38 — The Cat’s Out of the Bag

My morning started with a shit-ton of messages and notifications.

I almost dropped my phone when I saw the number of streams.

It had barely been over a day and 'On My Knees' was already at 250k streams. To put that into perspective, it's a six figure number. It would've taken me years to accumulate that kind of following in my past life, not that I had any music out there, but considering the time and effort it took to build up any kind of audience, this was insane.

It only made sense that a song written by a man would gain so much traction, but still. It was surreal to see that number climb up. It was a bit scary, too.

The comments were also a wild ride as you'd expect from this world's internet culture.

There were still the concerned people, but they were mostly drowned out by thirst tweets that would've had me blushing furiously had I still possessed the human faculties to be a bashful bean like I was back in the days of innocence.

"I knew that the reactions were gonna be nuts but jeez..." I couldn't help it as I read the messages popping up in real time. "This is crazy."

260k.

280k.

300k.

It didn't stop rising for even a second.

My heart started beating faster, my hands gripping the phone tighter. It was madness. It was... frighteningly beautiful. The numbers didn't feel real to me, and this wasn't even a chart-topper song. 

What would happen if I actually used my previous world's songs and released those babies in this insane music industry?

At this point, it wasn't even about the fame and the money, because those were inevitable.

It was the curiosity of how far this would go.

In a way, this was like watching a fire spread, and at the same time, being unable to stop it from doing so. You wanted to see just how far the flames could go. How destructive could it be? Would it end in a tragedy, or something much, much greater.

A terrifying thing.

A terrible idea, probably. Because I would be willingly placing myself in the heart of the fire, but in a way, I wanted to change the world a bit. See if I could restore the natural order I was used to. 

'Holy fuck...'

I lay back down, staring at the ceiling in a daze. It was a normal day. A normal morning. The sun was out, a few birds were singing, and I had a good night's sleep.

It felt... strange, having this much potential in my hands, enough to probably have my statue erected in North Korea, which, in a way, wasn't that unrealistic of a scenario given how crazy my music was about to get.

Yeah, I bolted upright, scrambled out of bed and reached for my laptop with sweaty palms. Time to strike the iron while it's hot!

I immediately opened a Notes App and typed down all the lyrics from my previous life I could still recall. I had a pretty decent memory, but some were hazy.

I spent the next few hours in my room, trying to remember as many songs as I could, going through different genres and decades. I had to pause at times, to hum the tune and make sure I was remembering it correctly.

It was like digging up a treasure chest, except it was buried under a mountain of garbage. Not that my music taste was trash, but some of the songs I used to listen to in my youth weren't something that'd resonate with the women of this world. 

I had to focus on songs that would appeal to them; they made up the majority of the population, so it was only sensible.

Though, it wasn't like men weren't into music, it's just that it wasn't a big part of their lives as it was for women, as far as I could tell.

Even in those Male Perspectives forums I'd scoured through, there were very few threads about music. Some eulogy for Emmet, a few comments about some underground male artists, and that was it.

It was almost lunch time by the time I was done.

I looked at the list of songs I had 'borrowed' from my past life. I didn't believe I'd be able to recreate them 100% accurately, but I had a good grasp of the melodies and lyrics.

It was a good starting point, for sure.

Knock. Knock.

I slammed the laptop shut and sighed as I looked at the door. "Yes?"

"Damien, it's me."

Calista.

"Come in."

And come in she did, a little hurricane in the shape of a blonde bombshell, and her face was... not her usual self. I was used to a cool, unapproachable Calista, but this one was different.

She looked... stressed.

Frazzled.

And there was a cigarette dangling from her lips that wasn't lit.

I watched her silently as she crossed the room and sat on the edge of my bed, facing me. She didn't say anything for a moment, just looked at me with an intensity that made me feel a little uneasy.

"What?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"You have the whole damn world in a frenzy." She replied, her voice tense. "Do you know that?"

I blinked. "I... yeah, I'm aware." I scratched the back of my head. "I've been keeping an eye on the numbers."

"That's not what I'm talking about." Calista exhaled loudly, but the cigarette was still unlit, so it was just a dramatic sigh. "What you've started will go far beyond getting a number next to your name."

"Calista, I can't get you." I replied honestly. "I was fully prepared for the outcry against the song and the 'men are not sex-slaves' nonsense, and yet here I am."

"How are you so damn calm?!"

She gnashed her teeth, grinding the cigarette between her lips. She was likely not expecting such an overreaction from the internet. Or maybe she did, but in the heat of the moment she simply deluded herself that it wouldn't get to this point.

"I'm not." I chuckled nervously. "I'm actually freaking out inside... but I'm keeping it on the low, alright?"

"Dammit." She cursed, fumbling for her cigarette lighter. "What a goddamn mess..."

It seemed the smoke-ring therapy was about to begin.

I pursed my lips, knowing what the main root cause of the stress was. "Are you here because you want to keep me safe?"

Calista shot me an odd look, the flame burning. "Of course, I'm fucking here because I'm trying to look after you." Her words were harsh but not untrue, a blunt force that wouldn't affect a sturdy oak, but cut deep into an aged willow. "Fuck!" She muttered a curse after the first inhale, squinting at the window.

