Black Iris

The show

Iris

The crowd grew louder as we walked. It was deafening, the echo of voices and laughter, drowning out the sound of my pounding heart, and the clicking of heels on concrete floors.

They have Jackson.

God, nothing else mattered except for that. And, I already knew it. Gareth had lorded my son over me already. But seeing his things, his drawings strewn over the floor, his little bead necklace, dangling from Gareth's fingers...

God, I would fucking kill them if they had laid so much as a finger on him.

What, like you did?

I clenched my eyes shut, shoving away the intrusive thought, the memories of how I'd let him down. But there was no shoving it down. The hurt and anguish was growing, the memories and feelings and fear burning under my skin. The roar of the crowd grew louder.

One step after the other. I forced my eyes open, and made one step after the other.

Just do what they say, I told myself. Whatever they say. This will be over soon.

I reached up, touched the gash on the inside of my arm. It was aching and inflamed, day old scrapes and cuts from the car incident reopened from the rough handling and fighting with Gareth and his thugs. I pressed a thumb into the deepest cut, biting my lip to stop from crying out, until I could feel the raised lump inside. Heart pounding, I let my wrist go, blinked away tears, and tried to focus on my breathing.

This will all be over soon. This will all be over soon.

But despite the mantra, and the stinging in my arm, I wasn't sure I believed it.

We reached a set of stairs, leading up to a roller door and plain one, and a concrete platform. It was a loading dock. On the other side of the wall, the chatter was deafening, along with the thrum of rock music. These boys, whoever they were, were drunk. And violent.

Gareth stopped, snapping his fingers at the men holding us. "Girls, stand still if you know what's good for you. Boys, get them ready."

At the cue, the man holding me let go of my arm. I glared at Gareth, who just watched, bored. Then I felt the guard grab my hand, lifting it. Confused, I glanced down, to find him wrapping a satin ribbon around my wrist. He tied it in a bow, then dropped it and grabbed my other hand. From his pocket, another length of satin came out. I stared, puzzled, as he proceeded to tie it around wrist, then drop to his knees, and do the same to my ankles.

What the fuck...

I thought back to the time I'd been here before. The girls in the lingerie. As I tried to conjure the picture, I wondered if they had been wearing these ribbons too. I hadn't noticed if they were.

I saw them standing on a makeshift platform near a wall.

And, come to think of it, there had been a roller door behind it too.

I glanced across at Ophelia, puzzled, wondering if she had any idea what was going on. The guard holding her was doing the same weird ribbon thing to her.

She didn't look at me though, too busy staring at her friend beside her.

Jordan.

It was so strange to finally put a face to a name. To speak to her. Hear the anger in her voice. I don't know why I hadn't expected her to hate me. A small part of me had doubted she would even care. Or, a small part of me had hoped she didn't care. About me, or Ophelia.

I was wrong, obviously.

It was weird being face to face with her. Even more strange to see her, disheveled with bruises blossoming on her arms, dressed in a gaudy white bra and panties. She looked pretty, but she didn't look good.