Choices - chapter 3
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
3.
Seven years earlier.
“Wh-what?” Matt’s question had barely been a whisper. Face drained of color, he looked like he had just seen a ghost. He was holding on the edge of the counter of Jimmy’s kitchen so hard his knuckles had turned a dangerous shade of white.
“I was drunk…I didn’t mean to…” Brian all but whined.
“You…you….GOD! You cocksucking cunt! You didn’t…you didn’t mean to? What the fuck are you? Five fucking years old? Sorry mommy, I didn’t mean to! Jesus fucking christ, Brian!” Jimmy bellowed, livid as they’d never seen him. He was furiously pacing back and forth in his own kitchen, balled fists clenching and releasing at his sides.
The band was at the highest point of their rollercoaster life, riding out the peak of their success. Their last album was doing great, sixteenth on the Billboard chart after only two months from the release, the press was chasing them everywhere, the world tour was round the corner. Brian had picked just the perfect time to drop that H-bomb on them all.
“GOD! SHIT! FUCK!” Jimmy screeched at the top of his lungs.
Brian wasn’t paying any attention to his friend’s hysterics. His eyes were solely focused on Matt. His best friend…his lover, his everything. The singer’s eyes were closed, his head hung low. His shoulders were shaking slightly, but Brian couldn’t tell if it was anger or…something else, something worse. Overwhelming guilt was drowning every other possible thought he could wrap his mind around at the moment.
“Fuck you, Brian! Fuck. You! Showing off at the parties with a hot chick so the world can’t mistake super macho Syn Gates for the pillow biting flaming queer that he actually is, is one fucking thing, but this? This is bullshit! Didn’t anyone teach you to fucking WRAP IT UP, dumb asshole? Where the fuck was your head at, you fuckwit? What about us? And what about Matt, huh? What the fuck were you thinking?” Jimmy was up in Brian’s face, spitting venomously two inches from his face, causing the guitarist to recoil further and further into the wall.
“God, I’m even surprised you could get it up with her!” Jimmy snarled. “Because, face it, Gates, you’re nothing more than a goddamn pathetic faggot. You know it, we know it, the fucking world knows it, and you know what? No.one.gives.a.goddamn.shit, but you! Mother…fucker!” Jimmy emphasized each word with a shove on the guitarist’s chest. Brian was completely unresponsive, he was still staring wide eyed at Matt, over the drummer’s shoulder. He whimpered, when he spotted a tear splattering down over the marble kitchen top. It was the first time in the fifteen good years he had known Matt that he had seen him cry, and it was all his fault.
“I need… Jimmy, leave us alone…” Matt’s voice was unfamiliarly soft, words punctuated by shaky sighs, as he were desperately trying to maintain control on himself. Jimmy stepped back, looking awkwardly between the singer and the guitarist, as if he were unsure that it was a good idea to let them talk without witnesses. In the end he just nodded, fixed his gaze back on Brian and shook his head in disbelief before leaving the room with his hands buried in his hair, mumbling something about needing a good fat double line.
“I’m sorry Matt…I was not thinking…”
“No shit, Gates.” Matt sneered as he leveled his eyes with Brian’s. “Sorry won’t fix shit, this time.”
“I’m-”
“SHUT UP!” Matt abruptly interrupted whatever Brian was about to say by violently slamming his fists down on the counter. Brian flinched visibly at the outburst, and promptly clenched his jaw shut.
“You haven’t even had the… decency… of telling me first.” The singer’s tone was cold, unreadable. He was lolling back and forth on his closed fists, his eyes were staring blankly ahead.
“I…let you…I told myself -let him, Matt. Let him hook up with the girl, it makes him feel more comfortable, let him pretend for a little while that he’s straight, what could possibly go wrong? He’s yours, after all, he told you, he…promised you, he won’t risk fucking up the best thing he’s ever had, he won’t risk fucking the band up…- well…Gates…I guess I was fucking wrong…wasn’t I?”
Brian wisely decided to keep his mouth shut. His chin was quivering.
