I Must Detoxify Her

"What the hell was in that Coke? I'm so hot!"

In the Marriott Hotel room, Taylor's face was flushed crimson. She kicked off the blanket that had been wrapped around her, writhing on the bed like a maggot, muttering under her breath.

Ryan stood by the bed holding his phone, in the middle of a call with someone. Abigail was in the bathroom, dumping out Taylor's vomit.

Earlier, Ryan had wanted to take her to the hospital, but Abigail, worried that exposure would damage her public image, insisted on bringing her back.

It had been about half an hour since they returned to the hotel. Taylor had cycled through euphoria, grief, rage, and chills, and now she felt burning hot all over.

When Abigail came back, Ryan put down his phone.

"What did they say?"

"Does Taylor have any family history of hereditary diseases, including cardiovascular or cerebrovascular issues?" Ryan asked.

"Does severe myopia count? She's been wearing contacts."

"Is she pregnant?" Ryan asked again.

"Are you kidding?" Abigail laughed.

Seeing the serious expression on Ryan's face, she quickly dropped the smile and glanced at Taylor, who was lying on her back tugging at her collar. "Not that I know of."

Ryan relaxed slightly. "She's not in immediate danger, but we'll need to monitor for aftereffects."

He had just called the DanceSafe public service hotline, reporting all the symptoms Taylor was showing. They asked for basic info like her age, then determined she had taken a mix of multiple "club drugs." Without further symptoms like seizures, shock, or convulsions, she wasn't in serious trouble.

Hearing this, Abigail breathed a sigh of relief, then walked over to check on Taylor.

"So hot!" Taylor kept thrashing on the bed.

Just then, Taylor's phone rang from her handbag. Abigail pulled it out.

"It's Andrea (Taylor's mother). Watch her; I'll take this outside," Abigail said.

"Hello, hi, Andrea. Taylor and I are both in Miami. She's in the shower, and we're about to go to sleep. I'll keep an eye on her..." Abigail's voice faded as she walked away.

Ryan came to the bedside and saw Taylor with her mouth wide open, panting heavily. Her golden curls were splayed out, partially covering her face. In the lamplight, half of her was hidden in shadow, faintly revealing pink lips, slightly parted teeth, drooping brows, and half-lidded, unfocused eyes.

As if in a half-dream state, she reached out to grab Ryan's shirt, as if wanting him to come closer.

According to medical research, taking harmful stuff like Molly makes people more prone to empathy. The English word "empathy" comes from the ancient Greek "empatheia," meaning "physical emotion or passion." Clearly, this push effect makes it easier for men and women to get intimate.

"Come here." Taylor propped up her head, wrapped her arms around Ryan's waist, and pressed her forehead against his stomach, giggling like she'd found some treasure.

Anyway, she initiated it. Under these circumstances, it couldn't really be called taking advantage, right? Ryan mused.

The next second, Abigail came back into the room with the phone. She froze for a moment seeing them so close, then immediately walked over and forcibly pulled Taylor away from Ryan.

"Can you really bear to watch your friend suffer?" Ryan's tone was like a compassionate doctor.

"And what, let you cure her?" Abigail shot back.

Ryan would be more than happy to do that. Helping others is a virtue! For her fans, I have to save her.

"You're not needed. I'll handle it myself if I have to!" Abigail shoved Ryan aside, pushed him all the way out the door, picked up the room card and pocketed it, then closed the door to Taylor's room.

In the long, quiet hotel hallway, only Ryan and Abigail remained.

"You like her." Abigail wasn't asking; she was stating.

Ryan shook his head. "I'll leave that to someone else."

"What does she have that I don't?"

"Besides writing a couple of crappy songs."

"Did you ever actually—"

"I only met her once before I met you," Ryan said.

"And she can't be an obstacle between us." Abigail nodded.

She had planned everything for this Spring Break trip, but too many things had gone wrong, including her own friend unexpectedly showing up in Florida. Now, all obstacles were finally cleared.

"Who's to say otherwise?" Ryan countered.

·

The next morning, Ryan opened his eyes to see Abigail, her coppery curls splayed out, with the blanket slipped off, revealing her entire back. He could even see two dimples at her lower back—only young women with a balanced, proportionate figure had them, so they were also called "holy dimples."

Ryan got up naked and went to the computer in the room. He logged into his Myspace first. As expected, with the Ultra Music Festival over, he had started gaining attention from a fair number of EDM fans. His follower count had jumped significantly, surging by two thousand just yesterday, breaking through the five-thousand mark.

But that was nothing compared to Taylor, a rising star who had just been nominated for a Grammy for Best New Artist last month. Her Myspace followers alone had surpassed a million and were now closing in on two million.

Clicking into her page, Ryan was struck by the exquisite "decoration." The buttons, titles, and page background all had a custom skin distinct from the official template, heavily tailored to a country style—clearly individually designed. One side had a navigation bar, the other a streaming media player for her publicly available music, and the center was filled with blog-like posts, including mainstream media mentions, updates on her new album, and her personal activities. Each post was edited and redesigned, looking very polished.

Every blog post had intense fan interaction. For comparison, Carrie Underwood, another country female star who clearly outranked Taylor at the moment, had a similar follower count on Myspace, but her replies and likes were only a tenth or even a twentieth of Taylor's.

Ryan went back to his own page. It felt like stepping from a lavishly decorated villa into a bare concrete room. Fan replies were all simple phrases like "Sounds great" or "Release a new song soon."

One reply, however, caught his eye.

"Remember me? The one hanging from the palm tree at Hobbe Beach!"

The avatar was a blonde beauty. Back then, Ryan had been completely focused on the next day's performance, and it was getting dark, so he hadn't paid her any attention.

Ryan clicked into her profile and found out she was a student at the Victoria Academy of Arts, University of Melbourne, probably in Miami for Spring Break with her classmates.

Ryan remembered this girl as very tall, even taller than Taylor, with flowing golden hair and a reserved smile that carried an elegant, almost European aristocratic air. She had likely seen his performance at Ultra Music Festival and followed him all the way to his social media.

Everything about her was great, except she was thousands of miles away in Australia, with a full fourteen-hour time difference. After a moment's thought, Ryan followed her back anyway.

Ryan then logged into the official websites of various paid music download platforms. When he entered the Beatport backend, the nearly four-digit figure for yesterday's paid downloads made his eyes light up—this was a new high since Taylor's social media recommendation, clearly boosted by the exposure from Ultra Music Festival.

Beyond that, he also received an internal message.

"Congratulations, your uploaded track Tremor (Original Mix) has been selected by our platform's editors for the 'Trending Now' recommendation. Duration..."

The time displayed was for the following week.

Ryan immediately switched to the homepage and searched carefully, finally finding the "Trending Now" recommendation bar at the very bottom of the site. He refreshed the page multiple times; roughly every fifth refresh, his song appeared among the list. The entire recommendation bar had twenty slots—in other words, a full hundred songs.

Ryan could only console himself with the thought, "Even a mosquito's leg is meat."

Just then, he heard the sound of Abigail stirring awake.

Ryan glanced at the time and pounced right back. A good day starts with exercise...