Dear Diary,

           We were two months into the tour when I walked in on Rodrigo doing coke again. He was backstage warming up with the band, but I was running late and had to catch a ride with Melody in the groupie van. I hated being stuck with them. The women constantly scrutinized me through their compact mirrors while touching up their caked-on makeup when they assumed I wasn't looking. They thought I couldn't hear their whispers over the stereo about how young I was and how it was a waste for Rodrigo to have married me. According to them, his big dick would be missed by many women on tour. They even had the audacity to giggle over memories of hookups with him from previous summers. 

At least Melody never indulged in their conversations. Instead, she'd chat with me. This time, however, she snapped at Aurora, who had spent most of the ride whispering loudly to the other girls about the time she gave Rodrigo a blow job behind the curtains minutes before he went on stage.

"I swear, I beat my record from the last time he blew his load," Aurora snickered, her eyes flashing to me and then back to the girls before adding, "I bet she can't make him come like I can." 

"Aurora, nobody gives a shit about your dried up, herpes-covered mouth!" Melody barked. 

"Excuse me?" Aurora blinked slowly, her hand frozen mid-air with an obnoxious shade of hot-pink lipstick between her fingers. "I have a cold sore. Not herpes."

"Newsflash, you dumb cunt, a cold sore is herpes. Now shut the fuck up."

"Make me."

"Listen, if Rodrigo were so impressed with you polishing his pipe, he would have wifed you, but he didn't. Instead, he wifed Carmela, which means she's a heck of a better fuck than you. Got it? So shut your infested mouth and find another dick to gossip about." 

With that, Aurora's jaw clamped shut, and she shifted in her seat to stare out the window. I had no idea why Melody defended me or why she went out of her way to spend time with me at all, but at that moment, she was the greatest friend I'd ever had.

When I made it backstage, the band was in a separate room with their equipment, running through songs and tuning their gear. Rodrigo, on the other hand, was bent over an amplifier, inhaling white powder.

There was a screech of guitar strings as Ben and another guitarist paused from strumming, creating a wake of silence when I entered the room. I could feel everyone's attention scorching my flesh, waiting for my reaction as I took in the scene.

"Wifey." Rodrigo straightened, wiping the coke from his nose, the crumbs sprinkling onto his Led Zeppelin t-shirt like talcum powder. "You're early."

"No, I'm late."

"Fucking Melody..." he mumbled, his eyes red, but then he held out the rolled dollar bill in his hand. "Want to try?"

"No," I clenched my jaw and stepped back.

"Come on, baby. You'll understand if you try."

"You're a liar!"

"Ah, come on. It's just this once. I'm nervous. This is a big venue, and they're going to keep getting bigger. You know I'm not used to all this extra shit our manager is arranging for us."

"You promised you wouldn't do it again."

"Carmela..." He crossed the room, holding out his arms. "Baby, it's just a little blow. Everyone does it. It's like drinking tea to calm your nerves. It's not a big deal."

"It is to me." I brushed his hands away.

"Come on. Don't be like that," he begged and wrapped his arms around me, kissing my neck.

Over his shoulder, I could see everyone staring at us as if we were some shit-show entertainment for them. David, the drummer, chuckled to himself while spinning the drum sticks between his fingers, but Ben turned away and began plucking the bass strings again.

"How dare you," I whispered in his ear. "How dare you break your promise and make me look like a fool. As if I'm not already a joke around here."

Tears seared my eyes, but I was too embarrassed to let the others see, so I shoved Rodrigo and bolted from the room. Laughter, hysterical laughter pursued me into the corridor crowded with concert-goers and roadies. I was a joke to everyone—a ridiculous girl.

Searching for the exit was impossible as I weaved through everyone, their body heat suffocating me. They were all oblivious to my crisis as they rushed about, excited to see their favorite rock musicians play. It was always dark backstage, with clouds of cigarette smoke clinging to the air. Incense and cheap, fruity body spray invaded my nose with each woman I passed—all of them decked out in their rocker-best of stilettos and mini skirts. And all of them whispering about which band member they'd sleep with after the show.

I needed to get away from them all.

A restroom sign hovered a few feet ahead, so I rushed inside, searched for an open stall, and locked myself in. That's when the embankment of tears flooded over my lids, down my cheeks, and onto my feet as I stood there, my body quivering with each sob. I'd never felt so alone, and it was the first time I wanted to call home, beg my parents to take me back. A few minutes later, I heard Melody's voice.

"Sweetie." She tapped on the stall. "You ok, honey?"

"I'm fine."

"What happened?"

"Nothing," I sniffed.

"Rodrigo asked me to look for you. Did he say something to upset you?"

"He broke his promise," I replied. "He said he wouldn't do coke anymore, but I saw him."

"Oh, sweetie," she sighed. "You're a rock wife now. This is what you signed up for when you married Rodrigo. I know that's not what you want to hear, but it's the nature of the game."

At her lack of empathy, I swung the stall door open, and she stumbled forward, her blue eyes widening.

"What the hell do you know about marriage!?" I barked, mascara running down my cheeks.

