You Are Exactly My Brand of Heroin
Accidents Happen.
I spent the following week under mounds of stress. I'd been forced to hire a wedding planner by Brian's will, which I wasn't particularly satisfied with, and I was suddenly bombarded with thousands of decisions to be made. My dress had arrived only a few days earlier, seeing as I'd had the five thousand dollar material shipped directly to our home nearly six weeks ago. I hadn't told anyone about the dress, not even my friends or my family or Brian, for that matter, because I'd taken the duty of choosing and purchasing the dress upon myself without any unnecessary influences. I had no intention of showing the dress to anyone before the wedding, either. The groomsmen's tuxedos and the bridesmaids' dresses, which had been successfully tailored to fit each man and each woman, had also been delivered to the homes of the members of the wedding party. I had Brian's assistance in choosing a venue, which was settled on as the Orange County Performing Arts Center in Costa Mesa, along with the location of the rehearsal dinner, the photographer, the caterer, including the cake, and the DJ, but I - alone - had to choose the theme of the wedding, although I considered Brian's tastes in doing so. It seems like the entire occasion is slowly but surely piecing itself together, doesn't it? Not in the least.
I was utterly exhausted from planning the wedding, but I couldn't seem to escape the endless calls and e-mails from the new clientele I'd gathered. I was usually awake during all hours of the night, slaving over the piano or an acoustic guitar with a pen clenched between my teeth as I contemplated the most suitable words to fill a gap in a song I'd been asked to write for a rather famous band or singer. I'd already been approached by Marilyn Manson and Lacuna Coil, but I had many more clients to satisfy. I had also been in the studio with the guys. Though they were still currently touring, they planned to enter the studio as soon as their tour ended. They'd been contemplating several new ideas, and they wanted my opinion, my assistance in writing and producing their upcoming album. It was chaotic, to say the least, but it was quite entertaining. Aside from flaunting the role of fiancee, mother-to-be, song writer, and partial wedding planner, I was also, now, proudly displaying the role of model. I'd received several requests to pose for many lines, including Victoria's Secret and Playboy. I politely declined the offer from Hugh Hefner himself due to both mine and Brian's discomfort, but with much support from my fiance, I accepted the offer from Victoria's Secret. The photographs taken during the Schecter shoot had appeared in countless magazines and on numerous websites, which entailed the eventual offer from said magazine and lingerie manufacturer. I'd also managed to find employment with a Los Angeles modeling company, much to Brian's dismay, with Taylor as my agent, but I would, thankfully, be assigned a maternity leave within a few weeks.
In the midst of the chaos and pandemonium I called life, I'd forgotten about taking sufficient care of myself. I was, now, nearing my eighth week, and I was exhausted. When I wasn't working, I was sleeping. When I wasn't sleeping, I was working, allotting little time for showering and eating. I'd definitely been neglecting Brian. I couldn't even count the days on both of my hands since I'd had sex with him, but I couldn't find the strength to so much as suggest that I was in desperate need of a night beneath him. I needed to find a balance, but I seemed to be more suited to all aspects of my life remaining at chaotic stages. I was fortunate to not, currently, have any children, because I could barely care for myself, much less another human being. I could barely care for Brian! I hadn't prepared a meal for my future husband in ages, and I'd scarcely managed to wash, dry, and fold his clothing. I rarely did much more than speak to him. I foresaw marriage and motherhood as an enormous nightmare, but I knew that I'd survive as long as I had Brian. I didn't want to be a horrible wife and mother, but I was an awful fiancee and mother-to-be. I often found myself carrying on long conversations with the fetus growing inside my womb. I knew that I hadn't been heard, but I also knew that I'd receive a response some day very soon. As I did so, I was reminded of all the times that Brian had talked to my growing belly, speaking to my abdomen as though I weren't there. I cherished those moments, because I was rarely so blessed to have any now.
