Page 105 of Pretty Obsessed

"He's upset with me. It's about control." Iris' jaw tightened and I couldn't help but think Emory was right. There was something more between the two of them.

"Iris, I hate to ask. I've tried to respect your privacy in all of this but what happened? I can't imagine what would cause this kind of discourse."

"I don't want to put this on you. It's a lot."

"Do you think I can't handle it?" I wasn't cross. My inquiry was honest.

"I don't think it's fair to put you in the middle of what's going on between Cas and me." He looked away, pain written across the set of his stubbled jaw.

He radiated pain and beauty and I realized I'd never loved my best friend more. Everything stacked against him and fighting a battle most of us didn't understand. For his life and happiness.

"I don't particularly care what anyone believes is fair. Iris, you used to tell me everything. You need a friend and since Cas has withdrawn his support, you need to talk to me. I can't force you by any means, but don't protect me anymore."

He turned back drinking in my expression. I hoped he saw how serious I was.

"We were fucking for the better part of the past year." He dragged his teeth over his lower lip. “It started before that, but it was a ‘there’s no one else around type deal.’”

I stared at him. This wasn't the bomb I was expecting him to drop.

"All the fan stuff about you two?"

He lifted his shoulders. "I guess some of it is accurate."

"How did this… Can I even ask?" My heart clenched. Not only for his pain, but the pain I knew would come as the band slowly tore itself apart. If the breakup was as bad as it seemed, how could we keep doing this?

"It happened by accident, I guess. We were at an orgy. We swore it would never happen again, but it did. Then we’d go months, and it would. Then it got too easy. I spent all my time with him. Why not enjoy a little mutual satisfaction on the road? Hours and hours on the bus. It's hard to stop something once it starts, and then feelings get involved." He stared at his hands, fingers rubbing over the tattoos there. "We both fucked up a lot of stuff. I don't know what else to say about it."

"Who ended it?"

"Him." He didn't offer more. So tight-lipped.

I pushed out of my seat and wrapped my arms around him. "What can I do?"

"If I had answers to that, maybe I'd know what to do with myself. If I felt like I could tell Alexander or even have a rational discussion with the rest of the guys…" He let out a long breath. "We spent so long denying it, and for a long time, we were telling the truth. I don't even know when it turned into lies."

I released him but sat on the arm of his chair so we could continue the conversation without anyone else hearing.

"I don't think they'll be mad at you…" But the more I went over it, the more I thought I was wrong. I didn't think Alexander would want the PR mess of it, and the other guys would be betrayed. I felt a little betrayed myself.

"I can see it in your eyes."

"I guess I'm running through all of it. I had no idea." The shock was the thing I felt the most. It wasn't a lie. I would probably need time to process the rest.

"I'm sorry."

"No." As much as I wanted to be mad at Iris, he was twenty-one years old with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

There were days I regretted what we'd all done to our lives. How we really had no idea what we were getting ourselves into.

I asked myself all the time if I'd do it again, and my answer changed hour by hour. The money was nice, it made everything easier, but it made everything harder, too. But more than any of that we weren't allowed to be our age. We'd been thrust into superstardom with no safety net. And Iris suffered for it. A totally normal early twenties relationship that shouldn't have to work out could set off a bomb of chain reactions, including very real and legal contract issues.

"You can't deny my apology."

"I can and I will. Sleeping with someone you like shouldn't come with as many consequences as this might have." If ever I wanted a drink, I wanted one now. I clenched my hands into my sides. Swallowing back the thirst. The freedom a drink could give. I could taste the oblivion always there in the back of my throat.

But my father's flushed face flashed behind my eyes. I held onto the image of him. I held onto every bruise and scar. They may have faded from my skin, but the memory lay there under the surface to remind me of the man I never wanted to become.

They reminded me what addiction and obsession did to a human. They made them monsters. I didn't want to be a monster. I knew those things were inside of me, and I had to battle to stay in control of them.

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