Another Tale Of Infinite Dreams.

"Oh fuck, I was really hoping you wouldn't agree to this."

Naomi had only just pulled up outside Chain Reaction when I got there, and was taking her camera out of the back.

"What makes you say that?"

"It's just you know...you...Gates...history...one that walks and talks...except he doesn't know about it..."

Naomi and I, it should be noted, had been friends since high school and she knew everything, the whole grisly story.

I rolled my eyes. "This is a scoop, Naomi, I don't give a damn. I'm not going to let all that bullshit come between me and a good piece for the magazine. I'm doing Emma a favour, and if he can't handle the 'mini-me' of himself wandering about, he's perfectly welcome to go fuck himself."

Naomi's eyes widened. "You mean..."

Vibeke leapt down out of the car, now that I'd undone her seatbelt.

"Omi!" she cried happily and ran over to her surrogate aunt (one of a few, it must be said). Naomi smiled widely and scooped her up in her arms, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"Hello little honey! How are you doing?"

"I'm excited. Mammy said these are the guys that play my favourite song! Avenge-dead Seven!"

She couldn't pronounce either Avenged or Sevenfold and so tended to come out with avenge - dead - seven. It was cute in that childlike sort of way.

"Ooh, you must be very chuffed you get to meet them."

"I'm buzzing!" she squealed. Naomi laughed and put her to the ground. I watched her speed over to the stage door, as if fate were instinctively directing her to the parent she had never known.

"Frankie! What'd you bring her for?"

"I couldn't exactly get a sitter at short notice."

"But...but...but...what if he...you know?"

"You're giving his brain far too much analytical credit. He's not going to notice."

"Frankie, don't be stupid. She's like a photocopy of him. He's going to notice. And if he doesn't, someone else will."

"I really don't care, Naomi. It's been 6 years, if it all comes spilling out now, it's not exactly too soon. I'd be glad, quite frankly."

"Don't you think it might fuck her up to know that her father wasn't dead or missing but just off playing in a band?"

"I'd say the not-knowing-or-caring-about-her-existence would fuck her up even more."

"You don't know he wouldn't give a fuck."

"It's not for the want of trying to tell him!"

"And you're willing to risk that impact on her fragile little mind?"

"Naomi, please. I'm not going to walk her in and announce it. And if someone suspects something, they're not going to be stupid enough to say it in front of her. If something happens, I'll figure it out, and if I have to take her away, so be it."

Naomi sighed heavily and shook her head.

"Alright, you're the mother, you're the boss."

She shrugged and locked her car, slinging the camera over her shoulder.

The two of us made our way over to the stage door, where Vibeke was waiting impatiently. "Come on mammy! I wanna go inside!"

"Easy darlin." I knocked on the door and waited for an answer. Within a few seconds, a gruff, burly looking man answered and asked for our press passes. We displayed them and were ushered inside, the stone cold face of the bouncer raising a smile from the depths at the sight of the awe on Vibeke's face. I got the usual stupid questions with the obvious answers on the way to the interview room, i.e. She's beautiful! Is she yours? How old is she? She has your eyes... No she doesn't, you blind twat. My eyes are blue. Hers are brown. Open your own eyes, you fucking idiot.

We reached the dressing room area, and were ushered into a comfy, well-appointed room with two leather couches and a coffee table. Naomi took charge straight away, pinching some plants and rearranging some tables to make way for her photography equipment. It never ceased to amaze me that she didn't have a helper to assist in the set up. She just bulldozed her way in, picked a spot she liked, and set up the screen, lights, and camera. Done in 15 minutes. I could relate to her almost infectious enthusiasm for her work. In writing for AP, I was more or less living the dream life I'd always wanted - scribbling a lot and often about music, my favourite thing in the world, for a magazine I loved. It was a job I'd never ever given up hoping for or lost sight of, even when I had a screaming 2 month old baby to deal with. Bettering myself and showing him, someday, that his unconscious decision to abandon me to single parenthood hadn't destroyed my dreams.

