Of all the things I had been expecting, I hadn't been expecting this.

"What is it with him?" Anna, who knew all Bill Kaulitz's mimics asked. "Is he crazy? They were fine!"

Luce and I agreed. Bojan and three other boys who had been singing "Play that funky music" were now being sharply criticized by him altogether. According to what I could understand, it was all about their accent.

"If you had to sing in the United States or in front of English people in general, they wouldn't understand a word you sing." Bill sharply told them.

"Sure, like he was better than them." Anna replied to the TV with a smirk.

"I think his accent got better, now that the English versions of their songs are selling better in the United States than in Europe."

"I still prefer the German versions."

I shushed them both as I kept on listening to what he was saying. Why did he look so pissed-off? He loved Bojan and I don't think he ever had problems with any of the other boys. Was it because of the last show? Even Dieter had to calm him down, although he didn't seem to get along that much with him anymore.

"You know, if we wanted a totally faithful version of all songs, we would just take the lyrics and let them read in front of the mike. Who cares if it doesn't sound like the original version? That's not the point of a cover!"

The boys still ended on a good note, thanks to the three other judges. But Bill didn't calm down and kept on looking for things to blame in the next performances, even though they were small details.

I called Bojan later in the afternoon. We were both glad to hear each other's voice again. When I talked to him about Bill's behavior, he agreed:

"I know, he's freaking us out! It's like he's gone crazy! And there's nothing we can do about it, except waiting for it to stop on its own. I even heard someone saw him and Dieter outside of the hotel before the show. They were arguing. Some people think it's because Bill is tired of being considered as Dieter's puppet because he'd always agree with him."

"You mean, like a mascot?"

"Kind of… Lola? You're still there?"

"What ? Sorry, yes. I thought you were great. Never mind what he said. I got to go now, so I'll talk to you later."

"Alright, see you. Take care."

"You too. Bye."

I then hung off and started twirling a strand of hair around my finger, guilt nettling my mind like a thorn. I needed some fresh air. I took my coat and keys and opened the door of the entrance.

"I'm going for a walk. I'll be back in half an hour or so!"

My mother nodded and waved at me good-bye as I closed the door.

I felt relieved when I walked across the street and passed by a few familiar shops. Maybe a little shopping wouldn't hurt... That's what my sister would do anytime she was sad: she thought feeling pretty outside would always help the inside a little. It wouldn't help the inside of her wallet though, my mum would always reply. I looked at my reflection in one of the showcases and tried to smile at it when I saw a bunch of girls approach me from behind. I turned at them: they were five, with big black sunglasses that would hide half of their face and had their hair hidden under scarves.

"Are you Lola Klein?" One of them asked me in French.

"Yes. Why?"

No other word was said afterwards. She then punched me in the face so hard I heard the cheekbone crack. Two others grabbed me by the arms and hair and they kept punching me in the face, stomach and throat. When I hit the ground, they kicked me some more and finally left as I passed out on the sidewalk, half-drowning in the blood coming from my nose and mouth.

When I woke up at the hospital, my eyes were so swollen I could barely open them, my nostrils were plugged with cotton, my bottom-lip had been cut on the asphalt and I had bruises everywhere. Thank god they hadn't broken any bone. A nurse would regularly come to change my dressings and disinfect the wounds, which would burn like hell. But most of all, I had to be protected from the journalists who were trying to enter my room and take pictures of me; it required not only security agents but also doctors and both my mother and friend to let me get some rest in peace. I waited the end of the day before I accepted a couple of them in my room and tell my story. I also got some info from them -which my best friend later confirmed: the girls who attacked me fitted the description of a group of Tokio Hotel stalkers who would call themselves "the Afghans". They were all between 17 and 25 and had been following the band for almost a year now. Luce also showed me some pictures she'd recently found on the internet: there were their blogs with photoshopped pictures and drawings of me in obscene positions with Bill, calling me a slut, bitch, whore and so on. I was so shocked I wanted to cry but couldn't because of my black eyes. The police came too. But because I couldn't tell their names or how they looked like, it was hard to hope they would be arreststed soon.

The next day, my story was on all front-pages of tabloids in big shining pink letters, and a close-up on my broken face at its worse. My mom was working and my sister was at school so I was all alone in the apartment. But I was so scared to go out I stayed all day in my room, reading all the magazines my sister bought with a blank expression: I couldn't believe this thing, this monstrous thing was a human face -even less that it was mine. I couldn't believe these girls had found where I lived, travelled all the way from France to that small German town, just so they could beat the shit out of me and leave. That was scary and humiliating.

I jumped when I heard the phone ring. I slowly got up from my bed to the living-room and picked it up, ready to reassure another member of my family about my health. However, I was surprised when my interlocutor paused for a second before answering:

"… Hello, Lola. I didn't think I would get you on the phone straight away. It's Bill. How are you?"

I held my breath not to gasp; my heart started to pound like crazy.

"Better now, thanks."

"I heard about what happened... And I wanted to apologize..." He started in a sad tone.

"What for? You're not responsible for it."

"Yes, I am." He insisted. "Listen, tomorrow's show is reported because of a storm. Is it okay if I come to pay you a visit?"

I was flabbergasted and needed a small pause before starting again:

"…Are you serious? That's a very long travel from here to there!"

"I don't mind. Plus I'm a VIP, so I can travel faster than anyone else." He said with a smile in his voice.

"Yeah, I forgot money and fame gave you superpowers too..."

He laughed and my heart lightened up at the sound of it.

"So… do you know a place where we could meet?"

"Well…" I said and started to think at the speed of light, despite the fact everything was already going too fast for my brain. I didn't think it'd be a good idea to meet at my place because of the journalists, so we'd better go to a further place in town… I thought about the café called The Fairy Tale, which was on the other side of town. Plus it was one of the most expansive ones, so he wouldn't get a big change of scenery there. When I mentioned the place, I could hear a smile in his voice:

"Sounds like a nice place, indeed."

I gave him the address and we arranged for a time before he had to go and we both said goodbye.

He then hung off and I stood there, looking at the phone like this conversation hadn't been real... I hesitated between smiling and opening my eyes wide when the idea became clear to my mind: I was going to see Bill again, face-to-face and alone.

Wait… wasn't it technically a date then? I blushed at the thought and shook it out as I set the alarm on my phone for tomorrow.