4.

Iris's P.O.V.

​I shake my hips side to side as I hold up one of my shirts in front of me. I'd positioned two lamps perfectly to shine on them at this angle so I could see their prints. I smile widely when I see the blurred yellow symbol, my mind filling in the rest to identify one of my favorites.

​I throw the shirt into the keep pile before picking up the next. I was leaving in a couple of days and managed to get everything sorted but my clothes, the shirts being the last to be tackled.

​Like with the rest of my clothes when packing, there was a leave pile and a keep pile. The task was almost a complete waste of time, seeing as the leave pile had less than twenty shirts.

​So I like to hoard shit, sue me.

​"When there's nothing to lose and nothing to prove," I sing as I move my feet in rhythm with the song, "and I'm dancing with myself."

​I glance across at Sassy, whom I find sleeping in a ball on my bed. She fell asleep when the first shirt hit the floor. I didn't really blame her, seeing as the house was deadly quiet at the time.

​Mother left, as she did every night, to be with Father in the apartment he was staying in. All the house staff had left besides Francis, who refused to leave me alone in the large house at night.

​I made sure to thank him constantly for staying without me having to beg him to do so. He was one of the nice ones. I knew I should trust him; he was a great person. 

But I couldn't. So my bedroom door remained locked with him in a room of his own, and a knife tucked beneath my pillow.

​It was so quiet. Too quiet, too still. It let me think about things I didn't want to and back to moments I didn't need to.

​That's why I started playing some music, saving me from the black hole of fear I was being dragged into. I was at least enjoying the task of packing more than I ought to, so that was something.

​My job was simply to gather everything I wanted to take with me; Mother demanded that I do nothing further. 

She'd arranged for one of the gardeners to box it all up tomorrow, which left me here, reeling the night before to pack everything.

​Yes, she did tell me about it over a week ago, but I was a professional procrastinator.

​Procrastinator and hoarder, sue me twice if you like, because I'm the full package.

​At the end of it, I was leaving. Leaving my parents' home and making a start somewhere else, all on my own. The thought sounded misplaced in my mind, as if it were incomprehensible, but it was my new reality.

​A few months ago, before my life took a deep dive, my parents would never have allowed me to leave the city, let alone the state, alone. Now, getting me out of the house and away from any watchful eyes seemed to be their greatest priority. Father's in particular.

​He'd basically pumped my account with more money than I knew what to do with so that I would just go and live somewhere else.

​"I just want her out of my house," he'd said to Mother through the phone. She didn't realize I heard. I doubt it would've made a difference if she had; her biggest priority was pleasing Father, and his biggest priority was putting his daughter somewhere he wouldn't have to see her.

​With or without his money, I was leaving. I was going to get as far from them as I could, for my own reasons rather than theirs. And I'd be damned if I didn't take all that money when I was going; it wasn't hurting my pockets.

​The plan was to go to a tiny town known as Wolveshedge. The name suggested a shit hole to me, but to each their own.

​I wouldn't be going unless it checked all my boxes, and it did, despite its name. The town's crime rate was practically nonexistent, with ninety-nine percent of deaths due to natural causes rather than by another's hand.

​I picked my destination the only way I knew how: picking up a dart and throwing it at my father's painting of the map of America. I spent the afternoon using the map as a target and got Francis to read me the name of the last dart to land in the canvas.

​I destroyed it in the most subtle way I could. What can I say, I'm a spiteful person. I know how much he loves that painting, and I hate it with my entire being. Hate it almost as much as he hated who I was.

​So filling the map up with as many holes as I could was my little way of saying fuck you. Well, that alongside letting Sassy run around wherever she pleased. She went up and down the hallways, dropping her fur everywhere.

​Despite how much I wanted to, I couldn't necessarily tell him to his face to fuck off; he refused to be in the same room as me ever since the incident.

​I wasn't very fond of my father before it, but he was still my dad, and a piece of me clung to a feeble hope of him accepting me despite it all.

​He didn't.

​He, in fact, recoiled with everything he had. Even puked while I was still in the hospital bed. I lay there, bones broken and unable to open my eyes, while he berated me with everything he had.

​My fingers curl around the collar of the last shirt, tightening around it as I look down at the blended image of my clothes. A pile of mixed yet separate colors, stacking over one another as if to purposefully confuse me.

​I sigh and dump the last shirt down before I make my way to the bathroom. I had every light on inside of my room, along with strategically placed lamps on the floors pointing upwards.

