I'll let you in on a secret.

My boyfriend is a K-pop superstar. You think I'm one of them delusional saesangs
? No, I'm not--trust me, I'm 100% telling the truth.Believe me, it is real.He's
a member of an uber-popular group--you know which one, cause prolly some of you
might claim him your bias (He was mine too--who wouldn't?).
All right, I'll spill--it's Cass. Like the angel in Supernatural but Asian, just
as gorgeous but a little bit hotter. Right, I can't believe it either. I mean,
why would he spare another look at me? I'm just one drop in a sea of fans, why'
d he pick me? It's a dream come true. Being your bias' girlfriend. Lucky, right?
Sigh. If only that were true.
While it is good to know that his heart belongs to you, being a celeb's girl is
the worst thing to be. In fact, I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy (in that
case,Freya at the office--she can be such a b*tch). Especially when he's one of
the hottest guys in the world and immensely popular, to boot. Not that I'm compl
aining about that. But seriously, it's a situation much harder than Sarah G.'s c
haracter in "Catch Me..." where she's the President's son's girlfriend. Compared
to me, she had it easy.
What am I whining about, you ask? Well, for starters, there's the issue of my ex
istence. Yes, he has to keep this relationship a secret. No one knows about our
little "situation" (except maybe my parents and his bandmates (!)). It's for my
own safety, he insists. Can't say I blame him for that. After all, he's got, lik
e, a million fans who would probably tear me apart limb to limb if they knew who
I am. For the fact alone--that I'm actually his girlfriend--Probably I now occu
py the position of being the world's Most Hated Person. Especially among the fan
atic ones. But sheesh--I don't really care, though. He. Is. Mine. Even if the wo
rld hates me, at least he loves me, and that is enough. But still...
Then there's the time and distance. Since lil' ol' me can't leave this country (
I've a job, and besides, too much of a hassle) and he lives in another country,
it's a bit hard for us to be together. Sure, he sneaks out of his homeland once
in a while just to be with me, even for a short while (really sweet, I tell you)
and online chat (VIDEO chat--his insistence, not mine), but sometimes I feel th
is long-distance relationship is taking its toll on me. I tried telling him off
about the sneaking thing and he was like "What, you not want see me anymore? No
love me?" (ugh. Engrish.) and then ask me (quite angrily) if I have found someon
e else while he was away (like I would--geez, possessive much?) so I pretty much
shut up about it and let him do as he wants.
Then of course, there's his career. Like we all know, he's really hot and all, s
o he gets linked here and there (what can I do? I'm miles away). I can't even ta
lk to him about it--what will he think? Right. A bit of jealousy is healthy, but
on a regular basis, it stresses me a lot. Odd thing is, he finds this "cute and
amusing". Then I refuse to talk to him for a few days until he pesters me again
or my mom makes me, whichever comes first. Sigh. Fine, so he assures me, and I'
m assured, but I still can't help feeling a little... whatever. Then there's the
matter of his entertainment company--aren't they wondering about him taking too
many leaves of absences? He just shrugs his shoulders and says, it's fine and I
shouldn't worry about it. Whatever.
And yet, despite all these, why would I still stick with him? And why did he sti
ck with me? I'll never know that.
But first, let me tell you how it all began.
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I met Cass at a fanmeet during one of their tours.They're having this concert th
at night (unfortunately for me, I can't see it--can't afford the tickets) so I w
ent to the (riot of a) fanmeet instead to have my posters signed. Lots of scream
ing girls (and a few gays and some guys dragged in by the girls) and jostling, a
nd finally I got to the table where they were all seated. I was having the poste
r signed by Andy (nice guy--he's the real deal) when I noticed Cass. He was bare
ly paying attention to the surrounding selfie-and-group-pic takers, and he was g
iving me this odd look. In fact, I can't say he was merely looking--I'd daresay
he was outright staring. At me.
At first I was like, WTF? Is that Cass staring as me? After thanking Andy and sh
aking hands with him (touched him, yay!) I turned to my friend. Do I look too we
ird? I ask, and she laughs. No, Haez, you're still you, you little oddball punk,
she says, and asks me why. Cass is looking at me like...eek! I whisper back to
her, and I see a ghost of that smirk I really love about him coming up his face.
