Black Iris

Her pyjamas

Birthday surprise update, enjoy <3

Iris

I knew ma had told me she didn't want to lie on the stand, and I didn't want her to, but I definitely didn't want this. Or, I wasn't expecting it.

I'd never seen Blake this mad. But his rage wasn't directed at my mother. It was directed at me. Because of course it was.

I spent the first twenty minutes of the next testimony wondering how bad I was going to be punished, freaking out over what my mum said.

But it was as Johansson was diving into his interrogation into Ophelia's history with mental health and grilling Jordan extensively about self harm that something in me shifted.

And suddenly, I wasn't thinking about how fucked I was. I was thinking about how fucked he was.

My mother hadn't said anything explicitly bad.

But it was what she implied that would do the real damage with the jury. That Blake was callous and abusive (true), that he didn't want my mother seeing me (also true) and that he'd kept me isolated and alone while I was struggling (still true.)

And that night. The night of the fire. She had shown I had lied. But the focus wasn't on me. It was on him.

For the first time, it was starting to look like those strings he'd pulled me by, the ones he claimed made us a city, were snapping. And for the first time, it looked like I might mot be taken down with him.

But I needed to make sure. And it wasn't just about this trial. Those girls at the abandoned factory. The power he and those men had over people that had none. His sick twisted system where he stayed on top with no consequences.

I needed to take it down.

All of it.

Maybe then, I would be able to breathe again.

Suddenly, I was brought back to that night. The night of the fire.

Pain had been ricocheting through me when Ophelia found me in the basement. Blake had tormented me for hours that day, stopping only to lecture me, or sit and stare while I cried.

And I'd felt so scared. Because he'd been going hard. Harder than ever before. A part of me was worried he'd break me. But he didn't. Because Ophelia found me.

He'd strung me up with candles above me, dripping onto my red, bruised skin. By the time Ophelia came in, I was out of it, snivelling with fear.

Then, there was the fight, and she lashed out and knocked one of the candles.

The fire started burning right beside me and I was suddenly scared on a whole other level. I was tied down to a burning bed.

And I thought I was going to die.

Moments after that were a blur. Blake cutting me loose. The water. Running. Ophelia wrapping me in the sheet from her bedroom. And Jackson, crying, hugging me so tightly. Then running.

The fire was upstairs too. I didn't know how that had happened, but I knew that the house was gone. The house I'd been trapped in for so long was burning, and it wouldn't be saved. I remember teaching the ballroom, delirious at that point, and looking back to see Ophelia disappear back down the hallway. Blake stood and watched her, jaw clenched, before turning and grabbing my arm.