Complete Unknown

When fans hear my name, they usually picture me partying all night, sleeping all day, performing in my band’s shows, cheating on my wife just for the hell of it, and repeating all of it the next day.

Because obviously, that is the life of a rock star.

Unfortunately not. Here is a more accurate description of a day in the life of Synyster Gates—me, the big, bad lead guitarist. I sit here in my empty house with my Maltese snoring softly beside me, waiting for my future ex-wife to come pick up the rest of her shit and a phone call from the mother of my child.

Life’s great, ain’t it?

Every six months, like clockwork, Kim calls about Hannah—my daughter—a kid I barely know. It’s been exactly six months to the day and if anything short of a bitch, Kimberly is punctual.

She will call. I can count on it. What’s worse? I’m expecting Michelle (the dreaded future ex-wife) any minute now. And it’s almost a guarantee that she’ll be raising some hell before she finally leaves again. It’s not the first time I wish we’d skipped past the separation, the trying to patch things up, and filed for divorce as soon as the shit hit the fan.

My one and only hope for the day? That the two terrors don’t strike at the same time. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it’d be bad; Michelle would only have more to bitch about and hold over my head. It wasn’t as if I didn’t love my daughter, either, it’s just that I despise her mother.

For keeping me away from my only child, for always demanding more money and no visitation rights for me. I don’t even know if my daughter knows my name. And when those sparse phone calls finally come around, Hannah doesn’t even want to talk to me.

Now that… that stings.

A moment of complete hopelessness strikes me and leaves me dumbfounded, there on the sofa with Pinkly dozing peacefully. She looks up at me, as if sensing my despair, and lets out a grumble before resting her head on my lap. I can’t help but smile at that; I’ll always have my dog.

The band, too. If I ever need anything to fall back on, anything to count on, it’s Avenged Sevenfold. Music—my main reason for living.

Even out in the living room I can hear the front door be pushed open, with such a force it bounces off the wall behind it in the foyer. I roll my eyes, not budging from my place on the sofa. For once I didn’t want any trouble today… but that’s really all Michelle aims for anymore.

She stomps right on past me, the curl of her collagen-filled lip her only acknowledgement of my presence. Pinkly barks and stays where she is but she remains alert and focused, as if she believes Michelle is the devil incarnate.

Hell, she probably is.

After countless thumps and the sound of things being thrown around—more than likely my things, Michelle walks down the staircase with several suitcases trailing behind her, hitting each step with a loud crack. My eyes narrow, hoping for her sake that the steps aren’t damaged. It’s right about now when I’m thanking my lucky stars for making her sign the prenup; my house is still mine, and will be after the divorce. Fully aware of this, Michelle of course went the immature route and tried to damage anything at any time she could.

Just to spite me.

She stops in front of me expectantly and I slowly—begrudgingly—look up to meet her gaze. Pinkly lets out a growl of a warning at her as I do so and I have to fight the smirk tugging at the corners of my lip. When she doesn’t move, I raise a questioning eyebrow.

“What do you want now, Michelle?”

A solemn, fake expression crosses her features, and she drops her gaze to the floor. “This is the last of my stuff,”

“That’s cool,” I hope this is the last time we’ll be seeing each other. At least until the divorce is finalized.

Something changes in her eyes, and her whole demeanour stiffens at my cold reply. “I’m staying at a hotel, Brian, and I’m almost out of money.”

Because you don’t have my bank account to rely on anymore, that’s why.

“That’s not my problem anymore,” I interjected before she could get another word out edgewise. “Just leave.”

The sadness evaporates as quickly as it came, and her eyes harden almost instantly. She huffs and picks up her bag, turning on her heel and heading for the door. “Fuck you, Haner!”

And then… hold the applause, the doors slams shut behind her.

In a baby voice, I turn toward Pinkly. “No thanks. She’s icky, isn’t she Pinkly?”

The small Maltese pricks her ears, looking up at me with the wag of her tail. “Mm’hmm, yes she is.”

With the quiet settling into the house yet again, I lean back into the sofa with a sigh and looks up toward the ceiling. I have this huge house and no one to share it with but my dog. Sure, my best friends might visit often, but my band is only one part of my life… my home life is basically non-existent.

I have no one to blame for that but myself.

In front of me on the glass coffee table, the cordless phone is propped up I can exactly when it begins to ring. It lights up as soon as I’m fixated on it. Like magic, I can’t help but think sarcastically. The dull green screen illuminates the numbers I know off by heart. Just at hearing it ring, I feel my chest swell with incandescent hope. Maybe today Hannah would want to talk to me.

I let it ring once more, not wanting Kim to think I’m waiting for her call. Which I am, but the last thing I want her to think is that she has the upper hand.