Not all of them anyway.

A slightly whizzen looking grey man stuck his head in the door and introduced himself as the band's manager, Larry Jacobsen. We shook hands, discussed a few things about the shoot and interview, and once he was satisfied, he disappeared to find the band and send them in. Naomi sat with me on the couch in anticipation, before standing up to take Vibeke to the bathroom upon the latter's demand. It was probably better she was out of the room and not distracting us during the interview anyway.

I was just scribbling down another quick question that had popped into my head when the door opened. I felt a flourish of butterflies and my heart skipped a beat, in spite of myself. I looked up slowly, suddenly not quite certain I'd be able to handle what was coming my way. I stood up courteously, and readied my hand for the inevitable handshake.

Matt Shadows was the first to enter the room - the lead singer. Tall, bulky, muscular (and then some), a virtual walking tank and the most stunning specimen of humanity I'd ever laid eyes on. I felt like a lilliputian standing next to him, smiling, introducing myself, and nearly losing my hand in the handshake.

Zacky Vengeance and Johnny Christ walked in next, two boyish - looking types with mischievous grins and a general scoundrel air. I knew straight away I liked them. I was still in awe of Shadows, but the almost salacious grin and wink Johnny flashed me as soon as he came inside endeared me straight away.

The Rev was next. Exceptionally tall and very thin, I almost bonded with him in our slenderness. I wasn't quite as "lanky" shall we say, given my small stature, but I liked his eyes and took to him almost as quickly as I did the others. He was friendly and charming, in a completely natural way. There was, strangely enough, nothing haughty about him. He exuded an air of warmth and jovialty and I immediately captured him in my head as a good drinking buddy.

Then the door opened one final time.

Him.

Of course. Always last, fashionably late.

Liked to make a big entrance.

I was right - I WASN'T prepared to see him again. My eyes met his almost instantaneously as he walked into the room, and to my utmost shock, he stopped dead in his tracks as though a bullet had hit him. One hand still resting on the door handle, he stared directly at me, his pupils practically boring a hole into mine. I held his gaze, feeling a lump rise in my throat and my stomach do backflips. I was terrified, horrifed, and dumbfounded all at once. He looked me up and down slowly before finding his way back to my eyes. I tried to muster a smile and failed. I couldn't do it. I couldn't. I couldn't do this. I'd been prepared for something of a shock when I first saw him again after so long, a collision of memory and nostalgia, maybe even the slightest twitch of feeling.

But nothing could have readied me for this.

I was looking back at the man I'd loved, the one I'd devoted three years of my life to, the one whose daughter I had been raising by myself for the past six years. Someone I hadn't gazed at in person for over half a decade and yet here we were, united once again...

...and it was like nothing had changed.

The last thing I'd expected to feel in my tummy was that rush of almost unbearable affection. That longing, that need, that desire. Passion and compulsion.

LOVE.

Oh. Holy. Jesus.

WHERE THE HELL WAS NAOMI...

"You alright there, Frankie?"

I heard Shads break the silence, a firm voice from behind, and yet it was a world away. It was almost as if I were submerged, shrouded in the comforting blue weight of the ocean, and his voice a distant lull on the waves.

It was only when he decided to move away from the doors at long last that I found a voice to speak.

"Y...yeah. Yeah. Yes. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

I turned to see The Rev looking at me with concern. Johnny and Zacky were, for their part, practically oblivious, playing thumbs and shuffling down the couch to make room for him to sit down.

"Yeah. It's nothing, I was just thinking of something."

My eyes shot straight to his face. They were met with a reciprocating full-blooded stare. Still he didn't say anything, in spite of the various odd looks two of his bandmates were shooting him.

"Are you sure?" Shads asked again, though his gaze was now intently focused on him instead.

"Yeah, positive. So anyway, let's get started. Thanks for agreeing to this at such short notice, guys."

