Dear Iris [h.s]

chapter sixteen.

Iris Grace

I saw Harry yesterday. He was getting bread from Kate's stall but when he saw I was walking in his direction, he turned away and walked off.

It's not that I blame him for that, I really don't, but knowing things are this way because of a drunken mistake infuriates me. I hate alcohol, it ruins everything. Maybe he didn't realise it was me, however usually he pops up now and then, and I've not seen him since the Mayor's birthday at the town hall.

Last night I decided to make jam, I brought some home and five minutes into the door the glass was thrown to the grouse, shattering on the kitchen tiles as the red begged to stain the ground. All I did was ignore Thomas' sexist remarks, and he reacted so angrily because he had a glass of whiskey in his hand.

It really fucking hurts when you try so hard to be loved, to even just be liked, and not one single person seems to appreciate it. I try so hard to find the good in people, I try so hard to make amends with the people who've hurt me, and it always gets thrown back in my face.

What will I have to do to not just be the stupid little girl in the Grace family? How do I walk in that house and not feel like an intruder? What do I have to do to just be seen by my family, seen for who I am and not the brainless woman they think I am?

I just want to be seen. If I can't be loved, I just want to be seen, appreciated.

Why do I keep trying to make amends if I know those broken bonds are beyond fixing? It's easier to convince yourself that there's a chance things could be normal, than it is to remind yourself that the very people who have a duty of care towards you, can't stand the sight of you.

The rest of the evening last night I spent crying to myself, wondering why I'm not rough for anybody, drawing pictures of myself with tears spilling down on to my cheeks. It's the only thig I'm semi good at, the only thing that doesn't make me feel like a total failure.

I fell asleep on the floor with my jacket as a pillow. I was exhausted, being in a negative headspace 24/7 does that to a person. That was regretted when I woke up, my neck hurt a lot but I was painting all day so it could have been worse, at least I wasn't doing anything much.

It was a slow day, I barely even left my studio besides running down to get a pit of milk because I ran out. I finished the commission piece I'm working on though, which is a positive because it was one of those paintings I just didn't like. It was a picture of a dog, and the dog is so cute, I just didn't like the painting for some reason.

I had pasta and a sandwich for my supper, just made use of what I had at the studio because after last night's attempt to make my family happy, I don't really want to go back there tonight. Not when I've spent the entire day trying to get out of the bad mood it put me in.

By the time it was dark outside I couldn't really find the motivation to do anything else. Instead I made a cup of eta and just sat on the couch, a moment of tranquillity that I believe is well deserved after yesterday and today, spent being far too hard on myself.

Then someone knocked on the door the second my tea was cool enough to drink, which sent me into an internal panic. I was praying it wasn't my brother, or dad, or brother, or George. In all honesty, I don't want anyone to be standing at the other side of the door. I'd love for that to be something I imagined for my own sanity, but if it's not my family, it can't be that bad, right?

It was Harry.

Harry stood leaving against the wall, eyes pitched together a damp cheeks, an untucked shirt and trousers with a hole in the knee, hands with scraped knuckles and a bottle of whiskey in its grip.