Rocking Hard, Volume 2 Page 11

  "It's so nice to finally meet you. Jackson's told us so much about you." She was positively beaming at him, and Michael wondered what kind of things Gabriel had told her. She must have caught his expression because her eyes were bright when she added, "All good things, I promise."

  "Come on, sit down." Gabriel scooted over to make room and patted the seat next to him. Obediently, Michael sat.

  He didn't have the slightest clue what to say. When was the last time he'd been awkward around people? He was always so forward. When had that changed? "Gabriel's amazing," he said finally, deciding to go with the "praise your offspring" route of flattery. He'd made the right decision—both Gabriel and his mother beamed. "I've never met another guitar player like him. And it's so rare to find someone who truly understands my vision. I mean, we're not just up there playing about sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll." He hesitated for a moment. Surely it was a horrible idea to bring up sex with someone's parents. What the hell was wrong with him?

  Mercifully, Lisa laughed and nodded. "That's all most bands are concerned with. Drugs and fucking groupies."

  Michael blinked. He was very positive he'd never heard his own mother use the word "fuck" in his entire life.

  "It's good to know you have more to say without being preachy," Lisa finished.

  "Exactly." It was almost a sigh of relief. Maybe being able to understand him ran in families.

  They talked until they couldn't put off leaving the city any longer. As Gabriel hugged his mother and sister goodbye, Michael saw him hand each of them an envelope. He could guess what was in those envelopes, but he didn't want to say anything about it in front of Gabriel's family.

  He kept his thoughts to himself as they changed out of their stage clothes, and then sprawled out on the couch together, Gabriel laying against Michael's chest while Michael played with Gabriel's fingers.

  "I saw that," Michael finally commented coolly.

  Gabriel glanced up at him. "Saw what?"

  "You gave them money, didn't you?"

  Gabriel nodded, not trying to deny it. "I've been helping Carrie pay her way through nursing school whenever I have the money to spare. And mom lives alone—rent isn't cheap."

  "You don't have to do that." From what Michael knew, Gabriel had been living as a starving artist for years, and he still felt obligated to take care of his family as well? He was the child and brother. He wasn't responsible for providing for them too, especially when it couldn't have been easy to make ends meet for himself.

  "They're family." The way Gabriel said that made it sound like it was the law of life, but it wasn't. Not with his family. His parents weren't particularly needing, but he couldn't imagine sending them an undeserved cut of the earnings he had worked so hard to achieve. When Michael didn't say anything, Gabriel prodded. "What, it's not like that in your family?"

  Michael shrugged. He didn't talk about his family much, just what he had to for interviews.

  "What is it like, then?"

  "My parents are Catholic. Very, very Catholic."

  "Oh."

  "Yeah. I was barely tolerable with my obsessions in high school, even though they all came back to the Bible. They said I was abusing it, twisting its message. They weren't really on board with the music I liked. I mean, what parents are? But mine …" Michael sighed. He never talked about his family, and it hurt, like an old wound being probed with a stick.

  "They accept that I'm gay. It took a long time, but they've finally come to terms with it, more or less, I think. But the rest of me …" He sighed again. "My mom sends me a letter every month or so analyzing my behavior from what she's seen in the magazines, telling me what things I'm doing—or supposedly doing, usually—that she doesn't approve of, that God doesn't approve of.

  "I keep telling her that I'm not hurting anyone; I'm not hurting myself. I'm happy. I think God cares more about me being happy than about what I choose to wear. I think He appreciates me raising money for suicide prevention, even if I'm not raising money to spread Catholicism in Africa." He cut off and swallowed at the burning in his throat. His eyes were beginning to sting as well, and he wasn't sure if he ought to be embarrassed or angry.

  "I've never heard her say she's proud of me, not once in all these years. I've broken records. I've torn down boundaries. I'm helping people live their lives and be who they are. I'm proud of me. But not my parents. I'm their only child, and I'm still not their favorite. Most of the time they can barely stand to be around me."

