I Was Born for This(52)

We are three people from the front of the queue and a large group of girls near the back of the line seem to be causing a fair amount of unrest. I keep hearing shouts of, ‘Can you stop pushing?’ and the space between each person seems to be getting smaller and smaller. We’re all fairly packed in now, actually. People are starting to get agitated.

Despite how the media paints us, fandoms are actually very supportive and respectful places. Fans will stick up for each other and look after each other in a way that normal strangers don’t. I think it’s because despite who we are, where we came from, and whatever we’ve been through, we all have a very big part of us in common.

Of course there are always a small number of fans who are not good people.

There are always those who lack any empathy whatsoever.

‘Why is everyone pushing?’ Juliet mumbles. The first thing she’s said in about half an hour.

The next person walks towards the curtains. Two more to go.

Mac looks like he wants to die. He hasn’t said anything either. I’ve been distracting myself by talking to the other fans around us, talking to people who actually care about being here.

‘I might get out of here,’ he says suddenly.

Juliet says nothing.

‘Someone else deserved your ticket,’ I tell him.

He looks at me like I’m from another planet.

And then there is a sound.

A loud crack.

And a terrified voice rips through the air.

‘What the fuck, what the fuck—’

And Rowan stumbles out from behind the curtain with blood cascading down one side of his face.





I am wearing my happy face again and everything is fine and then suddenly it isn’t.

A girl walks round the curtain and everything is normal and then it’s not.

Instead of smiling and holding out her phone for us to take a photo, she withdraws a brick from her bag.

A brick. Like the ones you’d use to build a garden wall.

Security aren’t superhuman. The girl throws the brick at Rowan before they can jump on her and it hits him on the side of the head and he stumbles backwards with a cry of pain, hands flying to his face, and the girl, some random girl we’ve obviously never seen before, is screaming. The girl is screaming that she hates him, she hates what he did, why did he have to have a girlfriend, why did he have to destroy her life, but security are pinning her to the ground and I’m looking at Rowan again and his face is a mess of blood. He takes his hand away from his face and looks at it. He just stares at the blood; he can’t believe this is real. I can’t believe this is real. And then he stumbles blindly away, out of the curtained-off area, probably meaning to head towards the door we came in from but instead veering towards the crowd. I haven’t moved.

It all happens in under ten seconds.

Rowan. I start walking after him, ignoring Lister’s attempt to get me to stop, to stay where they can’t see us, but I’m gone, I’m out of the curtain, and I see Rowan, just in time for both of us to be consumed by a plague of bodies, screaming, screaming our names.





I’m ripped away from Juliet and Mac as the queue ropes are trampled by bodies. Those who want to get to The Ark push forward and those who know we should give them space can’t fight back and the crowd of two hundred fans crushes themselves into a screeching, swarming mass of bodies. Queue ropes seem to disintegrate. My view of Rowan and the blood dripping cinematically from his eyebrow is torn away as I’m swept across the room by the tide. I drop my meet-and-greet ticket, which I’d wanted them to sign. When I struggle to breathe, too many people crushed against my chest, I start panicking. I stop wanting to be here. I want to get out. Now.

I let the tide of bodies push me towards a wall. I try to spot Juliet – she’s small, she could easily be pushed under and get trampled – but I can’t see her, there are too many people. I get pushed again. Someone’s bag scratches my arm. Someone stands on my foot. The screaming is so loud.

The screaming isn’t the same as normal, though.

Screams of fear are very, very different.

I know there are bad people in fandom but I’ve never actually seen them – the people who stalk them to their hotels, the people who keep trying to track down their address, the people who don’t care about the boys’ comfort, personal space, happiness. The people without empathy.

Most fans aren’t like that. Most fans would take a bullet for The Ark. Most fans would defend them until their last breath, form an army to keep them from harm or discomfort.

But when one person does something like this, it’s no wonder everybody hates us.

I’m gradually being pushed further down the wall, and as soon as I feel a handle sticking into my back, I take my chance and disappear behind the door into what appears to be a disabled bathroom.

I fumble for the light and go and look at myself in the mirror. My scarf has been pulled slightly askew, so I quickly fix it, and wipe up the smudges of eyeliner under my eyes. Aside from that, you’d never have guessed I’d just been caught in a mob.

I sit down on the closed toilet lid and try to calm down.

If I just wait here for a while, the security guards will sort everything out, and then I can leave and go to the concert as planned.

Or maybe it’ll be cancelled.