Black Iris

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Iris

There was nothing but the pounding sound in my ears, the echo of adrenaline taking over. Jordan's first attack was sudden, lunging at me, going straight for the ribbon on my right wrist.

She grabbed my skin, but I was twisting her arm before she could get a grasp on the bow. I expected her to cry out in pain, but she just snarled at me, a guttural and raspy sound.

"What are you doing?" I asked her under my breath, my brows knitting. "You're giving them just what they want."

"I don't fucking care," she spat. "Better the ribbons than the panties."

My eyes snapped to Gareth, watching with a smirk on his face. Ophelia was looking at me with a pleading look. Don't hurt her, it said. Don't fight.

Yeah, well I was fucking trying, wasn't I?

But, as if on cue, Jordan slammed her free arm up my chin, wrenching from my grasp. Pain splintered across my face, the impact of the blow ringing through my skull. I felt Jordan grab my wrist again, and I was too stunned to stop her as she pulled off the first ribbon.

It was only when she grabbed for the other hand that I managed to shake myself from my stupor. I wrenched the remaining hand from her grasp, and grabbed her hair. She let out a yelp as I pulled it, dragging her back.

She lashed out by kicking, frantically. The blow landed on my calf, just above my ankle, and was hard enough that I stumbled, my grip dropped.

Her hand rose to my neck, and the skin on my shoulder, driving her fingers into my flesh. I let out a cry, crumbling as she pushed. My legs buckled, and I realised that was her aim. She wanted me on the floor.

On your knees.

Around us, the crowd was cheering madly, roaring as the cat fight developed. But as my knees touched the rough flooring on the stage, the sounds all seemed to dim. I looked up, but not at Jordan, who was reaching for the ribbon around my neck.

No, I looked out.

Out at the crowd. Scanning. Looking. He was there, somewhere. The one who had forced me into this position so many times.

You want to please me, don't you?

I started trembling as Jordan untied the ribbon. Still scanning the crowd. Searching for him. Wondering if he was seeing this.

Jordan let go of her painful grip on my shoulder just as I saw him.

He was close. Just metres from the stage. Standing in the crowd, surrounded by angry men. And smirking.

Watching. And his smug, cocky face revealed that he'd had the same mental picture that I had.

Come on, open that pretty mouth of yours.

Through the crowd, he met my gaze. And as his eyes met mine, something within me snapped. And I opened my mouth to let out a scream.

I'd like to say that I blacked out then. That I'd entered a stupor, a state I couldn't control, or understand. That I blinked and suddenly, the fight was over.