At the end of Jacen's day out with Melanie, she waits for a kiss. Jacen awkwardly kisses her on the cheek.
Melanie looks confused, but decides not to press the issue. He decides she must be one of the most patient women in the world. "Have a good night."
"You too." He replies, feeling guilty.
In his apartment, he lies on his couch, looking up at the fan on the ceiling. One of his songs pops into his head. With a smile, he rolls onto his side and sings it in his head. The song is called, detach, and it is one of his only songs that he will unabashedly say that he loves. Instrumentals back him up in his head, but once they fade out, he turns and sees the woman, cloaked in black, standing right in front of his TV.
She is gone in a moment and he clutches his head in his hands. There was no way that was real. What if she was never real at all?
I should ignore this phantom.
But what if she is real? What if she is stalking him? What if she has a gun? He remembers, years back, the story of a pop star who had a gun put to his head and was held captive for years.
Obsession was rampant in such times. There was nothing for people to get excited about other than their favorite band making a new song, their favorite director making a new movie, their favorite developer making a new game, or their favorite author making a new book. All types of artists get harassed.
His favorite author, Kelly Lane, had once described in a TV Interview how her husband was shot five times because someone wanted to possess her.
"You don't seem sad or angry about his death. Why?" The interviewer had asked.
Kelly straightened with her hands folded in her lap. "If you don't think I'm angry, you're wrong. I'm angry that people have nothing left to do but pine and obsess over an empty name on a page or a lifeless star on a screen. They can't distinguish that they're in love with an artist's work, not the artist themself. They are isolated. They have no family, no culture, no one to love. That's why I am also very sad. They have no family because no one is married, they have no culture because there is nothing left but a mix of cultures shoved together onto one continent. They have no one left to love because the only thing they have left in common is gender. They don't want to talk to anyone who is drastically different from themselves. It's much easier to fantasize about a star beyond reach than it is to go grab a star of your own."
"These are not problems we can fix, though. You can't blame society as a whole for his death." The interviewer replied.
They are not problems we can fix, no. Maybe it's just a phase mankind is going through.
A phase mankind is going through.
The crime rates against stars are ridiculously high, particularly against musicians. It is now regarded as one of the most dangerous professions.
Perhaps, he thinks, mankind is afflicted with an incurable desire and lust that can't be satisfied with the way things are.
Lust. That is what comes to mind when he sees the woman cloaked in black, staring at him with her enormous grin. And that terrifies him. He thinks for a moment that is would be safest to quit singing and get a regular job, but he chastises himself. He shouldn't give up something he loves because of a phantom. But it's not just one phantom.
His fans, everyone who listens to his music, they think he exists just for them to fawn over and paw at--and they have pawed at him. Any one of them could be stalking him.
Even in recent times, pawing at a singer while on stage is a very rare occurrence. It has happened to him because his fans perceive him as very talented, because he has actually taken singing lessons and can hit high notes, and because they think of him as real because he enjoys his privacy. They had grabbed his ankle and tried to pull him down. It was terrifying.
He has no life of his own, according to these people. They think his life is all about pleasing them. That is his manager's goal, too. In her opinion, his life is one-hundred percent about pleasing them.
***
Krahe was not in his room that night. He was imagining things. She spent the night alone, in a shell of memories.
For her, he is not an object to be pawed at. He is very real to her, because he reminds her so much of someone else. She does not think she is obsessed with him, although she is incurably so. So obsessed for so many years that she does not recognize it as such any longer.
Because he rescued her from boredom and depression. But she is confused. He did not rescue her from these things. Someone else did.
***
When he asked her out that first time, he had no idea she was a goddess. Back then, she was the goddess of two things: crows, and the neon city. Because she felt like she was asleep, the city, and the people in it, felt like they were asleep as well. She wanted to wake herself up.
Yuu noticed this. They went on a walk together because Krahe didn't want to go to a restaurant.
Yuu leans over a bridge overlooking a stream with a frown. "Do you ever think that everything sucks?"
