Fan Fever

The room was too bright. Fluorescent lights hummed softly above, flickering just enough to make everything feel unreal. Cold. Clinical. Safe… but not safe enough. Skye O’Hare sat perfectly still. A thin blanket was draped over her shoulders, but it did nothing to stop the trembling beneath her skin. Bruises bloomed across her arms—deep purples and fading yellows—while a faint cut traced along her cheek. Her once flawless image, the one the world adored, was gone. Now, she just looked… broken. Across from her, two officers sat quietly. One flipped through a file, careful not to make too much noise. The other watched her closely, his gaze softer, more patient. “Skye,” he said gently, leaning forward. “You’re safe now.” Safe. She was just rescued from the hand of an obsessed freak. She had been through a lot during the past days. Safe..... The word didn’t feel real. Her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the blanket. “He can’t hurt you anymore,” the officer continued. “We just need you to help us understand what happened.” Silence stretched between them. Somewhere down the hall, a phone rang. Footsteps echoed. Life went on—normal, untouched. But inside that room, everything felt frozen in time. The officer’s voice came again, quieter this time. “Can you tell us where it started?” Skye didn’t answer. Her eyes, dull and distant, fixed on something no one else could see. A stage. Flashing lights. Screaming fans. Her breath hitched. The world tilted. And just like that— She was falling. Back into it.