"No problem..." The Rev and Shads replied almost in unison, looking at each other with a simultaneously knowing and yet unknowing grin. Well, I wouldn't blame them. He still hadn't said anything, and now instead of staring coldly at me, he was picking at his nails.

Typical.

Oh gosh. Vibeke does that too.

I snapped myself out of it and sat down opposite them. Johnny and Zacky abandoned their game and sat up in eager anticipation of the interview. The Rev and Shads were sharing a two-seater couch just to my right. He was sitting beside Zacky, trying his best to look at anything but me. Yet every time he looked up, I was staring right back at him.

And still feeling everything.

Including, now, the vitriolic hatred I had become accustomed to in the 6 years since he'd been gone. Excellent. That should help me retain my composure until we were done, at the very least...

The interview itself actually progressed very well, the band (except him) all opening up and sharing plenty of anecdotes with me. They were such a lively and infectious bunch, I found it hard to believe anyone wouldn't like them. I'd heard plenty of stories about how supposedly unpleasant and overbearing they were to interview, yet I was completely captivated. Shads was earnest and honest, The Rev [despite speaking at the rate of a sloth learning Chinese] warm and funny, Zacky almost adorable in his childlike, shy recounting of tales from their early days, and Johnny a complete and utter charmer. He inserted a wink into every sentence and finished them with a sly grin. I couldn't help but smile back at him, secretly hoping I was driving him mad.

He'd remained silent as a statue the whole time, being only nudged into answering when I mentioned a specific solo that readers had voted as their favourite of the year. Unfortunately for him, this hadn't gone unnoticed by the rest of the band, and just as I glanced at my watch, thinking I should wrap up the half hour, Johnny [naturally] leaned over and punched him on the arm.

"Dude, what the fuck?" was his angered response.

"Why the hell are you sitting there like a mute? You haven't said anything for this whole interview."

"I answered the bit about the solo, didn't I?"

"Even so," Shads joined in, "It's not like you. You're...too quiet. And you've been like that since you walked into the room. You changed, you were your usual wisecracking smartass self earlier."

I couldn't help but scoff a little. Funny how the same reaction the first time we'd met and this time could have occasioned such unique responses. Speechlessness from attraction, and speechlessness from hatred. It was obvious. His eyes were practically boiling over with venom. He wanted me out of there, out of his sight, out of mind and memory as soon as possible. So everything could return to normal, the nice convenient normality he'd been enjoying since I last disappeared on the eve of his 18th birthday.

"Nothing's wrong, dude! Leave me alone, I'm going for a walk."

He got up and practically crashed out the door, almost knocking Naomi clean over. Wow. It'd been a while since I was privy to that kind of passion, and it wasn't a rage-filled bout either.

Naomi watched him go, somewhat flabbergasted, before coming into the room.

"Where's Vibeke?" I asked her straight away.

"Oh, their manager has a daughter the same age, they're playing in the next room. She's fine, don't worry, I was down there with her til a moment ago. I came back cos I assumed you were finished, the half hour's up...? I figured you'd probably go get her..."

I nodded. "Yeah, I will."

I turned to the guys, who were talking quietly amongst themselves, and who shut up instantly the moment I addressed them. "Sorry guys, I'll be back in a moment, I just have to go to the bathroom and pick something up. I'll leave you in the able hands of our photographer for the shoot!"

Naomi winked at them. The Rev winked back a little too vigorously. I was intrigued. Perchance he had fallen victim to Naomi's flaming locks and beautiful, inviting smile...? Hopefully. =]

"Sure, see you in a bit!" Shadows said. "I'll try and find our guitarist, if you'll give me a minute."

I nodded and headed out the door, turning right at the sign for the bathroom. Ugh. I couldn't believe I'd just called my daughter something. That asshole had some effect on me.

I rounded the corner and pushed open the door to the bathroom, quickly checking my phone and popping it back in my pocket.

Wait a minute.

WTF?!

I'd somehow landed myself in the men's bathroom, judging by the line of urinals along the walls. Whoops.