I'd managed to withstand celebrating Johnny's birthday during the previous week, but I wasn't so certain that I could handle celebrating Thanksgiving. I spent the morning writing as many songs as possible before I retired to the bath tub where I remained for another hour as I waited for Brian to awaken. I'd already emptied the fictitious contents of my stomach earlier this morning, and I was very surprised to find that I was losing my voice. I'd developed a migraine, as well, and I was dreading slaving over the stove all day. I'd always liked to cook, but I should've considered my condition before agreeing to holding said celebration in mine and Brian's home. I allowed my anger to settle, realizing that I needn't heighten my blood pressure for the sake of my unborn child. I sighed in relief as I lowered myself deeper into the scorching water, closing my eyes. I could smell his scent and hear the sound of his footsteps as Brian entered. He never offered a greeting before he began to shower. I listened to the sound of the cascading water, imagining Brian's naked body beneath the warm liquid as I bit my lower lip, but I resisted the temptation. He emerged moments afterward, further cleansing his body as he shaved and brushed his teeth before he left.
I finished my bath, dressing in a simple white, ribbed tank top and a pair of black, fleece pants. I dried my hair before I brushed my teeth, bounding down the stairs afterward to begin preparing the Thanksgiving feast. I prepared as much food as possible in the time I'd allotted for cooking, a turkey baking in the oven along with a honey-glazed ham. I was given a list of foods that would be previously prepared and of those that I had to prepare, and I had quite a feat to endure. I settled into a chair at the island in the kitchen, jotting a few lyrics down in a notebook as I heard the door bell ring. I stood from my seat and walked into the foyer, meeting Jimmy's gaze through the glass pane in the door.
"Good morning, Abigail," Jimmy said. I simply nodded with a smile as I allowed him, the remainder of the guys, and their girlfriends, fiancees, and wives inside.
With his hands shoved deep inside his pockets, Johnny asked, "Where's Brian?"
I shrugged. "In the studio, I'd assume." The guys parted ways with the girls and I, bounding up the stairs as I entered the kitchen once again. I returned to my previous activities as the girls stared in confusion.
As she slid into a chair at my side, Val commanded, "Start talking. You look awful, and you look like you feel awful. Something has to be wrong."
"Do you really want to know?" I asked with a sigh. She only nodded. "I am two months pregnant, and I am horribly sick. I have written more songs this week than I've ever written in my entire life, and I have never been so suffocated by so many people at once. I have never stood under so many flashing lights for so long just to be photographed half naked. I am miserable. I haven't had a sophisticated conversation with my fiance in over a week, much less have I had sex with him, and I can't bare to watch him leave like this." I felt tears streaming down my cheeks, but I didn't care. "I just really need to have sex, and I want a drink so badly, but I can't have a drink nor can I have sex, because I'm pregnant, and Brian's busy." By now, I was in a fit of hysterical tears, but I still didn't care. I needed an emotional outlet, but I also needed to be alone, so I bolted. I left the kitchen, running into the foyer to retrieve the keys to the Porsche, but I was met by Brian before I could exit to the garage. He'd emerged from the studio, bounding down the stairs to grab a few beers as I attempted to run past him, but he had strong hands. He always had.
With a puzzled expression, Brian asked, "What's the matter, Abby?"
"I'm fine," I insisted. "I just need to go for a drive. I'm fine. I promise."
He shook his head profusely, his grip on my arm tightening as he neared. "Don't lie. What's going on?" I couldn't find the words to say as I felt the blood in my body cease to flow through my arm. I exchanged glances between Brian and my aching flesh in his hand. He seemed to understand as he released me. I grabbed my keys along with my Coach bag and my BlackBerry before I entered the garage, climbing into my Porsche as quickly as possible. I raised the door and threw the car into reverse, only to be stopped by the sound of Leana's voice. She glared at me through the windshield, her hands resting on the hood of the car.
