Erotomania

by alightelixe

Summary:

The line between love and obsession is a thin one. You may not even realise you've crossed it before it's too late. You may not even realise you've crossed it at all.

Knox never did. And it was Chris who paid the price.

And Charlie? He did nothing to stop him.

(Or, a fic about Knox slowly losing his grip on reality because of his "love" for Chris, and Charlie's guilt for not seeing the signs earlier)

Notes:

Finally, here we are!! I'm so excited for this story!! My goal here is to let things develop very naturally, so don't expect too much drama from the start—things will get heavier towards the end (and we're not nearly there yet).

The story is loosely based on the delusional disorder "erotomania", which is a relatively uncommon condition (that mostly affects women irl). It is characterised by delusions that an unattainable person is madly in love with them, even when they hardly or never interact (usually this "unattainable person" is an acquaintance, a complete stranger or someone famous/unreachable).

In this fanfic, Knox will develop the delusion that Chris loves him just as much as he loves her—even if all the signs point say otherwise.

Chapter 1: PROLOGUE

I could almost understand why you did it,
But could never accept the fact that you did it to me.
Because it was me you murdered when it was me you loved.

- Claudia Koomson, Murderer

In retrospect, it's easy to say he would've stopped him. It's convenient, simple. A quick way to rid himself of any blame someone holds against him. How was he to know what Knox was about to do? He isn’t the one who committed the crime. He isn't to blame.

It's an argument as ancient as time, and Charlie is ashamed to use it. But he has—on Dad, on his friends, on anyone who’ll listen. Not that they believe him.

Charlie runs a hand through his hair for about the 10th time this morning. Maybe more. His breath shudders—nerves, probably. A quick glance at the clock above the door tells him there are about fifteen minutes left until it all begins. Fifteen minutes until he'll see Knox again for the first time since Chris. He doesn't know if he's ready to look him in the eye. In fact, he doesn't know if he's ready for any of this—having to hear the charges and whether or not he pleads guilty. Charlie desperately hopes he will, if only for Chris' family. They deserve his honesty.

More people are entering the courtroom now, and he's not surprised to see all of them take a seat on the benches on the right. His eyes land on Mrs. Noel again, sitting in the first row. The poor woman has been sobbing quietly since she arrived, staring at the floor and not once looking up. Maybe she's trying to hide her grief. If so, she's not doing a very good job at it, and neither is Mr. Noel, who has been getting up and pacing around the courtroom aimlessly until he's told to sit down again, and the cycle repeats itself. It's almost unbearable to watch.

Then, of course, you have Ginny Danbury, also seated at the front and looking completely deranged—her usual colourful outfits have been swapped for a black pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, and her hair is a stringy mess around her sunken face. She didn't even look at them when she walked in, and as far as he knows, she hasn't spoken a single word since she did so. Charlie didn't think she'd even manage to show up here today. He knows he wouldn't if things had been reversed.

He looks at the nearly empty benches in front of him. He's sitting in the last row on the left, which is empty except for himself. His gaze falls on Neil, seated two rows before him, whose arm has found its usual place around Todd's shoulders. Next to them are Meeks and Pitts, wearing matching navy suits, perfectly ironed. Cameron isn't there. It's not like anyone expected him to be, anyway. He had declared the end of their friendship as soon as word got out about Chris.

He's surprised to even see the rest of the poets here today. Sure, they're Knox's friends—were Knox’s friends—but they’ve made their opinions pretty clear to Charlie. They want nothing to do with Knox. Or him, for that matter.

So why are they here?

Knowing them, there is only one reason. They’ve come to say goodbye. Not to the Knox who’ll testify on the stand—no. They’re here to let go of the boy who’d once proved to be a valuable friend. A poet. This will probably be the last time they’ll see him.

Charlie swallows hard. He could sure use a drink right now.

His eyes land on Mrs. Noel again. It would only make sense if the poets moved over to the benches on the right to pay their respects to Chris' relatives. Charlie has a feeling they’re not sitting here out of loyalty to Knox. It’s because they’re too ashamed to face Chris' family. Just like him.

Because what words could ever be enough?

Nothing anyone says will bring Chris back. There's only the truth about what happened and the rightful punishment that follows. But what’s a prison sentence against the hollow left behind by the death of a child?

Charlie imagines it. A permanent, painful scar drawn across your soul.

And the worst part? Knowing that Knox put it there.

He should’ve seen it coming. No, scratch that—he should’ve trusted his gut and stopped him before it went too far. Instead, he’d played right into Knox’s fantasies. He’d laughed. Teased him. Hell, he’d even given him love advice. “It’s just a crush”, he’d told himself, “Just a stupid crush.”

