FedEx Ground

September, 23rd

For all the glittering of the Miami nightlife, the darkness seemed infinite. Lang pressed her back up against the side of the bus, as away from the bright lights of the venue as she could be. For a moment, she stared down at the toes of her Dr Martens which she was starting to lose sight of as the days went by.

"Lang?"

She snapped her head up as Stefan rounded the front of the bus. She didn't say anything and went back to staring at the ground.

"You okay?" he asked, coming closer.

"Yeah, I just need a few minutes," she answered softly, looking over at him.

He nodded and extended his arm, holding her phone out to her. Lang glanced at it, then back at him. She frowned, but without saying anything, took it from him. He returned the sad look before turning away. Once he was out of sight, Lang pressed the home button and lit up her phone.

One missed call. Sebastián. Lang crossed one arm over her belly, propping her elbow and pressed the heel of her palm into the bridge of her nose. She didn't want to call him. Drawing in a breath, she closed her eyes and debated for a silent moment. But what if he had called about something important? He probably would have tried harder to get in touch with her. Unless he was only able to call once. She'd worry all night and not get any sleep unless she found out what he wanted.

She sighed angrily and dropped her arms so she could look at the phone again. She dialed and waited.

"Hey," he said when he answered.

"You called." She didn't bother with pretending to sound happy. "Is Anneke okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine."

It was then that Lang realized she could hear her voice in the background. With her fears put to rest, she said, "Good night, Sebastian."

"Lang, wait," he said quickly, trying to keep her on the line.

"What?" she snapped.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"So? That doesn't change anything."

"I don't know what else to say to you." He sounded desperate. Lang didn't care.

"How about nothing?" she snapped again, raising her voice, "You fucked up, Sebastian, and so help you God..."

"Lang, you're being unreasonable. It was one night. Anneke is fine." Was he pleading?

She grit her teeth and resisted the urge to angrily laugh at him. "Sometimes, you can be a stupid fuck," she said, "If you can't see why I'm so angry, then I'm done talking to you and I don't want to hear from you until you figure it out."

His turn to sigh in frustration and she could tell he was trying to keep from yelling back, "Just help me out, here, huh? Please."

She was silent, listening to the song in the background start over again and for a moment, she wondered whose benefit it was really playing for. "Sebastian," she growled, "I asked you not to bring your junkie friend--that same friend who sexually assaulted me--into our home while Anneke was there. And just the fact that he assaulted me used to matter to you. But instead of turning him away, you went against my wishes. Yes, you brought Anneke to your sisters on Saturday, but that doesn't matter. The fact is you chose him over us. You may as well have chosen heroin over your family because it's the same damn thing. That's all he's good for. You've done it before and I'm sure you'll do it again." She drew in a shuddering breath and wiped her cheek with her free hand.

"Lang, I didn't do it just to make you angry."

"Right. Because you're such a nice guy, helping out a buddy who was down on his luck." She drew in a breath. "He didn't need to be there!" she shouted. “He makes my skin crawl and you thought it would be okay because I'm not home?”

"Lang--"

"And if you want to go play with the big kids at the label, be my guest. Because what I say has no meaning for you and you only decided not to because you feel obligated out of some sense of passive-aggressive duty to us. It has nothing to do with actually trying to stay clean."

She pushed off the side of the bus and started pacing. "Hell, if you want to go get high, and I know you do, you may as well because who cares, right? Nothing matters to you! I've never really mattered to you! I've only ever just been a pretty distraction to keep your fingers entertained."

The words spilled from her lips as she realized exactly what she was admitting to herself. She pulled the phone away from her ear and covered her face with her hands, sobbing into her palms. "Oh God..." On the edge of her attention, she could hear Seb's voice, sounding far away. There was so much wrong with their relationship.

"Lang? Babe, talk to me."

She didn't hear Stefan coming back over, didn't see him, not until he was taking the phone from her.

