Sacrifices Justified by Love

PROLOGUE

*

I loved her.

From the bottom of my heart. With my whole being. Like I might not survive without her, but I had to do what I had to do.

For her.

I just loved her that much.

My own wellness and future didn't matter. She was just that important and the world needed her.

Without me in the picture.

Falling in love with her in the first place started so simply, it's hard to even pinpoint the moment. Like there was no 'aha' relevant event or situation that I can put my finger on which led to what happened back then. We were just in a study group for a college class that was killing us.

A fucking German professor whose accent alone was debilitating, yet his erase-board hieroglyphic instruction didn't follow the $250 book even remotely. Worse was that his quizzes and tests were a black hole step away from his lectures.

So my time spent with her studying was more angst than anything else. At least in the beginning.

One by one, our peers dropped out until our group was just the two of us, Ashley and I.

In September, there had been forty enrolled in the class overall. By November 1st, so many had dropped the class that only six of us were left and it felt like this prick professor was proud of that, maybe even relishing an F for those of us stupid enough to keep gutting it out.

Romantic potential with Ashley? Not possible. The classwork was so difficult, there was no energy or brain cell left other than keeping above water in the bullshit of that class.

At one point, Ashley got so frustrated that she threw her purse across the library against the wall and then her books and notes to the floor before collapsing into her chair while she wept into her hands. Unfair as it sounds, I hated on the entire country of Germany while I rubbed her back to get her through the moment.

After that, the library seemed pointless as a place to study. Her dorm room was not an option, sort of a disgusting cave really, I couldn't believe the way she lived. My apartment was bigger and more comfortable, just slightly cleaner, it became our HQ for study and commiserating. I'd feed us both and then we'd pound our notes and attempt the practice problems I found on the internet.

The defining moment was when I had left my guitar out and she asked me to play, wanting a break from the study.

I played a simple Beatles tune, Mom's favorite, and Ashley sang. Oh, God. That doesn't describe it just right. To say that she just 'sang' doesn't do it justice. Like saying that Spring just brings out some leaves and flowers.

No, the longitudinal wave vibrations that Ashley projected through the air molecules from her vocal cords were... what? Magical. Gifted. Amazing.

The song over, she smiled at me. The weight on her shoulders seemed to have been temporarily forgotten and she almost seemed to be levitating off of my stained and ugly couch. Me, I just looked at her with what surely had to be a goofy expression while I saw her as a goddess.

I knew I was in love, only at that moment I realized I had always loved her. Before I had even met her, like in another lifetime.

Wait. That's just stupid.

Oh, Ashley had that effect on me. And everyone else too. Lightning in a bottle. Here, before me, on my hideous couch, sat greatness. And I suddenly realized I had her alone. I felt like the most gifted person alive.

I tried to communicate that to her but botched my choice of words while I realized my brain had disconnected from my mouth. I just fan-boyed over her the best I could after that.

Part of the problem was that I was still a little frozen in my awe of what I had witnessed. She just smiled at me. With something in her eyes that I can't adequately describe. A sparkle, of some sort? At least that's the way I remember.

What I'll never forget is that she leaned over and kissed me. A quick peck at first. That then somehow became moistened full lips on mine. Evolving into tongues rubbing and surpassing any taste from the greatest of meals I had ever experienced.

She said my name, only like I never heard it before. "Oh, Justin."

My guitar found the floor. I could have cared less, lost in the moment.

We followed it to the floor sometime later. Lips sore, but every tingly bit of my skin in glitchy electrical overhum.

I would later think that she realized the couch was too yucky to get naked on, only I couldn't remember the last time I had borrowed a vacuum and cleaned the carpet.

Our clothes got tossed to unknown territories and she paused.

"I want this. I want you." She breathed. "Please."

*

A GIRLFRIEND OVER GRAD SCHOOL

*

Was that moment in time the greatest moment of my life? Maybe not, but it's pretty close to the top of my memory file. We were exclusive after that, and I wasn't going to look back.

We survived our class. I got a B, she got a C, but after asking around it sounded like only four of us got a passing grade. I was used to acing my classes but felt good about passing the German while Ashley was just glad it was over.