  Gabriel didn't say anything, and Michael thought perhaps he'd gone too far. Maybe Gabriel didn't want to know all the painful little details he tried not to think about. Maybe he was wrong.

  And then Gabriel turned over in his arms, wrapped his own arms around Michael, and looked him in the eyes. "I'm proud of you." He kissed him deeply, reassuringly, and then lay down with his head over Michael's chest.

  Michael thought his heart might break from all the emotion filling it, but he didn't care. As long as Gabriel was there with him, he somehow knew Gabriel would pick up the pieces.

  *~*~*

  When Gabriel woke up the next morning, he could hear chanting as they drove into the city. It was weird. Usually, there was screaming as they approached the venue, but this chanting sounding threatening. He tugged on some clothes and headed into the lounge where the rest of the band was already drinking coffee. They looked dark and grim.

  "What is it?"

  "That," Ariel said distastefully, "is the hate 'church' protesting our right to live."

  "What?"

  She pulled open the curtain behind her; Gabriel realized only then that all the curtains in the bus had been drawn. The streets were lined with people picketing. Brightly painted signs were everywhere as they chanted and marched.

  God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve

  Fags deserve to die

  A moral wrong cannot be a civil right

  Homo sex is a sin

  God hates fag enablers

  Reject the gay agenda

  Thank God for dead homos

  AIDS isn't a disease; it's a cure

  On and on they went, words of hate and loathing. Gabriel felt the pit of his stomach drop out; he wasn't sure if he wanted to cry, scream, or be sick. What was wrong with people?

  "That's disgusting." He shut the curtains tightly.

  "It's ignorance," Ariel said. "If AIDS was a cure for gay people, straight women wouldn't be the main victims. Someone's not keeping up with their literature."

  Gabriel sat down quietly. How was someone supposed to fight blind hatred? Half the people in the crowd had probably never even met a gay person before. Their slogans did their job. They didn't make him feel sinful or wrong, but they did make him feel helpless. How could the gay community ever win?

  "It gets worse," Raphael said and turned on the TV. "You missed the main broadcast, but I'm sure it's still on the ticker line."

  Gabriel read the ticker as it ran across the bottom of the screen, waiting to see what the big deal was.

  "There!" Raphael pointed to the screen.

  A number of Fallen Angel fans were beaten while waiting outside the venue this morning. So far, three have been hospitalized; doctors say they will be released later today.

  The cry/scream/hurl feeling was back. "This is wrong," Gabriel whispered, his voice pained.

  What was wrong with people?

  "Come on," Michael said quietly, reaching for Gabriel's hand. "We have a show to play."

  *~*~*

  The show that night was intense. There were a handful of signs in the crowd, ones proclaiming the opposite of the signs outside.

  God=Love

  Jesus Loves You

  We Are One

  Gabriel caught sight of a sign that read You're My Gabriel and didn't know what to think. Michael said that all the time. What did it mean?

  All he knew was that this show was like playing the GSAs. His purpose had been thrown back in his face. These kids deserved the best after sp
ending all day—all their lives—walking through hatred and still keeping their heads up. He played like the world was ending, and the crowd ate it up.

  Michael talked with the crowd for a little bit before the last set, something he rarely did. Gabriel knew Michael made a point never to preach to his fans, but this show was an exception.

  "I've seen the signs. I've heard the stupid things those people are screaming at us. We all know they're wrong, and we're right. You don't need me to tell you that. But what I want to tell you is that we need to look out for each other. No one's going to do it for us. We need to look out for each other. When you see someone in trouble, someone being picked on or targeted, step up. You just might save a life.

  "I know you've seen the ignorant people outside telling you that you're going to burn in hell, that you're nasty or gross or wrong. Well let me tell you, when judgment day comes, we will not be the ones tossed out on our wonderfully fucked asses."

  The crowd screamed and Michael and Gabriel grinned at each other as the band launched into Judgment Day.