​Major fire hazard? Yes. But I found it very difficult to gather the strength to care.

​The lights illuminated every nook and cranny in my bedroom, making it practically effortless for me to get around without crashing into something. Thus, limiting the number of times I swore out in pain and frustration, usually cursing everyone in the world to burn to death.

​Once in the bathroom, I splash cold water onto my face before pulling away and looking at my reflection.

​There really wasn't much to look at there. There was a blur of poorly styled hair and identical, clear eyes that stood out from the rest of my face. I found that the most cruel part of this whole thing: the one feature I didn't have trouble seeing was the one that stopped me from seeing everything else.

​My fucking eyes.

​That being said, even though I couldn't truly distinguish the features of my face in my reflection, I knew my face well enough to know what was there. But looking at myself now, I saw a hazed version that scared me, the reflection mirroring someone else, not me.

​I pull away angrily and turn back to my room. I make my way to the small, sound-asleep black ball on my bed and slide next to her. She barely moved at my presence, and as I brought my face right beside her, I could see her a lot better.

​I rubbed her tiny head gently with my finger, smiling at the softness I felt beneath it. The feeling calmed the explosive core deep inside.

​I continue to pet her until my eyes fade shut and I fall asleep beside the only thing left in this world which actually liked me.

​How fitting.

*************

​"Describe it to me," I say from my position in my father's armchair, my eyes trailing Sassy running around on his desk.

​"It's a studio apartment, relatively close to most shops from the looks of things. Big enough, and everything looks newly renovated," Francis says, his voice deep with a rumble to it that scared most. But I was used to it; I'd heard it since I was six.

​"What's the color scheme?" I ask, and he chuckles. I smile to myself at that, the silent jab making me feel comfortably sunk in my skin.

​"Black appliances and countertops, white walls, and silver touches," he says slowly, his heavy fingers jabbing at the laptop keys as he looks. "Fully furnished, unused."

​"Price?" I ask, crossing my fingers beneath the table.

​"Falls within the budget," he answers, and I cheer internally, smiling widely on the outside.

​"Do you think I'll like it?" I ask, turning my head in his direction.

​I could make out Francis's large frame, which looked absolutely comical squeezed into the small chair opposite me. He had a wide chest which made way for his muscular frame that struggled to be contained in his suit.

​Francis tilts his head up as he looks at me and away from the computer. I don't have to see it to know he's sending me a sad smile, one which I knew wasn't made out of pity, but rage.

​"You will love it," he assures me, and I nod happily. "I'll take care of the rest."

​"You're not my butler, Francis," I remind him while he shuts the laptop and stands.

​"I know, but someone has to make sure you're okay when you get down there," he says casually, as if he wasn't spending extra hours he didn't have to, helping me.

​"Thank you," I say genuinely, and he nods.

​"Want me to take you anywhere before you leave?" he asks when he's about to leave.

​"No, I'm good just staying in," I reply, but he doesn't budge. "I really don't want to."

​"I can take you to see the bridge," he offers casually, as if his words didn't lash every muscle in my body.

​I tongue the inside of my cheek, fingers gripping the chair tightly while a deep frown settles on my face. Before, when I could see, I would go to my spot to watch the sunset against the Golden Gate Bridge. It was my peaceful place, my hideaway, and I hadn't been since the accident. I was unable to gather the courage to face it and not see it in the manner I once did. I wanted to remember it the way I knew it to be, not as a hazed streak of red.

​"You don't know the next time you will be able to. You should go while you can," he continues despite my discomfort.

​"To go watch a big, red mess," I finish, and he shakes his head in objection.

​"Have you ever considered some things may be more beautiful for you now?" he asks, and I can't help but scoff. 

"You may see clearer not being able to see at all. I know that sounds foolish, but I think you should try to look at the good in all the bad, Iris."

​"And if it's not?" I ask, raising a brow.

​"Then it's not," he says, shrugging helplessly. "You're still going to be blind either way, may as well try to find a benefit or two."

​My body freezes for a moment, unable to respond straight away as my mind digests his words. I laugh when my mind replays his last words. I appreciated that Francis didn't sugarcoat things. He was honest; I appreciated honesty where it could be found.

​I nod despite how stupid his plan was, because I had nothing to lose. If he was wrong, I would be disappointed and mad, but it couldn't get much worse than how I felt every day.