"Get out of the car, Abby," she demanded. I stared at my white knuckles, my palms clenched around the steering wheel as I shook my head. "I'm going with you, then." I allowed her to slide into the passenger seat at my side, pausing for only a moment to allow her to buckle her seat belt. "Go on," she urged. "Drive." I did as I was told, speeding down the road to an unknown destination. Silence surrounded the both of us, the only audible sound being the rain battering the windshield. My vision blurred due to the tears filling my eyes, my chest aching from the sobs that escaped. I needed to get as far away from Huntington Beach as I possibly could, but as I barreled through a four-way intersection without any concern for the vehicle hurtling toward Leana and I, I knew that I wouldn't get very far.
I was utterly exhausted from planning the wedding, but I couldn't seem to escape the endless calls and e-mails from the new clientele I'd gathered. I was usually awake during all hours of the night, slaving over the piano or an acoustic guitar with a pen clenched between my teeth as I contemplated the most suitable words to fill a gap in a song I'd been asked to write for a rather famous band or singer. I'd already been approached by Marilyn Manson and Lacuna Coil, but I had many more clients to satisfy. I had also been in the studio with the guys. Though they were still currently touring, they planned to enter the studio as soon as their tour ended. They'd been contemplating several new ideas, and they wanted my opinion, my assistance in writing and producing their upcoming album. It was chaotic, to say the least, but it was quite entertaining. Aside from flaunting the role of fiancee, mother-to-be, song writer, and partial wedding planner, I was also, now, proudly displaying the role of model. I'd received several requests to pose for many lines, including Victoria's Secret and Playboy. I politely declined the offer from Hugh Hefner himself due to both mine and Brian's discomfort, but with much support from my fiance, I accepted the offer from Victoria's Secret. The photographs taken during the Schecter shoot had appeared in countless magazines and on numerous websites, which entailed the eventual offer from said magazine and lingerie manufacturer. I'd also managed to find employment with a Los Angeles modeling company, much to Brian's dismay, with Taylor as my agent, but I would, thankfully, be assigned a maternity leave within a few weeks.
In the midst of the chaos and pandemonium I called life, I'd forgotten about taking sufficient care of myself. I was, now, nearing my eighth week, and I was exhausted. When I wasn't working, I was sleeping. When I wasn't sleeping, I was working, allotting little time for showering and eating. I'd definitely been neglecting Brian. I couldn't even count the days on both of my hands since I'd had sex with him, but I couldn't find the strength to so much as suggest that I was in desperate need of a night beneath him. I needed to find a balance, but I seemed to be more suited to all aspects of my life remaining at chaotic stages. I was fortunate to not, currently, have any children, because I could barely care for myself, much less another human being. I could barely care for Brian! I hadn't prepared a meal for my future husband in ages, and I'd scarcely managed to wash, dry, and fold his clothing. I rarely did much more than speak to him. I foresaw marriage and motherhood as an enormous nightmare, but I knew that I'd survive as long as I had Brian. I didn't want to be a horrible wife and mother, but I was an awful fiancee and mother-to-be. I often found myself carrying on long conversations with the fetus growing inside my womb. I knew that I hadn't been heard, but I also knew that I'd receive a response some day very soon. As I did so, I was reminded of all the times that Brian had talked to my growing belly, speaking to my abdomen as though I weren't there. I cherished those moments, because I was rarely so blessed to have any now.
I'd managed to withstand celebrating Johnny's birthday during the previous week, but I wasn't so certain that I could handle celebrating Thanksgiving. I spent the morning writing as many songs as possible before I retired to the bath tub where I remained for another hour as I waited for Brian to awaken. I'd already emptied the fictitious contents of my stomach earlier this morning, and I was very surprised to find that I was losing my voice. I'd developed a migraine, as well, and I was dreading slaving over the stove all day. I'd always liked to cook, but I should've considered my condition before agreeing to holding said celebration in mine and Brian's home. I allowed my anger to settle, realizing that I needn't heighten my blood pressure for the sake of my unborn child. I sighed in relief as I lowered myself deeper into the scorching water, closing my eyes. I could smell his scent and hear the sound of his footsteps as Brian entered. He never offered a greeting before he began to shower. I listened to the sound of the cascading water, imagining Brian's naked body beneath the warm liquid as I bit my lower lip, but I resisted the temptation. He emerged moments afterward, further cleansing his body as he shaved and brushed his teeth before he left.
