Dear Iris [h.s]

chapter two.

Iris Grace

Much to my surprise, I was not hungover when I woke up this morning, thankfully.

It was 8AM when I woke up, and I was ready to leave the family house and go to my studio by 9. My studio is small, it's taken up by canvases, paintings, and the many supplies I own, and rightfully so, it's a studio after all. It does have a sofa and a coffee table, and a bathroom and a kitchen, and by kitchen I mean cupboards, a sink, a kettle and a fridge. I sleep there when I can, but sometimes on occasions like last night when I'm coming home alone, I don't mind staying at the family home.

My studio isn't a place to live. As much as it really is my home, I can't live there. I do sleep there most nights on the sofa and I do spend the majority of my time there, but it's not the greatest and that's exactly why I'm saving to get a place of my own.

In Milan.

Milan has been my dream since I learned that the place existed. I'd love to move there and sell my art to people there that won't criticise me like the people here do. I've been saving since I sold my first piece of work at sixteen, then spent most of my savings on my studio, which I pay all the bills for with the money I make through my art.

So when people tell me to get a 'real job' it frustrates me, because I earn money through the work that I do, and I use that money to function as a member in this messed up society. The worst part is, half of the people who go out of their way to make comments at these fancy dinners or dances at the town hall, are often the ones commissioning their family portraits.

I threw my stuff into my bag, and snuck out the house before anyone could begin to give me grief. I'm not in the mood for it this morning, it's too early to deal with that shit. I don't want to have a bad day today, so I refuse to start it like one.

Thankfully I made it out alive, which was like a weight lifted off my shoulders. So I decided to walk the long way, along the edge of the town with the field and woods on one side, and the buildings on the other. I like taking this route, especially in the afternoon because I think it's lovely seeing the families have their picnics.

I sit there sometimes on the grass with my sketchbook, I think it's nice to relax outside. In the woods, there's also a massive tree that's fallen which I like to sit on too, away from the noise of children because as much as I do love it, sometimes it's a bit much.

Today, on my walk to the studio, the bench which is usually empty was occupied. It was of course occupied by Harry, which is just like those scenarios where once you recognise something exists and then it's everywhere. Like discovering a new word and seeing it everywhere, that appears to be the case with Harry.

"Morning," I said politely, sitting on the opposite side of the bench which was wide enough to fit a good three people between us.

"Fuck off." He mumbled, his eyes still focussed on his book as if he hadn't acknowledged me sitting down at all.

With a sigh, I lit a cigarette and just sat in silence. He's clearly hungover. Either that or the impoliteness in his family does in fact run in the blood. I'd say good morning regardless of whether it was Harry sitting here or not, because unlike some, I do have manners - which were clearly self taught because I really do not know who in my family raised me to have manners.

I couldn't see what it was Harry was reading, but I was intrigued. He makes it seem interesting, because if he's out here at 9.15 in the morning reading it,with hair that looks freshly washed, then it must be worth the read. Then again, I'm pretty sure reading is his 'thing' like art is mine.

"So are you-"

"Ssshhh." He cut me off harshly, still entirely focussed on his book. "I'm trying to read."