again and drop my head, regretting what I just said. I don’t want to let him affect me, but I am only human. Not only was what he said hurtful but that word struck a nerve in me. It has me swarming with insecurities. I’ve tried to be the rock star’s wife, tried to be the sexually progressive woman he needs, but I’m still trying to keep my identity.
Who I was before Ben is still important to me. I still want to hide my body from everyone else while wanting to show it off to Ben. I want to be more experienced in the bedroom, but I’m not used to acting like an experienced woman. It feels like he may one day need something that I can’t give, and that breaks me.
The things he said last night shone a light on our issues. For the first time, Ben didn’t make me feel worshipped; he made me feel inadequate.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I was drunk, and I said stupid shit. Please don’t be upset with me.” He grabs my hips, and I back into what little space I have, cutting off physical contact.
“You can’t say something cruel then say you didn’t mean it. It doesn’t make it okay.”
“You’re right. Please, what can I do to make this better?”
“You can figure that out, Ben, but for now let me have some space.” I climb out and grab my towel. Covering myself in my silk robe, I leave him in the shower to think about how much he hurt me.
Once I’m dressed and the guys have left for sound check, I call Kate and vent to her. I need some girl time. As we talk, we sum up my life.
My husband and I are fighting. He won’t let me in on what’s going on with his therapy. And my father still thinks I made a mistake. Maybe . . . maybe he’s right.