AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“It'd be better if I showed you. I promise, I will not make any physical advances on you at any point, and if you want to leave, I won’t stop you. But I think you’ll want to see what I have.”
She just stares at me, thinking, weighing her options. I know the curiosity has to be killing her. Finally, she gives a single nod.
“Agreed.”
With a smile, I stand up. A part of me cannot believe that I'm doing this, but another part of me is … relieved. I’ve been carrying this around for a long time, and to finally show someone else is going to be a huge relief.
I can only hope that Gisele Taylor, Blush magazine reporter extraordinaire, will listen to me, and more importantly, believe me. It’s not like I have a lot of experience sharing this information with the world, so at this point? All I have is hope.
We head to the elevators, and I watch her ass sway in her pencil skirt as I follow behind her. If I’d known that all Blush reporters were this hot, I would’ve asked Frances to set up an interview a long time ago. This beats being interviewed by Matt Blauer any day of the week.
I smile blandly at her as we ride up in the elevator in silence, and then head to my room.
Show time!
5
Gisele
I'm finally getting out of the elevator and off of the most awkward ride of my life; there's nothing like telling a guy off and then getting into a confined space with him. I follow him to his suite. We walk inside and it’s gorgeous. Of course. I mean, it’s the W. What did I expect?
I still have a hard time not gawking a little bit though. Just a little bit. I hope I’m hiding it well, but this sure as hell isn’t your $79 room down at the local motel.
“Come in here,” he says, his voice drifting back toward me, and I realize that he’s moved on without me. Where is he? I scan the room and realize that he’s stepped into the bathroom.
Weird.
I hesitantly make my way over to it, but stand in the doorway when I get there. I don’t care how fuck-handsome he is, he was high enough on drugs or whatever to think that flashing the world was a good idea no more than 12 hours ago. He obviously isn’t to be trusted. I regret my choice in shoes this morning; if I need to sprint my way to the door, I won’t make it far in stilettos. I wonder how casually I can slip off my shoes so I can hold them in my hands when I run. But my thoughts are cut short when he holds out an orange pill bottle toward me.
“Look.”
I cock my head to the side as I take the pill bottle from
his hand. Harmless. Boring. An orange bottle, a pharmacy company printed on the label, and some drug name I can’t pronounce.
“Here’s the truth,” he says, and I suddenly wish that I had a recorder going. Whatever he is about to say will be huge. I can feel it in my bones. “Everyone knows that I’ve struggled with drugs and alcohol—I have for a long time. That’s what the news said this morning—that I must’ve relapsed. But the opposite is true.
“My doctor put me on a new, experimental drug. It’s amazing; it takes away all cravings for any alcohol of any kind for 24 hours. I just don’t want it. I used to drink bourbon like some people drink water, but now? The idea disgusts me. All because of this wonder pill.”
He reaches out and takes the bottle back out of my hands, and I feel a little bit of reverence in his movements, like he’s handling something sacred.
“That really works, then?” It seemed too strange to me—that a simple pill could do so much. I had never even heard of it before; how is this not on every morning show in America?
“Yeah, it really works. Really and truly works. There’s just one problem.” He looks me straight in the eye, blue eyes somber and serious. “They put me to sleep when I use them. I don’t just mean drowsy, I mean dead asleep. Absolutely no control over my body. At the same time, it also causes sleepwalking. So even though I don’t have any memory afterward of what I did, I can talk, I can sing, I can even pull out my cock and wave it around in front of tens of thousands of people, and not remember a moment of it.”
I just stare at him, sure he is pulling my leg. “No fucking way,” I finally say when he doesn’t blink, or yell ‘April Fools!’, or anything else that I'm thinking he should do. “There’s just no way!”
He shrugs. “When the doctor first told me that, I said the same thing. It didn’t seem real to me. Who’d heard of something like that? But Gisele, I don’t remember last night at all. My thought this morning was that it must’ve been a good concert because I hurt all over. I figured I must’ve had quite the workout. So when my assistant showed me the video, I was horrified—just as horrified as you.”
I stare at him, trying to decide if he's telling me the truth. If you’re going to come up with a lie, this is a hell of a whopper to conjure up. Why not go for something easier to believe?
But on the other hand, how could I really believe something like this? It seems like I would’ve heard about it on the news at some point, right?
“Prove it.” The words just slip out of me and I stare at him challengingly. He stares back at me, solemn, and nods.
“I’m supposed to take one pill a day,” he says. “The pill takes a while to work if I do that, though. So, I’m going to take two. I’ve only done that one other time, and it was pretty much instantaneous; I won’t remember anything I say or do within minutes of me swallowing two of these things. I’m going to be asleep. Are you clear on that?”
I bite my lip, hesitating, but c’mon, who could resist? I nod. “Okay. Let’s see this in action.”
