Viktor Kravchenko
Wed, Oct 11, 11:32 AM
Hello, Marc.
How are you?
I know this email probably feels out of nowhere. I’m actually feeling super awkward myself while writing it. Not even sure if you still use this address or if you’ll even read given the way things ended between us, but I just saw this Wacken announcement and I couldn’t not congratulate you. Buried Alive performing at one of the biggest metal festivals in the entire world? This is huge, man.
You have no idea how excited I got when I saw it. Like ‘I’ve known these people since they were a small band who played in the trashiest places in Munich’. And look at you now. It’s insane. So damn proud of you guys. I’m sure it’s been a tough road, but you finally made it. I might not be part of the crew anymore, but can’t wait to see what other milestones you hit.
Wish you the best.
Viktor
Marc Zimmer
Thu, Oct 13, 2:17 AM
Hey, man.
Long time no see. How are you?
Everything’s pretty good around here. We’re thrilled. It’s gonna be our second time at Wacken, but things are definitely moving forward for us.
Hope all is going well on your side.
Marc
October15th,2017
Auckland, New Zealand
Jet lag was some real shit,especially after a day and a half of traveling. They had left Munich on the thirteenth and were just now shuffling down the third-floor corridor of the hotel Uwe had booked for the crew.
They had left on Friday at lunchtime and it was one o’clock on Sunday morning.
What the fuck?
Marc rarely complained about these insane trips and the ridiculous layovers that were sometimes longer than the flights themselves, but he was exhausted beyond belief.
“Fuck me,” he said as soon as he and Chris entered their room.
Although their income from gigs was better than the previous years, they couldn’t afford to get separate rooms and also keep a decent profit margin. So, once again, they split into pairs, but since everyone knew that the guitarist and Marc were “dating”, they hadn’t questioned who they’d share with. Uwe had even offered to message the hotel to ask them if they still had any queen-sized bedrooms available. If only he knew.
“I don’t think I can get my dick hard right now,” Chris grumbled back.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Marc retorted.
“I know, shithead.”
The guitarist was definitely more comfortable with his sexuality and their relationship than he’d been at the beginning. Yet there were certain things, like sleeping in the same bed, that he couldn’t stand. As if the commitment it entailed was the same as signing a pact with the devil.
It was small details, and the bassist didn’t want to make a big deal out of them, but it bothered him. More so since Viktor had messaged him.
He didn’t hold any feelings for that man, forgotten fondness if anything. But he couldn’t deny that his guts had turned when he had seen his name on the screen of his phone, so much so he’d thought of completely ignoring his email. Annoyance. Gratitude. Heartbreak. Peace. Hell. Emptiness.
One always thinks that talking to an ex, especially after such a long time, won’t cause any type of emotions, but that’s just a lie. History can’t be erased. Part of who we are results from having shared a piece of ourselves with others.