Until it wasn’t.

Chapter 2: A NIGHT OUT

“Medicine, law, business, engineering—these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love—these are what we stay alive for.”

- John Keating, Dead Poets Society

 

Fucking hell. These are a lot of books.

Knox stared at the two piles of textbooks stacked precariously on his desk.

The left pile wasn’t too bad—eight assigned readings for the semester. Manageable. Exhausting, sure, but manageable. Once he made it through those, exams would follow, and then it would be over.

The right stack, though?

Not so much.

The books on the right could’ve filled the university library’s law section. He’d lost count after fifteen and hadn’t bothered trying again. It didn’t matter anyway—there’d always be more. Dad hadn’t exactly given him a choice. Knox could still picture him shoving the boxes into his arms, talking about “extra reading” like it was some kind of favour.

Right. “Extra.”

Knox rubbed his temples, staring at the thick spines and embossed letters: Regulatory Compliance in Financial Institutions. Advanced Corporate Governance. They were all the same—dense, cold, and suffocating. A parting gift, or maybe a warning.

Don’t screw this up.

By the time he’d come home for Christmas, at least half of that pile was to be finished. And if he sought to make a good impression, he’d have to plough through them all. 

His head started to ache at the mere thought of it. 

If he were honest, not a single type of law really appealed to him. It never had. And if he had to pick a field, corporate law would be his last choice. But how could he ever confess this to his father now? In only two days, he’d start his classes. His parents had already paid the tuition, and he’d promised to share a place with Charlie the day they got their acceptance letters, so the apartment was already paid up for the entire year. There was no going back.

And he doubted there was any alternative to turn back to. 

His eyes landed on the business card lying on the floor. It had slipped out of one of the boxes earlier, but he hadn’t bothered picking it up. He did so now, turning it over in his hands. The paper was fraying at the edges, and the name was a bit faded. But not so much that you couldn’t read it.

“M. Overstreet - Attorney at Law”

He flipped it to the other side, which showed a picture of Lady Justice. Even though her blindfold covered her eyes, she seemed to be looking at him, as if she could sense his doubts. He stared at her for a moment before shoving the card into the desk drawer, slamming it shut with too much force. The pile of books wobbled dangerously.

A second later, Charlie's head popped around the corner, eyebrows raised.

“What the hell was that? Thought we were having an earthquake—then I remembered who I’m housing with.”

Knox exhaled through his nose, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing.”

Charlie stepped over a box and whistled, “Jesus. You moving in or opening a thrift store?”

“It’s not that much,” Knox retorted, “I just haven’t gotten round to organising yet.”

“No shit. Have you seen the state of this place? I—Ow! What the hell?” Charlie shrieked and hopped on one foot. “Who leaves a hairbrush on the floor?”

Knox snorted, “Sorry. Be careful not to step on the Legos over there.”

“You’re a menace,” Charlie said as he picked up the hairbrush, “But we’ll deal with that later.”

“What are you on about?”

Charlie smirked. “We, my friend”—he jabbed the brush at Knox like a sword—“are going out tonight. I’ve promised an old buddy to meet up. Figured you’d wanna come with.”

“Who?”

“Neil Perry, from Welton. Y’know, Summer camp?”

Knox frowned. “No idea.”

“Unbelievable…He practically lived in our cabin!”

“Wait—is he the guy with the red hair? And the funny little glasses? Yeah, I remember him. Didn’t you think he was annoying?”

Charlie groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “That was a girl, Knox. A girl . She tried to kiss you, for God’s sake! ”

“Oh. Right.” Knox said while awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. 

“You’re hopeless. Like, beyond saving. But whatever—memory will come back to you once you see him. Just make sure you’re ready at seven.”

Knox opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything, Charlie had already disappeared around the corner, slamming the door shut behind him. 

Great.

He took in the mess around him and ran a hand through his hair. Half-unpacked boxes were scattered on the floor, along with scraps of paper and other trinkets. His bed was hidden beneath a sea of clothes, and he hadn’t even fully emptied his suitcase yet. He so didn’t have time for this.

But Charlie had already made up his mind. And once he had an idea in his head, there was no talking him out of it. Knox had planned on reading “Fundamentals of Business Law” later that night. But that ship had sailed. 

He glanced at the books on his desk and swallowed hard. The stacks seemed to have grown taller since Charlie left, towering over him. They almost reached the ceiling. 

It wasn’t like one night of reading would make a difference. He’d catch up soon enough. Might as well have some fun before he’d become completely miserable.

