Page 73 of Pretty Obsessed

“Did you use the video?” he exhaled into my mouth.

“More than once.”

“You better have written it down.” He grabbed my jaw, giving me a stern look.

“I did.” But I didn’t want to show him, the number times I’d put it on embarrassing.

“You’re going to show me on the plane, and then show me how you touch yourself while you watch.”

“Fuck.”

* * *

We fucked and slept and ate insanely good food on the ride to Japan. They didn’t always fly by private jet. River explained that he could get by with regular airlines, but the last time Iris tried to board a normal flight, he’d had the bad luck of booking the same flight as a high school volleyball squad who happened to all be his biggest fans. It nearly started a mob onboard when they learned he was in first class. The flight attendants had to act like riot police and guard first class.

In short, they asked him to never fly again. They were laughing about it and for the most part, the label found it easier to fly him privately. Especially on longer trips like this one.

I felt like an imposter in a lifestyle I’d never been invited to. An SUV waited when we landed. People with cameras followed us out of the airport and to the hotel. I’d fallen into this alternate universe where I was suddenly famous, and I didn’t know how I felt about it.

Walking into the hotel felt like we'd been transported into a forest. The low light glowed from behind trees and recessed in the ceiling behind foliage, giving it the feel of being filtered through leaves. The entire interior was constricted with natural wood tones, dark slate, and carved stone. It made me yearn to build a house like this if I ever got to that place in my life. The real trees were woven into the natural wood beams, braided so it felt like the hotel had grown with them. Water trickled from every direction, making the space want to lull me into a relaxed state. I wanted to let it. Give over to the fantasy of all of this. The fantasy of River and I.

Maybe I needed to stop going to the cabin to write and start coming to luxury hotels. There were a few high-profile writers who finished at hotels. I felt like I'd be too tempted to go explore in a city like this or use the internet. I guess I'd have to see how much work I got done around Iris and River, if the rockstar lifestyle could be suited to productivity.

"This room is sick," Iris said when the staff left us to our own devices.

The hotel wasn't like American hotels, with lots of floors, but what it lacked in towering stature it made up for in divine design. Every inch of it sculpted for luxury, every window looked out onto a garden or scenic view.

We were shown to the presidential suite where our bags already waited. The room must have cost a fortune. It had a living space, kitchen, office, two bedrooms, and more bathrooms than I could imagine a need for. Enough space for both of us to not be bothered by Iris' need to not be alone, which I'm sure was River's design when he'd booked it. Nearness without suffocation.

The news hadn't broken where we were staying yet, either. So for the time being, we were blissfully alone.

"I want to take a look at the indoor pool." I turned my phone around to show Iris.

River stood at the windows, stoic, peering out over the outdoor pool. He had something on his mind, but I couldn't tell what.

"What time even is it here?" River asked, taking a seat on one of the chairs, returning to the ease which he'd had on the plane.

"Like seven in the evening?" Iris opened his clock app. "Yep."

"And a day ahead?" River laughed. "I can't wrap my head around it. I had the same issue when we were in Australia, it feels so strange to be a day ahead of the rest of the world.

"Time is a made-up concept by capitalists anyway," Iris said offhandedly. "Anyone want a bump?" He fished a metal case out of his pocket, and I stared at him.

"How?" I mean, I guess I knew celebrities of the right caliber could get drugs anywhere, but I guess I hadn't thought about the reality of getting them through customs and everything else.

"What?" Iris asked.

"Did you bring those on the plane?"

"Nah, they have it set up where it's usually waiting for me when I get here. I don't ask questions."

The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. The music industry wasn't new by any means. They'd been propping up singers on substances as long as big record labels have existed. Back to Elvis, I was sure.

There were probably systems in place for it. I had to laugh at how naive I probably was to all the things that happened in this business. It made me wonder if in the heyday of great novelists and artists they had the same sort of things. Did Hemingway have a cocaine guy? Or a guy for whatever his preferred drug of choice.

"Through Alexander?"

Iris tilted his head then shrugged. "I don't know. Usually, Cas gives it to me. But I got here and my cigarette case was there where he'd usually leave it. So I haven't a clue."

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