Iris Giorgianni is no ordinary girl. She's living a double life: a neglected daughter at home, but a fighter on the streets. As the leader of The Sangue - one of the most wanted and well-known gangs in London - Iris has a reputation to uphold. Only...
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"Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free."
- Jim Morrison
"AND WHY is that, do you think?"
Iris glared at John, her supposed "therapist". He was sitting strangely: leisurely reclined on his chair with crossed legs, placing one hand on his temple in an attempt at heightening a studious expression, consequently delegating himself a falsified air of stupidity. John was not the type of man to exude the atmosphere of tranquillity and safety. Instead, he made Iris feel on edge; his jolting knee was drawing her attention more often than his words themselves. Not only was he made for the position of a Camp leader and only that, but he seemed like the type of person to exist in the outdoors, using nature as a means to get rid of excess energy. Perhaps like a small child, or, rather, a rabid dog.
"I don't know." Iris said plainly. They were on the topic of nurture, trying to get an understanding as to what was the driving force behind Iris' violence. It was obvious, to Iris, at least, that her aggression stemmed from neglect; from her parents' strict rules that they had oppressed on her from such a young age. There was nothing else that she could think of that could have stimulated any violence, and yet she found herself holding back from announcing that information. Why was John allowed to know her past? Her background was for herself, and only herself. Anyone that wanted to know more had to earn it – and very few people in her life had.
In fact, Iris wasn't sure if anyone knew the complete truth.
"Well, are there any big events that have happened in your life?" John asked. He stroked his beard with two, earth-stained fingers. "Any bad experiences?"
Iris shrugged. "Nope."
"Any violence in the home at all?"
"Look – I really don't see the point in this." Iris stated. It had only been ten minutes, but she felt as if this hour had elongated into a lifetime. "You clearly don't want to be here. And neither do I. So why don't you cut yourself a little slack and we head out, yeah?"
John chuckled. "Iris, this is my job. As much as I'd love to be doing activities outside, I've been paid to do this, so I have to do it. You're the one that got yourself in this mess.'
Well, it was worth a try. Iris crossed her arms and fell back in the chair with defeat, staring out the window at the sun that was peeking through the trees. She felt like a hamster trapped in a cage: too lazy to do anything, but longing for what was on the other side.
"Okay, then." John sighed, beginning to display what Iris could only guess was exasperation. Why couldn't he just lie about them doing this whole thing? Why was therapy necessary? "Let's start from the beginning. Describe your family."
Iris rolled her eyes. Her family. Bore. They were simultaneously the most boring and the most complicated thing about her. Utterly unnecessary and utterly pointless to talk about. "I have a mum, a dad, and a brother. What is this, nursery?"
