Dear Iris [h.s]

chapter forty three.

Iris Grace

Yesterday I went home for supper, so that they can't say I've been totally avoiding them. It was awful though, they laughed at Harry and made jokes about how I have no real job. However, thinking about it now, I made the amount of money George makes in a week from just one painting I did in two days.

Sure it's no corporate job, but not one person can tell me I'm not in a position to support myself, because I've been supporting myself for the last two years and living comfortably.

I stayed there too, in the bedroom I grew up in which was kind of nostalgic. I woke up and made myself toast, however my dad came downstairs and started complaining that I was in everyone's way by staying at home for the night, despite the fact I technically live there and not my studio.

The entire day was spent finishing that huge portrait, and somehow, I did it. I was really proud of it actually, which doesn't happen often, but I was actually really proud of that piece. I called the woman who asked for it and she said they'd come by to pick it up tomorrow, meaning I had a whole twelve hours to sit and stare at it in pride.

I didn't talk to Thomas the whole time I was at the family house, I couldn't look him in the eye, not after what he and George did to Harry. It's disgusting and it honestly makes me feel so ashamed that I'm related to him. As if it wasn't bad enough that he's just a nasty, cruel person in general, it just makes me feel ill knowing that he thinks he's entitled to treat people like that.

The evening came in sooner than expected and I sat on my window ledge with a bowl of soup and a cigarette, nutrition at it's finest if I do say so myself. I had a sketchbook in my lap, and suddenly there were a pair of green eyes on my page. I caught myself in the act, realised what I was doing and shut the sketchbook in shame.

Why can't I stop thinking about him?

It's always night time when we share most moments together, mainly because during the day Thoma and George are out doing business and the chances of buying into them are high. At night they're at home getting drunk therefore the chances of Harry and I getting a hill wind of abuse purely for speeding time together are much less.

Which has me thinking, now that the sky is getting darker and I haven't seen him since yesterday, I could go and say hi, right? I mean, I'd like to know he's okay considering the last time I did see him was the morning after George and Thomas fucking attacked him.

Suddenly I was sitting on my couch chucking my shoes on and grabbing a cardigan so I could walk around to see if he was okay.  I looked in the mirror, and my hair is an absolute mess, my cheeks are red and I just do not look my best. But fuck it, I don't even think I care anymore.

When I opened the door, I did it so quickly because I was all giddy and excited over the thought of seeing him, which was kind of embarrassing. However that excitement was wiped off my face when my heart dropped and I jumped four feet in the air upon realisation that there was somebody at the other side of the door when I had swung it open.

"Oh my fuck-" I paused when I realised it was him. Harry. He was standing there, laughing at me. WIth my hand over my heart, an attempt to try and lower my rapid heart rate, I took a deep breath. "You just gave me a heart attack. What are you doing here?!"

"I was coming to say hi." He laughed, "Where you off to in such a hurry?"

"I was erm..." I paused, suddenly embarrassed over the fact I was so excited to see him. "I was also coming to say hi."

Harry smiled and I stepped back to let him in, he's here now so there's no point in me running down to his in a hurry like I was planning. My place isn't exactly the tidiest right now, but I guess I can get away with it considering it's a studio. All the artists I look up to always have messy work places and to start with, I always told myself I'd be so neat and tidy. I was lying to myself.