Cameras started flashing in my face as soon as the car door was opened for me.

I didn't mind the flashes in daylight; they weren't as strong then, and also few and far in between as most paparazzi preferred daylight to flashlight. But in the dark, they made my eyes burn and my head spin.

"Madara! Over here!"

"Look this way, Mr Uchiha!"

"We love you, Madara!"

I smirked. The love confessions made me understand there were fans here as well, and not only photographers.

"Do you want something to cover up with, Sir?" my chauffeur asked me.

"No, it's fine", I said softly.

I smiled as I stepped out of the car, waving a little, causing my fans to scream. I didn't pose for the cameras, but I didn't shun them, either. Instead, I focussed on my fans. Many wanted photos of me, some still wanted autographs. I even autographed an arm, and prayed to God the girl wouldn't get it tattooed the next day. I gave them a couple of minutes of my time before I thanked the chauffeur and the door to my apartment complex was opened, and my body guard guided me in.

"Madara, I love you!"

I sighed as the door closed behind us, leaving my fans screaming for me outside.

"Do you need to be escorted up, Sir?" my body guard asked.

I looked at him. I was taller than him with my unusual height, but he must've been at least three times my weight, his immaculate black suit matching his immaculate black hair, a pair of almond eyes hiding behind his sun glasses.

"To the elevator will be fine, thank you", I said and smiled.

"Certainly, Sir."

I sighed inaudibly. How had it become like this? I used to be a simple barista. Now, I couldn't get home from the gym without a bunch of strangers waiting for me outside of my own home. Most people only dreamed of fame; I had gotten it before I was old enough to truly consider it.

As the elevator doors closed behind me, my smile died. I took a deep breath and leaned my head against the gleaming stainless steel surface. How had it become like this? When the speakers pinged, announcing my arrival at floor 54, its only inhabitant being me, I could hardly muster up any energy to get out of the elevator. I dragged my feet, fetched my keys out of my pocket, a very stupid place to keep the keys of an apartment worth at least ten million US dollars, and opened my front door. I dropped the keys on the chest of drawers in the hallway, this simple piece of furniture worth more than most people's homes, before I started undressing while walking into my apartment, one piece of clothing after the other. My black Armani shoes. My striped shirt. My black trousers. My underwear. My socks. Until all that was left was my lean frame.

I stopped and looked behind me. I had left a trace of clothes from the hallway to one of the bathrooms, the biggest one. The thought of how I had faked liking towards my fans and given them what they wanted, which was a piece of me, made me feel comprehensively dirty, so I immediately turned on the shower and stepped in. I felt the wax that kept my longish short black hair in place over one eye wash off, and I helped a little using my hands. Then, I scrubbed my body so harshly it started to bleed.

I dressed in my softest clothes, freshly washed, my hair dripping wet. I went to the living area, looked at the magazines spread out on my coffee table. Vogue Italia. Vogue Australia. Campaigns for Versace, Armani, Fendi. Photo after photo of me. How had it become like this?

I tried to feel pride at what I had accomplished, but couldn't. I then went through every emotion in my arsenal to see if it matched what I was feeling, but nothing did. Joy. Relief. Even shame. But nothing. I felt nothing.

I looked at my hand and it was trembling. Withdrawal.

How long ago was it, Madara?

I looked at my watch. The time danced before my eyes. Three hours? Four? How long had I been at the gym?

With a trembling hand, I went to my pantry. I took a glass jar that simply said Baking powder and poured some of it out in the shape of a line on my marble counter top.

Then, not using any aid, I snorted it up my nose.

I stumbled to my fridge, huge and clean but almost empty, and took a bottle of Vodka and poured a glass mixed with a lime green Monster Ultra, which I drank in one go. I knew I did it more to make time pass until I felt the effects of the snorted line than out of actual need. Or, who was I kidding; I was as addicted to the wonders of Vodka as I was to cocaine. Then, I went back to the coffee table and looked at my pathetic excuse of a face on the fashion magazines.

How had it become like this?

I felt myself starting to tremble in anger as I saw my stupid fucking self in Vogue. What was the point? What did it do for me except earn me money I didn't need? I already had more money than I would ever be able to spend in my entire lifetime. Who did I inspire? Who the fuck did I think I was?

I wanted to shove those stupid magazines off the coffee table. I wanted to rip them apart. I wanted to tear them to pieces as they had done to my heart. I wanted to flip the table over in anger. I wanted to...