Krahe crosses her arms. "Why would you say that?"
"I don't know. My mom and dad used to brag about how awesome the fifties were. Money was great, music was great, everyone knew their neighbor, and they said everyone was close." He expresses vaguely.
Krahe is quiet, and then, "does that bother you?"
He laughs a little, thinking she is acting strangely. "Yeah it does! I mean, the only thing that's still good is music!"
Krahe suddenly recognizes who he is. He's the lead singer of a rock band who is pretty famous. His name is up on billboards.
"You're biased," Krahe says with a smile.
He laughs. "I am. My music's the best."
"I was in the crowd at one of your concerts. It was really fun. Sort of otherworldly and cold." She searches for the words.
He turns toward her and leans against the railing of the bridge. "Thank you. That was pretty meaningful... I don't usually get compliments like those."
She clasps her hands behind her back and says nothing.
"Where do you work?" He asks. "You look like you could be a rock star, too."
She blushes a little. "I work around..."
"You mean like a stripper?" He asks.
"It’s my job to wander and watch over the city." She clarifies.
He shakes his head with a grin, not understanding, “like a bum?
She does not know what a bum is, so she shrugs and nods. He frowns and he walks close to her. They are just three inches apart. “You’re pretty for a bum…” He kisses her neck and wraps his arms around her.
She doesn’t understand what he’s doing, but it seems appropriate to wrap her own arms around him. She thinks it feels rather pleasant.
“I’m depressed…” He says in her ear.
She understands that feeling, but most humans don’t state such weird things to people they don’t know. “Why’s that?”
“Because my wife’s a bitch…” He explains matter-of-factly. “She’ll divorce me and I’ll be paying for her the rest of my life. Lots of men, in and out the house. No point in staying faithful to her.”
He kisses her neck a few more times and then he pulls away. “I probably shouldn’t mix happy pills with alcohol. How many drinks have you had, to put up with me?”
Krahe shakes her head. “Zero.”
He strokes her hair with glazed eyes and then holds her at arm's length. "I should go home... Maybe I'll see you around?"
Krahe tries a kiss for herself and wipes her mouth afterwards.
Yuu laughs. "Well, good luck wandering the streets I guess."
***
"What's wrong, Jacen?" One of his friends, Joseph asks.
Jacen is hanging out in his apartment, playing videogames with his friend. Jacen has been very out of it and distant as of late. It's been two years since he started dating Melanie, and, he eventually had to tell her about his issues. She was understanding, but he could tell no matter how much he dotes on her, no matter how much he hugs her and tells her he loves her--he can tell she is losing interest in him.
He has started going to college, knowing that singing is not a stable career; although he would love to do it forever. He has a new album out that sold ridiculously well. He wrote a song, Crow, based on the woman who seems to haunt his every step.
"I'm scared..." He says flatly. "I used to have such fun singing, now I'm afraid to go out."
"You were never one to go out. But I suppose you have been even more of a homebody. I saw the incident on the news. That really is terrifying stuff. It might be best to quit."
There was an incident last year: a fan put a gun to his head and told him to get in the back of her car. When he refused she shot at him and missed. It was a miracle that she seemed to suddenly have a heart attack, allowing Jacen to call the police and run.
Jacen can't get the horrific incident out of his head. Any other singer probably would have taken that as a sign to quit, but he kept going. Jacen feels miserable about it. He doesn't know where he'd be without singing.
Joseph tries to be understanding, "Singing saved your life, I know... I'm just worried about you. I don't want you to end up on the news in an even worse condition. There's no reason you can't continue to sing just for yourself, right? In private?"
It's not the same though, Jacen thinks to himself. Jacen remembers the first time he released an album, the first time he got up on stage. It cured his depression. Not because he loved stardom, but because he was able to express something he loved to millions of people. It gave him a sense of purpose to know that other people were made happy by the music he created. He would never be happy without that, he knew.