"Can you at least smoke out of the window?" I made an attempt at negotiating.

A disgruntled Calista stomped her way towards the open window, turning her gaze towards me. "Do you really not know how much danger you're in?"

"Not... really?" I frowned at the ominous question. "I mean, I know that there could be fans who'll do ridiculous stuff, and there may be media coverage, and I could become some target for people with serious mental health problems or some other dumb shit, but it's not like I'll just let my guard down. Besides, wouldn't the security around be stronger from now on?"

Wasn't that how it usually worked with high profile people? The more famous or well-known the subject got, the tighter their security detail.

"Don't say shit like that... Jesus." Calista was actually looking a tad distressed after the long exhale, the wind whisking away the smoke and any remaining good-wills with it. "This isn't the kind of attention you want to be dealing with right now."

I shrugged. "I won't argue with you there."

"Have you checked the fan's forums yet?"

"... No?" I fiddled my thumbs, sensing she wasn't talking about a place where men were congregating on the internet, but the ladies'.

"The song you released is particular, you know that. You're not that dumb. The thing is that you keep talking about a woman in your song... and it doesn't stop, well, women, from losing their shit and developing a fantasy of some kind around it. Like believing they're the one in your song."

It all began to dawn on me.

"Right. But this is just a song, there'll always be creepy fantasies involved."

Calista sneered. "There are thousands of psycho-stalkers online who could make your life miserable... and many of those who will make those threats a reality. I'm sorry to tell you this, sweetheart, but you just painted a target on your ass."

I smiled lightly. "Well, you'll be there to protect me, won't you?"

She held my gaze for a while, but eventually, Calista dropped hers and nodded. "That's right." Then turned back around to continue polluting her lungs.

"Is that why you're here? To warn me?" I asked, leaning forward.

"Partly." She answered after a moment of silence, taking a few last drags before tossing the cigarette butt out the window. "There's something else."

"Hmm?" I raised my brows at her back.

Calista inhaled deeply, exhaling, then turned around and walked back towards me. She stopped just short of sitting on the bed. "You need to come clean to Mom and Aunt Freya."

"......"

Right.

Shit was going down, no doubt. And lying at a crucial moment, right before I'd burst on the scene in a cacophonic symphony of cock-struck fangirls and stalker psychos, would do no one any good, and I especially had to keep things afloat between Mom and myself. 

I couldn't lose my own fucking family's trust, otherwise I'd truly be fucked.

It was also a matter of principle. I said that I'd wait out the song's outcome. If it failed, I wouldn't speak about it, but since it did succeed, to such an overwhelming extent, there was no point in beating around the bush anymore.

However...

"When is the best moment to bring it out in the open?" I asked carefully.

"We might not have a 'good' moment to do that." Calista gave a bitter laugh. "We should do it now."

Now, eh.

xXx

Fake a breakdown of character once, and your chances of surviving an inquisition a second time decreased by a critical margin.

That's how I reasoned. Perhaps I should've just faked amnesia instead.

Calista's warning kept resonating in my ears like a gunshot warning: 'If you don't confess now, it will probably be too late to do it later. Fess up. No exceptions, Damien.'

And that's exactly how I found myself in the living room with Mom and Aunt Freya looking at me in anticipation, with a cross-armed Calista waiting to the side for the eventual reveal. Iris and Ivy weren't to be part of this discussion, seeing as this was a conversation of the highest importance in the house.

I wondered briefly how much those two knew already.

"Damien." Mom prodded gently, when I took too long. "Are you alright?"

The three of us were sitting on the couch, with yours truly across from them on another separate piece of furniture. I sat there with my legs crossed.

Freya had a particular look on her face, halfway between daze and an intense stare. She wasn't really there, mentally anyway. What we did in that donation room weighed on me as well, and I kind of avoided ever bringing it up again after we got back home. Truthfully, I had more pressing matters to attend to, but I wouldn't lie that it was a bit awkward to look her in the eye.

How was someone supposed to act after that?

"Yes, I'm quite alright... I just need to come clean with something."

Willow blinked, and Freya snapped out of her trance with a wide-eyed look.

"Well, that's a good thing." Mom patted her skirt. "We're here to listen, son."

I nodded, glancing at Calista, whose face was entirely impassive. I sighed, rubbing my face in preparation for this. Freya shifted uncomfortably, looking quite tired and resigned. I realized she was misunderstanding, that she thought I was going to speak of the 'donation' incident, but that was not why she was brought along for this ride.

This was the motherlode. The meat and potatoes. The pièce de résistance. This was the big bang.

Time to hit the fans with the cold hard facts.

I finally looked them straight in the eye and braced myself. "I've written a song."

"Yes, you did say you were writing something." Mom nodded, encouraging. "Did you finish it? Do you want us to hear it?"

My eyes darted between her and Freya, both of whom were awaiting a response. I could only gulp nervously, gathering my wits and resolve. "That's... part of what I'm trying to convey."

"Yes...?"

Mom exchanged a glance with Freya, who, for the record, looked more confused.

"See..." I inhaled a sharp breath. "I've already... released the song. In fact, it's already quite popular. It's on SoundWave."

"......"

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