American Woman: Book 4

Chapter 38

"Jensen calm down. I know he's probably pissed and saying some shit..."
"No!!!" I scream. "He tried to kill me. He's hearing voices and seeing things." I panic.
"What?!! Oh my God Jen. Fuck! What has he done to you?! I should have never suggested you go. You've got to leave..."
"I'm locked in the bedroom and he's at the door yelling to get in..."
"Don't let him in Jen! Tell me what's happened." He demands.
"It started out ok and then he left the room. I should have followed him but I was already mentally exhausted from his back and forth attitude. I guess he went and took something. It made him really horny and violent..."
"Shit!!! It's speed or meth or something. You can't stay..."
"I can't leave! He's right outside the door. He's already tried to basically rape me and choke me...."
"Are you serious?! Jensen, don't move. I'm calling the police..."
"No! Please Lenny don't!" I beg him. "If I leave I'm scared he's going to die...."
"If you stay, you may die! Think about your sweet girls! Don't put yourself in this situation. It's too dangerous sugar."
"They are all I'm thinking about. I can't let their dad kill himself. I'll figure something out. He's stopped pounding on the door and yelling. Listen if you don't hear from me by tomorrow, you can call the police to come check. Ok?"
"I don't like this. I'll never forgive myself if he hurts you..."
"Please Lenny just...If something happens to me, tell the girls how much I love them. More than anything in this world. I'm gonna go."
"Jen, please reconsider! Just let him crash and sneak out."
"Ok, yeah, maybe. I'll call you by tomorrow."
I hang up, giving him no time to respond. As soon as Lenny mentioned it possibly being meth, it sparked a memory from when I was a teenager. One of my close friends, Heather, had an uncle who was a meth head. She used to tell me stories about his psychotic episodes while high on meth. She told me she had eventually learned the best way to not escalate the situation was to just stay extremely calm. To almost pretend to be on their side. She would also say that him and her aunt would have loud sex for hours and hours, sometimes days. Then she wouldn't see him for at least a day or two bc he would crash and burn.
I knew I was about to have to do something that sacrificed my morals and possibly good judgment. But I wanted to stay alive, and in a sick twisted unconditional love kind of way, almost more than I didn't want to be killed, I didn't want his life ruined by murdering me. I was going to have to sacrifice myself to him. Tell him anything he wants to hear, do anything he wants to do. No arguments. At least until this has worn off. I ran and grabbed one of my silk robes from the closet and braced myself to open the bedroom door. At first I thought he was gone but suddenly he jumped out from the side and pushed his way into the bedroom. "You're going to pay for that Jensen." He demands. He walks towards me as I stumble back.
"I'm sorry baby. I got scared. I've calmed down now. Do you want to continue where we left off?" I say, seductively, untying my robe and letting it fall to the floor.
Like nothing had happened, he picked me up and laid me on the bed.
I don't even know how long we had sex. Hours for sure. He would orgasm and then start working on the next one immediately. He needed no down time. He never went limp. Sometimes he would stop and ask if I heard something or saw something and I would just distract him with a kiss or a touch. It was one of the hardest things I had ever done. To have sex with someone that I was afraid of, hated, was appalled by, loved, desired, and adored all at the same time. Anything he said I sided with, no matter how bizarre or inaccurate or maddening. I even apologized profusely when he again accused me of kidnapping his kids. Luckily there wasn't too much talking. He was all over the board with the sex, sometimes aggressive and angry and repulsive but thankfully the violent episodes were gone. Other times, he was sweet and tender and loving and I could remember the husband I loved so dearly. He was sexy and disgusting, gentle and rough, angry and peaceful, high and low, back and forth and all it did was further mess with my mental state about our marriage.
Thank God by mid morning, he finally crashed. First thing I did was call Lenny to let him know I was ok and to check on the girls. He still tried convincing me to leave but I couldn't bring myself to do it.
Prince stayed in a state of virtual unconsciousness for over 24 hours. Enough time for me to somewhat devise a plan of action. I was in such a daze that day after Prince passed out that I didn't think about all the employees showing up for work. Once they laid eyes on my slightly battered appearance, I was the center of unwanted attention by basically the whole staff. I had a bruised and scratched up neck and throat, some marks on my face which also sported a busted lip that even I wasn't sure how or when it happened, and a large bump on the back of my head from when he slammed it on the floor when threatening to snap my neck. Everyone was already at their wits end with him as a person and boss before my return but now they all seemed willing to sacrifice their jobs and friendships with Prince to do the right thing. I gathered from them it had been hell at Paisley since I left. He had created an absolute miserable and unpredictable atmosphere for them to work. One minute he was begging people to arrange for him to go to LA to bring me and the girls home bc he loved us so much and were his world. Sometimes he just wanted to come get the girls and call the cops on me bc I had kidnapped them from him. Other times he was trying to convince everyone I was the love of his life and he needed to go to me with gifts and professions of love and devotion. Then would turn around that same day and persuade them that I was batshit crazy and out to ruin every aspect of his life, personally and professionally. When people would question if he had sent us any money or called to check on the girls he told them I wouldn't allow any of it. But they all knew he was lying and they knew he was in bad shape from his off the wall behavior and his deteriorating appearance. Both of those factors are why nobody even told him when the Grammys awards were being held and they knew he couldn't process things like that long enough to remember. So nobody mentioned it to him to keep him from being seen, but nobody knew what else to do besides keep him out of the public eye. They knew if they tried to help or talk to him about his issues, they would be terminated on the spot. Nobody had quite figured out who his supplier was or what he was taking. They assumed the runner must come in the middle of the night to give him the drugs bc nobody was ever seen at Paisley during working hours.