She moved in with me. My life changed from revolving around school to orbiting around her.

There were little things that to others may have seemed big red flags, but I didn't really give a fluff about it. Like in our little kitchen, she was a train wreck. Cleaning up after her, airing out the apartment after she burnt ______ (fill in the blank) was so much work that it was just easier if I cooked and fed her myself. And then she found dresser drawers, a closet, and a hamper such a burden, why not just keep all her clothes and dirty underwear on the floor?

OK, I could live with all that. Especially when she'd push me to the mattress and ride me like a woman would compete in a rodeo barrel event.

Amazing.

I had a smile permanently fixed onto my face for years.

Not to say that our relationship was one dimensional. She was funny, could hold a conversation, and found interesting points of view of the goings on in the world and we would talk for hours and then wonder where the time had gone.

We really didn't get into any fights, not even arguments, really. We were on the same page about everything, or if we weren't, it was so trivial that it wasn't worth arguing over. She did have a funny sense of humor though and picked silly things to turn into fake fights, and I would play along arguing the opposite viewpoint until we were both laughing.

There was this one time though where I shortened her name to 'Ash'. I used that three or four times before she asked me to stop.

"Please don't call me Ash." Her eyes bored into mine when she said it. "When I was a kid, my friends called me that until the other kids changed it to Ash-hole, or Ash-wipe. Now it just reminds me of being teased."

I never called her that again. Ashley it was.

Eventually, she graduated while I kept at it for my masters. To pay the bills, and to get experience, I worked research part time at MedScrip, San Diego.

Ashley beat the street looking for work in her major, going to job fairs and using the school's alumni resources.

Ashley tried. God bless her, she tried. Only there were always issues. I think her longest tenure at any job was four weeks. Harassment, personality conflict, unreasonable expectations, lots of reasons, she just couldn't continue.

I didn't care. I loved her and knew her entire education was forced on her by her parents and that she never liked her major to begin with. She was meant for greater things anyway.

*

GUITAR AND VOCAL CORDS

*

Even before we had graduated, she found us gigs. It started so simply, like with open mic nights. I would play guitar or if the coffee shop or bar had a piano I'd play that while Ashley sang, maybe she'd play guitar too though she wasn't very strong at the instruments. She got better at playing every day, she had a lot of time on her hands to practice.

It didn't matter. Her voice was what drew people in. Like a tractor beam.

We garnered a following which grew strong.

Shit. I say 'we' but have to face the truth. It was her. All her, actually. Cute. She was very, very cute. But her angelic voice was what packed the venue night after night.

Which is what started to wear me down. Yeah, we got a drummer and big-bass player into our mix, but I still had to manage my time around her arranged gigs with school and work.

*

One night while I was watching the news on TV, she inserted herself into my side on the couch. Like she was trying to merge her body with mine, reverse amoebae division, if that makes any sense.

"Hey," I asked, gently pulling on her chin to peer into her eyes. Her trembling chin instantly alarmed me, yet I hid my emotions. "You OK, peanut? You don't look OK. I know that look. You had a bad day. Talk to me, baby."

She tried to look away. "I hate my job."

"Hmm. What happened?"

"It just sucks. That's all." She continued to burrow into me. Hiding her face and working herself under my arm.

"Do I have to punch someone in the face?"

She thought about it and then thought again. "Yes. Um. No."

I almost asked about what happened but thought it wasn't the right moment. I'd later learn it was the garden variety harassment by men that just seemed to follow her everywhere, and simple jealousy from the women. Given her looks and youthfulness, no surprise on either count but I still wanted to punch the one particular dude who, she had said before, that on day one of her new job was constantly leering at her and asking her out.

She looked up at me with tears in the corners of her eyes. "I quit, effective immediately after I walked out the door. Do you hate me?"

We were just scraping by financially, but there was no way I could be mad.

"No, babe. I could never be mad at you. You did the right thing. I never want you to feel like you are trapped in a toxic environment. I'd still like to punch someone."

She semi chuckled and got a slight grin for the first time since she came home, "You've never punched anyone in your life. And you have to keep your hands in tip-top shape for playing music."