  *~*~*

  When Michael woke up the next morning to the sound of his ringing cell phone, Gabriel was still asleep beside him. Michael took a moment to look at how soft Gabriel's features were as he slept. He looked so sweet and innocent. He looked exhausted too, like Michael had fucked him good and proper the night before—which he had. Michael was pretty proud of that. He loved that Gabriel had so many sides, that he could be wild in bed and then sweet after. He took a moment to smile at his sleeping—lover? boyfriend? companion?—but his still ringing phone demanded his attention.

  "Hello?" He walked into the bathroom as he answered his phone so he wouldn't disturb Gabriel, not even bothering to check the ID first.

  "Michael."

  Startled by the voice, Michael closed the door a little harder than his initial intent. "Zadkiel? What do you want this time?" Michael's words were clipped. He couldn't get Zadkiel's name out of his mouth fast enough for his liking.

  "Ouch, Michael." Zadkiel's voice was forcibly cool. Michael could picture him admiring his nails as he spoke. Zadkiel always acted aloof, like he didn't really care, like no one could get under his skin. "Is that any way to speak to the previous love of your life?"

  "What's that supposed to mean?" The way he said "previous love of your life" made it sound like Michael fell in love with a new man every other week. Apparently, that was exactly what Zadkiel meant.

  "What does it sound like? You find a new love of your life more often than you change underwear."

  "That's disgusting."

  "The underwear or man-whore bit?"

  "Fuck off, Zadkiel."

  "It wasn't too long ago that you were the one fucking me, Michael." Zadkiel's voice was hard. "Don't think I've forgotten."

  "You certainly won't let me forget it," Michael muttered darkly. Zadkiel was the boyfriend he never seemed to be able to get away from, even after their harsh break up.

  "That's beside the point."

  "No, it's not. It's the entire point. We're not together anymore. It's time to move on."

  "That's not what this is about."

  "Oh, really?" Somehow, Michael found that hard to believe. Zadkiel only ever thought about himself and what he wanted; he was never concerned with the well-being of others unless it benefited himself. It was only when he'd begun to fall out of love with him that Michael had seen this ugly side of the man he had been blinded by love for.

  "No, it's not. If I wanted to be with you, if I wanted to live in the secret little cage you built for me, I would've stayed and kept right on being your good little slave."

  "You know that's not what I—"

  "Save it, Michael. We've been there, done that with this argument. It's old news."

  "Then what's your point?"

  "Do you love him?"

  Neither of them needed to ask for clarity. They both knew exactly who Zadkiel meant. Michael hesitated. But why? He did love Gabriel. How could he not? He didn't want to tell Zadkiel though. Zadkiel would make it into something dirty or somehow wrong. But he owed it to Gabriel and their relationship not to hide from the truth; he wasn't ashamed of their love. "Yes."

  "I already knew that. The entire world already knows that. You christened him Gabriel after all," Zadkiel spat. "And the entire world is watching you play with him. Haven't you heard a word I've been telling you? You're ruining his career."

  "No. Of course, I'm not." He was helping Gabriel build a reputation. The whole world was watching him play; everyone could see how good he was. Unless they thought he hadn't earned the position Michael had given him and thought Gabriel had only gotten the spot because Michael wanted him …

  "Really?" Zadkiel and his snotty tone interrupted his sneaking suspicions. "Would you hire a bassist who'd fucked his last boss, repeatedly?" He paused for a moment, and Michael could almost hear the smug satisfaction at his silence. "Of course, you wouldn't. It's not professional. It's not something you want in your band. Who in their right mind is going to hire him, Michael? When he's done being Gabriel tonight, he goes back to being Jackson Anthony. And no one will give a fuck about Jackson Anthony."

  "That's not true. He's a musician in his own right—and an amazing guitar player."

  "Oh, really? I hadn't noticed. Whenever I see him play, I'm too distracted by the two of you sucking face and rubbing your cocks all over each other. What do you think the rest of the world sees, Michael? Don't be so naïve. No one wants sloppy seconds. No one wants a guitarist who fucks his way to the top. That's all they see. At least give him one night of dignity."

  "You don't know what you're talking about," Michael said tightly, but he thought maybe Zadkiel did. Maybe Zadkiel was right. Maybe instead of building Gabriel's career, he was ruining it before he really had a chance to get started.