Suddenly, the effect of the cocaine hit me, and together with the alcohol, I felt some normality come back into my senses.

I flung myself on the couch, facing the splendid view outside the panorama windows. Somewhere down there, my fans were waiting, hoping to get another glimpse of Madara Uchiha the fashion model.

I took my phone out.

Me: Are you there?

Secret online doctor lover: I am.

Me: Not operating?

Secret online doctor lover: Not operating. Tell me.

I felt my heart flutter. I loved this about him. How he could reach the innermost corners of my heart with words so simple.

Me: I feel terrible.

Secret online doctor lover: Tell me.

I felt all the weight of the world fall from my shoulders then.

Me: I feel useless. Like a worthless piece of trash. One could eradicate me from the surface of the earth and it would go unnoticed.

Suddenly, I panicked.

Me: Sorry.

Me: I'm not fishing for validation, I swear. I do not need you to tell me you would notice my absence. I know you would.

Me: But I don't want to lie to you. It's how I feel.

Secret online doctor lover: I wish you would tell me who you truly are.

Me: Same about you <3

Secret online doctor lover: <3 I've told you everything there is to know, to be honest. I'm a trauma surgeon. I live alone in New York. Just like you've told me you do. I'm thirty-two. That makes me seven years your senior.

Me: Thank you for the recap doc ;)

I couldn't help but smile. I was already feeling better. But then, a sadness clenched at my heart.

Me: There's a reason I haven't told you who I am.

Secret online doctor lover: And what is that?

Me: I'm afraid you wouldn't believe me.

Secret online doctor lover: May I ask you something?

Me: Of course <3

Secret online doctor lover: <3

Secret online doctor lover: What made you believe I am who I am? I could be a seventy year old lady in a house full of cats in Spain or something.

I couldn't help but laugh. I wondered if I would've laughed if I hadn't done the line.

Me: Trusting people is a choice.

Secret online doctor lover: Is it a choice not to trust me with who you are?

Me: I do trust you. It's myself I don't trust.

There was a pause. I felt my heart staring to pound. We had only been talking for two months, yet this character was now of such great importance to me that the thought of losing him made my knees go weak, fold over like the softest flower petals in a harsh hand. If anyone had forced me to choose between this man and cocaine, I would've chosen the man. Not that I had a choice; I couldn't stop with neither cocaine nor alcohol even if I had tried.

To my great relief, his answer came two minutes later.

Secret online doctor lover: I want to promise you something. The day you decide to tell me who you are, I will allow us to make a video call when I'm the only one of us who has the camera on.

My heart started to race. Stars swam before my eyes. I had to lay down on the couch and press the phone to my chest before looking at the screen once more, just to make sure I wasn't dreaming, or hallucinating.

But not only was the message still there on the screen; he had also sent another one.

Secret online doctor lover: I will not show you my face. But I will allow you to see me from my neck down to my hips.

I swallowed, wondering what the anatomical definition of hips were, especially when you were a trauma surgeon.

Secret online doctor lover: This is not a bribe, my love, I swear. I just want to reward you when you're good.

I almost died.

Me: Oh, H...

Secret online doctor lover: M. My obedient little pet.

At this, I pressed my phone to my chest and squealed a little. If my fans knew I squealed they would kill me. But I loved this bit about us so much. The way I only knew him as H. The way he only knew me as M. The way he called me his... Just the thought of me made me blush.

Me: Only for you.

Me: Thank you for helping me.

Secret online doctor lover: I haven't even asked you what's wrong. I'm sorry.

Me: You've done so much. You just accept me. That's a rare quality in a man. Even in a Spanish crazy cat lady. 

Secret online doctor lover: I know that you asked me not to tell you this. But I would definitely notice if you disappeared. And be affected by it.

Me: Thank you.

Secret online doctor lover: I operate early tomorrow. Anything else I can be of service with before I go to bed, pet?

The nick name brought an inevitable blush to my face.

Me: Sleep tight.

Secret online doctor lover: Hear you tomorrow. And remember I'm always here.

Me: Same.

As we signed off the online chat function, I thought about his promise. His body... In exchange from me telling him who I was. Was it worth it? Or did I want to hide from him, in the safety of his oblivion, forever?

But oh, how I wanted to see him, though...