I held her a little tighter, and she further burrowed into me. Then I detected her weeping. All I knew what to do was to hold her and wish I could remove her burden.

*

I'd graduated and got a permanent gig at MedScrip. It paid well and I loved what I was doing. Research for the greater good, both mankind and the animal kingdom though I felt both were interrelated.

I'd come home at night and Ashley would either be watching TV or singing to herself. Either was fine with me, it was better than her burning our apartment down from the kitchen or working at a job that made her cry every night.

I even started thinking about babies. She'd make beautiful ones, as long as her DNA stepped up over mine, and I wouldn't at all mind a stay-at-home mom. I felt I grew taller in that the idea of domestivity was now a goal I could really get behind.

That was where we suddenly diverged. She was hell bent on making our music top notch and focused her energy on that. Doing well at it, by the way, and getting better at it month over month.

Next thing I knew we were performing more weeknights than ever, and it was exhausting. Weekends were one thing, but coming home from work on a Wednesday, for example, and having to play until midnight, then breaking down the band equipment, not getting under the sheets until 2 AM with the alarm waking me before 6 was not easy. It wasn't a problem for Ashley, she could sleep until noon or whenever.

A couple years went by and we were playing bigger and bigger rooms. I kept it mostly to myself but complained about it out loud a little more frequently. Ashley, though sympathetic, promised we were going to make it big, that I shouldn't worry and tried to make it up to me in other ways.

I don't want to sound like I was completely miserable. Just being near Ashley was incredible and I loved every moment. We would talk for hours and solve the world's problems together. I tried to learn a new joke every day and she'd laugh expressively, and laugh with a harmonic that was as heartwarming as her singing.

I hesitate to say it, but she made our alone times super special even without verbally communicating. Whether she was taking my cock into her mouth, which she seemed to go at with gusto and without complaint, or her affinity to find an untried position to get us both off at. I made a sincere effort to ensure we both got a cookie and worked to ensure she was just as satisfied. I worked at artistry with my tongue on her clitty which she clearly enjoyed given her body language response. Ha. Work? You call that work?! Even vanilla missionary sex was fun. The quickies were memorable too. Whatever, I just wanted to affirm that our carnal activities were just awesome.

She was just awesome.

And I knew I couldn't keep her.

Fuck!

*

A CLEAN BREAK

*

Wait.

What?

Clean?

That's bullshit.

When the defining moment happened, I knew. Even before she did.

Merely a mile from our home in San Diego, she was professionally discovered in Cliffside BBQ House. After playing a complete set, this slimy guy approached her afterwards and offered her a professional recording.

Without me, or our drummer and bass, of course.

Once home, alone, we sat up all night, talking about it, from every different angle. It was clear, she had to bite.

We agreed that he was slimy. But the money, the potential, exposure, well, damn.

I want to say it was the money that made it all happen. Looking back, not really. It was the music. She had to get it out into the world.

I was naive. She was focused.

At first, it worked out between us. Her schedule was almost fully booked from then on, only without any room in her appointment app for me. We were increasingly becoming long distant lovers.

She missed me. For that, I was sure. I surely missed her, and for that I know she was fully aware.

The occasions we were together were bereft of the quality we enjoyed for the years leading up to that point. From the moment she would come home, I could see a doomsday clock, ticking off the brief time we had before she would be off again. For her, she would be a ball of anxiety that seemed to grow as our time together dwindled down. She knew how I felt and she knew that she would soon be out the door. It was almost painful to watch.

We reached a tipping point. I had never lied to her, but knew I had to. It was the best thing I could do for her.

"Ashley," I started, putting my best thespianism into practice. "There's someone else. I don't love you anymore."

At first, she laughed at me in disbelief. I kept my face stoic.

"Shut up. Goofball." She replied, though somewhat shaky.

"I mean it, I don't love you anymore."

I'll leave it at that, without description of the following 90 minutes of ugly. Maybe the worst moments of my life.

I pushed her away metaphorically while her snot, tears and everything else that goes with extreme duress were sometimes projectiles.

Then I found a friend's couch to sleep on, his wife complaining for weeks about the stains from my tears.

