The Fan- A Bastille/Dan Smith Fanfiction

Chapter 8

The gig is incredible. The crowd sings and jumps along to Dan's quirky pogo-like moves while all of the guys flawlessly play their instruments. I especially enjoy watching Woody play the drums-- something about the passion that he brings to his performance captivates me. Mary and I watch from the sidelines, dancing and singing the lyrics to each other. I watch as Greg, their photographer, slinks along in front of the stage, snapping dramatic shots of the band in action. There is a mass of girls at the front, screaming and recording the guys on their phones the entire time. I used to be one of them, I think to myself. Well, not anymore. I am now officially on tour with Bastille as Dan's girlfriend. And let me tell you, it feels great.



For the next month or so the guys continue to travel and tour America, playing outstanding gigs wherever they go. Mary and I just follow along, cherishing every second of this insanely amazing ride. Dan and Kyle have finally revealed to the fandom their new 'girlfriends', tweeting and instagramming about it. So far, everyone seems to be handling it pretty maturely, accepting the fact that the guys have their own lives and therefore can date whomever they please. But there are a select few that have been less than understanding about the whole situation. Dan's fans especially. Most just comment rude or whiney messages about how 'I should be the one at his side, not that sad excuse for a girl.' Or 'She's not pretty enough for you, Dan. I mean she's cute, but seriously? Look at her, she's not even skinny. All I am saying is that you could do better.' While I don't exactly cherish these comments, Dan has told me that I am beautiful and to just let them roll off my back. So, with that being said, I try my hardest not to take anything personally; however, every so often, I will recieve a tweet or message threatening either mine or Mary's safety, and that scares me just a little. Who am I kidding, it scares the crap out of me! What if I am not cut out for this? Can I handle this kind of public scrutiny and criticism? I decide not to tell Dan about these particular messages, just in case he flips out or gets worried. Plus, I am sure that it's not even that big a deal.



Tonight Bastille are playing at a venue somewhere in Chicago. It's in the middle of a dark city with lots of people roaming about waiting for doors to open. Dan turns to me and wraps me in one of his 'good luck hugs' (as we've come to call them) before kissing me soundly on the lips.

I smile affectionately at him. "Go get 'em, Daniel." Dan hates it when people use his full name, but it has become a term of endearment between the two of us.

He gives me a warm look and releases his hold, turning to walk into the venue with the rest of the guys.

The gig is brilliant, as usual, and Mary and I wait outside afterwards, watching as girls swarm the band for autographs.

I have been chewing this one piece of gum for the longest time and I am dying to throw it out. The only problem is, I can't seem to find a flippin' trash can. I scan the area around me, trying but failing to locate any sort of waste holder. I turn to Mary.

"Do you know where I can find a trash can? I need to throw my gum away."

She shrugs and says, "I don't see any nearby. Although there was one around the corner down there a little ways." Mary indicates towards a tall building down the street, and I finally spy what looks like to be some sort of dumpster.

I roll my eyes and complain, "Ugh, that's so far away though!"

Mary only laughs and lifts her hands as if to say 'I mean hey, what can you do?'

Grumbling, I plod away from the mass of people, making my way towards the faraway dumpster. As I round the corner of the building, I lose sight of all the people and suddenly find myself all alone. Now, I am not afraid of the dark or anything, but let me tell you-- this place is beyond creepy. Covered in shadows, the trash can is nearly concealed from view. Why the heck do people feel the need to hide these things in the most random places? That's what I want to know.

I finally reach the dumpster and lift the lid to drop in my gum. I realize now that I could've just thrown it on the ground-- I mean it's gum for goodness' sake. But I've never been one to litter, and I am not about to start now. Finished, I turn to head back, but I am stopped short by strong hands grabbing my arms and twisting them around. I open my mouth to scream, but a voice hisses in my ear to be quiet.

"You'll shut up if you know what's good for you!" The tone is distinctly female, although the person lowered it to sound more intimidating.

I writhe in pain, my shoulder being wrenched harder every second. "W-who are you?" I demand, my voice wavering.

The girl gives a cruel laugh and says, "I don't see why you need to know that. You think you're good enough for Dan-- for Bastille? Well think again, because you're not worth the mud on my shoes you slut! And if I can't have him, then no one can!" With that, she shoves me away from her, slamming me into the wall. I hit it hard, my head spinning from the pain. I turn and try to regain my balance. The girl is covered in all black from head to toe. The only distinguishing feature that I can make out are two bright green eyes glaring at me from small slits in her mask. They're icy and full of rage. She laughs again, but this time it's high and tinkling- even more deadly than the first. Before I can react, I see the girl's fist sailing towards my face. The blow connects with my jaw, and I am sent sprawling. I cry out, but not loud enough to catch anyone's attention. I need to get out of here. Where's Dan?

The girl stalks up to me, ramming the toe of her boot repeatedly into my stomach and face. Searing pain shoots throughout my body, making me weak and unable to defend myself. The abuse goes on for a couple more minutes before I start to taste blood in my mouth. She slams her boot against my nose, breaking it, blood gushing out. I cry out once more, the pain nearly unbearable. I lie there, whimpering miserably, my hands feebly pressed to my face in an effort to stop the flow of red. The menacing figure approaches me to deliver a final blow. She grips one of my bloodied arms firmly in both of her hands and her knee presses into my chest, holding me down.

She leans in, her fiery green eyes only inches from mine, and spits, "Sweet dreams, princess," before giving my arm a powerful yank, ripping it completely from the socket and emitting an audible 'pop'.

White hot agony tears through my entire being as I hear a loud, miserable scream echo through the alley around me. It takes me a moment to realize that I am the one screaming, clutching my arm in a desperate attempt to ease my suffering. The pain is too much this time and I can see darkness beginning to creep into my vision around the edges. My attacker is gone, probably fleeing as soon as I screamed. Coward.

Why did this happen? What did I ever do to her? My head is spinning from loss of blood, and it takes me a moment to make sense of things. She's probably the one who sent all of those threats. I knew I should've told someone. My eyes tear up from pain and fear, obscuring my vision even more. Where is everyone? Why haven't they found me yet? Am I just going to be left here to bleed out, battered and alone?

I try to sit up but pain rips through my torso, making it impossible to breathe. My dislocated shoulder is throbbing and I can't move my arm anymore. With one last desperate cry, I sit back and wail into the night, hoping someone-- anyone will hear me.

I brokenly call out, "Dan... Mary... Anyone... Please..."

My mournful cry is the last thing I remember before everything goes black.