Some horrifying noise brutally disturbs my slumber. "What is happening?" I mutter to myself. It's fucking 4 am and I don't know where that sound is coming from.
"Chris! Chris!" A desperate voice accompanies the horrible banging sound. I think someone is banging on the door. "Chris, open the door! I know you're in there!"
Of course. Who else could be crying out my name in front of my apartment at 4 am other than Darren Criss? "Open it!" he demands, furiously ringing the bell.
I decide to humor him, because I'm pretty sure he won't leave me alone if I don't open the door. And I have neighbours who won't appreciate this lunatic. I stumble to my front door and unlock it clumsily only to reveal Darren in his pajamas. "Darren, what is wrong with you?" I ask in a hushed voice, because I would really like to know the answer to that question.
"Your book!" he cries. "It's your book! I'm going insane!" Going? So he wasn't insane already? "You know what to do!"
What the hell is he talking about? Everyone knows how to read a fucking book! "I know what to do with it. Go home, read it and tell me if you liked it afterwards."
He shakes his head. For fuck sake, just go home, man. Why doesn't he do this to his other colleagues? "Chris you don't understand," he pleads. And he's right. I don't understand. I don't understand what is wrong with this man. "It glows! It humms!"
Did he come all the way here, in the middle of the night, to quote my book? I need new friends. "That was very believable. I think we're even now. I can quote your work, you can quote mine," I say and try to close the door, because I've had enough of this shit.
But Darren decides to push at the other side of the door and I am still half asleep, so he is stronger at the moment. And in a blink of the eye he is on my side of the door. God knows how he did that. "It wasn't a quote. It actually does those things."
"Darren," I pull the book from his hands (What is up with this book and static electricity? I got another tingle.) "you're tired. I know it's a brilliant book, but maybe you should put it aside and get some sleep," I advice him.
"I'm being serious. You have to see it!" he exclaims and takes the book from me again. He gently sets it on the coffee table and starts to (I'm not shitting you here) talk to the book. "Come on. Get back to life," he orders and pokes the fucking thing. "Do those things you did before," that's it! First thing in the morning I'm calling Ryan and beg him to write Blaine a tragic car accident. "Don't make me look like a fool," he whispers to the book.
Oh, trust me, you don't need the book to look like a fool. You're doing a grand job at it without any help, Darren. "Darren, I'm serious. Sleep, please?" I yawn. He doesn't even look at me. He just keeps staring at the book as if his gaze can magically make it do stuff no other books do. He's obviously on some kind of drugs, he shouldn't drive home like this. "You can crash here if you want," I offer.
"Yes!" he accepts the invitation rather enthusiastically. "You will see I'm not making this up! Come on!" he takes my wrist and pulls me in the direction of my bedroom.
"I was thinking you could use the guest room," I say when I see he's planning on sleeping in my room.
"You have to be in the same room to see it," he makes it sound like it is so fucking obvious. Fine, I'll humor him (again). I just want to sleep, so if he just stays on his side of the bed I'll be fine. But if he starts talking about flying fish in the room he is out of here.
I pull the book out of his hands and set it on the beside table on my side of my bed. I get in bed and rest my head on my pillow. But Darren is still sitting up straight. It's clear he's planning on staying up all night, waiting for the book to make sounds or something equally unrealistic. How the fuck did this guy manage to get himself a decent girlfriend? "Mia seems like a perfectly sane person to me. Why on Earth would she spend time with you? It can't be because you're insanely good in bed, because you're not doing anything for me here. Does she have a brain tumor in the area that controls her interest in men?" I am allowed to be mean to him, because he is being annoying. And I get a little cranky when tired.
"No, shut up," he says curtly. Aw, that's sweet, he's standing up for his girlfriend. But I'm not making fun of her, I'm making fun of him. She's a perfectly nice girl, I just don't understand why she would date a guy who shows up at others' apartments claiming to have a living book.
"Do you pay her?" Nothing but a glare. "Does she have a hair fetish?" A raised eyebrow. "A hobbit fetish?" A sassy eye roll. I'm starting to like this. "She has a Lord of the Rings fetish."
"No, none of that's true. She's perfectly normal," he crosses his arms like a displeased five-year-old.
"I've got it!" I say and he rolls his eyes already. "She's your beard!" I joke and receive a little puff of laughter from him in return.
"You're insane," he informs me, casually.
Yeaaah... no. I am defiantly not the insane one here. "Please remind me why you're here?" I ask rhetorically.
"Because your book is alive," he answers my question in all seriousness.
I raise my eyebrows at him, but he just won't pick up on the weirdness of that answer. "See, no matter how weird I am, I will always appear to be normal when you're around."
"I'm telling you," he starts again, very frustrated I won't believe his story about living books, "I'm not making this up! It's totally-" he cuts himself off, mid sentence. His wide eyes shine as if a light has been lit behind me. "Chris, it's happening again."