My friend gives a sideways glance at him and gasps. Look, Haez, she points out
(but not with her finger--that'll be too obvious) and I see him looking at me. I
feel a lump growing at my throat as I approach Nate(cutie Natie, we call him),
knowing Cass is up next. Nate was all smiles, chitchatting with us as he signed
his part of the poster, and we thanked him after that (but not before we took pi
cs with him--he's just SO adorable).
Then Cass. To say I'm a bundle of nerves would've been the biggest understatemen
t of the year--I can't even feel my toes. I swallowed--hard--as I forced myself
to step towards him. He has his chin on the palm of his hand, as if anticipating
my arrival, which seemed to take forever given that he was just right next to N
ate. Focus, Haez, I think, and finally managed to drag myself (with my friend's
help) in front of him.
You scared of me? he asks, smirking.I shake my head and place the posters in fro
nt of him--the group's and his solo one (like I said, he IS my bias). Can you si
gn these, please? I ask him, causing him to smile widely. Glad to know I have ch
ance. Me your bias? he asks, eyes on me all the time. Sh*t, I think, this is bad
. And no way out, either. I just nod and smiled, and this seemed to please him a
lot. What's your name? Cass demands. Hazael--Haez is fine, I say, then immediat
ely regret it. My friend giggles behind me. He is SO into you, she whispers. Shu
t up, I whisper back. My heart is pounding like hell it's almost audible. Cass s
igns both posters and hands them back to me. As I took them back, he grabbed my
hand and stood up to my level. Have note there, he whispers. Read it. Cass retur
ns to his seat, smirking. Dammit, why does it have to be me?
As we walked away, something fell off the back of the posters--an envelop. When
I turned it over, it said: Come, or else. After, please meet me at the after-par
ty. Cass. I opened the envelop and almost drop the contents in shock. Two VVIP
concert tickets, stage side (How did he know? Better yet, how did he do it?)! My
friend screams. Oh my God, look, after-party passes! she exclaims. I was numb
with shock (who wouldn't? Your bias just handed you VVIP tickets and an invite--
wouldn't you faint?) that it took a while before it all sank in. He's so, so, in
to you, Haez, my friend insists. But why? I ask, stowing away the envelop (yeah,
bet you're prolly asking the same thing).She shrugs. I don't know. But we'll go
! Hurrah! And she dragged me off to the jeepney stop to wait for a jeep. And go
home. I dread what's coming up next (shouldn't have--concert, right?).
Come, or else, he says. Or else what? I wonder. Can't find out soon enough
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So there I was, thrust in front, among the sea of screaming (and sweating) fans
(since I'm such a chicken, I asked my friend to come with me--2 tickets, remembe
r?), anticipating and (at the same time) dreading the "or else" clause Cass had
said in his note earlier (just why he had to blackmail me when I could have gone
willingly is beyond me). I've been feeling so twitchy since the group was intro
duced onstage (Cass ACTUALLY scanned the crowd to make sure I was there...or was
it just my imagination? He did lock eyes with me, though--after which I looked
away). While the others around me were busy getting stupid over them, I was just
there, waiting anxiously as number after number were performed by them.
What's the matter with you? my friend asks, noticing my mood. Nothing, I say, an
d turn back to the performances onstage. Really? she says, eyebrows raised. Does
that "nothing" mean Cass? I glared at her. Shut up, I said, feeling the heat in
my cheeks not connected with the jostling concert crowd. Jeez, Haez, relax. It'
s not like he'll eat you, she assures (oh yeah? I'm not so sure about that.). Be
sides, he's too far to do anything to you (not so sure about that, either).
But nothing she said ever made the dread go away. Especially since Cass's "speci
al number" is up next (this routine is very familiar to us fans--it includes Den
nis, Spence, and Matt the teddy. Wonder how he'll do do that with me here? Hmmm.
..). All my apprehensions further escalated when the lights went out, the scream
ing rang into my ears (can't believe I can still hear after that, though), and t
he first few strains of Gaga's "Poker Face" came out of the systems.
Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod! my seatmate was screaming out (if her head does the 1
80-degree turn I'm outta here).