49 — For the Love of Obsession

We're all human, and a bit of curiosity does tend to make a person stupid. That's where I was right now; one impulsive step away from some stupid shit.

You could argue, of course, that being propelled towards such idiocy by morbid curiosity and insomnia and sheer fucking frustration would grant the slightest margin of mercy in the judgment.

But it was at times like these that I could very easily become the archetype of 'if the world's burning, so be it, might as well join the fun' type of person.

And on top of that, I could justify all of that perfectly sound reasoning.

Why, of course, good sir!

To sing, the world must be first on fire. Them's just the rules.

If the world wants a cure, then the sickness must run its course.

Yeah, all those aphorisms and similes didn't even convince me at all, if that was the level I had stooped to. Perhaps I simply didn't give a fuck. It was one AM. There's something magical about that time in the night where everything goes straight down the shitter. The maniacs came out to play.

I had no such fears, as I was currently in the lovely company of one hottie cop.

Ah, it’s been a couple of days already. A couple of days of literally nothing. Nearly a week, to be exact. Willow and Freya had barricaded me at home. Couldn’t even go to the gym, and had to resort to doing my own exercises at home.

It was suffocating.

For the first time in my life, I felt caged. 

It wasn’t this bad even when Covid hit. 

My first release’s success was still going strong, and Calista told me that inquiring emails were pouring in. 

I’ve seen and heard some podcasts talking about my song. Influential streamers reacting to it. Lyrics video being made about it. The hype about Silver—the first male singer to break the rules of the system—was truly like a fire spreading. 

And that’s how I sneaked out. 

"That's my cap." Valeria mumbled as she stared at my head.

"Indeed, it is." I nodded, pinching it and tilting my head further up, to look down at her in a display of utmost faux condescension.

"I've been looking for it..."

Her blue gaze had not gone any gentler from her nightly patrols. If anything, the rings around her eyes got darker, giving her a semi-tired, semi-murderous look.

"You could always take it from me. It wouldn't be any effort at all."

In case that wasn't clear, I was teasing her.

She bit her lip, and her face brightened ever so slightly.

Then, without another word, Valeria bent forward and slid her hand towards the cap, tugging at it firmly before sliding it off my head. I didn't oppose resistance, as the cap belonged to her, to begin with.

"Here it is."

She clutched it firmly for a long minute of awkwardness, in which she still refused to look at my direction and, after a tired sigh, extended it back to me. "You can keep it."

"Really?"

She nodded. "Though... stealing is bad."

"Don't worry, you're a cop; no one's gonna steal from you... much."

Valeria lowered her new cap until her eyes were covered by its rim.

"Damien..."

"Hm?"

"Damien."

"What is it?"

"I know it's not any of my business, and forgive my frankness, but, why... all of a sudden?"

She was obviously talking about the song. I didn't bother to ask how she knew of it, as it was likely mentioned in passing by my relatives, or maybe she heard about it elsewhere. "Free will is an amazing thing, Val. If we were slaves to convention, we might not be having this pleasant late-night rendez-vous."

She gaped like a fish for a moment, and I could see a lone eye peeking at me worriedly from the shadow of her cap. "You have such a peculiar personality sometimes. Like... I'm never sure how to approach you. You say such cryptic things, you know... I don't know how to react half the time."

She released an awkward cough.

"Ah." I took an empathic sigh. "Yes, I've been told something like this before."

"......"

She fell silent. Eerily so. The crickets outside had long since gone quiet, and there were no street noises as our block was tucked far into the outer parts of the residential district. There was a forest beyond, and not much beyond that.

The nightlife was a little disappointing around these parts.

Valeria had done her nightly rounds for the evening; she had asked me to come out for a little stroll before she called it a night.

"Do you like it, though?"

"......" She lowered the cap again. "Yes."

"That's good."

I could feel her looking at me from the corner of my eyes.

"Clearly, it isn't, if the stalker is any indication."

I wanted to point out that, once again, if the world were a rational place, the stalker would not even exist, or she'd be having tea with me right about now, and I'd be asking her what part of me exactly made me so stalking-worthy. In my world, a large majority of men were used to a life of celibacy anyway. The thought of romance and dating were so far removed from one's mind they were little more than vague notions of what might have been.

So, for one of those men, being subject to a woman's obsessive stalking behavior must have felt something like a fantasy.

Imagine. You're a 40 something, slightly balding male. Your favorite hobby is collecting figures and books. You have a good culture, but you lack the intersocial skills that everyone around seems to magically be born with. 

You'd given the dating life a shot, and after too many disappointments, decided that it wasn't for you.

You'd live your life like any other male in this world, slowly eroding away from the reality, the grimness, the depressingly gray notion of not having someone in this world who finds you special, let alone cute, and maybe all your dreams will always end up in the realm of fiction.

Enter the stalker.

Enter some level of obsession.

Now you've suddenly gone from being an average man on the planet, to a dream boyfriend. Your morning is filled with chortles as your nose is assaulted by your stalker's unique, distinctly-womanly scent on your dirty t-shirts. She probably cuts them apart or peels a few threads loose because her addiction tells her so. She could be out there right now, staring at your window, or sneaking a photo while you sleep.

