When it comes to sexual attraction, it makes the most logical sense that one could only form a crush on a real person. After all, the purpose of attraction is to a physical aspect. You have to touch the person you are attracted to. You have to be able to talk to the person, with them talking back. For the longest time, I thought only idiots could develop feelings for a fictional character.

That was until a late Saturday night in my pink bedroom. My parents were both away and left me with an iPad to keep me entertained. I was a typical middle school girl back then. My hair was pinned up with a red band that gave the illusion that it wasn’t actually part of my scalp and I wore bracelets that resembled pride flags, despite not identifying as part of the LGBT community. On my iPad screen was my favorite show, The Marvelous.

It was a superhero show that was recommended to me by my best friend, and I had already binged watched a lot of it. There was one character that I had particularly liked. His name was Star-Spangled. He was a true American hero, a Civil War solider that was brought to the modern era to stop a apocalypse. The episode I was watching was where Star-Spangled was nearly beaten to death by his greatest enemy, the Red Klan.

“Tell me,” Red Klan mocked as he cupped his hands around Star-Spangled’s bruised face. “What makes you truly believe that this world is worth fighting for?”

Honestly, Red Klan was one of the most terrifying villains. His most infamous moment, which happened to have happened about three episodes ago, was successfully killing off an entire city. The trauma of such an event was both fresh in the minds of the audience of the Marvelous and to Star-Spangled himself.

Red Klan himself was, while not terrifying to me as a middle schooler, could easily scare off a five year old with his pale skin and sunken eyes. However, as the screen focused on Star-Spangled, there was no fear in his dark eyes. Instead, there was a slight fire within his iris.

“You know that these people despise you,” Red Klan taunted, referring to a previous group of civilians. “They don’t believe you are a true hero.

“They think you are the real threat, not I.”

“Isn’t that how men have always been?” Star-Spangled replied while he started to pick himself up. “Finding a new scapegoat to fight against. You may think that using such a weakness will disable all who stand against you. But there is one thing you can never control.”

“And what could that be.”

“The very few who only focus on justice. In all my years, there have always been a single voice that has cried out. They separate from the crowd.”

“And why would that matter.

“Oh, you’re just talking about yourself. You really think that you alone can stand against the world.”

“And so what if that is the case? Should I be bound by the expectations of men who I will never see the faces of? It is a fragile ideal. The only thing I will confine to is true justice.

“To fight for those who have yet to have a voice of their own. And if only one man has to stand for justice, then may that one man stand strong.”

While my eyes were fixated on the blue screen, my skin became as cold as if it was in the middle of December. I bit my lips in response to Star-Spangled’s speech.

“Wait,” I muttered to myself as my teeth released themselves from my lips. “I didn’t just get turned on?”

Looking back on the screen, I looked at Star-Spangled’s torn top. It revealed his darkened abs that almost shined because of the animation. Star-Spangled was perfectly beefy, with his upper body being molded better than a statue of a Greek god.

I slammed my phone into my bedsheet, with almost a sense of mild shame. I flipped myself over just to stare at the wall, closing my eyes in hopes of not having to see the roses on top. My head was still pounding, with too many intrusive thoughts overflowing it.

“I did NOT develop a crush,” I declared to myself.

What was a hollow declaration?

Yes, yes it was. At first, I grove my head straight into my pillow. Much to my surprise, I didn’t even scream through my gushing feelings. Instead, my mind began quiet. It was the eye of my hormonal hurricane.

As I ripped my face off of my pillow, I looked around my room. Me and my mom took a lot of time and dedication into making it a window into my soul, and it showed. It was littered with pictures of me and my best friends, artwork I did back in elementary school, and movie posters. I had a table that was divided evenly by homework and comic books. It sat right at my bedroom window, which I had always covered with a rose decorated sheet.

Even from the side, I could read the titles of each comic book. My mind distinctly read, “Star-Spangled,” on one of the title, so clearly and so loudly that I could almost mistake it as real. At first, I rolled over to the other side of my bed. Grabbing onto one of my pillows, I was about to cover my burning red face. Gripping onto my pillow, I paused.

“What am I doing?” I muttered to myself, as if I didn’t ask that question before.

I decided to finally get out my bed and head over to my desk. Somehow, I felt some sense of pride in being able to leave, like I did a marathon. I gently picked up the homework laying on top of the comics.

There was one assignment that was completely blank, despite the due date being the next day. Despite that, I completely ignored it. I had to stare at a cover of Star-Spangled in his little tights.

As my fingers flipped the front page, it slightly pierced my skin. There was a slight burning pain over the small cut that was now on my finger, but I didn’t care. Instead of checking my new wound, I was staring at a random page in the comic. It had Star-Spangled leading a battle in a post apocalyptic world. I should have remembered the context of that comic.

But I didn’t. Instead, I stared straight at Star-Spangled’s body. His tights wrapped around his waist, which I’ll give the artist credit for how detailed it was. I didn’t read the rest of the book. Instead, I slammed it back onto my desk. I put my bloody fingertip in my mouth as my face burned with passion. This was a fictional character, existing on nothing but a screen and a page.

But what can I say. I’m no longer the blushing thirteen year old I was back then. As I prepare to ask out one boy I’m interested in going out with for senior prom, I look back on my own desires. The same dark-skinned men of justice plague my life, real or not.