Kyle felt something press against his shoulder.
He'd been dreaming. Something about two people getting stuck in a lift. No one came to save them and so one ended up eating the other one. Or maybe they just burned. He wasn't sure. But the weight on his shoulder aggravated that old collarbone break and he winced in his sleep and strained to open his eyes.
His eyes snapped open to find the girl leaning against him, her head resting on his shoulder, her phone in her hand.
'What the fuck!' he cried, scrambling away from her and climbing to his feet. 'What the hell are you doing? You're taking pictures of me when I'm asleep now? First you take a picture of me taking a piss and now you're creeping up on me when I'm asleep?'
'I wasn't! I swear,' she cried, staring up at him. She looked panicked, scared even. Of course she was bloody scared; she'd just been caught red-handed, probably taking selfies of herself snuggling up to him. Hey, look who I'm with. Hashtag selfie. Hashtag my new boyfriend.
Hashtag slit your throat.
'I want that phone.'
'I'm not giving you my phone.'
'Give me the fucking phone.' He held out a trembling hand. 'You're not going to do this to me. Do you hear? I've got fucking rights.'
'I didn't take your picture. I just wanted to sit next to you.'
'Oh really? So it's not enough that you come to my house but now you want to sit next to me too? Did you cop a feel while I was asleep? I bet you did. You don't think I haven't met so-called fans like you before? The ones who pretend they're my PA just to get close to me. The ones who dress up as room service to get into my hotel room.'
'It's not like that,' she gasped. 'I'm not like that.'
'You're all like that," he spat.
'No, I'm different. I care for you.'
'You don't fucking know me!' he groaned. 'You think knowing my favourite bloody colour qualifies you as someone who knows me? I mean, really knows me?'
'I know Lizzie didn't deserve you. You loved her but she cheated on you with her own tour manager.'
Kyle stumbled backwards, his back hitting the closed lift doors. 'What? How do you know that?'
The girl just smiled. 'I told you, silly. I'm a fan.' She reached into her bag.
With a desperate cry, Kyle launched himself across the lift and fell on the girl. They tumbled to the floor, a knot of flailing limbs and the lift jolted. He was screaming, screaming, screaming. Or was she screaming? He didn't know. Didn't care. He felt her squirming underneath him. Felt her hands clutch handfuls of his hair, fingernails gouging welts in his scalp. I care for you. I love your new place. London or Paris? I just wanted to sit next to you. Do you recognise me? You guys are my life. Why would I be scared? Things had changed so much now. You heard about these crazy fans all the time. They can reject you but god forbid you reject them. Well, this wasn't going to happen to him, hashtag no fucking way. He was crying now. Crying and wheezing as he took her head in his hands and slammed it against the lift floor. Once. Twice. Again. Soon she stopped squirming and his hands were sticky with her blood. The girl looked up at him with that glazed look in her eyes, her mouth frozen in silent scream.
No. Not a scream. A smile. That see-it-all-the-goddamn-time fan-girl smile.
I'm your biggest fan.
YOU ARE READING
Things have changed since Kyle Donovan was a kid. When you happen to be a famous rockstar, what you ate for breakfast has already been broadcast to the world before you've even had a chance to digest it. The hashtag gangs own Twitter and the fans h...