Carmela + Amos

Chapter 7 - Carmela

Dear Diary,

            There isn't much that surprises me these days. Perhaps being married to Rodrigo jaded me? I'm the first to admit how naive I was going into the union. Yet, the deeper we got into it, the more I realized I hardly knew him. Which is the opposite, right? As time goes on, most people learn every inch of that person. They can tell by certain facial expressions what their significant other is thinking. Or finish sentences because they're in tune with their partner's needs.

But the man who proposed to me was not the same man I married.

I learned this the day I walked in on him doing coke in the bathroom.

A few weeks into the tour, we stayed in a cheap motel before heading to the next city for the next gig. It was a scorching afternoon that shorts and a tank top couldn't even remedy, so I went to the pool to dip my feet. The hotel was overrun with bands from the tour, their significant others, and groupies. Someone had the bbq grill going with hot dogs and the meaty aroma of burgers wafting in the air. Others played volleyball in the pool, the women in bright bikinis.

"Carmela, get in!" Melody splashed me.

She was the blonde side-piece of the lead singer from another band and had buddied up to me. As a newly married woman, I didn't respect her for interfering with someone else's marriage, but I didn't have friends on tour, so I tried my best to be kind.

"I don't have a towel."

"Then go get one, silly!" She splashed me again. "And get that cute butt in here."

"Alright, just give me a minute."

Peeling myself away from the hot edge of the pool, I jogged up the concrete stairs, my flip-flops slapping the stone steps. Our room was on the second level, and we shared walls with the other musicians, so it was always loud. Marijuana smoke lingered in open doorways with bluesy guitar notes and boisterous laughter spilling out as I made my way. When I got to our room, several band members sat, smoking and playing cards. They nodded a quick greeting as I navigated around towers of empty beer cans.

"Where's Rodrigo?" I asked.

"Taking a piss." One of the drummers pointed, a spliff between his fingers.

I pushed into the bathroom without knocking but saw Rodrigo bent over the vanity, his nose vacuuming white powder. He glanced up, the fluorescent light fixture above him flickering shadows under his eyes as they grew wide. I didn't even have time to say something before he slammed the door in my face.

Blood rushed from my head to my toes in an avalanche as I stood there, hands flexing at my sides—trying to understand if I actually saw what I saw.

"What's the matter, sweetheart? Honeymoon over?" David, the drummer, laughed.

Clenching my jaw, I turned slowly and glared. "Fuck off."

"Oh, Rodrigo's 'sweet thing' has some bite."

Outrage rolled across my face in a heatwave, but instead of confronting Rodrigo, I left the room with my middle finger waving at David. I returned to the pool and slumped onto the concrete with a thud. The sting of the sun-soaked ground didn't even register until I dipped my feet in the pool again and felt the temperature difference. The surrounding noises faded as I stared at my reflection in the water. Each time I wiggled my toes, it created ripples that shimmered across the surface before breaking against the splashing volleyball players.

I felt like those ripples.

"You alright, honey?" Melody called out, but her words were lost in my churning thoughts.