You craned your head around the corner, peering down the street before exiting the apartment. An old newspaper skittered across the road like a tumbleweed, but it was otherwise unoccupied. You shook your head. Was this paranoia?

When you arrived at your boyfriend’s apartment, he greeted you warmly. The visit was relaxed and comfortable, with you almost forgetting about the frightening situation of the day before. The man had called you again. How he had access to your phone number was frightening. He seemed to be another fan of yours, deranged and obsessed with any fragment of an idol’s life. It bothered you, but you tried to shake away the fear. The negative aspects were something you would have to deal with. Your phone rang loudly and you jumped away from it. Your boyfriend looked towards you, an eyebrow raised in question.

“It’s…nothing” you stuttered, unable to convince even yourself. He stared at you a moment longer, before shrugging his shoulders, his back against the couch. Nervous thoughts buzzed in your head when he spoke to you. Even after he repeated questions twice you couldn’t catch his words.

“I said, what’s up with you recently? You’re jumpy.” Your lower lip pouts slightly, afraid of his irritation. You hesitated.

“It’s just…a fan has been bothering me lately.” He looked concerned and you immediately regretted your weak explanation. As he pressed you for answers, you closed off, trying desperately not to turn the simple issue into a huge problem. Your boyfriend rolled his eyes, tired and frustrated.

“Look, I know I haven’t been spending much time with you, but can you at least listen to me when we do get to see each other?”

“It’s not that! I get to see you a lot!” You paused. Wrong words. “Well, not a lot, but I’m trying!” Every sentence that left your mouth seemed to dig the ditch between you deeper and deeper still. His brow grew crumpled, irritation boiling under his skin. Your nervousness and stress made the phrases stumble, and the day soon ended with an angry and hasty goodbye.

Who could you turn to? You didn’t want to call the police. The media would go nuts, drowning you in accusations, questions, and possibly compromising the careers of you and your group members. You couldn’t talk to them or your manager. They would no doubt overreact, causing the same problems as the authorities would. Your boyfriend was stressed and busy already, and didn’t need to be bothered with your job-related problems. With time, you convinced yourself that the phone calls weren’t hurting you. That the invasive photographs mailed to you were the natural results of having fans. That the slow footsteps you heard in the hall last night were a janitor, working late to finish the cleaning.

You twisted the handle of the practice room a few times, making sure it was locked. Convinced, you dropped the key quietly into your backpack and turned the corner to go back to the dorm. Something caught your wrist, eliciting a feeble scream from the back of your throat. An unfamiliar man smiled back at you, tightening his grip. He took a picture of your hand, brushing your fingers softly as you struggled away. Thoughts scrambled frantically in your head. Would hurting him be too much? What if the newspapers found out? Would people criticize you? He’s surpassed the boundary of fan, but would the public see it that way? You were approaching desperation when he simply let go. He smiled at you, a sickening expression that would haunt you for hours, turned away, and left. You looked down at your wrist. That man had stolen your bracelet.

Your boyfriend opened your door, and you peered anxiously around him to assure there was nobody in the hallway. He looked tired and annoyed with his day, and suspicious of your frantic glances.

“What happened? Why are you so jumpy?” You shivered uncomfortably beneath his glance. Should you tell him? What if he called the police? You couldn’t have that. In your industry, reputation was everything. You nodded slightly to yourself. This stalker wasn’t going to ruin the dreams of your group; your sisters.

“Nothing,” you mumbled. “I was confused, sorry.” You turned to walk away, letting out a soft cry as his hand wrapped around your wrist. He pulled back, startled by the purple ring coiling around your arm.

“What is this? Did someone hurt you?” You shook your head, covering the mark the man had left behind.

“It’s nothing. I’m going to bed now.” He tried to look into your eyes, moving his head as you tried to turn away from him.

“Are you cheating on me?” Your eyes widened.

“No! Of…of course not! It’s just from…I don’t know.” He looked at you with disappointment. Frustrated, he yanked the door open and started back down the hall. You sighed. It made sense that he was suspicious. You weren’t feeding him the truth, and your nervous cover-ups would make anyone suspect infidelity. It was tempting to run outside and explain, but you held back. He needed time to think.

Your boyfriend leaned against his car, processing the day’s events. In his peripheral vision he noticed another man walking toward your dorm’s door. He hesitated, before pushing away from his car and walking back toward the complex. Was your other boyfriend?

“Who are you?” The other man smiled.

“Who’s asking?” Your boyfriend smirked angrily, hitting the man’s hat off of his head.

“Her boyfriend.” He stressed the last word with particular emphasis. The other man’s eyes turned dark, almost vicious.

“Oh really?” He held up a bracelet, waving it in your boyfriend’s face. “Then why did she give me a bracelet identical to hers?” He snatched it out of the man’s hand, realization washing over his face. The glittering star was engraved with your boyfriend’s initials. The only one who owned it was you.

“You stole this! You’ve been stalking her!” His mouth was agape, ashamed with his own ignorance. “You’re the one who kept calling! I can’t believe…”

You heard someone yelling outside and scrambled to the door’s peephole. Your boyfriend was standing by the door, continuing to yell as the man who had harmed you ran away. The door opened and he stumbled in.

“Baby! I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you! Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” He stuttered worriedly, trying to both explain and apologize at the same time. You threw your arms around his neck, resting your head on his chest. The tears on your face soaked into the warm fabric, and he sat down, comforting you in his lap. As he reaffixed the bracelet to your wrist, he looked you directly in the eyes. “We need to call the police.” He lifted a hand, closing your mouth you had opened to protest. Understanding your concern, he reassured you. “The public isn’t going to blame you, but that man needs to be in prison.” You nod, hugging him tight as he made the phone call.

It didn’t take long for your stalker to be caught, and to be convicted for his crimes. For a few days you lived with your boyfriend, still shaken by the disturbing encounters. With his help however, you were soon back in front of the public, able to focus once again on the fans who mattered.