Second Chance

One "day off" was all they got before they were back on the stage again, playing in a town whose name I couldn't pronounce to save my life. I saw Larry a lot throughout the day, but was lucky enough to not have to have acknowledge him on any occasion - usually when he came into the room I was either talking to one of the guys or helping somebody with something. Keeping busy.

I was determined to keep my distance from the band's manager without raising suspicion. The last thing I wanted was Zacky being distracted from his job by something so trivial. It was easy, too, considering that Larry made no move toward me on any occasion. All I had to worry about was keeping my shoulders covered - I had discovered that morning that there were dark, painful bruises where he had gripped me the previous night.

I considered leaving Zacky's camera in the change room, watching the band from side stage instead. But I still felt that I owed them anything I could, and so I took the camera and headed out into the crowd.

There was one thing I remembered my mother saying often when she was alive: always trust your instincts. It was something that I usually clung to like a lifeforce in itself - the only thing of hers that I still had with me. But tonight, I chose to ignore it.

I should have known.

I had just farewelled a pair of fans after chatting with them and taking their photo for the guys when I noticed them - people pointing, openly talking. Insecurity crept up on me, and I found myself desperately wishing that I'd stayed backstage. As it was, the guys were due to start in just a few minutes, and I didn't want to chance running into Larry.

I was half way across the back of the room, right in the middle of changing sides, when I felt somebody grab my arm. I jerked around, caught by surprise by the boy.

"Sie sind das Mädchen, das mit der Band unterwegs?"

"Ahh..." I blinked, staring at him blankly. Germany, I reminded myself. We were in Germany. Of course there were going to be people who spoke German. "Sorry. I only speak English..."

"He's asking if you're the girl who travels with the band," his friend clarrified, having turned around when he realised the boy was speaking to somebody. "We saw you taking photos."

"Oh. Yeah, that's me..."

I was spared having to say anymore by the starting notes of Critical Acclaim. I took my chance as the two boys turned back to face the stage, and took off across the room. I still caught the occasional person staring for a couple of seconds before returning their attention to where it should have been, but was lucky enough not to have anybody else trying to talk to me.

I stood back and watched the show for the duration of the first song. Despite the fact that I couldn't view yesterday as having been a day off for the guys, it was evident now that they were indeed refreshed. They always played at their best, and their shows were always amazing, but there was just that little bit of extra energy in them that I couldn't help but notice.

Perhaps it wasn't the day off at all. Perhaps it was just a side-effect of having to do so many boring interviews.

I got back to work after that, determined to capture the German fans at their best. It was a blessing, being able to access all areas of the venue; I wasn't confined to simply taking pictures of those fans on the floor - I was free to travel up into the stands or skirt around the barriers as much as I needed. It was a freedom that I was learning to enjoy, knowing that when I was finally returned to Sydney it was something that I would never see again.

I tried to keep this in mind, all while trying to ignore the fact that one day this was all going to end, and I wouldn't be seeing the guys anymore.

The fans in the stands were all too happy to pose for pictures, glad to know that they would be seen by their idols. It was up in the seated areas where I found that the guys had some fans as young as seven, with parents awesome enough to have allowed them to attend the concert - and even come along with them, whether willingly or not.

Some parents were just amazing.

I escaped the crowds when the encore was just about the begin. I slipped out of the concert room and began my journey down the corridor, towards the doors that I knew would take me in the direction I needed to return to the dressing room backstage.

"Hey, wait!"

I stopped in my tracks and turned, again, in surprise. Three people had come out from the concert room - two guys and a girl, all of them maybe a few years older than myself. They stopped in front of me and I found myself looking between them curiously. My eyes landed on the second boy and the compact camera that he had in his hand, clearly video recording.

The guys had started playing their last song; it came loudly through the door as it swung shut behind the three teens, then played on just as clearly, only a little quieter. People usually didn't leave while the show was still going on.

"You're missing the song," I said bluntly.

"What's your name?" the girl asked unexpectedly, ignoring my prior statement. There was something demanding about her tone, yet at the same time she somehow managed to sound polite.

"Why do you need to know?"

"Just curious," she assured me. "We all are. Everybody knows your face now, but nobody knows much else. We're just asking for a little detail, that's all. So. Name?"

She sounded like a reporter - one of those annoying, persistant ones that you always heard about and hoped you would never have to encounter.

"Abigael," I told her. "My name is Abigael. And I really should get going now."

I turned to keep walking, but the first boy - the one without the camera - skirted around in front of me. I made to walk around him, only to have him block my way.

"Just a few more questions," he said, "and we'll leave you alone. Promise."

"Where'd you come from?" asked the one with the camera. "Your accent is...odd."

Spending time with the guys, in a range of different countries, had definitely taken its toll on the way that I spoke. I liked to think that I still sounded the same - that the small piece of home my voice provided hadn't been taken from me - but there was no doubt that I was developing an accent of a different sort.

"Australia," I replied. Then, knowing that they were just going to ask me more questions, I went on. "I met the guys there back in May after their Sydney show. Zacky sorta helped me out with something, and he's been...taking care of me ever since."

"Oh, I'll bet he has." The girl rolled her eyes. "How old are you? Fourteen?"

"Sixteen."

"A little young for him, aren't you?" she spat.

Her hostility sent my defences up.

"Zacky and I aren't together," I told her firmly. "We're just friends."

"That's what they all say," she snarled. "You're just friends one day and the next there'll be pictures of you all over the Internet, with him making out with you like the slut you are." Her words were so much like a slap to the face that I physically had to take a step back. "I hope he sees you for what you are soon and ditches you! Whore!"

I simply stared at her, lost for words. She looked so smug that it was an effort for me not to shoot something nasty right back at her. But I held my tongue, knowing that it would be stupid to give them anything that could fuel their fire. Especially when I was outnumbered three to one and I didn't know what they were capable of.

"Are you done?"

I was ashamed to hear that my voice broke as I asked the question, but there was no taking it back now. The trio looked pleased by their work, so I took it as a yes and began my venture away from there at as steady a pace as I could manage.

When I was sure they could no longer see me, I ran.