“I knew you were fucking her, I knew. It hurt like a bitch, knowing it, but I thought hey! She’ll suspect if he doesn’t put the moves on her after all this fucking time, so I diligently swallowed my stupid, childish jealousy, ‘cause I just…I was sure it was gonna be fucking worth it in the long run…”
Matt stepped away from the counter and walked over to Brian where he was still standing against the wall. He placed both hands on either side of the guitarist’s head, leaning on them with all his weight, bringing his forehead down until it touched Brian’s.
“You told me you were mine, B., only mine…”
“But I am…”
Matt laughed wretchedly, nuzzling his nose on Brian’s cheek before pulling away.
“Then why is she pregnant with your child?”
Brian opened and closed his mouth a few times, his eyes were looking for any kind of handhold in Matt’s dull ones. Nothing, slippery golden teflon was all he found.
“What are you gonna fucking do now, Gates?”
“I…she wants to keep it…and I don’t…want to leave her alone in this…. We want to give it a t-try… she doesn’t deserve all of this. That kid doesn’t, either…” Brian stuttered sheepishly.
Upon hearing that, Matt’s expression suddenly changed. His eyes widened, pupils dilating and filling with uncontrollable rage. His mouth was trembling, he took a few steps back, he looked around, bewildered.
“Is this a fucking… joke?”
“Matt…”
“It must be. It must be. One of Zack’s stupid pranks. It must be. Must…be…” the singer muttered under his breath.
“Matt…I’m so-”
In a heartbeat, Matt was pressed against Brian once again, both his hands clenched around his throat. Brian yelped, his own fingers scraping over Matt’s stronger ones, in a vain attempt to loosen the vicious grip that was preventing him from breathing.
“STOP FUCKING SAYING YOU’RE SORRY! You’re not fucking sorry!” Matt bawled. “STOP IT! CUT THIS GODDAMN BULLSHIT! What about what I deserve, you ungrateful selfish bastard? I gave you everything! Eight years! Eight fucking years and THIS is what I get? Fuck you! Fuck you! FUCK YOU!” Brian’s eyes were rolling back in their sockets as Matt knocked his head repeatedly against the wall.
“Matt, let go, please!” One hand gently touched his arm and Zack’s soft voice pleaded from behind him. Matt stilled his movements.
Strong arms wound around Matt’s heaving torso, prying him away from Brian, who limply slid down the wall, rasping for breath as he clutched his neck.
Matt’s eyes searched Zack’s emerald ones for any kind of explanation, but only filled up with tears as the rhythm shook his head, sorrow the only sentiment gracing his delicate features. The singer, still cradled in the smaller man’s arms, looked over at where Jimmy was reluctantly helping Brian to his feet.
“Get the fuck out of here, Brian. Get the fuck out of my life.”
Brian did exactly what he had been told. No one, not even Larry threatening him of suing him for breaching the contract, was able to get a hold of him anymore. Not that any of them tried too hard to contact him, anyway.
The following months passed by Matt in a jumbled blur. When he was not avoiding the media frenzy, releasing vague press statements about the sudden cease in the band activity, he made sure he kept himself well wasted out of his mind. Days and nights lost their boundaries, everything lost its meaning. Nothing mattered anymore. Zack and Johnny shouldered all the bureaucratic matters with a more than professional attitude. As thankful as he was that his friends were taking care of everything without involving him much, he found that couldn’t endure hanging around them for more than a few hours.
Jimmy was the only one he could bear the company of. A fellow sufferer. The breakup had been hard for him too. Not only he had lost one of his oldest friends almost out of the blue, but he also lost the only thing that was keeping him grounded. His life had always been troubled, the fights with his parents, being homeless, his frequent run-ins with justice. The band had always been his only opportunity to vent all his frustrations in a safe way, and now that it had been put on indefinite hold, he had dived right back in all of his old bad habits. No doubt, he was the best drinking buddy any man could dream of. No questions, no wallowing in self pity, just unhealthy doses of booze, and god knows what else in Jimmy’s case, to escape from the unfaceable reality. Just what Matt needed. Unfortunately, the singer was too blinded by his own sorrow that he failed to see just how far his closest friend was stretching his limits, and how fast he was sinking to the bottom.
