Obsessive love

Chapter 15 - Trapped

***POV JORDAN***

After the concert and the subsequent, well-deserved shower, I call Mia. I want to wish her a good night and hear that she and the baby are doing well.

It rings, but she doesn't answer the call. Well, maybe she's already fallen asleep or is also in the shower. Nevertheless, an uneasy feeling spreads through me. What if something is wrong with the baby?

"Hey, what's up?" asks Jon, who finds me brooding on the sofa, staring at the cell phone. As if the black screen could give me answers.

"Nothing," I say, putting the phone in my back pocket. "Mia's just not answering her phone."

"Maybe she's sleeping."

"Yeah, probably."

"Don't worry about it. She knows what she's doing."

"Yeah yeah," I mutter.

"You worry," Jon notes, sitting down next to me. "Honestly, there's no reason to be. Mia can take care of herself just fine."

"I know that." I really do know, but the rotten feeling in my stomach won't go away. I try calling Mia again, but again it just goes to voicemail.

"Come on," Jon says, patting my shoulder encouragingly. "There's a really neat after-show party, and the fans are going crazy with excitement when they see you there."

"I just took a shower," I interject, but it's no use. Jon has obviously got it into his head to drag me there.

***

All five of us are actually present at the party and that alone is some kind of record. Off stage, it's almost impossible to see us all together in public. Whereby the term stage is very broad, actually I would have to say away from work. For me, even an after-show party is work, whereas for Donnie it's pure pleasure. He's always been like that. Party and enjoy the pleasure of the guests. I, on the other hand, prefer to observe and quietly rejoice. But tonight is different. I throw myself into the fans, let myself be carried away by their enthusiasm, dance and sing and celebrate as if there were no tomorrow. The hustle and bustle distracts me from my gloomy thoughts and maybe it's instinct to savor the happy hormones today. It doesn't matter, I enjoy being Jordan the star.

Back at the hotel, I drop onto the bed, tired but happy. I feel like the king of the world. First the concert, then the party, and no matter where I go, the fans celebrate me. It's a crazy great feeling to be admired like this. I often don't understand why I'm so adored, but tonight is a night when I can enjoy it without worrying about it.

The ringing of my cell phone snaps me out of my sleep. With half-open eyes, I grope for it. Of course, it falls from the nightstand onto the floor. When I find it and pick it up, it stops ringing. An unknown number has tried to reach me, my phone tells me. It was probably a good thing that I didn't pick it up. I've gotten into the habit of only taking calls from people in my contact list. That saves annoying advertising calls and embarrassing conversations with fans who somehow got hold of my number.

I put the phone back on the nightstand and make myself comfortable under the covers. The damn thing rings again and I start to get angry. Who is trying so persistently to reach me at this hour (it's 4 a.m.!)?

Without further ado, I decide not to answer the phone and to ignore the call.

***POV MIA***

Tied up with duct tape, Jason has dragged me into the basement of the high-rise building where he lives. It's in the same neighborhood as the one where Cindy lives. Chicago is full of "ghettos" like that. The poorest of the poor live here, and often enough the welfare payments are not even enough for half of the month.