Deception (Michael Clifford)

Twenty Seven

***

I storm off the stage, breathing heavily, my jaw clenched.
I rip at the straps of my guitar, pulling it over my head and launching it across the room. It lands with a loud clash against the opposite wall.
The crew stand back, not wanting to interfere. Or rather, keep their faces intact.
"Fuck!!" I say out loud, pacing around rigidly behind the stage as the crowd screams out for more.
The noise only just blocks out the voices in my head. Just.
I can't believe I let myself be affected like that.
I feel like punching something, a wall would do fine. But as Ashton comes up behind me, his face also looks very tempting.

"You," I say dangerously, staring at him with as much poison as I can feel running through my veins. I take a step forward.
"Michael, look," he starts.
"Save it," I growl, my fists bunch tightly by my side. "I saw you."
He can't even look at me. Pathetic. My muscles itch.
"Michael you don't understand-"
"Stop using my name like that! Like your trying to appease me. Like your trying to get through my fucking head. Fuck you Ashton."
I can't keep the anger out of my voice. Which only makes me even more frustrated. I can't believe him.
The others have come off stage and are now watching us with caution. I ignore them.
"Why would you do that," I spit, he looks at me, but not in the eye. "You deliberately-" my voice cuts off as I close my throat, trying to contain my anger. I face him again. "To what? Get a reaction out of me? See what I would do?"
Asshole. He's been playing moves behind my back, manipulating the board without me knowing, like a scientist executing an experiment.
"You put her there. You told her to come tonight."
"I didn't tell her anything-"
"Don't!" I raise my voice, and I see him hesitate. "I could see it before we even got onstage, the way you were trying too hard to look casual, you were speaking to her before the show. I knew it, you were up to something." I point at him accusingly, snarling with fury. I'm not even sure who I'm angry at, Scar, Ashton, or myself.
"I didn't need to tell her Michael, she decided to come on her own,"
"Bullshit," I spit back at him. There's a haze over my eyes, like steam fogging up a window.
Ashton stares at me with eyes like shards of glass, glittering worriedly as I continue to pace back and forth.
He put her there, and I let her get to me. I should have known.

"Why did you bring her to the show." I demand. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He doesn't react, just blinks calmly.
"Why!"
"Would it have made a difference if I had told you?"
"Yes." I reply quickly, but I see a flicker of doubt move across his face. "I could have avoided her, focused better on the show" I say weakly.
"What, knowing that she was down there watching?"
"Yes!" I'm more angry now. But I can tell I'm convincing no one.
"You put her in danger Ashton! She was down there by herself," I change the direction.
"There was security," he says in a level voice.
"That's not the point." I stop pacing and take a step towards him, "she could have been hurt, you know about the rumours circling online, the videos, the pictures, what if one of them recognised her?"
"Even if they had, they wouldn't have done anything-"
"You don't know that!" My face is hot with anger, the blood pulsing in my ears. "You brung her to the show, knowing the danger you'd be putting her in."
He stares at me sadly, the light behind his eyes trickling like a river. I can't stand it, I can feel the way he's analysing me, taking in the tiny clues written on my face. I scowl and look away.
"You're worried about her?" He doesn't phrase it like a question. More like an observation.
I glare at him from under my fringe, eyebrows knotted together.
"I was worried about her safety." I say threw gritted teeth. "Someone has to."
I can tell we are talking about something else now, but the others haven't sensed the shift in conversation. They just keep they're distance, watching as I pace, circling like a hawk.

