Number One Fan

(1)

It's been years since my all-time favorite band, Ten of Swords, broke up, but I still love them, their music. And I still have a huge crush on their remaining official member, Sam Heath.

Actually, they didn't deliberately break up. The other official member and Sam's best friend, Nico Saez, mysteriously disappeared. He is still missing to this day.

Ever since the day–err, night–Nico was last seen, Ten of Swords have become inactive. As for Sam, he spiraled into a worsened drug and alcohol addiction and depression, and it's only recently that he returned to making music, only this time he concentrated mostly on composing film scores and teaching. Of course, I watched every movie that featured his music, and they all became my favorite films. Most of them were horror flicks, which was no problem for me because that's my favorite film genre, too.

(Before I forget–I've been describing Sam and Nico as "official members" because they're actually a duo; all the other members are backing musicians whose lineup changed from time to time.)

Anyway, I've already said I have a huge crush on Sam. Actually, I think–I feel–that this is so much more than just a crush.

Ten of Swords won my heart from their debut album and I fell more deeply in love with them with their next releases and especially when I got to attend my first concert with the band that came with a meet and greet–I even had a really bad argument with my mom since I insisted on going whether she liked it or not, and of course, she hated that I was more passionate about a "worldly" artist than a god she and my preacher dad (who is, by the way, more present at church than at home) claim and believe exists.

Between Sam and Nico, though, it was Sam who fascinated me more. Not only was he handsome, with his kinda messy long black hair recently bleached blond, fair complexion, slim build, tattooed arms, and piercing brown eyes; but he also got along well with fans. Being a psychology major himself (plus a degree in music, too), he was also open about his struggle with addiction and other mental health issues. Plus I read somewhere that he sponsored select music students.

He was inspiring, especially since I've been medicating for bipolar disorder–it's what my shrink said I have–and I've got an addiction of my own. My Christian upbringing–I mean, every American parent of the same generation as my folks would claim they raise their children in accordance with "Christian" teachings, wouldn't they?–would tell me I am addicted to sex and that that's evil. But I've chucked religion out, and I don't think I like anyone enough to sleep with them, let alone touch myself to fantasies of them... except, yes, Sam. I guess I am not really addicted to sex, since I'm a virgin. I'm addicted to Sam. Samael Damien Heath, after all, is sex. How do you combat your addiction if the person inspiring you to do so is your addiction?

I want him so bad I wish I was his wife. That lady–I heard her name was Janine Farraway, and she's a fucking beautiful, naturally tan-skinned pro model and physical trainer from Australia–is so fucking lucky. Compared to her, I, Rozelle Evens, am a pale, chubby, manic-depressive, trying-hard soon-to-be sophomore English major (I can't believe I just survived one year of uni) and part-time bakery assistant transplanted from some rural Pennsylvania town to a decent Massachusetts suburb where my uni is. The only thing I didn't envy Janine for was her and Sam having a baby. I don't want to have any. But I envy her the most for having experienced, maybe a good number of times now, being fucked by the only man I'll allow to fuck me and Sam being so much in love with her. How could he not? He himself said it was Janine who helped him finally overcome his personal demons. Aww. Their pictures together, some of them featuring them kissing lips to fucking lips or Sam's lips on Janine's neck–just the sight of them have already triggered a good number of my anger outbursts. I still follow Sam nevertheless. I guess his band, his music–he–has become my new religion.

Because I want–love–him beyond the limits of the word "crush" or "infatuation", I stand here tonight, in the backyard of the Heaths' Colonial-style home in this cozy Massachusetts suburb, well concealed, hopefully, by the shadows of the trees. I tied my unruly long blonde hair into a bun, which I believe is fully covered by my black beanie, and I wore a black face mask, a black long-sleeved jumpsuit, black latex gloves, black socks, and all-black running shoes for good measure.

No, I don't claim to be Ten of Swords'–and Sam's–number one fan, but yes, you could say I am pretty hardcore.

Because I've got a hold of Sam's home address.