Dear Iris [h.s]

chapter forty one.

** Trigger warning **
This chapter mentions abuse, please  do not read if this is a topic you struggle with. I'll leave a summary in the authors note at the very bottom of this chapter.

Harry Styles

Iris is a life saver.

Her sitting there on my bathroom floor, holding my hand felt as though it had repaired every single ounce of hurt I've ever felt in my life. She didn't say much, just held my hand and that moment of vulnerability was so important to me.

She helped me out of the bath and when I wrapped a towel around my waist, she had a face cloth of mine in her hands, cleaned the cuts on my face and did it so gently. I don't think I've met somebody with a heart like hers. I was embarrassed of myself, but she didn't see it the way I did. I appreciate her so much more than I can put into words.

Iris made me feel like she understood it all, like every thought in my mind she resonated with. Not one time when she was touching the cut on my lip did she hurt me, and it was like she knew exactly what it was that was going through my head.

I went to get changed and Iris went downstairs to boil the kettle. The whole time upstairs I looked at myself in the mirror and hated it. I let George and Thomas do this to me, too scared to fight back and it's embarrassing. Maybe one day, years from now when I'm no longer stuck here, I'll look back and be glad I never stooped to their level, but right now, I wish I had the guts to stand up to them.

Iris was still wearing her dress, which was beautiful. The colour really suits her and I think it makes her eyes look nice, which is probably something to do with colour theory. I read something about that in the book about Lucian Freud, however still have no clue what it means.

"You should maybe take a painkiller or something," Iris smiled, "It'll help you sleep better."

"Yeah, okay." I nodded, pulling down an ibuprofen box from my cupboard which hoards absolute shit.

I took that tablet while the thought lingered on my mind; how does Iris know so much about all of this. I mean, I get shit like this twenty four seven and still don't know how to get rid of all the pain. Iris helped me tonight as if she was a nurse, and I swear to god if Thomas has ever laid a finger on her, I'll take the beating again just so I can let him know that he truly is the scum of the earth.

Sitting next to her on the couch, I rested my head on her shoulder, those thoughts still running through my mind. I wish I hadn't been so cruel to her when she first spoke to me, maybe we'd have become friends a lot longer ago and I could have stopped any of the shit she's faced. Realistically, there's very little I could do, because it's me, but I'd have been there for her. I wish I was always there for her.

"You know when you said it was a long story," I said, my head still resting on her shoulder. "Was it because of Thomas?"

Iris shook her head, a sorrowful smile on her face. I tried to think for a second, because I knew it wouldn't be George, George acted like Iris didn't exist until a year ago.  I thought about her father, who is a nasty man, but I don't know. I really don't know. Maybe I'm just over analysing things and trying to create this narrative which she can relate to me, but I shouldn't do that.

"Andrew," She sighed, folding her arms.

It took me a second to realise what she had said, to piece it all together. I forgot who Andrew was for a second, until I released and suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I shot up, sat on the edge of the couch and looked her in the eye. She didn't look upset, she didn't actually look like she was feeling anything and I think that's worse.