"What about when he stopped her? Were you worried about her safety then?"
I flinch. The memory filtering back of that building guard, hand slapped in front of her as she looked at me desperately from the door way, being held back. I couldn't help it, the way his hand was so carelessly placed across her. Anger curses through my body. If she hadn't reached for my hand at that moment, there was a chance it would have taken over.
"You don't understand." I say quietly, letting the anger slip from my voice as I stare at the ground, "you never will."
"Then tell me..."
"Shut up!" I can't listen to it any longer. He flinches like he's been slapped. "You don't get it Ashton. I let myself fall apart just then, in front of thousands of people. It was like she had ripped away all the control. Like she had me on puppet strings. Do you know what that feels like?!" I feel the anger for myself growing. As well as Ashton, for putting her in a situation like that. "You deliberately put her there to see my reaction, didn't you? You wanted to see what I would do. Was my panic attack not enough for you the other night? Were you not satisfied with what you saw?" The muscles in the side of my face harden, my teeth creaking as I clamp them shut. He stares at me in silence. I know I've said too much, but I don't care.
"I bet you put her there too, in that night club. Knowing that somehow I would turn up, you had her there waiting for me-"
"Oh for god sake Michael stop pretending its me your angry at and not yourself!"
I stop suddenly as Ashton snaps. Blinking at him. The false look of calm and understanding has finally vanished from his face, instead he looks at me now, eyes burning like two tiny flames, his face creased in frustration.
"You let her pierce that mask, she broke through that shining armour of arrogance that you so fittingly wear on stage every night. And you didn't like it. She can see through you Michael, and so can I, so stop pretending that all of this is someone else's fault and and admit it to yourself!"
I stare at him in shock, and the people standing to the side that were muttering only moments ago, also look on in stunned silence.
I don't think they've ever seen Ashton raise his voice like that, I haven't.
I can't think of a decent reply.
"I asked her to come to the show tonight because all you done since she helped carry you up to the apartment the other night, is ignore her. She feels excluded. You may not see it, through your self absorbed little bubble, but she is upset. She looked after you the other night, she sat with you and helped to clear up your wounds, talking you through where you'd been for the last 24 hours, and you repay her with what? Sour glances and a cold shoulder? Turning away from her before she can even reach you? Grow up. It's not always about you Michael, the sooner you realise that, the better."
Ashton's words sting. Like someone's just driven a hot branding iron down my throat, robbing me of my words. I can do nothing but stare at him, standing there with a look on his face that I've never seen before.
I want to deny it, to scream back at him and tell him that's he's wrong, that I'm not ignoring her, that this is his fault.
But I can't.
My mouth is empty.
Maybe because he is right. I'm not angry at him, I'm angry at myself, and the way I so easily let myself fall into her grip. I've never been like that, I've always held myself at close regard, not letting anyone get to me. But looking at her, eyes staring through me like glass, it simply fell. I felt vulnerable, something I haven't felt in a long time, and don't want to ever feel again.
I've avoided looking at her at all in the last few days and haven't spoken to her since that night, mostly because I'm scared to. The recollection of what happened is still patchy, I still can't remember exactly where I went for that period of time. And I'm not sure whether I can bare to find out.
But after the way I put her in danger like that, dragging her through the park in central London, that car hot on our heels...
Avoiding her seemed like the best thing to do. Nothing I've ever done to help has actually made things better, in fact it's made things worse. Not only that, but every time she is near me, I feel two parts of my soul over lapping, blurring together, I've fought so hard to keep that part of myself separate, hidden, from others and myself. It's dangerous.
That's why I haven't gone near her.
I didn't want to make her upset, or feel excluded, I just wanted to protect her. But it sounds like I've done both.
My heart weighs heavily with the realisation of what I've done.

I look up at Ashton, who's still standing a few metres away, watching me. His face unrecognisable to the normally happy, relaxed expression he always wears. I can feel the eyes of my other band mates on my back, and the stares from the crew lurking around the sides.
I sigh and look down.
Defeated.

Then someone coughs. For a moment we are all caught off guard, as someone approaches from the left. It's a man, dressed in a black shirt and dress pants.
"Um, I don't mean to interrupt," he says awkwardly, like he suddenly feels uncomfortable at having to talk to us, "but the crowd is waiting for an encore."
I turn my gaze back to Ashton, who's attention still hasn't left me. His fingers twitch around the drumsticks in his hand.
"Then I guess we better give the crowd what they want." He says to no one in particular.

I hear someone come up behind me, slowly I turn around to see Luke. He hangs back slightly, holding out my black guitar I threw moments ago in his left hand, his own blue one hanging around his shoulders.
He doesn't say a word, just looks at me with hesitant eyes.
I reach out and take it from him, he steps back.
And we head back out onto the stage, back to the music, back to the screaming crowds, and back to the pretending, as I pull the broken mask over my face once more, and return to the spotlight.

***