Hybristophilia by Paola Martucci


Long hair, sort of unkempt but in a rockstar way, black as midnight, framing his face so delicately. Eyes almost as dark, fox-like and intelligent, having seen so many things, exhilarating to stare back into and have them put you in a trance. 

A smile even better. Made for a crowd of thousands, sculpted to make all eyes stop and stare.

 I know how it holds so many stories, so many secrets, and I could hear him talk with that deep and commanding voice forever. If I was allowed to, I’d never leave his side just to hear him let out that small chuckle when he’s mid thought, watch the way he licks his lip when his anecdote gets to the good part, and listen how he speeds up just slightly over something that excites him. 

I’d kill to get the chance to be by his side for eternity.

He stands tall, not threatening like people may say, but present, highlighting all the power in his body. The headlines made sure to mention that and maybe it’s the only part they say that I can agree with. The first time I saw him, his pictures in the newspapers, his name scattered across the front pages, it was like I had finally found meaning. I wanted to know more about him. Everything about him. This celebrity who the world had been hearing about for years, finally showing himself to the world. To me. 

For me. 

My intrigue developed after the interviews hit the television screens. The way he would stare right into the camera and talk in complete honesty, eyes glaring straight into my soul from across the television set. He was a vision of confidence and I felt it inside me. Felt his words ripple through my body, making me tingle. His voice would tell me things, speak just to me. Like a gentle whisper caressing my ears, teasing and tempting me. They told me I could be the one for him. I was the one for him. It’s me that he needs and I wanted to be that for him. I knew from then whatever would happen, I’d find him. Get in contact with him if it was the last thing I’d do.

Putting my pen to the paper and sending that letter changed my life forever. 

He just had to know. Had to know that I would always support him.

The first one I received back was like winning the lottery. He told me to visit him one day and thanked me for being there for him. He made it clear that the feelings I had for him were real. He was just as I imagined. Kind and funny. Smart and poised. Misunderstood. 

And now as we’re apart, our letters keep me going. Reading, re-reading, waiting anxiously for the next one to come in the post. Waiting in desire for more, wanting to know all about his day: what he’s doing, what he ate. His routine is the same within his four walls, but it excites me nonetheless. 

I love how he talks about himself. He’s confident and smart, he knows exactly why he does what he does and how he feels. Most men aren’t like that. They’re unsure of themselves and weak, they don’t know what they want. Not him. He’s godlike. That’s what he said once. A man with a cause sent from above. I believe it’s true. 

He is just a real man that needs nurturing after all. Underneath it all, it’s just that simple. He needs someone to help him, to take care of him, show him they believe in him. Having someone like that affirms his beliefs and makes him happy. I love to make him happy.

That’s when he tells me that I consume his mind just as much as he consumes mine. Why wouldn’t I do everything for a man like that? 

It’s a classic love story between a fan and an idol. The type you read about in fiction- except this time it is real. It has happened to me. Me. 

We’re special.

It’s a shame the only pictures I have of him are not like those posters you get of your favourite singer to hang on your wall, but rather news clippings surrounded by hateful speech….

Not that I believe all the rumours anyway. The things they say about him. The cruel and demeaning words. 

Psychopath? Vicious? Malignant? 


Not him. Not my man. 

But I don’t care. Let them talk. They just don’t understand, they have just never experienced real, true love before. They don’t know what it’s like to feel unaccepted. To have the world see only one side of you and ignore all the good. He needs me to remind him just how special he is. It’s my job to make him feel loved. 

At the end of the day, anyone who has any importance in this world has ‘haters’, ‘trolls’. That’s all they are. People who want to talk about him, believe the lies, believe the ‘victims’ and never listen to his side. The life that led him to do what he did. They will never know the real him. Not like I do. They will never understand. 

No matter what, I’ll always believe him. When he said she deserved it. When he said he had to do it. Some people do deserve to be punished and he knew it was his job to cleanse this world when it needed cleansing. How can he be blamed for that? For wanting to make a difference? Why does he deserve the names attached to him when his plan was one of purification? I get it. I get him. And I can help him… I would do anything for him. 

I’d die for him.

Today I get to see him again. Four visits, weekly. 2pm until 3pm. Supervised. 

That’s fine though. Anything to be near him. 

The glass is there but it can’t keep us apart. Not really. 

He looks at me. Really looks at me and sees more than just a lonely woman. He sees his woman. His supporter. He pulls the cord phone off the wall, the signal for me to do the same, his eyes never wavering as he gets ready to utter those words that I love to hear him say. To ask me. All our meetings start like this. Our greeting, his assurance that I am all his.

“I want you to say it”.

His voice makes me tremble as I intake a slight breath full of anticipation. My eyes close for only a second, my hand gripping my thigh as the other tightens around the phone that allows him to hear me back, letting him know just how much I adore him. 

“I’m your number one fan”.

They say he’ll be here for life. The judge declared him twisted and obscene, needing to be locked up to keep the world safe. 

But they don’t know that I’m his disciple. His follower. That his word is real and true and holy. He is divine and he needs someone to carry on his work. Someone to finish the job that he started. 

I’m your number one fan. And soon I’ll be the new you. 

Whatever he wishes.

 I obey. 


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