"Seb, I think it's best if you don't call again, okay, man?" Stefan said into the phone as he wrapped an arm around Lang's shoulders. Tucking the phone into his back pocket, Lang turned into him and buried her face in his throat.

“What do I do?” she mumbled around sobs.

“You get some sleep and you take care of you,” he said, hugging her a little bit tighter.

Seb finished drying his hair, dropping the damp towel into the hamper before stepping into the bedroom. From her place on the bed, Lang looked over at him, watching him move around the room.

With Anneke at her mother’s for the weekend, Lang had decided to take the last few hours of her time off to relax as much as possible. She had traded AC for a fan, enjoying the soft breeze on her bare skin as she laid on her back in just her underwear. Today was about being as comfortable as possible. She turned her book over onto her bare stomach to mark her place.

He still had his back to her as he fiddled in his dresser and she studied the tattoo, one large piece that spread across his shoulders and down the curve of his spine. From this vantage point, it was easy to forget last summer. No evidence anything had happened.

He tugged on a pair of boxers and turned around. Now she remembered last summer. His shorts hung low on his hips and she could see good portions of the scars from all the surgeries. She frowned and shook off the memories as she stuck her bookmark in the book and moved it to the night stand.

“There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to go,” she said, holding a hand out to him.

“Not sure I believe that,” he said as he crawled onto the bed beside her, laying on his stomach. He folded his arms and rested his chin on her knee.

( Read more... )

July, 24th

From the darkness behind the stage curtains, she could hear the crowd. They had checked out the earlier acts and checked out the crowd, but it sounded like it had grown since then. And grown a lot. Lang wasn't prone to stage fright for whatever reason; Juilliard had taught her how to handle performing in front of people. But this feeling, this was different, right? She wasn't nervous, or was she?

Ugh, she thought as she fidgeted and turned her back to the crowd. She hadn't heard her husband come up behind her. She visibly jumped when he startled her.

“Jesus Christ,” she said.

“Sorry. I thought you heard me,” he answered.

“I was listening to them,” she said, nodding her head to the crowd.

Seb moved his guitar so it draped down his back and rubbed a hand over her shoulder, “How you feelin’?”

“I can't do this,” she said, shaking her head quickly.

“Yes you can,” he answered without missing a beat. “It's the same as all the others. How many times have you done this now?”

“I lost count.”

"Exactly,” he said.

“I'm going to throw up,” she said, closing her eyes.

“No you won't,” he answered.

She opened her eyes again but didn't say anything.

“Well, okay maybe. But seriously, you have nothing to worry about. These people are here to see you.”

“I know! And if I don't meet their expectations—“

Seb cut her off, "Stop. The fastest way to let them down is to doubt yourself. You can do this in your sleep. And I bet you haven't been paying attention to all he amazing things people are saying about you. These people, people who actually have interest and experience and some validity to what they're saying, are so impressed with you.”

He took a breath and continued, “I bet you don't even realize anymore just how fucking high you can sing. You have three octaves, Lang, okay? And there are so many girls who are using words like ‘Queen of Metal’, ‘Goddess’, ‘epic’. They love you. They just want you to go out there and give the best you can and if the best you've got is only 75%, that's okay. Because they still get to see you. They don't care about the rest of us. You, this mom from New York, who fucking sings metal for fucks sake in a language that’s not her first.”

"Yeah, but—“

He leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers, cutting her off with soft words, “No buts.”

She was silent, eyes closed, breathing him in. It reminded her of that day in January when he’d met them in Denver. She’d called him in tears the night before because she’d left out an entire verse of that song that is still plaguing her. When she had seen him for the first time that night, she’d felt all the anxiety and fear drain out of her. He’d stood in the wings and watched with his hands in his pockets and a look of pride on his face. His support is all she needed that night and any night.

He kept his tone soft still, this moment was only the two of them; there was no one else in the world. “And if you don't believe me, which I know you don't, then remember how you got here, babe. Rick Rubin isn't fooled; he knows what he hears. He knows you are incredibly talented and something insanely special.”

