Page 4 of Pretty Black

“But it’s on you if anything happens to him.” Alexander’s words haunted me every minute Iris wasn’t in my direct view.

Would I bury my best friend before he even had a chance to live?

What hell I found myself in, doomed to watch him slowly kill himself with no way to help with him. I felt entirely helpless, and since he hadn’t overdosed, there would be no way to convince him to get help or take a break. He’d write all of this off to getting caught in the rain, and what could I say? Every time I opened my mouth, I expected him to push me away like he had everyone else in his life.

He had barely spoke to anyone but River and me the last few months. He never had his phone on, didn’t answer the hundreds of calls and texts he got on a daily basis. I was helpless to walk side by side with him to the grave, knowing the path he was on but unable to change the course.

Tears streamed down my cheeks. How many times would I have to say goodbye to Iris on his way out? Was any of this worth it? I’d like to think so. We’d all changed our lives, and the rest of the guys seemed happy. I should be happy. The love of my life was getting to see the world doing what we loved, and instead, we were trapped in this cycle of abuse and addiction, holed up in a hotel waiting for it to leak to TMZ.

“Where the fuck am I?” Iris struggled against the cords and tubes, working himself into a panic.

I jumped from my seat, grabbing his hands to still them. “The hospital.”

“Why?” His tone sounded irritated. “Is Alexander…”

“He went home. Do you not remember?” I didn’t expect him to. He hardly remembered our nights these days.

“—no.” He closed his eyes like he could pull the memories from the depths of his addiction and cobble together something. “I remember—going for a walk.”

“Why the fuck were you out alone?” I said way too harshly. “In the rain with a dead phone no less.” I softened my tone, not wanting him to close off. “What happened?” I bit back the desire to ask him if he’d been on a roof anywhere.

He’d started mincing his words with me, and I didn’t want to drive him to close off more. “I don’t remember. I can’t tell you what happened.”

“Why were you out alone?” I asked, trying to come at it a different way.

He didn’t answer for a long time. “I wanted some air. It was getting claustrophobic in there. I can’t deal with that many people.”

“Why did you go?”

“What am I going to do, tell someone I can’t go to their art opening?” He wouldn’t look at me.

“When it comes to your mental stability, yes, I think you should tell them all no.” I felt like a broken fucking record.

“And then what? They don’t get the same publicity and don’t do as well? Then I look like the jackass who can’t suck it up for two hours?”

“They are going to have to understand at some point. You can’t do everything when you have nothing left to give. When is it enough?” I tried to keep the frustration out of my tone.

“I’ve had nothing left for two years. That hasn’t stopped anyone from expecting anything.” He picked at the IV in his arm.

“Leave it alone. You’re going to pull it out.”

“I’m not going to pull it out.” Green eyes flashed to mine. “Why am I here and not just sleeping it off at the hotel?”

“Because I thought you were ODing.”

“Why?” he demanded like I’d made it up.

“Because you were ice cold and barely responsive.” I’d never seen him that bad, and I’d seen him in a lot of low places.

His icy stare focused on mine. “What does Alexander know?”

“That you had hypothermia and had a shitload of drugs in your system. Do you even know how that stuff will mix with what you’re already taking? What if you stop breathing?” So many tragic losses came to mind as I spoke the words. How many souls had the world lost because of mixing prescription meds and alcohol or other drugs? I could think of a dozen or more music legends alone.

“I’m fine. I didn’t mean to get caught in the rain.” He laid his head back and scratched at the track marks on his arms.

I had to turn away, finding it unbearable to see the marks of it. The bruises. The cuts and gouges he’d never been able to explain joining the scars from his childhood painting his body. “Where are you even getting all of those?”

“We were at an art opening in LA. Do you not think there are party favors in every fucking bathroom?”

---