I finished my bath, dressing in a simple white, ribbed tank top and a pair of black, fleece pants. I dried my hair before I brushed my teeth, bounding down the stairs afterward to begin preparing the Thanksgiving feast. I prepared as much food as possible in the time I'd allotted for cooking, a turkey baking in the oven along with a honey-glazed ham. I was given a list of foods that would be previously prepared and of those that I had to prepare, and I had quite a feat to endure. I settled into a chair at the island in the kitchen, jotting a few lyrics down in a notebook as I heard the door bell ring. I stood from my seat and walked into the foyer, meeting Jimmy's gaze through the glass pane in the door.
"Good morning, Abigail," Jimmy said. I simply nodded with a smile as I allowed him, the remainder of the guys, and their girlfriends, fiancees, and wives inside.
With his hands shoved deep inside his pockets, Johnny asked, "Where's Brian?"
I shrugged. "In the studio, I'd assume." The guys parted ways with the girls and I, bounding up the stairs as I entered the kitchen once again. I returned to my previous activities as the girls stared in confusion.
As she slid into a chair at my side, Val commanded, "Start talking. You look awful, and you look like you feel awful. Something has to be wrong."
"Do you really want to know?" I asked with a sigh. She only nodded. "I am two months pregnant, and I am horribly sick. I have written more songs this week than I've ever written in my entire life, and I have never been so suffocated by so many people at once. I have never stood under so many flashing lights for so long just to be photographed half naked. I am miserable. I haven't had a sophisticated conversation with my fiance in over a week, much less have I had sex with him, and I can't bare to watch him leave like this." I felt tears streaming down my cheeks, but I didn't care. "I just really need to have sex, and I want a drink so badly, but I can't have a drink nor can I have sex, because I'm pregnant, and Brian's busy." By now, I was in a fit of hysterical tears, but I still didn't care. I needed an emotional outlet, but I also needed to be alone, so I bolted. I left the kitchen, running into the foyer to retrieve the keys to the Porsche, but I was met by Brian before I could exit to the garage. He'd emerged from the studio, bounding down the stairs to grab a few beers as I attempted to run past him, but he had strong hands. He always had.
With a puzzled expression, Brian asked, "What's the matter, Abby?"
"I'm fine," I insisted. "I just need to go for a drive. I'm fine. I promise."
He shook his head profusely, his grip on my arm tightening as he neared. "Don't lie. What's going on?" I couldn't find the words to say as I felt the blood in my body cease to flow through my arm. I exchanged glances between Brian and my aching flesh in his hand. He seemed to understand as he released me. I grabbed my keys along with my Coach bag and my BlackBerry before I entered the garage, climbing into my Porsche as quickly as possible. I raised the door and threw the car into reverse, only to be stopped by the sound of Leana's voice. She glared at me through the windshield, her hands resting on the hood of the car.
"Get out of the car, Abby," she demanded. I stared at my white knuckles, my palms clenched around the steering wheel as I shook my head. "I'm going with you, then." I allowed her to slide into the passenger seat at my side, pausing for only a moment to allow her to buckle her seat belt. "Go on," she urged. "Drive." I did as I was told, speeding down the road to an unknown destination. Silence surrounded the both of us, the only audible sound being the rain battering the windshield. My vision blurred due to the tears filling my eyes, my chest aching from the sobs that escaped. I needed to get as far away from Huntington Beach as I possibly could, but as I barreled through a four-way intersection without any concern for the vehicle hurtling toward Leana and I, I knew that I wouldn't get very far.