Dear Iris [h.s]

chapter twelve.

Iris Grace

Two Years Ago

"Are you ignoring me?" Andrew asked, Coming out to join me on the porch as I'm lighting up a cigarette.

"No, not at all." I smiled, turning to face him. "I just wanted some fresh air."

"This," he paused, taking the cigarette from between my two fingers. "...is not fresh air.

He tossed it to the ground and put it out with his foot, then took a swig from the whiskey glass in his hands. I felt awkward, like a kid being told off, but I shrugged it off and just leaned on the wooden banister, staring down the drive and biting my cheek.

"Your dad told me to come check on you. You've barely talked to me all night." He said, subtly rolling his eyes and placing a hand on my shoulder, the other stuffed in his pocket. "What's wrong?"

"Nothings wrong, I was talking to Louise actually. Her daughter just turned for and she-"

"For two hours?" He cut in, raising an eyebrow.

"No, well...it was just erm, nice to talk to someone different." I said nervously, looking back at him and running a hand up his arms. "Sorry, let's go inside, yeah?"

Andrew's eyes flicked from mine to the door, and he shrugged my arm off of him. I felt insulted, hurt and like I was just slapped across the face. There's something so humiliating about showing someone affection, longing for it back and being shut down. It hurts.

He walked off inside on his own, leaving me outside alone. At least tonight he can't be bothered arguing, because neither can I. We'll get home and he'll just ignore me, but I'd rather that that stupid, pathetic arguments. Saves me feeling like shit.

PRESENT

I woke up feeling like absolute shit. It was one of those mornings, everything was going wrong and I just wanted to sit on the couch and cry. I stared into the mirror for too long and began picking myself apart until the tears were falling involuntarily, I hate when I do that.

There was a voice in the back of my head reminding me of all the things people have said to me in regards to my appearance, and that voice was tricking me into believing those things to the point my hands were trembling and I couldn't stare into the mirror any longer.

"You have a lopsided smile."

"Your eyes are too close together."

"Your shoulders are so broad."

"Your hair looks like it hasn't been brushed in years."

"Your thighs are too big"

"You have an irritating laugh."

It was all too loud this morning. So goddamn loud that I was praying for silence to come and drown the sound of that voice out.

I couldn't stay in the studio anymore, so I grabbed my sketchbook and my watercolours, tossed them into a bag and decided to head outside, praying the sunshine and fresh air would give me the serotonin I've needed all morning. Whilst on my little walk to wherever I decided to stop, I picked up some food so I could make myself a nice lunch, and not let those voices in the back of my mind tell me no.

It was the field that runs down to the forest I settled with, right at the top of the hill where that bench I often find myself on looks over. The grass hasn't been cut in a while and there are flowers among the grass which makes me happier than it probably should. Out came my sketchbook, my watercolours and my water bottle filled with murky blue water and paintbrushes, then the world around me seemed to disappear as I fell into my own one.