In all that chaotic maze of drunkenness, hangovers and bottomless pain, only three days carved themselves in Matt’s memory.
The first, when he accidently stumbled upon a press release on the mysterious Vegas escapade of the notorious lead guitarist of Avenged Sevenfold, during which he had allegedly married his girlfriend in a secret ceremony at the Chapel of the Flowers. According to the journalist, the bride was very trendy, in her peach colored Vera Wang dress. That night it was Zack who found him passed out in the alley behind Larry Flint’s Hustler club, laying in a puddle of his own vomit and piss.
The second, when Larry announced that Mr. Brian Elwin Haner Jr., herein represented by Mr. Forman of Forman&Forman LLP, by this notice given to the Contractor, in accordance with General Conditions of Contract clause 19.12, terminated the Contract because of the following breaches of contract, yaddayaddayadda. That night, it took three bouncers to pry his fists off the bloody pulp that once had been the face of an unlucky guy who had asked him the courtesy to stop hitting on his girlfriend right in front of him.
The third day was a Saturday, the fourth of September, when Leana called him at three in the morning, her small scared voice incoherently stuttering something about how she couldn’t wake Jimmy up. When Matt reached their house, minutes before the paramedics arrived, Lea was cradling herself in a corner of the bedroom, and Jimmy’s body was half laying half sitting in the shower, the hypodermic needle still hanging from the crook of his arm.
Sean Benjamin Haner was less than a month old when James Owen Sullivan was pronounced dead at 5.12 am, in an aseptic room of the emergency ward of HBH. Avenged Sevenfold was officially no more. M.Shadows, Johnny Christ and Zacky Vengeance ceased breathing the exact same second the blue sterile cloth was brought up to fully cover the body of the Reverend Tholomew Plague. That night, it was the first, and worst, of a still running series of sleepless night in the life of Matt Sanders.
Chapter 2
3.
Seven years earlier.
“Wh-what?” Matt’s question had barely been a whisper. Face drained of color, he looked like he had just seen a ghost. He was holding on the edge of the counter of Jimmy’s kitchen so hard his knuckles had turned a dangerous shade of white.
“I was drunk…I didn’t mean to…” Brian all but whined.
“You…you….GOD! You cocksucking cunt! You didn’t…you didn’t mean to? What the fuck are you? Five fucking years old? Sorry mommy, I didn’t mean to! Jesus fucking christ, Brian!” Jimmy bellowed, livid as they’d never seen him. He was furiously pacing back and forth in his own kitchen, balled fists clenching and releasing at his sides.
The band was at the highest point of their rollercoaster life, riding out the peak of their success. Their last album was doing great, sixteenth on the Billboard chart after only two months from the release, the press was chasing them everywhere, the world tour was round the corner. Brian had picked just the perfect time to drop that H-bomb on them all.
“GOD! SHIT! FUCK!” Jimmy screeched at the top of his lungs.
Brian wasn’t paying any attention to his friend’s hysterics. His eyes were solely focused on Matt. His best friend…his lover, his everything. The singer’s eyes were closed, his head hung low. His shoulders were shaking slightly, but Brian couldn’t tell if it was anger or…something else, something worse. Overwhelming guilt was drowning every other possible thought he could wrap his mind around at the moment.
“Fuck you, Brian! Fuck. You! Showing off at the parties with a hot chick so the world can’t mistake super macho Syn Gates for the pillow biting flaming queer that he actually is, is one fucking thing, but this? This is bullshit! Didn’t anyone teach you to fucking WRAP IT UP, dumb asshole? Where the fuck was your head at, you fuckwit? What about us? And what about Matt, huh? What the fuck were you thinking?” Jimmy was up in Brian’s face, spitting venomously two inches from his face, causing the guitarist to recoil further and further into the wall.