Pulling back so she could look at him without going cross eyed, Lang said “Did you see the rest of what they’re saying about me?”

“Yeah, I saw. But Lang, you have to accept that you can’t please everyone no matter how well you do. Some people are just not going to like your style. And you know what? Those idiots don’t matter. Rick Fucking Rubin was so enamored with you, all you had to do was say ‘yes’. I had nothing to do with it and because I know you’re thinking it, I did not twist his arm.”

His words were helping. She was actually feeling like maybe she could give the last show all she had left and do it with her chin up. She had been waiting for this show for so long, not just because tomorrow she’d be sleeping in her own bed, but because of all the things she wants to tell the fans. Plus that extra surprise that’s forcing her hand earlier than planned.

So why was that voice in the back of her head still worrying about how she holds up against AJ? Because AJ has everything she has and a ton more. She cast her eyes to the ground but couldn’t see her shoes through all the layers of floof in her dress. She was glad it had a high waist. She’ll feel a little better when she has access to the rest of the clothes in her closet and could pick and choose things that fit a little better.

“Lang…” Seb said gently.

She looked up again but didn’t say anything.

“Stop comparing yourself to AJ,” he said. It’s not really mind reading when someone has known a person as long as he’s known her. “That’s like trying to compare bananas and kiwis.”

Lang raised both eyebrows, “Oh really? I want to see where you go with this.

“Uh…all I mean is that they couldn’t be any more different. I buy bananas because I like bananas; I buy kiwis because I like kiwis. I don’t buy a kiwi expecting it to taste like a banana.”

She just looked at him with an eyebrow still up and an amused smirk on her face.

"Or maybe I should compare lead and feathers? My point is, Lang, is that you’re nothing like her and she’s nothing like you. Who cares if she’s younger?”

The amusement in her eyes was gone, replaced with that gray cloud that seemed to have settled in her head somewhere over the last two weeks. “But you’re not denying she’s thinner. You know she’s taller than me, right?”

Seb let go of the neck of his guitar so he could put a hand on either side of her head. “Okay, stop. You are absolutely gorgeous and I have never stopped thinking that in all the years we’ve known each other. And that has nothing to do with your value as a human being and you know that.”

“I do know that, but it’s so much easier said than done,” she said, taking one of his hands in hers.

“Stop thinking about AJ. She is who she is and you are who you are. She’s not better than you, just different. I wish I had all day to drill that into you, but you know what, I’d rather hear you sing. And so would all of Atlantic City.”

She decided to let the talk about AJ drop. There were other issues she’d brought up the other day that needed a real conversation in the quiet of their own home and nothing was going to get resolved in the dark of a stage, crammed into the few minutes before a performance.

“Ugh,” she said, echoing her thoughts from earlier, “Can’t I just…not and go sleep instead?

He shook his head as he brought the guitar back up, “One more and then you can sleep for three days straight if you want. I’ll take the kidlet and she and I will disappear somewhere and we’ll leave the Mother of Metal alone.”

She smiled, “Deal.”

Plucking his pick from between the strings on the head of his guitar, he picked a few bars of Summertime Sadness. The sound of the strings was barely audible over the outside noise without an amp, but it didn’t matter when he sang over it, “Nothing scares me anymore.”

He stepped around her and she took his place. It was time for him to go, but Lang had 30 seconds to kiss her husband. “Kiss me hard before you go,” she sang, filling in the next line of the song.

He quickly stepped in to kiss her, hard. “Te amo, mi esposa,” he whispered before taking off so he wouldn’t miss his cue.

Lang stood there, eyes closed, listening to the crowd go nuts as her guys took up their places. The intro started up and she pulled her focus inward, away from all the negative thoughts and all the thoughts about AJ. One more show. She could do it. She’s living her dreams.

She focused on the opening chords, on the notes she knows are Seb’s. She counts and waits and thinks about how Rick Rubin thought she was worth it.

