I open my eyes. Ty hadn’t returned last night, so I had to satisfy myself before going to bed. I’m not starving, but if he doesn’t get here, then in a few hours I’m going to be in the danger zone. Who knows, he might actually be back.

I crawl out of bed and stretch my arms. I open my bedroom door and look down the hallway. Nothing. Not even a single soul was walking down the corridor. Not even a bug flew or crawled along the walls. 

I make my way to Ty’s room. Opening the door, I expect him to be in bed, taking a nice long nap after a nice long night out. However, the room was empty. Under the bed were a few bouquets that he has yet to use and the computer’s turned off. Everything’s exactly as he left it.

Shutting the door, I check the rest of the house. I move into the bathroom and see nothing. Kitchen? Nothing. Living room? Nothing as well. There was no sign of him anywhere in the house. Only one thought stirred through my mind after seeing and hearing nothing.

“Where the fuck is he?”

***

“Here comes the airplane.”

The black-haired woman made a noise that sounded nothing like an airplane and whisked a fork full of eggs to my mouth. I refused to part my lips, so when she made contact, the eggs slipped and fell onto the ground with the others. The plate’s contents were falling to the floor because I refuse to eat anything this yandere made. As far as I know, there’s a laxative in these things. Poison kills people, but needing to take a shit while tied up is torture. I should know. I’ve been through that just a minute ago.

At first, when she refused to stop trying to feeding me despite my refusal to eat, terror still dug its claws inside my chest. This woman is so crazy she doesn’t see the futility of feeding me. But it quickly became normal, which is something I never really want to be normal. But after that, the only emotion left in my heart is pity.

She picked up the remaining eggs on the plate and whisked them to my mouth. Once more, I refused to eat, and they landed on the floor. Nothing’s left remaining on the plate except a weird amount of grease. Maybe it was a good idea to not eat it after all.

She picked up the plate with a smile still on her face. I thought she was about to leave with it, which would give me time to escape, but instead, she threw it across the room. It crashed against the wall and shattered on contact. The suddeness of it all made me jump in my chair. 

“How was breakfast?”

I didn’t speak. The least I want to do is talk to the person who kidnapped me. If I say something incriminating, that wouldn’t be good for me in the slightest. 

“Let me rephrase my question.” 

Her lovey-dovey look and demeanor quickly vanished. What appeared in its place was a look that scared the shit out of me. Again. If I didn’t see her breathing, I would’ve assumed a robot took her place in a split second.

“Do you hate me?”

Her voice changed, too. It transformed from a childish voice into a cold, dead tone that was so much deeper than her original voice. It sounded like she was two different people trapped within the same body. 

“It was good.” I squeaked out, not wanting to remain on her bad side.

Her terrifying look persisted for a few more seconds before seamlessly changing back to how it was before. I breathed a sigh of relief. I need to keep her looking like this, otherwise my heart will throb out of my chest in fear.

“Thanks. Worked hard on it.” She raised her hand, and I flinched away, fearing that she’ll slap me. Instead, she pointed to the arrangement behind me. “You saw that when you fell, right? Tell me, what do you think?”

My normal strategy of staying silent will not help any longer. I need to answer before she goes off the deep end and I’ll have hell to pay.

“It looks good.” I sputter. I try to hide my terror, but it’s hard when the only thing on my mind is that I might end up in a ditch somewhere. “I take it you’re a fan of my works?”

She nods her head so fast she turns into nothing but a blur. “Yep. I read your novel, ‘Hikikomori’, several times now. It’s become my favorite novel of all time.” 

Oh, so she’s a fan of my second book. The people I’ve met recently seemed to love my first story more, so it’s strange seeing someone talking about my second novel. It’s not hard to find people praising it on the internet, but seeing it in real life weirded me out. Kind of like a nobody becoming famous and hearing their name on the news one day.

She stood from her chair and quickly dashed up the basement stairs, shutting the door and cutting me off from any semblance of freedom. On one hand, that fucking sucks. On the other, I can try to get out again. But I know she’s coming back. No one leaves like that without saying anything, so I’m on a limited schedule here. I just need to figure out something.

The basement door opens again, and I can hear her coming back down. There goes my hope of escaping again. What if I just ask her to let me go? She seems nice enough, kidnapping aside. She’ll probably let me go.

She sat back in her chair and planted something on the table. I look and recognize the book immediately. It’s my second novel, Hikikomori. Not only that, but it’s also the limited edition cover that depicts the main character hugging two anime body pillows while a gun’s pointed to his head. I can really feel for him right now. 