“God, I’m even surprised you could get it up with her!” Jimmy snarled. “Because, face it, Gates, you’re nothing more than a goddamn pathetic faggot. You know it, we know it, the fucking world knows it, and you know what? No.one.gives.a.goddamn.shit, but you! Mother…fucker!” Jimmy emphasized each word with a shove on the guitarist’s chest. Brian was completely unresponsive, he was still staring wide eyed at Matt, over the drummer’s shoulder. He whimpered, when he spotted a tear splattering down over the marble kitchen top. It was the first time in the fifteen good years he had known Matt that he had seen him cry, and it was all his fault.
“I need… Jimmy, leave us alone…” Matt’s voice was unfamiliarly soft, words punctuated by shaky sighs, as he were desperately trying to maintain control on himself. Jimmy stepped back, looking awkwardly between the singer and the guitarist, as if he were unsure that it was a good idea to let them talk without witnesses. In the end he just nodded, fixed his gaze back on Brian and shook his head in disbelief before leaving the room with his hands buried in his hair, mumbling something about needing a good fat double line.
“I’m sorry Matt…I was not thinking…”
“No shit, Gates.” Matt sneered as he leveled his eyes with Brian’s. “Sorry won’t fix shit, this time.”
“I’m-”
“SHUT UP!” Matt abruptly interrupted whatever Brian was about to say by violently slamming his fists down on the counter. Brian flinched visibly at the outburst, and promptly clenched his jaw shut.
“You haven’t even had the… decency… of telling me first.” The singer’s tone was cold, unreadable. He was lolling back and forth on his closed fists, his eyes were staring blankly ahead.
“I…let you…I told myself -let him, Matt. Let him hook up with the girl, it makes him feel more comfortable, let him pretend for a little while that he’s straight, what could possibly go wrong? He’s yours, after all, he told you, he…promised you, he won’t risk fucking up the best thing he’s ever had, he won’t risk fucking the band up…- well…Gates…I guess I was fucking wrong…wasn’t I?”
Brian wisely decided to keep his mouth shut. His chin was quivering.
“I knew you were fucking her, I knew. It hurt like a bitch, knowing it, but I thought hey! She’ll suspect if he doesn’t put the moves on her after all this fucking time, so I diligently swallowed my stupid, childish jealousy, ‘cause I just…I was sure it was gonna be fucking worth it in the long run…”
Matt stepped away from the counter and walked over to Brian where he was still standing against the wall. He placed both hands on either side of the guitarist’s head, leaning on them with all his weight, bringing his forehead down until it touched Brian’s.
“You told me you were mine, B., only mine…”
“But I am…”
Matt laughed wretchedly, nuzzling his nose on Brian’s cheek before pulling away.
“Then why is she pregnant with your child?”
Brian opened and closed his mouth a few times, his eyes were looking for any kind of handhold in Matt’s dull ones. Nothing, slippery golden teflon was all he found.
“What are you gonna fucking do now, Gates?”
“I…she wants to keep it…and I don’t…want to leave her alone in this…. We want to give it a t-try… she doesn’t deserve all of this. That kid doesn’t, either…” Brian stuttered sheepishly.
Upon hearing that, Matt’s expression suddenly changed. His eyes widened, pupils dilating and filling with uncontrollable rage. His mouth was trembling, he took a few steps back, he looked around, bewildered.
“Is this a fucking… joke?”
“Matt…”
“It must be. It must be. One of Zack’s stupid pranks. It must be. Must…be…” the singer muttered under his breath.
“Matt…I’m so-”
In a heartbeat, Matt was pressed against Brian once again, both his hands clenched around his throat. Brian yelped, his own fingers scraping over Matt’s stronger ones, in a vain attempt to loosen the vicious grip that was preventing him from breathing.
“STOP FUCKING SAYING YOU’RE SORRY! You’re not fucking sorry!” Matt bawled. “STOP IT! CUT THIS GODDAMN BULLSHIT! What about what I deserve, you ungrateful selfish bastard? I gave you everything! Eight years! Eight fucking years and THIS is what I get? Fuck you! Fuck you! FUCK YOU!” Brian’s eyes were rolling back in their sockets as Matt knocked his head repeatedly against the wall.
