Page 107 of Pretty Obsessed

"Does Alexander think this is the only way to get you out of them?" I didn't hate Alex. This had to be Cas. Alex was a dick, but he did an okay job managing the band. He'd dealt with a lot in our explosion into superstardom. I couldn't imagine managing five very different people who had no idea how to cope with fame was an easy task.

"It will kill me."

"You believe rehab will kill you?" I attempted to keep my emotions off my face. I wanted to understand him, not judge the ways in which this made him feel. I knew to the depths of my soul how difficult and life-consuming addiction could be even in sobriety.

"Think about it. It's not just about being sober. Playing is the only thing I have left. Do you think they'll let me have metal guitar strings in there? Do you think any psychiatrist who talks to me isn't going to stick me in a psych ward? And if I lie, going off everything is going to make it worse. I know what it's like in my head. I know what's wrong with me and I'm functioning the best I can." He leaned over to lay his head on my shoulder.

"And then what, Iris? What happens when this tour ends? Our lifestyle doesn't stop. There is no going back to how we were before." Had he thought all this through so thoroughly? It came off as if he had.

"Our contract is up after this record. I don't owe them any more of my life. I have to make it through that, and then I don't know." His shoulders hunched forward and despite the stimulant coursing through his bloodstream, he appeared tired.

I reached out a hand for him. He took it and I pulled him over to sit on the fancy little bench with me.

I turned to lean against the arm so I could face him. “Then blow it all off after. We’ve enough money for a lifetime…"

"You don't have to finish that. I don't spend all my money on drugs."

"Will it get to a point where you will?" Seeing Iris broke because of his habit and throwing away his career would kill me. Not when he was the reason we were all here.

"I don't think so. I've made sure to get smart people managing my money and they won't let me fuck around." He pressed his face into my shoulder. "I don't know what I'm going to do. But I can't look at him. Being in the studio with him might kill us both."

Playing could be done from a distance. Creating was so much more intimate. They didn’t have to speak or interact on tour, only share a massive stage. A studio was so much more intimate, and the back and forth needed for the two of them to work would require at least some sort of tolerance they didn’t have right now.

"Do you want me to talk to him? Alexander?" I didn't know what I'd say but I'd come up with something.

"I don't know if it will help." He pulled his knees into his chest and put his forehead against them. "This feels like it's a ploy to extend my contract, too. Making me postpone the tour and album. Like, the longer we put off another album, the more they can milk from a tour."

"Do you think this comes down to money?" I hated to think of it like that, but I wouldn't put anything past anyone after being in this business for only a few years.

He blew out a breath. "I wish I knew or felt like there was solid ground anywhere."

"Hideout tomorrow. I'll be at the hotel with Emory, come there if you need to escape. You don't have to tell anyone you're with me."

"I don't want to intrude on you and Emory."

"I think he's used to you listening to us by now."

Iris picked up his head to gape at me. "That's wrong, but I bet you're right. It hasn't scared him off yet. He's a keeper." Iris rested his chin on his knees.

"Don't say that too loud."

"He's still holding onto the fuck buddy thing?"

I nodded.

"You need to talk to him."

"And say what? That everything he assumes about me is wrong? I don't think he wants to hear it, and honestly, I get it. It's not easy to imagine yourself with someone who has hundreds of people throwing themselves at them a day."

"All I'm hearing are excuses. When are you going to tell him how you feel?” It didn't matter that Iris' stare was behind a pair of Ray-Bans, he had this intense and piercing way of looking into your soul.

"I don't know. I don't even know if he wants that. He just got out of a really bad long-term relationship, which doesn't make long-distance fun either. We have months of touring left and the record— Wow, those really do sound like excuses."

“What are you going to do about it?”

I pressed my forehead into his shoulder. “I don’t know.”

Twenty-One

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