Many people dream about having a stalker; there's a weird, morbid charm about having a beautiful, obsessive woman, chasing after you, much to the chagrin and ire of all other men who aren't the focus of such behavior. It's crazy, and unhealthy, and would likely end in tragedy, but... 

"You don't look the least bit concerned..." Valeria murmured.

"Well, I've got you around the block for protection."

Her cheeks visibly reddened in the moonlight, and she looked up. "Yes, Damien, I will make sure nothing will happen. I promise."

She said it with such shounen-esque conviction.

"Thank you, Val." I grinned, putting the cap back on and staring at her. She looked transfixed, for a moment, until I spoke again. "By the way, any progress on that front?"

Then the spell broke, and she averted her gaze, deflating with a dejected sigh. "Nothing, so far. We didn't catch anyone suspicious coming near. And she hasn't shown up since. We did question some of your neighbors... but so far no reason to believe any of them are connected."

I nodded, staring at the windshield wipers as they began to work on a slow, quiet swipe. A storm was looming, but, as of yet, only a few stray drops fell.

"I'm thinking of releasing the next song."

Naturally, Valeria snapped towards me with wide eyes and her new cap slightly askew on that cute little blonde bun. Her hair, for lack of a better phrase, looked like the tightest, sleekest, brightest ball of yarn I'd ever seen.

"What are you—"

"It'd draw her out." I shrugged. 

"... you cannot possibly expect this plan of yours to go well."

She was probably right. 

Valeria sighed.

"Who knows. My mother and aunt did not approve. I haven't made a concrete decision yet, but the pros seem to outweigh the cons. At the very least, we'll lure out the stalker once and for all. I mean, she already knows me, and has some delusions of her own; you've read the letter, didn't you? She even made an excuse that her baby is mine. If the song made her crazy... then I might as well... keep the craziness going until we find the perpetrator. Either that, or I catch her with these strong hands of mine.”

I did a little Zyzz demonstration right there. 

Valeria, somehow, in a really fucking comical way, just fell forward, burying her head on her steering wheel and releasing the cutest, soft, muted cries of annoyance. She even ended up slamming her forehead right on the horn, as the poor girl received a noseful of ear-bleeding screech.

"Are you okay?"

She shook her head like a dog fresh from the bath, then stared at me in shock.

"What was that!?"

"Me trying to demonstrate my great strength."

She deadpanned me. "Damien, please try to be serious."

"I am being serious." I shrugged. "If it's a trap, I'd be the bait. You just need to wait and catch her before she tries anything."

"That's not how it works!" She countered, her voice rising. "Do you think it's that easy? What if she has a weapon? What if she hurts you before we can catch her? And even if we do catch her, what then? You're going to keep singing and attract more crazies like her?"

She took a breath and wiped her sweaty forehead.

"What am I supposed to do, then, Val? I could achieve the same effect by wandering around the city and waving a sign around, at least here I'm doing something I truly enjoy. I don't want to stay cooped up at home. That's not who I want to be..."

"What about your family? You could endanger them—"

"I'll leave, then. Get my own place or something. I can be independent, you know?"

"Your mother would not allow that—"

"If the alternative is risking their lives every time I set foot out, then she should. Because I'm not about to give up on my dream just because some girl got obsessed."

I stared Valeria straight in the eye. She flinched and looked away.

"You wouldn't understand, Val... being confined in the same spot, being unable to move, to take chances, it's worse than death for a dreamer."

Every famous person I knew from my world died for their beliefs. Martin Luther King, Joan of Arc, John F. Kennedy, I could continue for hours.

There is no honor, nor peace, in simply playing by the rules. Sometimes, the system had to be broken first.

"......"

xXx

"Release it, Cali."

"......"

She looked so... lost, for a moment.

The song was completed. Die for You, by Silver. Not The Weeknd. The world would know this song by my name.

And my voice, of course.

"So, you have made your decision then, huh?"

Freya had joined us as well, because of course the right thing to do, at least, was mention it to everyone. I hadn't, after all, gone through this whole ordeal alone. I'd have to keep them in the loop as well.

But... that didn't make it any easier.

Willow had sighed, and after a lot of back and forth, settled on supporting me—especially after I stopped her fearmongering by saying I'd get a separate home. That clammed her up really quick.

'Even if I did, though, this wouldn't be solved until that crazy bitch gets caught.'

I felt bad, because I didn’t want to force them to accept a potentially dangerous situation, but with Valeria having been alerted, and the police as well, the number of undercover vehicles increased.

There were many police officers now protecting our home. 

It had been days without a single clue, but the tension didn’t diminish. That girl could’ve very well been out there right now, with binoculars, watching us from a distance. 

Freya was the only one present with me and Calista. Willow didn't want to be here to see the nuke go off, and Iris and Ivy were kicked out by Calista. 

And currently, I couldn't quite get a read on Freya's emotions. Still, I nodded at her words, then turned towards the frozen Calista.

"Cali?"

"......"

"Come on, release it."

Her hand was on the mouse, but there it remained. I gently placed mine over hers and pressed on her clicker with my finger, slowly, until finally, we pressed play.

I heard the rushing sound of breath from next to me, but didn't pay it any mind.

Die for You.

It appeared in this world as well.

I just hoped I wouldn’t die from it, as ironic as it would be.

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