Star Crossed

They call him Synyster Gates.

His face is almost always streaked with eyeliner the colour of the darkest nights. It makes his eyes seem almost hollow, his general appearance sunken and ghastly. His ripped clothes cling to every inch of his muscular figure, aided in part by the sweat still present from the show. He flashes that cocky little grin of his for the benefit of the crowd, and a couple of girls literally go weak at the knees and begin to beg for his hand in marriage. He soaks it all up like a sponge that hasn't met water in years.

I call him Brian Haner.

He's freezing and exhausted, but he won't admit it to anybody. He'll never leave his girlfriend, but he gives a young fan a flirtatious little wink so as not to destroy her dreams. He can't wait to get out of those clothes and into a refreshing shower before heading off to bed for those precious few hours before it's time to get up again and fly home. It's a hard life, but he wouldn't trade it in for anything.

They call me Zacky Vengeance.

They like to think that they know me, but the sad truth is that none of them really have a clue. Much like Brian, I behave in such ways that won't bring them crashing back down. I would love to get to know them all personally, but there would never be enough time. It's catch twenty-two: the more fans we have, the less time we have to spend with each of them. It can be a lonely life at times, but I enjoy it nonetheless. I'll always have my four best friends right by my side, and my family waiting for me back home. And really, that's all a guy needs.

At least, that was what I had always told myself. I knew that many people would have argued there was one more thing to be put high up on that list - a significant other, endlessly waiting. I had Gena, who was always there to greet me when I finally arrived home, but I didn't feel comfortable when I thought of her as my significant other. Not when I couldn't love her the way she wanted me to. And not when she didn't love me the way she had when we'd first met.

I dreaded having to go back home and face her; simultaneously, I couldn't wait to get off tour so that I wouldn't have to think about my every move around Brian before making it. Things were so much easier when we were home and not spending every second of the day within sight of each other. And yet, as we climbed onto the bus, I couldn't help but trail my eyes across his magnificent figure. Even the slightest of movements could be seen through those skin-tight clothes...

I caught myself quickly before anybody else had a chance to, heading to my bunk as inconspicuously as possible. This was an easy task given that Matt and Johnny had the same idea. There was a quick exchanging of "good nights" as the five of us parted ways, Brian and Jimmy remaining behind in the kitchenette to grab a bite to eat before they showered and slept. If they slept at all, that was. It was likely that the pair of them would stay up all night talking.

I didn't bother changing my clothes before I crawled into my bunk. It was almost too much of an effort to pull the curtain across to hide myself from view, let alone actually stand there and change into something more comfortable. I couldn't hold back the little sigh of content as my head hit the pillow; it wasn't the most luxurious thing in the world, but after a long and draining show like the one we had just played it could almost seem that way.

I've forgotten to at least take my shoes off, but by now it's too late. There's no way in hell I'm sitting up again until it's time to get out of bed and leave. I absently stare at the wall, wondering why in all the weeks I've been stuck on this bus I haven't bothered to personalise it in some way - family photos, small motivational posters, a sticker or two. Anything would have been better than staring at this empty space.

A gentle snoring told me that Johnny was already out cold. I had no doubt that Matt was as well, strong and silent even in his sleep. The sound of the former was drowned out after a moment by the pitter-patter sound of the shower as it started up. It wasn't the greatest shower in the world - the water didn't heat up as much as any of us would have liked it to, at any rate - but it was decent enough.

The flow became uneven - a sure sign that somebody had stepped into the constant stream of water. I had no way of knowing for sure whether it was Jimmy or Brian, but I allowed myself to believe that it was the latter. Jimmy was more likely to have fallen asleep at the table, as had happened countless times in similar situations. But my mind didn't dwell on these times for long before it went back to the shower.

I was almost certain that my imagination didn't do it justice, but I had no way of finding out for sure without giving myself away - something I was not yet willing to do. I imagined that he would let the water wash over himself first, drenching his hair and making his supposedly water-proof make-up run even more. He'd scrub at his face furiously until every last spot of black was removed, leaving his face clean and pure.

The way the droplets ran the length of his body was almost enough to make me want to come back as water - if I could touch something as perfect as that even once in all eternity, it would be worth it. To be a part of him would be almost too much to wish for.

Of course, in my imaginings of him, there was always one part of his anatomy that I refused to let my thoughts turn to completely. Why torture myself more than I already was? Unfortunately, I wasn't always lucky enough to keep my thoughts in check, and more than once I had found myself dwelling on it. When this happened, I needed to make myself invisible. It was essential, for there was no hiding the reaction that I got from it.

Now was no different. By trying to keep my thoughts away from it, I ultimately ended up thinking about it. And all I could do was lie there uncomfortably and thank God that I was facing the wall, and hidden by a curtain.