“Matt, let go, please!” One hand gently touched his arm and Zack’s soft voice pleaded from behind him. Matt stilled his movements.
Strong arms wound around Matt’s heaving torso, prying him away from Brian, who limply slid down the wall, rasping for breath as he clutched his neck.
Matt’s eyes searched Zack’s emerald ones for any kind of explanation, but only filled up with tears as the rhythm shook his head, sorrow the only sentiment gracing his delicate features. The singer, still cradled in the smaller man’s arms, looked over at where Jimmy was reluctantly helping Brian to his feet.
“Get the fuck out of here, Brian. Get the fuck out of my life.”
Brian did exactly what he had been told. No one, not even Larry threatening him of suing him for breaching the contract, was able to get a hold of him anymore. Not that any of them tried too hard to contact him, anyway.
The following months passed by Matt in a jumbled blur. When he was not avoiding the media frenzy, releasing vague press statements about the sudden cease in the band activity, he made sure he kept himself well wasted out of his mind. Days and nights lost their boundaries, everything lost its meaning. Nothing mattered anymore. Zack and Johnny shouldered all the bureaucratic matters with a more than professional attitude. As thankful as he was that his friends were taking care of everything without involving him much, he found that couldn’t endure hanging around them for more than a few hours.
Jimmy was the only one he could bear the company of. A fellow sufferer. The breakup had been hard for him too. Not only he had lost one of his oldest friends almost out of the blue, but he also lost the only thing that was keeping him grounded. His life had always been troubled, the fights with his parents, being homeless, his frequent run-ins with justice. The band had always been his only opportunity to vent all his frustrations in a safe way, and now that it had been put on indefinite hold, he had dived right back in all of his old bad habits. No doubt, he was the best drinking buddy any man could dream of. No questions, no wallowing in self pity, just unhealthy doses of booze, and god knows what else in Jimmy’s case, to escape from the unfaceable reality. Just what Matt needed. Unfortunately, the singer was too blinded by his own sorrow that he failed to see just how far his closest friend was stretching his limits, and how fast he was sinking to the bottom.
In all that chaotic maze of drunkenness, hangovers and bottomless pain, only three days carved themselves in Matt’s memory.
The first, when he accidently stumbled upon a press release on the mysterious Vegas escapade of the notorious lead guitarist of Avenged Sevenfold, during which he had allegedly married his girlfriend in a secret ceremony at the Chapel of the Flowers. According to the journalist, the bride was very trendy, in her peach colored Vera Wang dress. That night it was Zack who found him passed out in the alley behind Larry Flint’s Hustler club, laying in a puddle of his own vomit and piss.
The second, when Larry announced that Mr. Brian Elwin Haner Jr., herein represented by Mr. Forman of Forman&Forman LLP, by this notice given to the Contractor, in accordance with General Conditions of Contract clause 19.12, terminated the Contract because of the following breaches of contract, yaddayaddayadda. That night, it took three bouncers to pry his fists off the bloody pulp that once had been the face of an unlucky guy who had asked him the courtesy to stop hitting on his girlfriend right in front of him.
The third day was a Saturday, the fourth of September, when Leana called him at three in the morning, her small scared voice incoherently stuttering something about how she couldn’t wake Jimmy up. When Matt reached their house, minutes before the paramedics arrived, Lea was cradling herself in a corner of the bedroom, and Jimmy’s body was half laying half sitting in the shower, the hypodermic needle still hanging from the crook of his arm.
Sean Benjamin Haner was less than a month old when James Owen Sullivan was pronounced dead at 5.12 am, in an aseptic room of the emergency ward of HBH. Avenged Sevenfold was officially no more. M.Shadows, Johnny Christ and Zacky Vengeance ceased breathing the exact same second the blue sterile cloth was brought up to fully cover the body of the Reverend Tholomew Plague. That night, it was the first, and worst, of a still running series of sleepless night in the life of Matt Sanders.