  "Oh, really? I've been in his shoes, Michael. I've thought you were the second coming. I believed every word you said to me. I loved you." Zadkiel paused. "Does he love you?"

  Michael hesitated, and that was answer enough. He wanted to scream, "No! Gabriel loves me!" But it was too late. He'd hesitated, giving it honest thought, and Zadkiel had taken that as uncertainty and denial.

  "He doesn't, does he? He doesn't have a clue what this is to you, and if he did, it would freak him out. He'd run so fast you'd never see him going 'til he was already gone. Is that what you want?"

  "It doesn't have to be that way," Michael tried desperately. He should have hung up already. He should have hung up the moment he'd heard Zadkiel's voice, but now it was too late. Now Zadkiel was turning his words on him, and Michael was floundering as he fought to defend himself and his relationship from yet another hater. But Zadkiel was more than just another hater. Zadkiel was his past, and he couldn't run from it. He had to beat it.

  "Oh, really? How else is it going to end, hmm? After the show tomorrow, he could stick around as your groupie. He could flush his music career down the toilet and stick around as a roadie or something, available for you to fuck whenever you feel the itch. He could go back home, attempt to make a career for himself between flying out to meet you at your beck and call. Either way, his music career is over.

  "Or you could tell him how you feel, what it all means. And I guarantee you, he will run screaming in the opposite direction. You know he can't handle the truth— no one could. You know you turn love into obsession. Who wants that kind of freaky devotion? No one, Michael, and you know it. You know it, or you would've told him already.

  "So, what are you going to do, Michael? Let him break your heart? Let him throw away his music career? Or are you going to grow a pair of balls and for once in your life, do the right thing—for you, for Gabriel, and for the band? Let him go. Make him go. This was just summer love, Michael. It was sexy to fuck the boss. Let me put it in your terms: it was fun to pluck forbidden fruit. It always is. But now it's over, and it's time to deal with the fallout. Judgment Day comes after Eve and Lilith. You already know that. Don't fuck this
up too."

  The line went dead.

  Michael stared at his reflection in the mirror. What was he doing with Gabriel? Leading him on? Leading himself on? Gabriel couldn't understand what Michael felt, what Michael had done. And Zadkiel was right: no one wanted that kind of obsession. Certainly not Gabriel, who had his entire career ahead of him. He loved him enough to let him go—didn't he?

  He hated Zadkiel. He was a jealous, bitter ex, but he was right. Hadn't Michael known somewhere deep down that things could never work with Gabriel? That this was temporary? That Gabriel would move on to better things, to his own fame and success, and forget his time with Michael?

  Zadkiel had been right on more than one account. Michael didn't just love someone sweetly. He adored them with every ounce of his being; he dedicated himself and put his heart and soul out on his sleeve for his lover to make his own—or break to pieces. Gabriel was young and just starting out on what Michael knew could be an amazing career. Why would he want to be tied down to one person when he could have the world at his feet?

  Clearly Michael was making another mistake. Sure, Gabriel loved him now. They had fun together—they had amazing sex. But would it last? He had no proof that Gabriel wouldn't turn on him like Zadkiel had, putting himself ahead of their relationship, ahead of Michael. And then where would he be? Shattered into a million pieces. Brokenhearted, unable to write about anything but misery and heartbreak like those pop artists he held himself apart from. Gabriel could be the death of him, and then of his career. Gabriel could take absolutely everything from him with just a single word. There was too much risk to love Gabriel. He was better off alone. At least then he'd always have his music, if nothing else.

  *~*~*

  "No. No!" How had his suggestion that they go somewhere for breakfast turned into Michael dumping him?

  "I'm sorry. I just don't think—"

  "You think too fucking much, Michael!"

  Michael cut off abruptly, looking shocked. Gabriel never lost his temper. Four weeks of hot and cold, and he'd never complained, never stuck so much as a toe out of line. But now, at the end, he was done with Michael's shit. If he was going down, he was going to go down fighting.