Alighting

Three: "Unforgiving"

THREE - PETER | UNFORGIVING

September 6th, 2016

Weeks passed before I could fully experience them. Classes were long and difficult, with huge amounts of homework and little time to do anything other than study and sleep.

I finally talked to Iris - she'd tracked me down two days after school began. After leaving Cliff's dorm, I found her sitting on the floor next to my dorm, arguing with my irate roommate, Hugo, and groaned. Iris may be kind and beautiful in some regards but she could make even the most quiet, level-headed boy red faced with anger in minutes. That's why I'd liked her at first. But after meeting Serena I learned that there was a way of doing that without making everyone around you collectively hate your guts.

You may be thinking 'Peter, if you hate Iris so much, why are you still dating her?' and the answer is I don't hate her. She's a great person underneath the huge steaming shit pile of numerous bad qualities she has. I just can't break up with her. My entire social status, another reason I was so readily accepted on the football team was because of my relationship with the star cheerleader. I'd lose the quiet, non-problematic reputation I spent years building. Call me selfish, Iris used me for her own gain plenty of times before. We accepted that our relationship was based on mutual benefit early on.

I met Iris during my second year here at Rosford, freshman year. She was prettier and less passionate about things, less intense. I was drawn to her immediately. Things were so much easier then - Paris was happily thriving at home (that was two years before she herself came to Rosford), my friend circle consisted of Serena and a younger and much kinder Astrid, and I wasn't so focused on grades and getting on the rugby team. I found myself missing the earlier years of my life.

I was beyond stressed for the first few weeks of school.

And then I realized this was better than being at home with parents who could barely get through a day without crying or staring morosely at their missing daughter's room. My mother had been the worst, cradling me whenever she could, tears spilling onto my shirt. She'd mumble about Paris and how much she needed God in these times of need, and then spew rapid French about liars and killers and sinners. My heart broke every time she dropped a plate preparing dinner and crumbled to the ground sobbing. My dad would be out in our garden and rush into the house to wrap his arms around her. These moments were so intimate that I felt like I was invading their privacy by observing it. I usually just left the room to go out and watch the sunset and see the tides coming in.

Thank God for Serena McLane - she lived an hour away from my grandparents' house, and three hours from my parent's house. I found myself escaping to my grandparents' house more often than not (this caused more problems with my mom and I had to decrease visits) just so that I could see Serena. In more recent times, we would sit on the beach together, talking about how much she missed Sander - he lived on the other side of England - or how much I missed Rosford. Life was just easier with her. I usually would go through withdrawals when I didn't see her for a few months. Also known as the times before Serena's parents moved to the seaside, and I walked the beaches alone.

These beaches were creepier when you were by yourself. The sand was this dusty grey color, and black rocks were scattered everywhere. The sea wasn't even blue - it was murky and looked like it could devour you whole. The beach we hung out at was underneath a large cliff with caves and secret tunnel-like caverns embedded in the cliff. Serena and I would occasionally explore, but she hated dark spaces.

So we settled for catapulting ourselves off the large rock in the biggest cavern, into the freezing cold depths below. (It was Serena's idea.) (Our grandparents were not pleased to see us soaking wet, trudging through the dirty field to their house, and then politely asking for a towel.)