//Doing what?//

//Destroying three years of careful and deliberate work designed to keep myself to myself?  Allowing myself to *become* Savage?  Sacrificing my privacy?  My life?//

//Oh god what *am* I doing?//

The crowds outside were getting louder.  It was almost time to meet this rabble head on.  The tavern was bursting at the seams.  Lynne had outdone herself.  Despite the short notice and the less-than-perfect location, she'd still managed to cram a ridiculous amount of people into the venue, a large percentage of whom, I'd been assured, were press.  We were getting a shitload of publicity over this.  Photographers were poised and waiting to take the first ever shots of the elusive artist, Savage.

But I couldn't give two shits about the photographers, journalists, fans, there was only one person I wanted in that crowd.  I just hoped he'd be there.  As long as he showed up it'd all be worth it.

"Well if it isn't Mr Savage himself."  A voice startled me out of my intense contemplation of my shaking hands.  I looked up hurriedly, but the words weren't spoken by a dark-haired angel, rather a blonde streaked guitarist at the doorway to my "dressing room".

"Hey Ben." I didn't bother trying to hide my disappointment.

"Hey yourself."  He went straight for the mirror and started fussing over his gravity-defying hair.  "It's a fucking circus out there mate - couldn't Lynne have gotten us a classier joint?  Barely room to breathe on that stage, let alone set up a drum kit."

"That other band seemed to do ok."  Lynne had gotten a local act in to support - Powderburn? Powderthumb?  I couldn't remember.

"Yeah they warmed up the crowd all right - you know this dump doesn't have air con? You could suffocate in there now."

Not what I needed to hear.  I leaned my head against the cool surface of the mirror, trying to calm my racing pulse.  The walls were closing in.  I was sick of being stuck in this room, (Lynne had me bailed up for the sake of safety) I just wanted to be out in the bar, scanning the crowd.  Was Darren here yet? Was he even coming?  //Oh god I feel ill.//

"You right mate?  You look a bit green."

"I'll be fine,"  //as soon as I see Darren.//

"Good.  Cos we're on."

Before I could question if I was ready I was being ushered sidestage.  I concentrated on regulating my breathing, trying not to hyperventilate as the crowd noise grew deafening. Two steps away from complete public exposure, as I was about to cross the patch of carpet lying between me and the complete annihilation of my private life, someone snagged my arm. 

//Save me Darren, save me from this crowd.// 

Again I wished for sapphire eyes, ebony hair, the face of an angel.  Again I was dissapointed.

"Not yet, Daniel - wait until you're announced!"  Lynne was positively flushed with excitement and her grip on my arm was almost painful.  The media storm had put her on an amazing high.  She'd orchestrated the whole performance quite well considering she'd had six days to do so, flying in my album musicians, roping in a support band and even managing some interior decorating bandaids on the tavern premises.  It was now just tacky, no longer an eyesore.

I was itching to get out on the stage, just to see who was out there, search the crowd for Darren.  Lynne was shocked, mistaking my need to find Darren for eagerness to perform.  A local radio personality got up on stage and gave the official spiel, detailing my background, my first album, my "coming out".  Lynne's fingers dug into my arm throughout the entire speech, like she was afraid I'd run out on stage early and ruin her big moment.

Finally, it was time.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you now, in his *first ever* live performance... Savage!"

The roar was defeaning.  I forced myself to take steps on suddenly petrified legs.  Left. Right. Left. Right. Until I was centre stage being blinded by about five thousand camera flashes.  I squinted into the blinding light, but all I could see was a blur of faces - anonymous, unrecognisable - swaying before me, or was that the stage moving beneath me?

Seeing the print photos later, I looked like a stunned mullet, staring out into nothing, face a blank but for the terror etched in my eyes.  Eyes that were desperately searching.

I stood there, scanning faces, as far as I could see, until it felt unnatural, until the faces I could see began to look confused, until the crowd was almost silent.  And still I couldn't see him.  

Eventually I found the presence of mind to stoop, collect my guitar and seat myself on the strategically placed stool.  Karl counted me in and I let my hands slip to automatic, playing the songs I knew inside out, the songs that were now so empty of feeling and meaning because I'd seen how much more they could be.  With Darren.

One song blurred into another, and I played like an automaton, the setlist my safety blanket, allowing me to switch off and just play - create the meaningless sounds with my instrument.  And sometimes a glimpse of a porcelain face, raven hair, within the teeming crowd would startle me out of my coma.  But it was never Darren.

Silently shattered, I gave up on finding him.  I began to mentally tick off the songs on the setlist, counting the minutes until I crawl into my dressing room and quietly die.  Fifteen down, one to go. Then I read the name of the last song.

Universe.