He carefully navigated his way to his bed—only narrowly avoiding crushing a snow globe— and started digging for a half-decent shirt. Most of the stuff either smelled like cardboard or had been re-folded so many times it held more wrinkles than a crumpled piece of paper.

It took him a while, but eventually, he found a nice green button-up. He sniffed it, just to be sure. A bit cardboardy, but doable if he’d attack it with a shitload of deodorant. For jeans, he figured he might as well keep these on. He didn’t have the energy to go through everything again.

When Knox finally appeared in the living room, Charlie lay sprawled on the couch, one leg dangling off the edge and a can of beer secured in his hand.

“You drinking already?”

Charlie smirked, “Just warming up. You know what a single pint costs these days? Thought I’d get the first ones cheap.”

“Fair enough. Scooch over, will you?” Knox said as he pushed Charlie’s leg to the side, plopping down next to him.

“Careful!” Charlie exclaimed, jerking the can upright before beer sloshed over the rim, “I have a bet running with Tommy that we won’t fuck up the couch within the first month. The little man said we had to send pictures as proof. I owe him a new car toy thing otherwise. Some overpriced piece of plastic he’s been drooling about all summer.”

“Good for him. We won’t last a week.”

“We could always take a few photos now. It’s not like he’ll know.”

Knox looked over at Charlie, then burst out laughing. “You’d actually scam your little brother like that?”

“Hey!” Charlie slammed the can down on the coffee table, beer splashing on his hand, “It’s called teaching him the value of critical thinking.”

“The kid’s ten years old! It’s not like we were critical thinkers at that age.”

“Gotta teach ‘em young. He’s lucky to have a big brother like me. Someone has to show him how the world works.”

Knox rolled his eyes and leaned back, letting his head hit the back of the couch. The things he would’ve done for a brother like Charlie. Or a sister. 

“Speaking of teaching how the world works—” Charlie started, wiping his sticky hand on Knox’s jeans.

“Dude!” Knox recoiled, slapping his hand away.

Charlie just grinned.  “When’s the last time you went out for some drinks?”

“Uh…"

“Don’t tell me you’ve been sitting at home since Mallorca.”

“I haven’t!” 

“Your uncle’s wedding doesn’t count.”

Knox crossed his arms and looked up. “Like you’ve been so adventurous. Weren’t you busy helping your dad with the business all summer?”

“Sure. During the daytime.” Charlie smirked and took another sip of his beer. “I look a lot older at night anyway.”

“Which gets ruined the moment you open that big mouth of yours,” Knox shot back, “Fake IDs only get you so far.”

Charlie blew a raspberry. “Whatever. At least I’m putting mine to good use.” He jumped up from the couch and chugged the rest of his drink, followed by a satisfied sigh.

“Well, guess it’s ‘bout time I get ready. Do you have a shirt I can borrow?”

“You serious?” Knox exclaimed, “I thought you said I had to be ready by seven! That’s ten minutes from now!”

“Oh, Neil doesn’t mind if we’re late.”

Knox’s face darkened. “Would’ve been nice if you’d told me that, you dickhead. Didn’t you see the state my room was in just now? I could’ve used the extra time.”

Charlie held up his hands apologetically as he turned to leave the room. “Sorry. Didn’t know you’d get cranky.”

“I’m not cranky!” He yelled at Charlie’s retreating back. “And good luck with that! You won’t find anything decent in there!”

“You bet!” Came Charlie’s muffled voice from the hallway. 

Seconds later, he heard a crash from his room, followed by a loud “Ow!”. Knox let his head drop into his hands. He silently prayed Charlie hadn’t trampled on one of his photographs, or worse, knocked over his desk. When he didn’t hear anything else, he let out a heavy breath. 

A few minutes later, Charlie reappeared, wearing one of Knox’s shirts. He recognised the crisp, dark blue immediately. It was one of the few without wrinkles, and he’d hidden it under his bed for exactly that reason.

“Hey! Where the hell did you find that?”

Charlie grinned, smoothing the fabric like he was assessing its quality. “I have my ways.”

Knox narrowed his eyes. “I was planning on wearing that on Monday, you know.”

“You still can. It’ll smell better, too. More manly.”

“I can’t believe you…”

“Relax. I’ll put it in the washer tonight, and if you ask nicely, I’ll even attempt to iron it for you.” In a gesture of peace, Charlie extended a hand, which Knox took reluctantly. Charlie pulled him off the couch with ease.

“But first, we’ll have some fun.”

Charlie clapped him on the back before grabbing his keys off the counter. After a quick glance at the mirror, he was already halfway out the door, keys spinning around his finger. The jingle worked on Knox’s nerves, and he cursed under his breath when he realised he was wearing his jacket inside-out. 

