One Week 3
It’s been one week since Trace walked away from Mason on the bus, and he has avoided him like the plague since. Anthony and Blake immediately noticed the role reversal. Trace was being happy again while Mason was moping. To say they were confused would be an understatement. It was now Sunday, a day off for the boys, they were staying in a hotel that night, but Mason stayed on the bus, refusing to answer any questions. It was around nine o’clock when Blake stormed onto the bus.
“Mason. Fucking look at me. What happened with you and Trace? Huh?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
“I wanted more than I could have, and then I lost it all.”
“What?”
“I love him, Blake, he doesn’t believe in love anymore, and that’s all there is to it.”
“You’re gay? That is so disgusting what’s wrong with you?”
Mason stared up at his friend. He had no idea the boy was homophobic. Blake began ranting on about how it was wrong to love another man before storming off the bus. Mason sighed and turned back to the television that was on mute. It seemed like he couldn’t do anything right anymore.
The next couple of days were utterly devastating. Blake had managed to recruit Anthony into believe Mason was sick, and in the span of ten days, Mason had managed to make himself the outcast of his own band. No one, not even their manager, wanted anything to do with him. They only spoke to him when necessary.
“Sound-check at three.”
“You’re rooming alone tonight.”
“Set was pushed back until eight.”
“If you cost us any more fans because you’re a queer, I will kill you.”
Yes, the fans knew. Only because Blake had decided it wasn’t enough to just let him sulk, he leaked it onto their MySpace page. Mason was not only the most hated member by the band, but by half of their fan base.
Weeks went past and things only grew worse for the boy. His parents, learning of his sexuality, disowned him. He got shit thrown at him while on stage, once knocking him unconscious, and the band kept playing.
It was finally another day off for the band, and Trace drew the short straw and was forced to room with Mason in the hotel while the bus was being “decontaminated” as Blake put it. The boys walked into the room and dropped their stuff. Mason walked out onto the balcony and Trace left. Mason stood, looking out at the world and taking a long drag on his cigarette. He ground the cancer stick onto the table and went back into the room. Taking a long look at himself in the mirror, Mason grabbed his bag and walked into the bathroom.
It was now or never.
Trace walked into Anthony and Blake’s room, immediately suggesting to go out bar hopping. Blake agreed, but Anthony stayed silent.
“What’s the matter, Ant? Turning into a Mason?” Trace cracked at the silent boy.
Actually, Trace didn’t know why he detested Mason so much. Probably because it was easier for him to hate the brown-haired boy than to love him. He wouldn't get hurt again. The boys left and went to the nearest bar. Trace found himself looking at all the boys, comparing them to Mason, and all of them loosing. Trace felt his heart break at the thought of Mason, about how the boy was probably curled up in the hotel bed, wondering what he did wrong.
He was the most selfless, caring person Trace had ever met, and yet, there they were, having fun without him, while he sulked in his room. Trace’s thoughts stayed on the brown eyed boy throughout the night, picturing him broken and confused. Trace felt like he was stabbed in the heart whenever he thought of how they treated him. The guys were talking to him, but he wasn’t sure who was saying what.
“Trace? Dude, you’ve been out of it all night, are you alright?”
“We’re terrible.”
“What?”
“We’re horrible people, guys. We should be shot…”
“What the fuck are you going on about?”
“I gotta go…”
Trace stood and left the bar. He got into his car and sped off to the hotel. He had a feeling that they followed him, but right now, he only had a sense that he needed to get to their room now. He parked the car and ran into the hotel. Standing in front of the elevators, pressing the button, he decided they took too long and ran to the stairs. Flying up the five flights, Trace ran down the hallway to his room. Fumbling with the keycard for a minute, he heard the elevators open and heard his name being called, but he ignored it.
Pushing the keycard into the door, Trace flung the door open and raced inside. He didn’t see Mason lying on the bed, and he wasn’t on the balcony. He searched the room before seeing the bathroom light on. He walked up to the door and knocked.
“Mason? Mace? Are you in there?”
Trace opened the door slightly, and was hit with the distinct smell of blood. Throwing the door open all the way, Trace saw Mason for the first time in a while, and let out an ear-shattering scream.
Mason was on the floor, shirtless, pills and empty vodka bottles everywhere. Deep cuts ran up, down, and across his chest, dried tears on his cheeks.