To be Frantastic

Chapter 17: Vlog week

I am standing somewhere made of stone. I can tell, because the walls and the floor all look tiled. I'm not sure of where I am at the moment, but this place seems oddly familiar. How did I get here? Surely I must have come here with the guys, we were meant to go to, for Digifest...

-"Tyler?"—I asked in the middle of the emptiness—"Troye? Are you somewhere close?"

I walked, thinking that maybe I'd find them both on the end of the street. Now I could see I was in some sort of alleyway. And not just any alleyway... I was in Florence. What am I doing here? I was here just a couple of days ago, but then we headed towards Rome... I remember that, I remember taking pictures with Louis, having crepes with everyone...

I soon found a door. I entered and saw that I was inside a public restroom. In the mirror, there were several things written with a black sharpie. Amongst them was something I recognized.

-"R + J... viva en... Italia..."—I read, trying to decipher what it meant.

And then, the words changed.

It was as if they had life on their own, moving from one end to another of the mirror. Some of them changed shape, others changed position, and others just plainly disappeared. But the many things that were written now read something else. I wasn't sure of what it was... there was something weird about it... almost... evil...

-"Fa... Fa... Fag..."—I read—"Fag... fag... fag..."

Fag. Fag. Fag. Fag. Fag.

All of them, accusing on the mirror. I saw my own face and found myself in shock and in tears. Before I could tell, there was no longer a restroom, but a red carpet; and I wasn't alone. Coming from both of my sides, there were flashing lights and people screaming. I couldn't see any of their faces, I could only see the cameras that were trying to get a shot of mine. The puppets were all around me, screaming accusingly.

-"CONNOR! CONNOR, TELL US ABOUT YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH TROYE!"—Some said.

-"CONNOR, IS IT TRUE THAT YOU'RE THE REASON WHY THE O2L FANDOM HAS STOPPED SUPPORTING YOUR CHANNEL!?"—Someone screamed.

-"CONNOR! IS THE REASON BEHIND THE PILLS AND YOUR DEPRESSION YOUR CLOSETED SEXUALITY!?"—A man questioned.

And behind them, in a choir of chants, I heard people screaming all sorts of things. Some said my name, some called me gay, and some told me they loved me. They were all screaming, and none of them made sense.

I have to get out of here.

Clasping my hands to my ears, I ran away, towards any direction. I hoped to get to the end of the walk, of the red carpet of shame, of embarrassment. It was a long stripe of red fabric across the floor, with black skies and no air. It was suffocating, but in the end I reached a door. I busted through, exhausted, and collapsed on my knees, pleading for breath.

When I came to my senses again, I saw that I was inside a bus. And not just any kind of bus, it was a tour bus. Why am I here? I should be with the rest of the brits back in London... Where is this?

I saw bunk beds to my right and to my left, and noticed that they all had names on their sheets. There was one that read "Ricky", one that read "Jc", "Kian" and finally, "Connor."

-"This is... this is the O2L tour bus..."—I said.

-"It is."

I turned around, startled by the sudden intervention. I saw the last person I expected to see here. Sitting on a chair that I'm sure belonged to her office, with a white lab coat as always and with her board on hand, was none other than Dr. Kellerman.