So I Married a Rockstar

Chapter Six

Ch.6: The Stalker

Taking Elle's advice, Jude disappeared into his bedroom, and remerged wearing another pair of faded, ripped jeans. He still hadn't put a shirt on though, and, honestly, that incredible physique was almost as distracting as the snug boxers. The flame tattoos curling along his hip seemed to ripple as he moved.

Jude walked over to the kitchen and opened the fridge. I half-expected him to take out a beer, but he poured himself a glass of OJ instead.

Cautiously, I took a seat at the breakfast bar and waited.

Jude stared down into his juice for a long moment.

"So, here's the thing," he said. "I have . . ." He paused, seemed to search for the words. "Basically, I have a stalker."

"Okay." I quietly absorbed that, while Jude watched me, as if waiting for a stronger reaction. "What kind of stalker?"

I'd heard horror stories about deranged fans breaking into the homes of their favourite celebrities, or attacking them, and in the worst cases, actually killing them. But were all stalkers that bad? Or were some of them just the online troll variety, satisfied with shit-posting from behind the safety of their screens?

"It started as texts and calls, but then I changed my number, so now they send letters instead."

"How did they get your number in the first place?"

Jude shrugged. "I could have given it to a fan when I was drunk. It wouldn't be the first time I'd done something dumb like that."

"You mean like marrying a fan?" I said, giving him a little smile.

Jude smirked back.

Then his words fully sunk in and my smile vanished. "Wait, this person sends you letters? They know where you live?" A bolt of alarm shot through me.

"Loads of people know where I live. It's pretty hard hiding something like that when you're famous."

He had a point, but that didn't make me feel better.

"Also, it's not always here. Sometimes letters turn up at the recording studio, or find their way to a venue where I'm performing, or doing interviews, or getting photos done, anything like that really," Jude went on.

"What kind of letters?" I asked.

"Just usual stalker shit."

"I've never had a stalker, so I don't know what that means."

Jude gave a soft sigh and shoved his curls off his face. "Declarations of undying love mostly, insisting that we belong together, vague threats about what'll happen if they see me with another woman."

My eyes widened. "And you didn't think to tell me about this?"

"Honestly, I don't think about it much. It's not the first stalker I've had, and it probably won't be the last."

"But they're threatening you!"

"Do you have any idea how many threats famous people get? Every week there's something – someone threatening me with court action because I'm the father of their kid, even though I've never even met them, or accusing me of stealing songs that I've never heard, or believing that some of my songs are written specifically about them, or thinking that because I locked eyes with them for two seconds at a gig, it means we're soul-mates, and getting angry with me for not responding. I get people threatening to kill me or themselves because of how much they love my music. I get people threatening to kill me or themselves because of how much they hate my music. If I took every threat seriously, I'd be a nervous fucking wreck."