I turned to head back out but stopped dead in my tracks when I saw who stood behind me.

HIM.

Brian. Synyster. Gates. Whatever you want to call him. It was him, that man, my man. The one who'd nearly given me a heart attack inside and the one whom I now silently decided was going to strangle me, such was the look of intensity in his eyes. He was practically radiating emotion at me, and I actually felt a little uncomfortable.

Without uttering a word, I bowed my head and tried to take a step sideways. He stepped in front of me. I stepped the other way, same thing.

Uh oh. He wasn't keeping me here. He could get stuffed. If I had to kneel down, punch him in the balls and squeeze through his legs, I would. I didn't care if I sterilised him. He already had a child anyway, one he didn't give a shit about.

I looked up into his eyes, preparing a curt but firm speech in my head. Something along the lines of "Er, could you let me out please?"

I'd be nice and then turn on the psycho bitch if Plan A went to shit.

Ha. Plan A never had a chance to go into action.

Just as I opened my mouth to say something, I felt something else grab me and pull me towards him. He'd locked his arms around me in an instant and pulled me right up to him, my face now inches from his. And before a single word could escape my lips, he had locked his own against them.

Whoa.

He grabbed my ass, hooshing me up and holding me in his arms. I almost instinctively locked my legs around his waist and started to kiss him back. I didn't understand anything. I didn't even pause to think. My mindset had flown out my ears, I wasn't thinking at all. All of a sudden it was as if nothing had changed. I saw nothing in front of me but the guy I had worshipped for so long and whom I evidently still adored like there was no tomorrow.

I reciprocated everything he did. As his tongue crashed into my mouth, I responded with almost twice as much vehemence. My arms were gripping his shoulders, secured tightly against him like a vice, and I was kissing him with a fury and intensity I'd not felt in years. Not since the last time. Not since the night our daughter was most likely conceived.

Yet Vibeke faded from my mind as quickly as she entered it. Before I knew it, he had us in a cubicle, the door slammed and locked, his hands now pulling furiously at my clothes. My skirt posed no difficulty, it was shoved up round my waist in an instant, and my underwear disappeared within seconds. Pushing me up against the wall of the cubicle, his hands felt their desperate way across my back, undoing the zip of my bustier top and unhooking my bra. They both fell to the ground within seconds, and I pulled his shirt off and undid his belt.

OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD.

I'd missed this body ridiculously. He was built amazingly, big strong arms with exquisite tattoos in all the right places, buff six pack and torso, perfect round erect nipples. My hands rubbed and stroked every inch of his honed torso, as I let my lips feel their way down his neck and shoulders. He moaned slightly in unconscious appreciation. I could feel how hard he was through my skirt; by this stage, it was practically walking out of his jeans itself. I responded to his longing, pressing my lips against his with an ache and longing that was almost tangible. My hands found their way into his jeans, not undoing them just yet. I leaned down and gripped him as tightly as I could, rubbing and stroking it with all the desire I felt. He'd always been pretty well endowed down there and all, and I took a moment to remind myself of how much I loved it. I began to rub my hands up and down it with an almost rhythmic motion; him responding with louder and louder gasps and moans of thrill and enjoyment. I longed to get down on my knees and take him in my mouth but surroundings were somewhat cramped for that. When neither he nor I could stand it any longer, I ripped him out of his jeans and pushed his underwear down just far enough, guiding him firmly in towards me. Not that he needed help finding his way where he'd already been. He pushed himself inside, as I submitted myself entirely to him, leaning back and moaning with pleasure, allowing him to lean in towards me. He rested his head on my shoulder as he began to thrust up and down, slowly at first, but then becoming steadier and faster, as his desperation and feeling increased. I gasped out of pure ecstasy. It had been so long since I'd had sex, and now I was having sex with him again, of all people, the man who took my virginity and taught me everything I knew...it was almost unbearable. The rush of feeling was so powerful I could have screamed, but no sound came from my wide open mouth. When I thought I couldn't take any more, just as he arched his back and began to thrust even harder, I gasped audibly and orgasmically and buried my teeth in his shoulder, biting down on the soft flesh. The feeling building up was phenomenal, the most immense I'd ever experienced. As he reached deeper and deeper I knew I was on the verge of climax any moment, and him surely even closer. He pulled his head back and looked into my eyes just before it happened. Our eyes met once again - icy blue on rich brown, pure passion, longing, and desire, so powerful and overwhelming they were almost a physical presence between the two of us. My eyes fell shut once more as I felt myself reach the peak of pleasure, just as he did. He came with the most delicious cry of pleasure I'd ever heard in my life, the feeling spilling into me and leading me to the same climax. I gasped only just slightly, before falling backwards against the cubicle wall again, turning silent, revelling in the enormity of the thrill and the moment.