*

A LIFE ALONE

*

She called and I wouldn't pick up.

For days.

It was for the best.

Right?

Yes.

Right.

And I was right. She became an international sensation almost overnight without me.

I wasn't proud of what I had done though I was a little proud of the songs she used without my permission that we had written together, some charting at the top for weeks. She could have them, she deserved them, and I at least had some validation that for a window of time, we were good together and made something to be proud of. Though none of that could keep me warm at night.

Long, lonely weeks followed.

Not sure when she ultimately moved permanently to Los Angeles before all that, but I re-occupied the apartment. The ghost of Ashley singing (or even humming) this-tune-or-that eventually faded, leaving a crushing quiet. I finally found a new apartment, one that came without memories.

I used the engagement ring that she had left behind on the kitchen counter as the security deposit, first and second month's rent for my new place.

She still called, persistent even, but I wouldn't pick any of them up. Then they gradually lost their frequency while my heart shriveled up into a piece of burnt coal.

Would it have been better if I had never known her? No. The days I had gotten to spend with her were my greatest heartbeats of all time.

*

CAUGHT IN THE BLAST ZONE

*

Before we broke, my parents had adored her. She was Mom's 'second daughter' and future producer of her grandchildren. Dad had warned me to not 'fuck this up' before I did just that.

After we had ended, our friends, no, her friends, wouldn't talk to me anymore. I was persona non grata. Even my sister officially renamed me 'dumbass'.

Couldn't anyone get it?! I did it for her. Like a bird, she needed to be free, and a bird can't fly with dead weight shackled to her ankles.

While Ashley soared, her trajectory ever growing upwards, nobody would let me forget (as if I could). I tried to ignore it. Move on. Only my inbox always seemed to be filled with links and attachments from family and 'friends', though I had usually already read it. I don't even want to talk about when she packed the Hollywood Bowl, breaking the internet with pirated snippets of her performance on YouTube. That was well rubbed in my face like it was punishment for me rejecting her, for months.

At work, my former relationship with Ashley sort of turned into more of a legend. In direct proportion to her popularity growth, at times, my reputation spiraled in the opposite direction. I could hear my sister's 'dumbass' moniker ringing in my ears at meetings or around the water cooler at work as my co-workers would look at me, disappointment emoted clearly in their facial expressions.

Mike, my work friend that had zero filter after five o'clock where we'd occasionally meet at the local brewery, would often say, "I can't believe you put your pecker in that." Others literally just wouldn't have believed I ever had if I told them. Not that I had ever once brought up my, um, pecker.

Of course, there were some that had seen us play live, before she was famous. My boss, for one, he and his wife were regulars at a certain downtown venue, and back then he repaid me by giving me less grief the mornings after a late show.

It did actually impress some of the women I worked with and I had a sizable stable of offers. Some of which were of a naughty nature, one even downright explicit. All of that being unable to turn me on. Mike had said that sleeping with Ashley's ex turned into something of a challenge amongst my female peers, and I ignored that kind of attention.

My love life would be just shit. Why even bother?

Oh well. I liked my job and I put all of my energy into that, my research actually doing some good in the world. My family came around and forgave me. I made new friends that I left unaware of my history, by design. I was a pedestrian sort of mortal once again.

*

It was a few years after the break and her career had really caught on, gaining momentum at an accelerated clip. She did an interview on some late night variety show which I rarely ever watched but her interview had been advertised heavily and had enough publicity that something told me I should.

The first thing to note is how her appearance had changed. Even her first album cover photo had made me notice that. She went from cute, to gorgeous. No plastic surgery or something like that, but the hair, makeup, wardrobe, maybe a dermatologist, I don't know how to put it, but it really worked for her. She looked just great.

The interview started with questions about her music of late and how her sound had evolved. I could have answered that for her. I knew. Her first album featured the songs we had written together, only they were (slightly) overproduced and not exactly as we used to play them. Her next couple of albums were mixed bags of leftover scabs we had written, cover songs, and old standards. Then she started writing her own music and, well, they were mostly simple but moody crooners of sadness and heartbreak.