July 18th

A string of Dutch curses he’d never heard before momentarily stopped Seb in his tracks on his way to the back of the bus. He briefly reconsidered his decision to go find his wife. But with a mental shrug and a here goes nothing, he continued down the hall.

“Lang?”

“What?” she snapped, turning around to face him. He was suddenly so glad they were the only two on the bus.

“Uh,” he stalled. They weren’t late for anything, at least not yet. But they did need to get moving. “How’s it going?” he finally asked.

“How does it look like it’s going?” she snapped again. She was half dressed in black leather pants and a loose, cream colored dolman sleeve top was hanging on a cabinet door behind her.

Seb gave her a confused look over. “That’s a trick question, isn’t it?”

She didn’t answer, just glared at him.

“Seriously, Lang, I don’t see a problem.” When she turned her back to him to grab the shirt off the hanger, he added, “Well, now I see a problem.”

She spun around, pitching the balled up shirt at his face, “You are such a pig sometimes!”

He easily caught her shirt and draped it over his shoulder with a sigh. Taking a couple steps towards her, he said, “I didn’t mean that.”

“You did,” she said, but there was less venom in her tone.

He put his hands on her shoulders and met her eyes, “You look fine.”

Slipping out from under his hands and pulling her shirt from his shoulder, she said, “I look like a broken can of dough.”

“Biscuits?”

“Whatever!” She was back to yelling at him again and all he could do was sigh.

“Lang. You look fine. I think it’s all in your head.”

She froze in the middle of finding the top of her shirt. Seb immediately knew he’d said the wrong thing and desperately wished he could take it back. For an unbearable moment, she said nothing, biting her lip, staring down at her hands and the shirt in them.

Without looking up at him, she said, “Sebastián, I can’t button my pants.”

He remembered that tone, the one that made her words sound like pieces of cold steel. He hadn’t heard it in a while, not since the year before, when she’d told him he wasn’t welcome at home until he cleaned up.

He had no idea how to respond to that.

Angrily, she pulled her shirt over her head. “I look fat.”

“You’re pregnant.”

It was her turn to close the distance between them and she fixed him with a stare. “So? Nobody knows besides you and them,” she waved an arm to the side, indicating the rest of the band outside.

“And nobody is going to notice,” he said gently, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Really, Seb? Have you not been paying attention? Do you not listen to anything I say or read anything I write?” She really, really felt like punching him and ground her teeth together to quell the urge. There was basically one right answer and she didn’t have faith that he’d give it to her. In fact, she was hoping he wouldn’t just so she’d feel validated in hitting him.

But she didn’t have the patience to wait for him to come up with an answer. “It has been an uphill battle every god damn day for the last two and a half years,” she snarled and took a step forward, forcing him to step back.

“While you were getting high, I had people telling me daily to lose 5 pounds, 10 pounds, and I had nobody to back me up.” She took another step forward and he took one more back, but he could see the tears welling up in her eyes. “And when you disappeared, it was only because your sister begged me to that I ate every day.”

She stood there, stock still, looking him in the eyes, drained of emotional energy, and just willing herself to stay strong. But that’s when the tears broke—big, ugly tears. “I need you,” she sobbed, “or I am not going to make it through this in one piece.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, finally feeling like he could reach out to her without getting his arm broken. He gathered her into a hug, her wet cheeks pressed against his neck. “And I’m not going to say anything until you tell me to, but maybe we tell people sooner than we’d planned.”

She pulled back so she could see him, but there was no need to voice her concerns. “Lang, for every person saying negative things about you, there are five more who will support you, especially if something happens.”

She took a breath and nodded, stepping back. Turning around, she pulled one of her belts out of a cabinet and fed it through the belt loops on her pants. She did up the buckle over the open button before pulling her shirt down. Looking up at him, she asked, “Are we late yet?”

He just shook his head.

“Then, just…give me a minute.”

Seb continued to look at her, not saying anything.

“Stop worrying. I’m okay. I only need a minute,” she said, holding a hand out to him.

He gave her hand a quick squeeze and nodded before turning away.