So all of that to say, in combination with the rage he displayed towards me was enough for everyone to be ready to take action. The women, mainly Maria, Diana, and Amy, since they were who I was closest to, were furious and ready to chop his dick off and throw his ass in jail. The men were ready to beat his ass themselves. I tried to calm everyone down and convince them, and myself, that he had taken something and had a psychotic episode of some sort and I was sure he was hearing and seeing things. That seemed to garner a little sympathy of him, but they were all still ready to pounce and give him a piece of their mind or threaten him. I assured them that would do no good at this point. I needed help from specialists, all kinds of specialists...spiritual, mental, emotional, medical. I knew my original plan of sending everyone away and basically babysitting him wasn't feasible or safe, plus I didn't have the expertise to work someone through withdrawal. I had no idea if making him quit everything cold turkey, which could be an impossible task on its own, would do more harm than good. I needed a medical doctor's, preferably an addiction specialist, advice and guidance. I needed Laura and Brother Gibson for the mountain of other issues. I needed to figure out who the supplier was and cease contact between him and Prince. I needed to find any and all stashes and dispose of them. It all felt overwhelming.
Luckily between Laura and Dr. Thatcher, I got ahold of a very well respected addiction specialist, Dr. Curren, who was willing to guide me through what to do if I could get Prince to agree to it. So basically it was decided by everyone that I be there when Prince wakes from his long slumber and feel him out and hopefully be able to call upon their services to help soon.
So I sat in our bedroom and waited for him to wake up but he didn't that night so I went to sleep, beside him so I would be there when he finally wakes. He finally stirred around mid-day, nearly 36 hours after the sex marathon. When he awoke, he sat up looking stunned to see me. "Jensen? You came back?" He smiled so sweetly and innocently, it was almost hard to remember the monster he had been less than two days before.
"Yes, I'm here. I've come to help you."
"With what baby?" He said, his eyes beginning to scan my face and neck. "What the hell happened to you?! You are all banged up?!"
I had debating on what to tell him if this came up. Should I hide the truth so not to put him on the possible defensive or accuse me of lying? Should I be honest and hope he is clear minded enough with 36 hours with no drugs that he might actually feel some remorse? It was a gamble but I chose the truth. I've always found that the truth is the right option, even when it's not the easiest one. "Um, you got angry and..."
"At the person who did it! Who the fuck hurt you?! I'm gonna kill..."
"Prince, you do this. I came back a couple nights ago. I think you took something and had a psychotic breakdown. You forced sex on me, chocked me, threaten to snap my neck and kill me. You don't remember any of that?!"
He didn't say anything for a long time but he looked dumbfounded. "No, I-I-I wouldn't do that to you. Ever...."
"You did. I think you were hearing voices and seeing things..."
"Yes, I remember the voices!" He said almost in a panic and covered his ears.
"Prince" I say, pulling his hands off the side of his head. "What were the voices saying?"
"I don't really remember, I think stuff like "she's lying. She hates you. Hurt her....oh my god! I did this! Jensen, I'm so sorry..."
I cut him off, not even ready to hear an apology that would probably be short lived. "What were you on? What did you take? Meth?"
"I don't know."
"Listen, no more bullshit. No more hiding and denying stuff. No more lies. Now it's time to be honest. You are going to die. Or kill someone. Think about our girls. You've got to stop this. What did you leave the office and take? Now think." I pressure him.
He furrows his eyebrows in deep concentration. "I really don't remember. I sorta  recall talking to you on the speaker and letting you in, then it gets cloudy. Yes I took something I'll admit. I was thinking I wanted to have sex with you so I looked for something to help me...."
"So what do you have that would make you hypersexual and have delusions?"
"I don't know! Ok?!" He starts to grow agitated.
"Ok, I believe you. Does your dealer bring you meth..."
"I don't have a dealer..."
"Prince! Please! This is what I'm talking about. You've got to be honest. Everyone that's been around you lately knows you're on drugs. The jig is up! It's beyond obvious. Come here." I order, grabbing his hand and guiding him to the full length mirror in the closet. Since he was naked, he would be able to take in his whole body, or what was left of it. "Now take a good look and tell me what you see?"
"I'm naked..."
"How much do you think you weigh?" I reply.
"I don't know. 130ish."
"Well let's go see." I say, hoping actually seeing a concrete number might get through to him a little. "Step on." I demand as we walk up to the scale in the bathroom.
He sighs loudly and steps on slowly. "114?!" He shrieks. "This scale is way off. It would be a woman's dream scale." He chuckled.
"There's nothing wrong with that scale. Watch." I say, lightly pushing him off and getting on. "See? I'm 116."
"You're telling me I weigh less than you?" He says in true shock.
"Yes. And I'm even shorter and a woman. Now turn around and look in the mirror again." I say, spinning him to face the mirror. "Do you see how frail you look? Your cheekbones and collarbone and ribs and spine are all protruding. You are pale as a ghost. Your eyes are sunken in and your lips are cracked."
He stared at himself like it was the first time he had looked in a mirror in forever. It probably was. Now, I'm going to ask again. Does your drug dealer give you meth?"
"He gave me some. But I don't know if I've ever tried it."
I wasn't completely satisfied with that answer, but it was progress. "Well what did you ask for meth for?"
"I didn't ask for it. I asked for something to help me perform sexually and he suggested it. So yeah maybe I took it last night since I was wanting to sleep with you. I honestly think that was the first time."
"You didn't sleep with me, you basically raped me. You truly were hell bent on killing me. Do you understand how serious this is now? If you continue down this path you can forget about a family and you can forget about a successful career. What do you want to be your legacy? A wonderful husband and father and a legendary musical genius or a deadbeat who went to prison for drugs or domestic abuse or killing someone or a sad tragic musician who overdosed and killed himself? It's all in your hands. You can choose your fate."