When his dad passed away, the atmosphere at home turned into a grey shade he hadn’t seen before. Sure, he’d been young, barely ten years old, but even for his age, he’d already known the pain as they had lost the family dog two years before—hadn’t cried so much in his short life. But losing his hero had hit very differently. Maybe it was because he’d felt his safety net was falling apart piece by piece. Maybe it was because after these two events, he’d grown more introverted and the bullying at school worsened. Maybe it was that shadow looming over him, making everything look gloomier than it really was. Whatever the case, the bassist had gone through a pretty rough patch.
With time, though, the heaviness surrounding him and his family dissipated. Back then, he didn’t understand this overwhelming ball of emotions, but he had a clearer perspective now. Like waves, the contradicting feelings had come and gone, allowing him to see the sun between the clouds. Some days all he wanted to do was cry, others he’d felt numb, and others he was okay. Until one day he could finally smile,reallysmile, without feeling pain in his chest.
Fast forward several years to when he was fifteen, his bisexual awakening rattled his existence once again. Although society was still not so open-minded, and probably because deep down he’d realized he wasdifferentwhen he had found himself liking boys as much as he liked girls, it’d been easier than he’d thought. His family, like always, had been his biggest support system and, surprisingly, so were his friends. Even the guys, who he thought would be uncomfortable when they were in the football changing room. But nope. Nothing like that had happened. At least that he knew of. It’d been so pleasant feeling how everyone he cared about embraced his queerness with such openness and love.
The only time he could recall having issues because of this was one night after dropping a female friend off at home. And honestly, at first, he wasn’t sure if it was because of his sexual preference or because he was a metalhead—long hair, leather jacket, combat boots, and bullet belt. Some people just don’t know how to deal with what clashes their narrow minds and their answer is violence.
Anyway, the weather had been nice, and it was only thirty minutes to his house, so he’d decided to stroll, which would also help the tobacco smell to vanish a little. He was already eighteen, close to leaving the nest to move to Berlin with his boyfriend, but Mom still called him out for smoking—“That shit’s gonna kill you,”she’d used to say.
He’d been walking down the street with his earphones in when a far-right gang circled him. The dudes were pretty well known around the neighborhood for causing all kinds of riots and fights, but Marc had never come face-to-face with them. Not like this.
They had beaten the crap out of him while calling him names—they’d seen him with Viktor, apparently—sending him to the hospital for two days. It hadn’t been as bad as it could’ve been thanks to a group of people passing by, but it was still awful. His entire body had hurt, and he couldn’t breathe properly for weeks.
Staring up at the clear blue sky above him now, Marc scowled. It had been a while since he’d wandered into the place where these pieces of his past rested. It was what it was, and there was nothing he could do about any of it now. He’d been hurt and learned, growing stronger with every punch he’d received. Yet swimming in these painful memories was a trait of his he couldn’t avoid when he was troubled.
After taking one final drag of his cig, he exhaled, watching the smoke swirl in the air. Just then, one last recollection entered his mind, tripping him and causing his world to turn upside down.Viktor.
Their relationship had been his biggest inspiration since they’d met. That man had been everything to him. His past. His present. His future. But when he’d decided he needed to deal with his mother’s illness by himself, leaving the bassist behind, he had let the texts and calls decrease to a point where they’d barely talked for five minutes every one or two weeks.
Marc had tried to be understanding and supportive, to be there for him in every way he could. He had even traveled a couple of times during those eight months they’d been apart to see him and offer to help his family. But nothing he’d done, nothing he’d said, seemed to be enough. Or at least that was what he’d felt, because Viktor had grown so uncommunicative, he hadn’t been sure of anything anymore.
There’s only so much one person can take before losing faith.
That had been why when he’d called him that last night to break up with him, claiming he didn’t want to burden the bassist and chain him to a depressive life indefinitely. It hadn’t hurt as much as one would have expected after a decade shared with the same person. Though, even if he wasn’t aware at the moment, the fact that his heart had been clinging to someone else—Chris—for some time, probably had something to do with it, too.
Loss. Confusion. Fear. Heartbreak. Every one of these emotions had cracked his soul a little, leaving him marked forever. The hopelessness mixed with anger he was feeling was just another one to add to the list.
