Dear Iris [h.s]

chapter forty five.

Iris Grace

"Are you staying for dinner Iris?" Asked my mum, making it unclear whether it was an offer or a statement telling me not to. Sometimes it's hard to differentiate between the two in this house.

"Not tonight," I said back with a smile, trying to be polite.

I came home to pick up a few things and my mum made me a cup of tea. We sat and spoke for a little while, she asked how things are going with my work and although she didn't seem interested, I appreciated her asking.

She asked me about George, wondered if we had been spending time together and when I said no, it wasn't like she wanted to shoot me, she just shrugged it off and said 'fair enough'. If it was my dad asking, I'd get a million follow up questions and million insults thrown my way. Deep down I think my mum disagrees with it all, she just wouldn't oppose my dad because he's him.

I heard footsteps from the stairs and I recognised them as my fathers. He walked into the kitchen with a few notebooks and envelopes, his glasses half way down his nose and a pen between his teeth. Clearly he was caught off guard by my presence, he looked like he got a fright when he saw me.

"Christ," he muttered, tossing his stuff down on the table. "You still live here then? Or just when it's convenient?"

"I was actually just-"

"Don't start whining Iris, I'm not in the mood." My dad interrupted me, looking me square in the eye, and then shaking his head and looking back down at his paperwork. "I'm away to do some taxes, don't suppose you know what that means at all."

"I pay taxes," I tell him, feeling slightly infuriated over the fact he assumes I don't know how to do something like that. "I pay tax on my studio and the money-"

"Congratulations, you're a functioning member of society." He sarcastically remarked, rolling his eyes.

My mum just acted oblivious to that whole conversation, which kind of infuriated me more, so I grabbed my bag, said goodbye and headed out. I'm not wasting my time there when I'm just going to be looked down on for absolutely anything that I do. I hate feeling the way they make me feel, and the longer I can go without it, the better.

I wandered back to my studio through the town, walking by all the stalls I visited this morning. There's a new lady there selling knitted scarves, they're really beautiful. She said it was her retirement hobby and so I promised I'd be back to visit to buy a scarf tomorrow, it's hard to say no to those ladies.

The lady from the fruit stall who constantly nags at me to make jam, introduced me as 'our Iris' and then told her that I'm the local Picasso. It made me smile actually, I do love going down to the stalls to see them all. It's a very important part of my week visiting those older ladies. They might all be over 70 but they're the next best things I have to friends besides Christina.

And Harry, but I don't really know what we are.

Ahead at the cigarette stall, I saw Thomas and George, and nerves started to fill my stomach knowing there's no way I could avoid them. They're in their suits with their clipboards, probably asking how many they've sold in the last week. I put my head down and tried to hurry by them, because they're the last people I want to talk to now, or at anytime to be honest.

"Iris!" George called, jogging down to me, followed by Thomas who anderedover with his hands in his pockets. "Where you headed?"

"Uh..." I swallowed anxiously, "To my studio, I have work to do, so...if you don't mind..."

"Pfft," Thomas scoffed, looking at George as if he was about to burst out into a fit of laughter. "She thinks painting is work."

I don't get it. The constant need to start an argument and put. People down is so odd to me, I really do not understand it. How sad do you have to be to gain something out of people feeling bad about themselves, at your expense? It's so exhausting being at the receiving end of it all, but i dread to imagine just how fucking shit you have to feel in order to make everyone else in your life feel the same way.