JESUS H. CHRIST.

That was fucking amazing.

I hadn't felt anything like that in so long, it seemed to go on forever. By the time I opened my eyes again, the ripples of effervescent pleasure now slowly dissipating, sweat beads were streaming down my face and I was panting as though I'd just run a marathon. He, too, was breathless, his dark hair stuck to his forehead, his face a vision of distorted bliss. As our breath slowly returned, we leaned in and kissed again - something different. Something almost genuine, real. There was true emotion behind it, and I felt it pour into me just as my own desire and love for him poured into mine.

We were silent, panting, kissing each other with absent-minded affection on the neck and shoulders, his lips also finding their way to my breasts, for some time, such that when he finally spoke it was like a dagger piercing my flesh. My heart.

"I've missed you so fucking much, Frankie."

I was silent for a moment more; almost as if coming to terms with the fact he remembered my name.

"I've missed you too Brian."

We melted back into silence. The very sound of his voice was giving me goosebumps. Velvety and soft yet deep and firm...it was almost chocolately, if chocolate could have had a sound. I remembered all those nights I used to lose myself in that voice, safe in the darkness and wrapped up in his arms, dreaming away the night to those sweet nothings. Suddenly I almost felt emotional. I couldn't believe what was happening, what had just happened. Over the years I had clearly forgotten just how intensely he made me feel. It was like nothing else on earth, I can barely describe it. I needed him, I wanted him, I yearned and thirsted for him when I wasn't around him. I used to feel that nothing could ever trouble or hurt me so long as he was there. Walking hand in hand through the school corridor or the streets of Huntington as teenagers, we were a joint force. Formidable, united, impenetrable. He was mine, and I belonged to him. Completely and honestly. Forever.

Except I hadn't been his forever. Suddenly my emotion broke and I opened my eyes, the image of him disappearing into the distance the day he left streaming back into my mind. And with it, the feelings came rushing back. Love lost and anguish, pain, disbelief, desperation. His eyes were still closed, his mind tucked away in some far off place still trembling with the aftermath of orgasm. But I couldn't keep looking at him. All of a sudden I wanted to slap him, shake him, hit him with something. The sudden memory of that pain was like an injection of madness. I needed to vent it on him, make him feel what I'd felt. But more than anything at that moment, I wanted him out of me.

I started shuffling uncomfortably, causing him to come to. He regathered himself and let me down. I fixed my skirt quickly and leaned down to pick up my bra and top. I had to turn away from him as I put them on. What he'd been caressing gently just a moment earlier I now didn't want him to see. He went to put his arms around my waist but I shook him off gruffly, causing him to emit an audible murmur. I stepped out of the cubicle and looked into the mirror. My hair was all over the place, somewhat unsurprisingly, and my make up had taken a walk across my face, trampling all sense of decorum along the way. I picked up my bag from where it had been discarded and started rummaging through it for my hairbrush. When I looked back up into the mirror, his piercing eyes were looking back at me. I stopped, somehow preventing myself from bursting into tears on the spot, and turned to face him properly. His face became contorted with concern when he saw how I looked. He took a step closer to me.