“You coming or what?” Charlie called, tossing his keys into the air and catching them without looking. 

“Just… wait a minute,” Knox said as he trailed after him, fumbling with the zipper of his jacket. The moment he set foot outside, he got it. He awkwardly flipped the thing the right way around.

“You better not make me regret this,” he muttered, but the words got lost as the door slammed shut behind him.

 

 ━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━ 

 

“I swear, he said to meet him at this place! Look, I’ve got his text right here…” Charlie pulled out his phone, fingers dashing over the screen. The glow lit up his face, for which Knox was grateful—he hadn't been able to properly look him in the eye since they set foot in here. 

Most of the table lamps were busted, and the overhead fixtures only cast a yellowish glow against the ceiling. They may as well have been sitting in a cave. The speakers crackled out the same mellow country song for the fifth time now. Knox considered throwing his glass at them, just to make it stop.

Instead, he slumped back in his chair and checked his phone. 7.40 . Five more minutes, that’s what they’d agreed upon—if Neil didn’t show, they were out.

“Maybe he thinks we ditched him and he already left.”

Charlie jabbed him with his elbow, harder than necessary. “Don’t you sound so happy about it. He’ll be here, trust me.”

Knox rubbed the sore spot and scowled. “If he's not here at quarter to eight, we’re leaving. I mean it,” he huffed, “ Can’t stand the smell in here. It’s like wet socks and… something rotten.”

“God, I know.” Charlie wrinkled his nose and raised his glass, inspecting it under the dim lights “I’m pretty sure there’s mould in my beer.”

Knox, who’d just taken a large sip of his drink, immediately spit it back into the glass. “Oh my God! You can’t be serious!”

“I didn’t say it was in yours!”

“Oh, yeah, that’s comforting.” Knox snatched a napkin from the table and scrubbed at his tongue 

until it burned. He could practically feel the germs crawling over his tongue. Multiplying, spreading into his throat. He swallowed hard, fighting the urge to gag.

Charlie rolled his eyes, but Knox pointedly ignored him until the tingling in his mouth subsided.

“I am not drinking mould-infected beer. That’s not my idea of ‘fun’.”

“Then you’re doing it wrong,“ Charlie said as he locked eyes with him and raised his glass. He took a large, deliberate sip, as if daring Knox to do the same. 

“Tastes fine to me. A little sour, maybe.” 

Knox’s jaw dropped. “Are you insane? That shit could kill you!”

Charlie just snorted. “I’ll take my chances.”

And with that, he knocked his head back and took a swig. Then another one. And another.

“Will you stop?”

Charlie ignored him, chugging his beer like a man stranded in the desert. For a second, Knox swore he saw something black floating in there, just before it disappeared down Charlie’s throat. His stomach churned.

“Char, quit it—” Knox lunged across the table, reaching for the pint. But Charlie twisted it out of his grasp, holding it above his head like some sort of trophy. 

“Too slow. Better luck next time,” Charlie said with a grin.

“Well, I see you haven’t changed a bit.”

A chirpy voice cut through the low hum of the radio, and Knox’s eyes snapped to the door. A boy in a long black coat strode in, heading straight to their table. Before Charlie could react, the stranger plucked the glass right out of his hand.

“I told you not to order the beer.”

Charlie froze, blinking like he’d just seen a ghost. But the surprise didn’t last long—his face split into a wide grin, and within seconds, he was on his feet, pulling the boy into a strong hug.

“Neil, my man!”

Neil matched the embrace with equal enthusiasm, clapping Charlie on the back and grinning into his shoulder. “Miss me already?”

Knox sat stiffly, watching the exchange with pursed lips. He felt terribly out of place—he’d hoped seeing Neil in person might jog his memory, but the guy didn’t look familiar in the slightest.

Neil pulled up a stool and plopped down next to Charlie, brushing some dark hair out of his eyes. Only now did he seem to notice Knox, and the subtle widening of his eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

“Wait—I’m sorry, you must be Charlie’s friend. I’m Neil Perry.” He said while extending a hand and smiling politely.

Knox opened his mouth, closed it, and blinked a few times. “Knox Overstreet.”

“Great!” Charlie slammed his hand down on the table. “Now that we’re all acquainted, please enlighten me as to what we’re doing in this shithole.”

“Well—” Neil started, but Knox interrupted him.

“Acquainted?” He raised his eyebrows at Charlie. “You said we met at Welton?”

“He says loads of things,” Neil cut in, “Told me we supposedly knew each other from theatre school. Too bad there was no “Overstreet” listed in any of the performance recs. What’d he tell you? That we met at some sort of sports event?”

