interlude.

I was being chased; of this I was undoubtedly sure.  The mystery was who was chasing me, and why.  The ground moved below me, my feet pounding against it in a weird syncopated rhythm that matched my heartbeat.  I was terrified; my pursuer was getting closer.  He was so close I could feel hot breath on the back of my neck—it caused all the hair on my body to stand on end.  My footfall began to soften and slowly disappeared as the asphalt morphed in to a fluffy white cloud.  I was no longer running, and I was beginning to forget what I was running away from. 

A calm settled in, washing warmth and comfort over me.  I felt myself smile as I gazed above me to a white angel descending toward me.  A light glowed around her, and in my mind I heard my mother’s voice speak softly to me, telling me everything would be OK.  As she came closer, I briefly saw my mother’s face before it transformed in to Kristie’s, an evil smile on her lips.  The fear was back instantaneously and I realized it had been her chasing me the whole time. 

She had tricked me.

Her hands reached out toward me, the evil smile twisting in to an ugly grin as her fingers circled around my neck.  I began thrashing, screaming with what little air I had left in my lungs.  As her grip tightened, she whispered in my ear three words:  “Hypocrite! Liar! Cheater!”

I woke, gasping, to find myself sitting up in bed, the palm of my hand pressed against my chest.  My heart was racing, my mind still trying to process the dream I had just had.  I felt a hand on my arm and nearly jumped out of my skin before remembering where I was and whom I was with.  Zac rolled over on to his side to face me; it was too dark in the hotel room to see his face but his voice conveyed that of concern when he spoke.  “Bad dream?”

“More like nightmare,” I remarked, settling back to a lying position.

Zac wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against his chest, stroking my hair. “Wanna tell me about it?” he asked through a yawn.

“No…go back to sleep.  You have a busy day tomorrow.”

“You know, at some point you’re going to have to open up to me.”  He kissed my temple, then snuggled back in to his pillow.

He was right—eventually I’d have to open up to him at least a little.  Otherwise I’d lose him, and I knew it.  I kept the important parts of me hidden away, out of sight and out of mind of not only him and everyone else, but myself as well.  Even if I could admit to myself everything I was thinking and feeling, I wasn’t sure I’d be able or willing to let him in.  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to—he was the first person to ever be able to relate to what I was going through, even if he wasn’t aware of my inner demons, and I felt that should be enough for me to let him in.  Not to mention the fact that he had opened up to me about his battles.  I knew that sharing my fears and troubles with him would lighten the load on my shoulders, and I fought with rationality on a daily basis.

Every time I thought I was coming close to letting him in, I was reminded of one small detail:  Zac was married.

I reflected over the past eight months since we met.  Hanson had toured coast-to-coast, North-to-South, and even made a few international appearances.  Most of the time, Zac and his brothers traveled alone with just each other and their crew.  I remembered at first, I had distanced myself from him, but insistent calls and texts during the times he was alone caught me and twisted me until I could not deny the fact that I wanted—no, needed—to see him.  Then, on occasion, I would act on that desire and make impromptu weekend trips to wherever it was they were playing.  In my mind, even if I didn’t even speak to him, seeing him on stage would have been enough for me.

Being that everyone, even Kate, knew Zac and I were friends, no one really said anything about me showing up to shows within a short drive of Charleston.  These trips allowed me time to get to know Taylor and Isaac, as well as their wives.  Taylor and I bonded over photography, Nikki and I over our love of girly fashion, and, much to my chagrin, I even found Kate and I had a lot in common, aside from her husband.  I began to feel confident and secure.

The first time I showed up to a show Kate was present at, Zac yanked me aside.  Shutting us in the men’s bathroom and locking the door, he lectured me in a whispered yell for ten minutes before pushing me against the wall and kissing me passionately.  We decided it was actually a good thing I had shown up when Kate was around; it was a way to solidify the fact that nothing was going on between us more than just friendly exchange.

From then on, I made a point to show up to a few shows here and there where I knew Kate would also be there.  These were difficult shows to go to, as Zac’s demeanor toward me completely changed.  He in no way treated me poorly or with any disrespect, but he avoided making eye contact last too long, and aside from a hug hello and a hug goodbye, kept his physical distance.  To make matters worse, Kate insisted we hang out while the guys did various interviews, sound check, and other work.  At times, I wondered if she suspected that Zac was cheating on her with me, but it always seemed like it was paranoia on my part.  Kate was always smiling, never overly clingy or protective, and never showed any signs of insecurity.

Sometimes, the kids would be there, too.  Those were times I kept mostly to myself.  I engaged with everyone, but would find the girls too busy with the kids and the guys too busy working to really be involved in anything.  I’d sometimes tag along with the guys and take photos for them, and Zac would steal a kiss in a secluded hallway or back room while no one was looking.  That was always our story—behind closed doors, shielded in darkness.  I would spend the final hours of the night alone in a hotel room, and sleep came on the heels of vodka and tears.

Finally, there was a point where Zac would make excuses to come and see me.  He’d say how he had fallen in love with Charleston and wanted to visit as much as possible, that he wanted to spend some time with his other siblings, so he’d take a week and go to LA to visit Mackenzie, then New York to see Avery, then out to Charleston to see Jessica.  And while he was visiting Jessica, he would sneak out of the spare bedroom of our house and slide in to mine after his sister had fallen asleep, narrowly escaping being caught when he tiptoed back at dawn.

I found the times he was alone with Kate were the hardest.  For a few weeks, I tried to convince myself it didn’t bother me; I had known going in what our relationship would be, and I had decided to move forward with it anyway, despite the consequences.  As the weeks wore on, it became harder to ignore the fact that I was his dirty little secret, so I focused my energy on distractions:  I tried to busy myself with classes, hanging out with Jessica and Randy, and setting up photography sessions.  As the time between talking to him and seeing him got longer I would retreat farther in to myself, and I found I was smoking a lot more, drinking a lot more, and experimenting with random pills a lot more.

Then came times like the end-of-semester dinner the guys took Jessica and I out on.  Times when I could hardly stand to be in my own skin knowing what I was doing, the anger I felt at myself for being angry at the world for a situation I put myself in and the depression that followed.

With a sigh, I rolled over to face the window.  The dim of pre-dawn light was fighting its way through the slits of the blinds, bringing with it the knowledge that soon, I’d have to quietly slink out of his bed and back to my own room, pack up my belongings, and head back to Charleston.  In my place, Kate would arrive later that morning and it would be she who went to bed with him that night.

I wondered what went through his mind on the days he woke up next to me and fell asleep next to her.  Did he feel guilt, and if so, was it she or I he regretted?

 

 

 

 

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