Black Iris

Happy tears.

Iris

"Are you sure I'm ready?"

He placed a gentle kiss on my shoulder, before wrapping his arms around them and looking at me in the mirror. His gaze trailed over my bare skin, lingering on his bruises, cuts and scars, before looking me in the face.

"Do you think you're ready?" He asked.

I shakily shook my head, tears pulling to my eyes.

"As much as I want to see him, Blake, I don't deserve it," I whispered. He gently stroked my cheek.

After a long moment he said, "And that is exactly how I know you're ready, my pet."

And he smiled, and walked away, heading to the wardrobe to get changed. I watched him go, then let out a long sigh, looking back at my body in the mirror.

It had been five days since my episode at my mothers, but it felt like it had been longer. Blake had switched effortlessly between different forms of punishment since then, steadily wearing me further and further down. Even when he wasn't physically hurting me, his comfort was twisted with reminders of how I was undeserving of his affection. In a very short span of time, my mind had been rewritten by Blake, and even when he was out of the apartment, I could feel him on the edges of my perception, waiting for a moment to strike.

Then, one morning he'd woken me up, and told me we were going to visit Jackson.

"Come on, Iris," Blake said, from the wardrobe. "We don't have all day."

I glanced at him, then at my reflection one last time, before heading to go get dressed, my stomach churning.

About forty five minutes later, we were in the back of one of Blake's cars, being driven across the city. Blake was stroking my leg, but his expression was faraway, his eyebrows slightly knitted in concern.

He'd seen something in his emails that had upset him while we were eating breakfast. From the brief glance I got from over his shoulder, it seemed that his case was not going so well. Or, our case I should say. I was a part of it too.

I gently touched his hand. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Unless you can make her look guilty, then no. There is nothing you can do, Guinevere."

His voice was bitter, angry, but it was the use of my name that stung. Perhaps another day, I might have retaliated, snapped back at him that it wasn't my fault he'd kidnapped a girl.

But I wasn't myself, and I hadn't been myself since I found out Jackson was missing. More than anything, I just wanted to see him. So, I bit my lip and shrunk away.

"Sorry Sir," I said quietly, even though I had nothing to be sorry for.

He let out a sigh and his face softened. He gently reached for my hand.

"I'm sorry, my pet," He muttered. "This is just hard, that's all."

I nodded, looking away from his face.

The car fell silent once again, and some twenty minutes later, it pulled off beside a large sprawling green park, with a playground at its centre. I went to get out. But Blake stopped me for a moment, staring intently at something outside. Confused, I followed his gaze.

And there he was.

My baby boy. His dappled chocolate face creased in a look of glee as he slid down a slide. His hair seemed to have grown longer since the last I saw him, and now his curls fell around his face in ringlets.