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.

In the month I spent with Rodrigo before getting married, I never saw him do drugs. Drink? Yes. Smoke? Sure. But hard drugs? Never. The door slamming in my face was a clear sign I wasn't supposed to know about his habit. But how long did he plan on hiding it, and what else was he capable of concealing from me?

I felt like I'd been sitting there for ages when I noticed someone standing over me.

"Only dipping your feet?"

Glancing up, I squinted against the bright afternoon sun but recognized Ben's tall silhouette. It caught me by surprise when I found out he was the bassist in Rodrigo's band. The night of the concert was the last time I saw him until the morning we all squeezed into the van for the summer tour. He kept a safe distance over the weeks but often watched me from across the room.

So why was he approaching me after ignoring me for so long?

"I'm not in the mood to swim," I answered.

"No? It's a nice day for it," he said, removing his shoes and socks.

"What are you doing?"

"Same thing you are." He plopped down next to me, his thigh grazing mine as he submerged his feet.

We sat there in silence—his hands curling over the lip of the pool, causing his triceps to bulge as he stared into the water. Sun glinted off the shades sitting on his short unstyled mohawk, and my gaze wandered up the rolled sleeves of his black shirt. It exposed more of the ink trailing up his arms as I traced the pattern with a sneaky sideways stare. Ben was gorgeous.

But he knew that.

So far on the road trip, girls were all over him before and after each gig, including Melody. He was a walking, talking, tattooed dream with his skyrise height, green eyes, and slim muscular build, so I couldn't blame them for wanting his attention. However, I never saw him disappear with any of them. Instead, he'd sit or stand in the corner of whatever hotel room after party and observe.

"So how come you're out here alone? Where's your husband?"

"Upstairs."

"Honeymoon phase over?" he grunted.

"No." I cut him a sideways glare. "Do you have a problem with us being married?"

"Why would I?"

"Because of the way you said, husband. As if the word is shit stuck to your shoe."

"Why did you marry him?"

"Because I love him." I shrugged.

"That's a lame reason."

"For you, maybe!"

"Lots of people fall in love, Carmela." His green eyes flashed to mine—piercing them, so I looked away. "They don't go marrying that person after a month. What do you even know about Rodrigo?"

Nothing. Because the man I married didn't snort coke in bathrooms or slam doors in my face.

"You're young," Ben continued. "But he's twenty-five and lives a crazy life, so you're riding for a fall with him. I don't want to see you get hurt."

The gentle touch of his knuckles brushing my cheek in a caress prompted me to flicker my eyes to him. It was the first time he had touched me since the night of the concert, and my gaze drifted to his mouth—remembering how tender his kisses had been. How different it was compared to Rodrigo. Maybe even his lovemaking too? With Rodrigo, it always felt rushed, rough. The night we got married, he was so eager to finally get his hands on me. We were barely through the hotel door, and he practically tore my clothes off, his mouth and hands exploring hungrily. Being desired in that manner was exhilarating, but now, his wham-bam style felt one-sided.

It wasn't right to compare my husband to someone else, yet I couldn't help but wonder if Ben would hide things from me too? Furrowing my brows, I shrugged away from his touch and glanced back at the water.

"Do you do coke?" I asked.

"What?"

"Coke. Do you do it?"

"I've tried it, but it's not my thing. Plus, it's a nasty habit. Why?"

"Because I saw Rodrigo doing it in the bathroom, and he shut the door in my face."

"I see." Ben nodded. "Was that the first time you've seen him do it?"

"Yes." I swallowed and cleared my throat. "It's not a regular thing for him, right?"

Ben opened, then closed his mouth before returning his attention to the water. Ripples spread across the surface as he shifted his feet, the small waves lapping against my ankles. He sighed but answered, "Rodrigo does more than just coke. He drinks. A lot. And does heavy shit."

"Then how come I've never seen it."

"Addicts are good at hiding their habits."

"But he wouldn't lie to me."

"Carmela, he already has." Ben stared at me, but this time with pity creasing the edges of his eyes as if I was a gullible child. I needed people to stop looking at me that way. "Pay closer attention next time. Look at his hands. They're always trembling. It's because he's trying so hard not to drink like a fish in front of you. He's trying so hard to look good for his sweet thing."

The way Ben said Rodrigo's nickname made me want to scrape it from my skin. Despite the blazing sun burning my shoulders into a deeper hue, I shivered.

"Listen," he continued. "I'm not trying to scare you. I just want you to know that eventually, Rodrigo will tire of hiding his true self from you, and when you see underneath his mask, you won't like it."

Like a moron, I replied, "People can change. Maybe with me, Rodrigo will be different."

"I hope you're right, but we both know he won't. Deep down, you know he won't because he wouldn't be hiding in a bathroom doing blow if he had any intention to change."

The slap of flip-flops against the pavement drew our attention towards the left, where Rodrigo approached—his lanky frame in board shorts and a muscle tee with aviator sunglasses flashing in the sun. He walked with such confidence—his posture as straight as a two-by-four and chin held high like a man entering a royal court.

"What's going on, my sweet thing?" He bent and planted a kiss on my lips—one that felt like he was branding me—reminding Ben who I belonged to.

"Chatting," I said against his mouth, nudging his chest and pulling away.

"I see..." His brown eyes drifted to Ben, the whites webbed in crimson. "And what are you doing?"

"Just enjoying the day, like everyone else." Ben motioned to the people splashing about.

"Looks like you're doing more than that, Benny."

"Relax." He stepped out of the water and gathered his shoes. "She's all yours."

"She's my wife. Of course, she's all mine," Rodrigo snarled, his shoulder bumping Ben's chest as he walked past.

"I'm aware."

"Yeah, well, don't forget it."

It's funny how a moment can change everything. Before seeing him doing coke in the bathroom, I would have found his jealousy endearing. It would have made me feel special—him claiming me as his. But now, I bristled at his words. As if it locked a chain around my ankles, enslaving me to him. A possession. A role I couldn't escape.

"Feel like having Mexican food tonight?" Rodrigo crouched down next to me and tilted my chin upwards. The nonchalance in his tone was an acrid taste in my mouth, so I shifted away from his touch. He narrowed his red-rimmed eyes. "What's your problem?"

"Seriously? Are you really going to pretend I didn't see you doing coke in the bathroom?"

"You're imagining things."

"No. I'm not, Rodrigo! I saw you."

"Baby..." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "That was bathroom cleaner. I accidentally spilled it on the vanity."

"Do you really think I'm that stupid?" I growled. "Don't lie to me. I know what I saw!"

His throat bobbed with a swallow as he studied the people around us, and there was something in his eyes as he opened and closed his mouth. It was as if his thoughts were at war with each other—fighting to deny, deny, or tell me the truth.

"Please," I begged, taking his hand. "Don't lie to me."

A stream of cigarette-scented breath escaped his mouth in a deep sigh. He glanced at our hands, his fingers toying with the cheap gold band around my ring finger. Bringing my knuckles to his mouth, he kissed the metal, his eyes closing.

"I don't do it often," he whispered, but with the surrounding disturbance, I almost didn't hear him. "It's a bad habit, and I'm embarrassed you saw me doing it."

"Will you stop?"

"I won't touch it again."

"Promise?"

"Yes." He nodded.

"And you won't lie to me again?"

"Never." He looked up at me. "I love you."

My stomach twisted with skepticism, but my heart fluttered with hope. Two feelings, warring with each other, and like the inexperienced girl I was, I believed him. I had to believe him because I'd already turned my back on everyone else.

But as the saying goes, trust your gut.

I wish I had.