DISCLAIMER: The writer of this fanfic has no affiliation with Hoodie Allen or Steven Markowitz. This work is one of fiction and based on imagination. Nothing in this story is based on real life and is not meant to be a representation of any person mentioned. Please do not take this work of fiction seriously.
“It is one thing to mortify curiosity, another to conquer it. ”
Jittery and jumping, high off of the energy of the crowd, I run backstage, emotions high and adrenaline coursing through my veins. “Another great show,” my manager, True, said. I simply nod in acknowledgment. My mind is in other places.
“Gerald, get me a fucking water bottle,” I hiss, rolling my eyes, “how many times do I have to tell you? Every single show,” I continue, shaking my head. The little DWEEB runs off frantically. I really need to get a new water boy, I think to myself. With a sigh, my mind onces again runs off to another place. A quieter one, absent of the screaming fans and idiot water boy. I know it’s close. I can barely wait. “Hey, True!” I call out, watching as my manager turns, another sixteen year old girl on his arm, “I’m gonna head out.” He nods, as I knew he would, far too enraptured by the jailbait.
Swiftly, I slip away from the backstage, watching as it becomes cramped with my band and those working at the venue. I know the fans will be lining up outside, they always are, so I brace myself and become the Hoodie they want to see. Instantly, screams and shouts erupt as I push through the back doors, watching as blurred faces rush towards me. Even after years of touring, I’ve never quite gotten over the love and support from the fans. This is what I live for, this is what people would kill for.
“Oh. My. God! DADDY!” One screams at me, while holding a poster with my face on it, “I watched JC’s Youtube video with you and I nearly DIED. So many feels. Can you sign my ass?” She continues, and I swear she’s only fifteen.
“Uh, I’m sure your real daddy wouldn’t appreciate that. How about your poster?” I give her a forced smile, trying to be as real, yet nice as possible. I wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings. Obligingly, she holds up her poster for me to sign. Slowly, but surely, I go through the line, and sign each fans poster or ass one by one, listening to their stories about how they discovered my music through Twitter, a friend, or on their own. I keep zoning out, though, bored by the stories I’ve constantly heard over and over again. And I’ve got something else on my mind.
“I love you, Hoodie! Please come back to San Fran soon,” the last girl mentions to me. She’s got on a Magcon t-shirt and Justin Bieber wristbands. I can’t help but wonder why she’s a fan of mine.
“Of course I will, Courtney,” I promise, smiling at her.
“It’s Caroline,” she corrects me, almost sounding insulted I didn’t remember the name of the 500th fan I’ve met that day.
“Caroline, I’m sorry,” I apologize, enveloping her in a tight hug.
After saying my goodbyes, I’m finally off, free and on my own time. Before I can step towards the tour bus, I hear True’s voice.
“Hey Hoods!” He calls out to me and I turn, my eyes catching sight of the group of girls following behind him like lost puppies.
“Hey,” I reply back curtly, hoping the disinterest in my voice will tip him off. I want nothing to do with his band of kindergarteners. “What’s up?”
True gave me another nod, but it was different this time. One only the two of us would understand. He motioned subtly to the girl behind him. She, like the other’s, couldn’t have been a day older than seventeen. She looked jaded. The redness in the whites of her eyes and the confused expression on her face made her perfect. My eyes moved back to True, another subtle nod shared between us was all he needed to know and he turned away, leading the group back to the tour bus. The girl stays behind, hovering in a not so subtle way, and inching herself closer to me.
“Hey Hoodie, I’m Lola,” she whispers, looking up at me through her long eyelashes.
“Hey Lola, do you wanna come hang with me and the crew?” I ask her. She nods shyly in response and I can’t help but feel strangely attracted to her. “You’re 18, right?” I ask, raising a questioning eyebrow. I don’t plan on doing anything with her -- I’m not that kind of rapper, but I don’t plan on inviting a child on to my tour bus, either. I leave that to True and the rest of the crew.
She laughs in response, opening her clutch, “do you need to see ID?”
I shake my head, holding up my hands in a non threatening manner, “that won’t be necessary. I trust you.”
Different from almost every night, this evening seems to go by faster and I can’t decide if it’s because of the shots of alcohol or the beautiful girl before me. “C’mere,” I say, knowing the time is coming. Everyone is passed out. It’s nearly 2 am. “I wanna show you something,” I grin and she stands, wobbling a bit and grabbing onto my arm for measure. Leading her into the back of the bus, I open the bathroom door and she frowns at me.
“What’s in here, Steven?” She slurs, eyes hazing over.
“This,” I smile, opening the drawer next to her and pulling out the knife I keep there. Lola goes to open her mouth again, but before she can I swiftly slash the blade against her jugular.
Killing is hard work. Especially killing on a tour bus. You have to know how to clean, how much time you have, and where to put the body. Thankfully, I’ve thought of that all before I commit my kill. I didn’t go to Ivy League for nothing. But there’s one thing I can’t help but add… one little touch… and after she’s bled out, the light from her eyes all but gone, I drop her body to the ground and kneel over her, taking the knife I’ve just used to her chest. With a steady, practiced hand, I carve out a symbol so everyone know’s: This. Is. My. Kill.