"Sweetie." She brushed her blonde bangs aside.

"Stop calling me that!" I stepped forward and pressed my finger into her chest. Her outfit was typical. A shredded white t-shirt showing off her mid-section, no bra, a tiny leather mini-skirt, and fishnets disappearing into knee-high platform boots. She looked like all the other groupies throwing themselves at unavailable musicians. "You sleep with a married man who has a wife and kids at home—"

"Exactly," she cut me off, her hot pink lips forming a tight line as she snatched my finger. "You're supposed to sleep with rock stars, not marry them. Everyone knows that! You can look down your nose at me all you want, but the road is where these guys can be themselves—their true selves. And men are dogs. Complete animals. They want to fuck everything in sight. Not play house. Do you know why? Because once it's over, they go home to their boring spouses and demanding children, where they live a lie until the next tour begins. Your mistake was marrying a rocker and thinking it would be happily ever after on the road. If you're this upset now after seeing him do a little coke, then you're in for a world of disappointment, sweetness. You should have stayed home and waited for his return like a good, oblivious little wife."

I yanked my hand away, her words striking my heart like a cobra. There was nothing I could say. She was the second person to tell me the ugly truth about Rodrigo—how he would get worse. Retracting into the stall, I closed the door, shutting Melody out.

"My advice to you, Carmela," she sighed, her shadow shifting across the black and white bathroom tiles. "Go home, so you don't have to see this side of Rodrigo. Or, embrace this life and have a little fun! You're young. Enjoy this time while you can. Hell, fuck Ben while you're at it. We all know he likes you."

Air rushed into my lungs like shards of glass as I inhaled and braced my palms against the stall. It had to be a joke—a cruel poke at my vulnerable state. Wiggling my hands, I tried shaking off the zip of hummingbirds that fluttered at the thought of Ben having feelings for me. 

Then, the pierce of excitement plummeted when Rodrigo's voice trickled in as the bathroom door squeaked open. 

"Wifey?"

Pressing my face against the stall, I peeked through the gap at Melody's retreating body as she sauntered to him. She was his height in her monstrous platform boots, but his dark waves were longer than her blonde bob. She raised her manicured fingers, the creamy skin of her hand contrasting with his deep tan, and brushed aside some of his hair. 

"Go easy on her," she whispered.

"I treat her like a princess."

"Sure you do, but try being more delicate."

"The road is rough, Melody. You, of all people, know that. This is her life now. She'll adapt."

"And if she doesn't? Not everyone is built for this life."

"You know what, Melody? How about I worry about my wife, and you mind your business," he hissed.

"Then don't make her my business," she whispered. "You married a kid. What did you expect?"

She patted his chest and pressed her hot pink lips on Rodrigo's mouth in a slow kiss. His hand slipped around her waist, squeezing her backside through the cheap leather of her skirt, and I reeled back, uncertain if I saw what I saw. But of course, I did. The real question was, what else was happening between them? I knew Melody's reputation, but I had been under the impression she only messed around with Leo, the lead singer from another band. Pressing my face against the gap in the stall again, I caught the tail end of her pleather boots exiting the bathroom.

"Baby... open up." Rodrigo tapped. This time, I didn't swing the door open. Instead, I opened it a crack and glared at him. 

"I saw you."

"Saw me what?" He narrowed his gaze and folded his arms like a father about to scold their child.

"Kiss Melody." 

"Melody is a whore. Everyone knows that. Besides, we go way back. It's like a sibling kiss. It meant nothing."

"Funny because I've never seen siblings grab each other's asses like that."

"This is a different world, baby. You'll see things you don't like, but I promise you, no matter what happens, I will always be yours."

"What are you telling me?" I opened the door wider. "That I should accept women putting moves on you while my back is turned! Do you even know all the stories I have to hear from groupies who used to sleep with you? It's humiliating." 

"They're all whores." Rodrigo cupped the sides of my face, tilting my head so I had to look him in the eyes. "Those women will never come close to being precious like you, and that's why they talk shit. Ignore them. They're jealous because everyone's head turns when you enter a room. You don't have to dress trashy like them or talk provocatively to be sexy. You're a diamond formed through pressure and heat, and they're cubic zirconias. You're my sweet thing in this dark world. So don't worry about them. I'd never leave you."

He pressed his forehead to mine and wrapped his arms around my waist. Maybe I was being dramatic, and my expectations of marriage to a musician were too high? Rodrigo's world was still so new to me, and if he weren't committed to our relationship, he wouldn't have married me, right? However, there was hidden meaning in his words. Something that told me that even though he would always come home to me, it wouldn't stop him from satisfying his rocker needs. Booze. Fame. Drugs. Women. He'd snatch it because he could.

So maybe Melody was right? What if Ben could become my solace on the road? It didn't have to be physical. We could be friends, and I desperately needed a friend who wasn't a groupie. 

With Rodrigo's forehead pressed to mine, I thought about the kiss I had shared with Ben. How tender it was and his kind, green eyes.

For the following weeks, it was all I could think about.