“Look at this.” She points to a corner of the cover. I check it and see my signature scrawled on the book. “You signed this during the only book signing you ever did. I’m so glad you never did another signing, cause this shows that I’m one of the few people that care about you.”

This is why I don’t do book signings. Well, not really, but it’s definitely going on the list for why if I make it out of this alive. But, whether I die or live, I want to know something.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Ask away.”

“You idolize me, right?”

Her eyes lit up as she nodded her head. “More than you know. You’re like a God to me. We both have seen the world for what it truly is. You get me, more than even I get myself. If you didn’t, then you wouldn’t have written this book, and I’d be dead. You’re more than an idol. You’re the reason for my continued existence.”

As she goes off on her spiel, I remember a certain word that describes a person like this. She’s someone that people with any sort of fame in their name call a stan. She’s someone who idolizes their heroes to such an extent that they don’t even consider the harm that they may be doing to their hero’s reputation and health.

I knew that there were people out there that would act like this. Statistics wise, that’s just a given. However, it’s actually insane to see someone going out of their way to do this to someone that they consider a God. It’s something no sane person would even consider.

“Why are you doing this?” 

That’s all I want to know. If I’m going to die, then I want to die knowing why it has to be this way. 

She tilts her head in thought, then looks at me with a grin. What is the answer for which I seek? 

“I just love you so much that I can’t bear you to be anywhere else but here.” A new voice appeared amongst her range. She has a talent, even if all it does it make me piss myself. “You can’t even begin to imagine my pain when I saw you anywhere else but here. My heart ached for you, but that whore of a woman was keeping you from me.

“When I broke into your house to fix your door, I smelled it all. My nose is still scarred from that awful smell. My eyes are still dirty from seeing all those stains on the floor. I cleaned it up so I wouldn’t have to look at it any longer, but once I got started on that, I cleaned the rest of your home, hoping to please you.

“That’s where I got those flowers from, you know. I saw where you go with that red-haired woman. I have to say, I pitied you at that moment. How you get so close to fixing yourself, but never taking that last step. It’s disgraceful.”

Those words cut into my chest so deep that I could actually feel it. I could feel the sword rip into my chest and twist around, coiling all the torn and shredded meat around the blade. Then it leaves my body, spilling my torn heart onto the floor. I can’t talk. I can’t see. All I can do is listen to this crazy chick talking about how much she knows me.

“But you don’t have to worry about that any longer. When you’re here, you don’t have to fix yourself. I’ll love your broken, disgraceful self, cause I’m just as broken as you are. Sit here and give it some thought. You won’t regret this.”

She stands up and leaves me behind. However, I’m not going to say such a cliche line such as, just like everyone else does. Honestly, I’m glad she’s away from me. I’m so fucking glad cause now I can bash this chair against the wall. I just need to rest a little.

Just a little.

***

It turns out I lied about it being just a little. As soon as I thought that, my brain shut off and my eyes grew heavy. I fell asleep and before I knew it, I was already dreaming. Is it weird that I’ve been having these strange dreams recently? 

Except in this case, it isn’t a dream. It’s a memory. Unlike those other times I’ve remembered something, it isn’t from when I was a teenager. Instead, it’s a memory that I made yesterday. 

Jessica’s driving to the final destination of our brief night out. We’ve gone there time and time again ever since she gave me that note when we saw each other for the first time in ages, but I’ve never had the strength to follow up on it. Just like that woman said, it’s pathetic, isn’t it?

“Are you going to come out today? She’ll be glad to see you again.”

We stopped at a red light. It’s the final red light before we reach our destination. It’s the last time I can come to terms with it all and finally decide. But just because this is a different day, it doesn’t make this outcome any different. 

“I think I’ll just stay in here.” 

I can’t help but chuckle at memory me. If only I knew what was going to happen that same night, I’d have taken that chance without a heartbeat. There’s a saying about people only having regrets on their deathbed. I didn’t think that was true since I’ve always had regrets. I’ve just never acted to resolve them.

Little did I realize that from the moment we’re born, we’re on our deathbeds. It could happen a hundred years from now, or even a single second, but that line on the vital monitor will soon straighten and the beeps will change into a deathly hum. Isn’t that all life is, however? It’s all just a large deathbed that tries its damndest to convince us we’re not dying? Or am I giving something so simple too much thought? Who knows? All I know is, if I leave here alive, then I’m going to resolve at least one regret.