I don't think I remember a time when I didn't have these thoughts. The type of thoughts that flood your brain until it's the only thing that fills whatever's left in your empty shell of a body. You feel them in your hands,numbing your fingertips like ice, moving up your arms, then to your head until you become a drone of your own mindless thoughts. I don't think my life would be the same without them either.
It was crowded, full of people with screams surrounding us. We tried to greet everyone we could with a few peppy "hello's" and "we love you's" when we walked by trying to get away from the madness. I would have to admit that even though (almost) all of our fans are the nicest people in the world, it was still awkward and slightly jaw dropping to have thousands upon thousands of people adoring you. But one girl in particular caught my eye, bright red hair flowing down to her shoulders, freckles dotting her face like stars, and crystal blue eyes that practically anyone could swim in. It was almost impossible not to stare.
"Oh my goodness, this is the best moment in my life!" She blurted, clasping her hands just below her chin.
"I'm glad we could make you happy!" I pepped back, holding back my stutters as much as possible.
Phil, who stood opposite of me, could see with his own eyes my chest rising and falling with the tension that the suspecting fan and I held. After sharing a hug with the girl, a man, about an inch shorter than I was, took the girl's wrist.
"Damn it, I thought I told you to stay away from these people!" He shouted, but not loud enough to muffle the rest of the crowd.
"I'm sorry, sir," I extended my arms from my chest, as if expecting his irrational behaviour.
"Get away from my fucking daughter you creep!"
Phil discreetly took my hand, his fingers sliding perfectly into mine. I felt my heart pounding in my chest, staring into the girl's eyes for one last time. I wanted her to be mine. I wanted her hair in my hand with her blood coating my white walls. I don't think I was sorry. I was never sorry.
The bodyguard pushed us forward, my hand gripping Phil's hard enough to leave small marks when we walked away from the crowd of fans. Dodging the hands that occasionally blocked our path, the sound started gradually growing more silent until it no longer ringed in my ears. The bodyguard gestures his exit as we walk into a small alleyway, the smell of dumpsters and sewer fill my nose with the most pungent of smells and I wonder why Phil brought me here.
"Jesus Christ, Dan!" Phil shouted, his eyes practically a forest fire and his crossed arms accentuating his anger. But quite frankly, he looks just about as intimidating as a pink butterfly, the forced frown on his face just made him look cuter.
"Why were you eyeing that sixteen year old fan? That's like, pedophilia!" He continued, his expression growing more and more serious by the minute.
"It really doesn't matter," I held back, "I just, liked her...gingerness?"
"Liked her gingerness my ass, you were checking her out and you know it."
I sighed and rolled my eyes. In my peripheral vision I saw Phil's eyes light up, but turn to fire all over again.
"It must of been those... Urges... Right?" My heart stopped when I heard him utter those words, "You can't have those in public, Dan!"
"You think I can stop this!" I finally cracked, "I've been having these goddamn feelings since I was a child, Phil. I am a fucking psychopath! It keeps me alive, and I wouldn't be myself without it, okay?"
Although this isn't my first time telling Phil about these feelings, he doesn't understand how they work. He knows that it's hard for me to forget about them, but I don't think he has quite established that I can't stop this, I can't turn this off. I can't stop myself from wanting to shoot people. I can't stop myself from thinking about how I want to gouge out people's eyes and smashing their bones so all they can do is scream. All I can do is take my medication and try to block them out again.