​So fuck it, I'd go see a red glob. It may end up being pretty; I prayed that it was.

************

​It wasn't pretty.

​It wasn't pretty at all; it was fucking hideous.

​The sunset's colors were pink hues mixed between ripe oranges, which were the backdrop to what appeared to be wispy clouds. The range of colors blended with the bridge to make one big blur of red, orange, and pink to my eyes.

​Of course, I could distinguish the frame of the bridge from the sunset colors, but the way it seeped through the bridge's cords made anything past that too difficult.

​I liked the colors, though. It was a nice palette that I appreciated, not as much as I once appreciated the view, but enough. I liked the many colors, the exposed tints which seemed endless. Being able to witness this incredible range, despite not being able to see much else... that was okay.

​It made me feel like I could see again, a feeling I hadn't experienced in a long, long time.

​"So," Francis prods from his position on the ground a few spaces away from me. "How is it?"

​"It's shit, Francis. Absolute shit," I say, looking in his direction. He laughs at my bluntness, but I catch him slump a bit. It wasn't hard to miss; he was practically a giant, after all. "But it's not as bad as I thought it would be."

​He doesn't reply, but I know that helps a bit. We continue to watch the sunset, Francis truly seeing it, but I was enjoying the scraps my poor eyesight delivered.

​"Can you promise me to be safe?" Francis voices suddenly, tearing at the peaceful silence with his words. 

"To look after yourself while you're in this new place? I know you're an adult now and that you're stronger than you look, but I worry, Miss."

​"You haven't called me Miss in years, you must really be worried," I tease despite the terror in my mind. "I will try my absolute best to stay safe. The whole point of leaving is to go somewhere where I can't be bothered."

​"What if the trouble finds you, without you looking for it?"

​"Well, trouble will have to kiss my ass because I'm tired of it," I say, flopping down on the warm grass. I close my eyes and take in a deep lungful of the spring air. "I'm tired."

​"I know you are."

​"If we're making promises, can I request one?" I ask, eyes still closed despite the wide grin I was sporting.

​"Depends," he answers simply.

​"Can you promise to leave the dog hairs alone?" I ask, and he immediately laughs. I open my eyes and send him my most accusatory look. "I know you well enough to know you're going to get someone to completely rid the house of Sassy's presence."

​"Guilty," he replies calmly. "Can't necessarily let my boss roll over and die now, can I? He pays my bills."

​"Fair enough," I say sadly. "I have another favor I think you can help me with."

​"If it's within my abilities, I will help you, Iris," he promises, and I smile at him gratefully.

​We don't talk any more after that, simply enjoying the scene before us while the earth continued its periodic oscillations.

​It was peaceful and calming, a raw example for the naked eye to see just how gentle this world could be. The tranquility stayed with me as Francis drove us home, my chest light and content. It stayed with me through the night and for the remaining days I had left in this little hell of mine.

​But like all good things, it faded when the day to leave came around. When anxiety was stronger and more demanding, the weight of my decision to leave let itself be known.

​It was too late to turn back now, and despite my frustrating fears, I didn't want to. Because I knew that anything out there was better than what I was facing staying here.

​Judgment. Hatred. Disgust.

​So I stilled myself and said goodbye to my mother, with more joy than I knew I should've felt. I didn't entertain her tears, desperate to be rid of this place which included her.

​Then the long journey began. One which was longer and more strenuous than I'd imagined it to be. I knew it could be worse if Mother hadn't put people in place to help me along the way, but I still hated their presence.

​Hated the way they babied me and put me in a fucking wheelchair as if I couldn't walk. I refused at first, but realized soon enough that not cooperating was just brewing more trouble than it was worth.

​Eventually, I made it out and was in a cab with Sassy in my lap and my luggage in the trunk. My packed boxes were already waiting for me in my new apartment as I entered a new place.

​I roll down the window and close my eyes, inhaling the deep scent of pine, flowers, and other scents I didn't know yet, but wanted to soon. The birds were singing in their homes, and I reveled in the serenity that inhabited this place.

​And I hoped and prayed that this place would be just right for me. That trouble wouldn't follow me all the way here, in this new escape.

​Hoped and prayed that everything would be okay.

______________________________________________

​A/N: I want them to meet alreadyyyyy arrrgghhh!

LIKE GO FIND LUCIAN NOW!

​I feel so bad for Iris, she needs like 3 million hugs.

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