It could sound dumb, but after everything he had gone through, he had found solace in Chris’s company. And now, because his greedy ass had been unable to control his impulses and the guitarist had gotten carried away, he had most likely lost him and the band they’d created. Perhaps not completely. It wasn’t up to them to decide that. But things weren’t the same anymore, and that would take a toll on their creativity and dynamics. Marc was sure of that.
Keeping his unrequited love a secret had been tough, no denying that, yet seeing the conflict, anger, and disgust in his friend’s eyes had cut deeper. Not to mention the moment three days before, when Marc had seen him walking out of that stall with a chick who had been fluttering around him since they’d stepped into the nightclub. His stomach had backflipped, sending such an undertow of poisonous discomfort to his throat, the bassist had thought he would throw up.
They weren’t a thing, and Chris could do whatever and whoever he wanted. But the patronizing smirk he’d flashed before disappearing with her into the throng of people told Marc he was doing it out of spite. That somewhere in his head, this was his way to reinforce the fact that he was straight. That what had happened between them had just been a lapse.
Marc’s heart uncomfortably hammered in his chest.
It hadn’t been an actual physical thrashing, but Chris’s actions, words, and coldness, combined with his revenge bathroom quickie,had hurt more than the broken nose, the gash in the head, and the few cracked ribs that misplaced hatred had caused him in the past.
As a cloud of smoke escaped his lungs, Marc squinted. He was lying on the bench of one of those picnic tables near the buses, blinded by the rays of sun slipping through the branches when the wind blew, making them swing. The day was fairly hot, with the sky painting itself a soft shade of orange, but here, under the shadow of the trees, the temperature wasn’t as extreme.
Sighing, he sat up with the cigarette between his lips and ran his fingers through his hair, scanning the area around him. Green. Isolated. The world seemed so different when he was alone and couldn’t hear anything but the music blasting in his ears.
Not having to hide to enjoy his solitude and lick his wounds in peace was almost healing. Especially with “Drowned Hopes” by Deadly Carnage playing. The emotional damage of the lyrics, the harrowing timbre in the singer's voice, and the darkness of the atmosphere they created served a real purpose right now. Marc had listened and used this song to warm up his fingers so many times he knew the bass and guitar tab by heart. A part of his brain wished he could blend with it. Be a note in the riff. A violent beat of the drums.
Music was definitely a shelter for him.
However, he’d had enough of doom, depressing metal for the day, and needed a shift in his mood. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to sleep that night, as all he would do was think about things that were not in his hands.
Getting his phone out of the pocket of his cargo pants, he tapped out of the playlist and scrolled to his darkest one. “Buried by Time and Dust” pierced his ears as he pressed play, giving him a boost of energy like few bands did—Mayhem was fucking magic.
This was what he needed, some good, old black metal to shake his insides with rage, misanthropy, and paganism; Emperor, Immortal, Dissection, Gorgoroth… Though if he had to choose only one band to listen to until the end of time, it’d probably be Bathory. The shrieking vocals, distorted guitars, and tempo of the Swedish group were a signature in themselves that resonated with him.
Some people called it dissonant fascist noise, but that was just their prejudices. In some cases, it’d been true, especially in the early days of some bands back in the 90s. But the metal community, even the black metal one, was one of the most open-minded and accepting of all. It was all about fucking with the rules that had turned music into something so commercial it’d ended up ruining it. It was about the atmosphere it created, the sense of belonging, and the liberty to express yourself. That was why, as raw and violent as it was, Marc loved how it touched the roots of his existence, making him feel alive.
A couple of hours went by. Even with the lampposts on, it was dimmed, and looking at the page where he was writing, crossing out and adding words to the verses of a song that would never see the light of day, had become a real fucking pain.
Reluctant to go back to the area where everyone would probably be already, Marc closed his notebook and got up. His feet dragged on the ground. First over grass, then over pebbled pavement, and lastly over the asphalt in the parking lot.
Like a ghost, he walked past the people hanging out with their friends. It wasn’t much, and every night was the same for everyone—drinking and jamming out. Though it was precisely these moments that would remain in their memories forever. The clamor when they were up on the stage was unforgettable, a high not many got to feel, but connecting with people all over the world, experiencing this festival, and sharing it with those you looked up to, was a whole other thing.