***
"You seem so out of it lately, Jacen." Melanie states.
Jacen was driving the two of them to class they had decided to take together. He offered her a ride so she could save money on gas.
He finds an empty space in the lot and sets the parking break. He looks at her and his hands shake on the wheel, thinking about the incident in the previous year. In his head he sees the woman putting a gun to his head and cocking it.
"I really don't want to quit..." Jacen admits with a sigh.
Melanie puts her knuckles on her chin. "Why does it mean so much to you Jacen? Are you addicted to fame?"
Jacen is silent for a moment, looking into the distance. He doesn’t want her to pity him—he just wants her to understand why singing is so important to him. But if he tells her, the two things might go hand in hand.
He realizes, however, that he has told his closest friends about it, and should tell his girlfriend about it, too.
***
His mother died when he was too young to remember. He sees in photographs that she was a pretty woman with yellow hair and blue eyes. His father had never been a happy man since her death. They were married for five years and she died when she was thirty. Gun shot to the head in the crime-rampant neon city. His father never told Jacen about it; rather, Jacen heard about it when he was supposed to be in bed.
Jacen was very close with his father. They did everything together. He never thought his father was a depressed man. He was always smiling and laughing. It hit Jacen hard when the police found his father; a bullet embedded in his head in a similar fashion to his wife. Jacen was fifteen and he was thrown to the state. He never fit in with his adopted family.
Jacen had put a gun to his own head many times, wanting to join his family in heaven, but could never pull the trigger. His therapist at the time called it resilience. He called it cowardice. He would think of himself that way if he didn’t pull the trigger, and others would think of him as a coward of he did. He didn’t care that he was a coward. He just wanted to be with his family again. It was the sick reasoning of a sick mind.
Singing had always been a hobby for him. Sometimes, the only thing that could pick him up was singing along with his newest favorite song when no one else was around. But, he had started taking singing lessons when he was living on his own and he felt his depression melt away. His teacher coached him to sing classical; but, eventually, he started singing songs of his own. He meshed a soaring, operatic voice with an eighties rock vibe mixed with more classical instruments to create music that is unique and wonderful.
His friend, Helen, (who is now deceased), used to play the violin. His other friend, Maurice, played the guitar before he moved away. He got them to back him up and threw the result up on the internet. It went viral.
He was thrilled by his success and signed a contract with a music company. He had such fun creating music and singing that he forgot he was depressed entirely. He formed relationships with some of his fans in the beginning. He loved talking to them about his musical inspirations and the types of music he had particular affections for.
Music was his lifeline. Because when he was singing, he was a different person. He could forget about the troubles and cares of life. Music was his obsession; he could not get along without it.
But the cold gun to his head last year had brought him back to reality: suddenly singing was becoming the cause of his paranoia and sadness. It hurt him immeasurably to have something normally associated with joy taken away from him.
Melanie is shocked as he scrambles for words to describe just how much singing means to him, and how he got to where he is.
“I get it,” she tells him with a smile when he finishes. “If you were any other star, you would have broadcast that to the world.. But you told me."
"I didn't want you to think of me… differently. I guess I just don't know what to do now."
She doesn't have an answer for him. "If you want to keep singing you should. But I don't think you should feel the need to keep singing to be happy. You have me after all."
He grins at her and surprises himself when he kisses her.
***
Krahe watches from afar as a crow. She shakes with jealous rage. She decides it's time to break them up. She must plant an idea in the girl's head.
Krahe plants the idea subtly. An idea that a baby sounds wonderful. Krahe, with the help of Deanna, crafts herself into a beautiful young woman with the use of mud. Deanna includes a baby bump for impact.
Krahe sits next to Melanie in one of her classes and tells her how excited she is about the baby, and how it's better to have one when you're young.
No matter what, Krahe must be with him. After all, he would be dead without her. She was the one who gave the woman who put the gun to his head a heart attack. One of the blessings of being a Goddess.
***
Comments (0)
See all