Once upon a time (Bill Kaulitz fanfiction)

Chapter 10

I had never been in that café; I just knew it by reputation. I took as much cash as I could and promised myself to take the less expansive drink. I couldn't help but feel a little intimidated when I pushed the glass door and sit at a table in a far corner of the room, like he'd politely asked me to. I soon kept on checking on the door as well as the time on my phone. I thought I looked awful: I was ashamed of my hair, which I simply let loose on my shoulders and I thought I should have put a nicer sweater or more jewelry. Thank god I still had my favorite earrings and put some make-up on, I thought as I twirled a strand of hair around my finger.

My heart skipped a beat. There he was. Though he arrived with an ordinary grey jacket and a big black hat, I recognized him as soon as he pushed the door. He soon recognized me too and came towards me. His bodyguards were also there and sit quietly a few tables away from us. He sat down in front of me, smiling:

"Hi."

"Hi."

Both of us went silent. I realized I had no idea what to tell him. He didn't seem to be so at ease either, as he kept on turning the rings on his slender fingers.

"… I'm sorry." I declared with a nervous laugh. "I just can't realize you're there with me, especially after… all that."

"How are your injuries?" He bluntly asked me.

My smile disappeared and I brought my hands to my face as a reflex, though I couldn't feel the swellings anymore.

"Better." I replied in an undertone.

He seemed to have misinterpreted it and bowed his head, looking at his hands in silence. I couldn't tell if he looked more worried, guilty or mad, or all three at the same time.

"I'm terribly sorry about what happened. I'd understand if you're mad at me now…"

The waiter then arrived and we ordered. I couldn't wait for him to get away.

"I'm not." I replied when we were alone again. "I told you, it wasn't your fault."

"These girls are insane. And they're dangerous. I feel sorry that they hit you because of me."

"They're stalkers of your band, right?"

He nodded.

"They've been stalking us for years, now. It's not the first time Tom and I've been dealing with them. Tom even hit one of them in the face at a gas-station one night. As a result, they sued us and they won."

He clenched his fists and his voice went weaker, like he was suddenly more talking to himself than to me:

"Sometimes I wish people would just leave us alone. It's true that fame brings you wonders you'd never dream of, but it's also very hard: you don't know who likes you because of who you are or because of what you seem to be. You can hear horrible, wrong things about you as well as exaggerated compliments like you were God in disguise. But I'm not. I'm absolutely not. I just..."

I waited for him to finish his sentence, but he never did. The waiter brought us our drinks, this time so discreetly I didn't hear him come and go. My eyes were fixed on Bill. For the first time, I wasn't comparing him to the portrait my sister and best friend had of the singer of Tokio Hotel. I just saw a 23-year-old lonely young man whose hand I wanted to hold in mine but wouldn't. He must've have been embarrassed to have said that out of nowhere as he took a sip on his cup, but then grimaced:

"That guy gave me tea instead of coffee. Great..."

"Wait," I said before he called the waiter. "here, take mine. I'm not in the mood for coffee anyway."