Fear Itself

I don’t know how much longer we slept before the sunlight poured in through the windows and spilled across the bed. Dean was already awake, flipping through channels on the television while I sighed and stirred awake. “Good morning,” he murmured, looking down at me with a soft smile. I laughed quietly and brushed the hair out of my face.

“Morning,” I told him, still groggy with sleep when I stretched up to kiss him. We were quiet when I rested my head against his shoulders, curling into him. Channels flickered by, but I thought I heard one mention his name. He must have heard it too because he stopped and turned back. He shifted a little, watching now. I focused on the screen, seeing a woman with blonde hair, curled, and a cute pink dress standing in front of another screen… with a picture of Dean and I kissing in the booth of the restaurant last night.

“Someone snapped this photo of League prodigy Dean Cassidy and a mystery girl enjoying Christmas Eve dinner at a cozy little castle in Kent last night,” the woman explained. “Several sources have confirmed the sighting, stating that they were seated close the whole meal and that his eyes rarely left her. Several sources pointed out that the military boy wonder spent most of dinner staring at her chest, and the staff and I here can’t really say we blame him.” The audience laughed. Dean and I watched quietly. I don’t know what this meant. Probably not good things. Nobody knew I was alive, nobody was supposed to. “Despite all of these sources, not one mentioned being able to identify her, and unfortunately, the angle of the photo doesn’t allow much of her face to be seen. Luckily for you, viewers, we’ve got Mr. Cassidy’s best friend, fashion designer Chandler Jacques, on the line to answer a few questions. Hi, Chandler!”

“Chandler?” Dean and I both asked, sitting up a little to watch closer.

“Good morning,” Chandler hummed. His voice rang out from the television, but he was nowhere to be seen. I wondered how they achieved such an effect, but I wasn’t really concerned.

“So, Chandler, what can you tell us about this mystery lady?” the hostess asked in a really grating, chipper demeanor. It was so false and forced I was experiencing legitimate discomfort.

“What do you mean, what can I tell you?” Chandler laughed. “That’s my girl, Monodrama.”

“Monodrama?” the woman asked.

“You mean, you haven’t heard of her?” Chandler scoffed. “I can’t believe you haven’t heard of Monodrama. What are you doing with your life if you’ve never heard of Monodrama?” He didn’t even allow her time to answer. “She’s only the next big thing in pop music, everybody knows that,” he laughed. “She’s the most fabulous girl I’ve ever seen.” He paused again. “Not only does she have class, she also has a great ass.” He laughed again. I supposed that was a joke, but I was too confused to find that funny.

“What’s her real name? How did you meet her?” the woman asked, still prodding for information. Chandler sighed with exasperation.

“First of all, Monodrama doesn’t have another name. It’s Monodrama. That’s all she answers to. It’s an artistic thing, you wouldn’t understand,” he huffed. “Also, I met her while I was out traveling for work. I had just finished up a fashion show in Paris, and I took a day trip with my assistant over to Edinburgh, Scotland, that is, and we went in for a few drinks, and she was singing karaoke with her friends. I just thought to myself, ‘She’s so fabulous. I need her.’ So I brought her back to London with me, and I introduced her to Dean, so he’d get rid of that bitch Chocolate—“

“You mean, his ex-girlfriend, Charlotte Mercer? The Commander’s cousin?” the woman interjected.

“Yeah, her. Anyway, they hit it off right away, and I am so thankful for Monodrama’s existence every day of my life,” Chandler explained. “She is just an angel.”

“People did say she was adorable.”

“Yes, she is, and don’t listen to that bitch Chocolate tell you otherwise because I can tell you that they’ve never even met, and Monodrama would never say a bad word about anyone. Remember, she has class. Class and a great ass.”

“Can you tell us anything else about her?” the woman asked.

“No, I haven’t got the time, really. I actually think I’m hearing a scream—wait, no, that’s just your body trying to get out of that disgusting dress,” Chandler laughed. “Toodles.” The phone line cut off, leaving both the audience and the woman shocked and silent.

“Wow,” I murmured. “I don’t even really know what just happened.”

“Chandler just saved our asses is what just happened,” Dean sighed, laughing a little.

“What do you mean?” I asked. Dean began to sit up, so I let go of him.

“Well, Blondie, you don’t have identification. Legally, you’re deceased,” he explained as he began to tug his clothes back on. “Kennedy doesn’t like that much. He’s already seen you. Already seen you with Avery, and I get the feeling he doesn’t like your friend very much. He wasn’t too pleased nobody could get information on you either. Right now your existence is what the board would consider lawless.”

“So, what would happen if they found me?” I asked. “Wouldn’t they just… ask me who I was?”

“Well, they would… ask for information, but… they don’t ask nicely, Blondie,” he explained. “You don’t want them to ask.”

“Why not?”

“Because even if you told them, they would kill you.” Silence took over the room for a moment, and Dean turned back to me, leaning back across the bed. He took my face in his hands and kissed me softly. “I really don’t want to see that happen.” He smiled softly. “Why don’t you get dressed, and we’ll get you home?” I nodded, and he kissed me again. “Good.”

I slipped out of bed and back into my clothes from the night before, just as Dean had done, and he drove me back to his house, where I would soon meet Avery and walked back to West London. Usually, the walk didn’t scare me. Now, I was on high alert. I was looking for cameras, looking for people who might see me or know me or rat me out. I had never been so terrified in my life, and suddenly, the possibility of death loomed from every corner, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.