“What’s up?” I say, trying to keep my voice level; indifferent.

“Just checking in, Haner.”

Briefly, I wonder how many females I’ve made hate my name over the years. It’s not my fault they all enjoy cheating on me and playing me, only to place all the blame on me in the end.

Again, what a wonderful life I lead.

If it was up to Kimberly, she wouldn’t call at all. But in the custody business, keeping in touch was sort of mandatory. Kim didn’t want anything to come between her and her money, so she called when she had to. And only if she had to.

Before she could hang up on me, I quickly cut in. “How is she?”

The thought of knowing anything about my daughter, even if it was just how she’s doing, thrilled him. I’d kill to know everything about her; her hobbies, her friends, anything. All I have that belong to her are school pictures, one from each grade hung on the wall up my staircase. But in school pictures, everybody is the same with the fake, Mona Lisa smile plastered on. No indication as to what she is really like as a person. Each time I look at them, it kills me to know it’s all I have to know her, when she is only a couple hours of a drive away from me.

While I most certainly don’t deserve the Father of the Year award, I’d tried to see her… several times, but each time I brought up visiting to Kim on the phone, she would slap the band in my face. She’d go on about how I’m constantly on the road, that I would only be able to see Hannah every few months anyway, and it would be best if she doesn’t know me at all.

Then, even when I look past this, she would threaten me to go public about Hannah being my daughter. This is what usually makes me back off. I really couldn’t give less of a shit about what the press or any stupid gossip magazine would have to say about it, but I seriously doubt Hannah would feel the same way. And I just can’t do that to her.

“She’s as fine as she’s always been, dandy actually.” Kim replies, sarcasm colouring her already sour tone.

“Is she there? Can I talk to her?” The questions come tumbling out of my mouth before I even realize it. It’s not often I get this chance, so I have to make the most out of it.

“No, and no,”

Her response makes my blood boil. What the hell gives her any right to deny me a phone call with my own daughter, when I jumped through hoops just to keep her happy?

“And why the fuck not?” I demand, no longer able to hide my frustration.

I’m fed up with her stupid act, with everything in my ‘personal life.’ It’s obvious that Kim doesn’t want me near our daughter, but how can I be sure that Hannah feels the same way? I kick myself for going along with her for this long. If I want to see my daughter, I’m going to see my daughter.

In the background, a door slamming shut can easily be heard. I flinch just at the sound of it, my heart sinking. “Is that good enough for you?”

Even over the phone, I could imagine her merciless smirk. I may not know Kimberly well, but I do know from past experiences that she is a ruthless bitch. She’s probably taking pleasure in keeping me away from my daughter.

“I want to see her.” A statement I’ve uttered a thousand times before, only this time I’m more sure of myself than ever. And this time I’m not about to let a custody battle, a divorce, or the freaking press of all things to get in my way. Seeing her in person, talking to her, knowing her, is the only way I can be sure.

Even if she really doesn’t want to see me, I would be okay with it—as much as it would hurt, I’d be okay with it. In the end, I just want Hannah to be happy. I can’t be sure of that from a stupid phone call every six months.

“We’ve been through this before, Bri—”

“I don’t care. I’m calling the case worker tomorrow, and we’ll set up some visits alright?”

I should know by now that Nice Guys always finish last.

“No! No, Haner. She doesn’t want to be anywhere near you, it’s cruel of you to put her through this,”

My free hand curls into a fist and I have to fight the urge to slam it into the coffee table in front of me. Pinkly looks at me in alarm, and I have to force myself to calm down. In order to busy myself, I absentmindedly run my hand through her soft fur.

“That’s not good enough for me, Kim. I want to hear it from Hannah myself.”

“She doesn’t even want to speak to you over the phone. Why can’t you get it through your thick skull that she doesn’t want to see you? So help me Haner, I’ll go to the—”

“So go to the press, see if I give a fuck,” I spit. “Maybe I’ll sue for custody, then.”

As soon as the thought enters my mind, leaves my lips… I know it’s something I have to pursue. It just seems right. To finally have my daughter in my life… permanently? I’d be the happiest man on the planet.

“Oh yes, because that would work out wonderfully in court. You’d totally be seen as a fit parent, Mister Rockstar.”

I finally relaxed back into my seat again, feeling alarmingly sure of myself. “Well, we’ll just have to see about that then, won’t we?”

The reply I waited impatiently for doesn’t come, and it’s not until I hear the dial tone that I realize that she hung up on me.

Good. That means she’s angry—that’s she’s intimidated. But she does have a point, and I’m going to have to make myself look damn good in court. Heaven knows my divorce with Michelle is going to do the exact opposite of it, but I’m going to try. For my daughter.

For Hannah.