“No. Summer camp.” Knox grumbled. 

Charlie laughed, jerking his thumb at Knox while he said to Neil, “He was all worked up. I could smell the self-doubt on him from a mile away.”

“Very funny, Charlie.” 

Neil put a hand on Knox’s shoulder and leaned in close, acting like he was letting him in on a great secret. “After fifteen years of friendship with this jackass, I’ve learned not to take anything he says at face value. Trust me, he’ll grow bored of messing with you soon enough.”

Knox gave him an awkward smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He shifted in his seat, shrugging Neil’s arm off his shoulder as he did so. He didn’t like that this guy he met five minutes ago was already invading his space. Thankfully, Neil took the hint and retreated to lean back his chair, folding his hands behind his head. A smug grin spread over his face.

“So, I bet you two would like to know why I sent you here.”

“Jesus, Neil, we’re not on a mission for the Secret Service—you just asked to meet you up here. So get on with it. And stop smiling like that! You’re freaking me out.”

Knox had to agree, Neil did look a bit creepy. Like one of those villains in a movie, right before they tell you you’ve fallen into their trap and there’s no way out.

“Alright, alright!” He chuckled, then leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. The overhead lights flickered weakly, then went out completely. Nothing but darkness filled the room before they jumped back on again, and even then Knox could barely make out Neil’s face beneath their faded glow.

In the momentary silence, Knox could hear the faint buzz of electricity—the radio had stopped playing that awful song, and was now on static. He thought he’d be glad to be rid of it, but now that it was gone, he realised it added a gentler feel to the place. Without the music, this cafe was downright eerie.

Matching the shadowy atmosphere, Neil lowered his voice, continuing in a hushed tone, “This, my friends, will be the headquarters of our poetry club: The Dead Poets Society.”

A beat of silence. Then, Charlie broke out into a booming laugh, slamming his hand down on the table. Knox’s untouched beer toppled over, spilling all over the place. Some of it dripped down the edge into his lap, all wet and sticky. Knox jumped in his seat, head bumping into a beam that hung loose from the ceiling.

“Goddamn it, Char!” 

“Sorry!” He said, laughing uncontrollably. “I just—a poetry club! A fucking POETRY club!”

“I know it sounds silly…” Neil’s smile had faded, and he looked surprisingly hurt as he retreated into his chair, eyes cast down. Knox almost felt sorry for the guy. But what did he expect? That they’d cheer at the idea of spending their free evenings reciting verses in some dodgy pub? Not exactly the university life he’d imagined.

He was surprised when Charlie spoke up, tone softer than usual. “Neil, I’m sorry—it’s not silly. Just don’t think this is the place for a poetry club. Or any club, for that matter, unless it’s a club for homeless geezers who like the taste of rot.”

Neil crossed his arms—he actually looked offended by that last part, though a smile had returned to his lips. Knox almost let out a snort, but suppressed it just in time.

“This is it.” Neil paused, as if even he had his doubts. “I know it’s not the best when it comes to drinks—” Charlie opened his mouth to say something, but Neil beat him to it. “Or lights, or music, or whatever you were going to say—but this is it, I promise you. Just wait until you see the basement.”

Charlie pulled a face. “I’m not sure I want to see the basement of this place.”

“I’ve arranged something with the owner. He lets us use his basement for free if we promise to buy a couple of drinks from time to time.”

“I’m not buying a glass full of mould!” Knox exclaimed, pointing a threatening finger at Charlie.

“Don’t look at me! He’s the one telling you to drink it!”

“No, I explicitly told you not to order the beer—It’s mostly that that’s nasty. And you don’t actually have to drink anything. See it as the price of admission.”

Knox and Charlie shared a look, but when Charlie shrugged, Knox found he couldn’t think of another reason to say no, at least not to checking out that basement. No commitments yet—the idea of being in a poetry club still sounded foreign in his mind, and he had yet to decide if he liked Neil or not. The guy was nice enough, but he knew absolutely nothing about him. Only that he’d been to theatre school—no surprise there, he screamed theatre kid—and that he knew Charlie from somewhere, seemingly from a long time ago.

“I’ll ask George for the key, then,” Neil said while he was already getting up, his stool scraping across the wood with a painful screech. He quickly disappeared behind the small bar, leaving the two of them alone at the table. 

Charlie let out a deep breath and stretched his arms behind his back. “Well, that was something.”

“Are we seriously going to be in a poetry club?”

Although he could barely see anything in the dim lamplight, Knox could sense the grin spreading across Charlie’s face at the question. 

“Why the fuck wouldn’t we?”