"Frankie, what is it?"

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I shook my head and looked down at the ground, trying desperately not to cry, not to let him see me vulnerable. A part of me felt like it would be letting him win again.

"Are you...ashamed?"

"No!" I cried suddenly, my eyes darting back up to meet his. "I'm not. On the contrary, that was absolutely fucking incredible. It's been years since I felt like that. I've not been with anyone else who could make me feel that way, never during all these years. Right there...I was just transported back to the last night we were together. The night before you..."

The image of him disappearing with that callous glance and those bitter words flew back into my mind and this time I did break. I put my hands to my face and burst into tears. Of course he stepped right up to me, trying to comfort me, rubbing my arms and asking me what was the matter. I shook my head fervently and pushed him off me, refusing to look at him for a time.

"Frankie, what the hell is wrong?!"

He was stupefied. Or no, probably just uncomfortable. He was never good at the really emotional stuff. The type of stuff that comes with sticking around, caring for people, looking after them. The type that involves supporting your girlfriend when she's having your baby.

Something about the thought of Vibeke at that moment made me snap. I turned to face him and positively screamed at the top of my lungs.

"WHAT'S WRONG?! HOW DARE YOU ASK ME THAT?"

He stopped dead, shocked, his eyebrows raising and his hands stretching out defensively.

"You're what's wrong! You're the problem! You always have been! How can you be so stupid not to realise?! The last time I saw you, the last time we did this, we were in love and you were promising me you'd take care of me and be with me for the rest of my life. Now out of the blue we meet here again, you take me into a toilet cubicle and fuck me without so much as a hello or acknowledgement, you dare to say you've missed me when you treated me like dirt, and you want to know what the fuck is WRONG WITH ME?!"

I started brandishing my bag in front of him threateningly, not even consciously intending to do anything with it, more to keep a distance between us. He remained in a practically catatonic state at the other side of the room.

"If you only knew what I've done for you, all these years. Crying myself to sleep, begging you-LITERALLY BEGGING-on the phone, pleading with you to come home. I told you a thousand times I needed to talk to you, to tell you something. I sobbed and sobbed, screeched at you that I needed you and your support, I wanted you to come back so desperately. And all these years, I've been carrying this crippling pent-up hatred for you, for all you've done to me. You robbed me of so much, and you have no idea. You don't know the state you left me in. You just took off into the sunset, hitting the bigtime and shacking up with groupies, while I was at home alone, with no hopes, no future, my dreams shattered, left with a..."

I stopped short of saying left with a baby to raise by myself. It didn't matter how much I hated him; Vibeke was not going to be brought to her father's attention like that. Not in anger. The time wasn't right and the feeling certainly wasn't.

Silence fell between us once again. He was breathing more heavily now, out of either continued breathlessness or emotion, I couldn't tell. His eyes had faded into abjectness and he just stood there, staring back at me, barely formulating an expression. Completely uncertain of how to act, what to say, what to do.

So he did what he'd always done in these situations.

He turned around and walked out.

I wasn't even all that surprised; I half expected it. He literally just zipped up his fly, glanced at himself in the mirror, and walked out the door, as though he'd come in to do nothing but preen his hair. Ha. Preen his ego more like. And I'd done it for him, with all my sighing and moaning and groaning and just by letting him use me as a walking vagina.

I sighed heavily and threw my eyes to the ceiling, refusing to cry. I choked back the sobs as they fought their way frantically to the surface, begging to be freed from the prison in which I'd kept them confined for the last 6 years. He wasn't going to see me cry again.

I turned to the mirror and started to fix myself up.

Fuck that asshole. Fuck him. Fuck him and everything about him.

He wasn't going to do this to me again. I reapplied my lipgloss, straightened my skirt and double checked my hair was still good. I looked at my watch; we'd been in there another half hour. I was surprised no one had found us, to be frank.

BOLLOCKS.

I was supposed to get Vibeke. I quickly grabbed all my stuff and hurried out the door.