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chapter 8
Something was not right.
Iris couldn’t put her finger on it but something felt wrong.
She was a bed but it wasn’t as soft as hers, didn’t dip with her weight as she shifted. The clothing on her stick clung to her in ways her pyjamas did not. Her eyelids felt heavy and crusted as she tried to pry them open.
Above her was an unfamiliar roof.
Why was is unfamiliar? Where was she?
Startled, she sat upright as the memories of what happened rushed back.
It came in flashes: exchanging mediocre insults with Stephanie, walking home, a black car following and the weight of a big man on top of her. The smell of chloroform burned in her nostrils.
And hands on her. Soft and small hands, unlike the ones that held her down, rubbing against her arms and shoulders, fingers massaging her hair and gently untangling it. Tugging at her clothes.
She was kidnapped?!
Was that all that happened?
Iris patted herself down. Her hands weren't tied down or even tied together. Neither were her legs. She was wearing a green dress and was that nail polish and diamond rings on her fingers? Her nails were cleaned, no foreign DNA clinging under her cuticle. Panicked, she moved down with her inspection, grabbing at the end of the dress, she lifted up the hem and check whether she still had her underwear on. She didn’t feel anything but it never hurt to check. Relief slackened her body when she saw that she was indeed wearing them.
Quickly, she climbed from the bed and moved to the nearest corner. Her movements were sluggish and her knees shook as she observed the room. It was richly decorated with golf and pink colours and a big canopy bed that followed that colour scheme. There were dark wood accents of a vanity desk and mirror cluttered with beauty products she had only heard about. The room was like one she had only ever seen in teenage movies, the one no actual teenage girl had.
Iris could not have stopped the expression that crossed her face, even if she'd tried.
It was the ugliest thing she had ever.
And she lived with a teenage boy.
Was this hell? Clearly, no amount of money could buy taste or class. Iris rubbed at her eyes harshly, hoping to cleanse them from the horror that was this interior designer's idea of good taste. They should have fired them when the final product was revealed.
Iris opened her eyes once again and spotted a large, dark oak door through the dark spots swimming in her vision. She tiptoed to it, her feet flinching at every step as they landed silently on the cold floor. Iris stopped halfway across the room when she realised she was defenceless. Her eyes flickered across to room and groaned when she couldn't find something to with. Where was the convenient fire poker when you need it?
A pillow would have to do and she went to grab one from the bed. Something flashed red and green flashed in the corner of her eye. She jumped to face towards it, holding the pillow like a bat ready to swing. Iris froze.
It was just a full-length mirror.
The reflection in it was what had Iris gawking.
There was a girl looking back at her but Iris did not recognise her. The girl had vibrant red hair straightened into stylish half up half down do with her hair falling gracefully down towards her hips. The makeup was subtle, highlighting her gem green eyes and gave the illusion of a sharper jawline and cheeks. An off-the-shoulder dress was dark green showed her collarbone and gave her a flattering hourglass figure from where the dress tugged in from the waistline. Gold earrings hangup from her earlobes along with a thin necklace and bracelet on her wrist.
She was beautiful.
This was her, Iris realised, but a version of herself she had never even dreamt of to look like. The breath in her lungs rushed away as she continued admiring herself.
Is this was success looked like, draped in the finest clothing with matching accessories? Was success diamond rings and gold necklaces in a cold ostentatiously decorated bedroom?
Yes, Iris thought. She wanted this. She wanted to be rich enough to have tasteless decor in a bedroom she never wants to use; she wanted to wear diamond rings to dinner served on silver platters; wanted to spend an obscure amount of money on beauty products and fancy dresses and cars and red bottom shoes.
Did that make her a bad person?
The door squeaked, shaking her from her thoughts. The pillow was once again firmly in her grip. An idea popped into her head and Iris moved to the vanity, scooping some of the products into the pillowcase. Then she cradled the pillow to her chest.
Two women pushed the door open, heaving with effort as a pair of familiar Italian leather shoes walked past the threshold into the room.
The culprit walked in leisurely as if he owned the place. Absently, Iris wondered if he did. A proper tux donned his figure, with a green bowtie that matched her dress wrapped around his neck. His hair was artfully styled and his lips twisted into a familiar smirk.
Orion Crawford.
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She was just so tired, exhausted from waking up at the crack of dawn to work herself to death and get mocked for it. Her bones ached for reprieve and her eyes burned for rest and she just wanted everything to stop for once. The teasing, the worries about school and home and work, the expectations, the entire world!Iris’s entire being trembled under the onslaught, her chin shook, tears flooding down her cheeks as her dry lungs gasped for air that she just couldn’t grasp. Her throat tightened, trying to keep herself quiet. She failed.“Stop crying,” she whimpered, still panting for breath. Her nails dug into her scalp. “Stop crying!”Her sight was darkening, black dots swimming her vision. She didn’t care. Stop crying! Stop crying! Her lungs burned.She couldn’t breathe.Stop crying!Why couldn’t she breath
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Between one blink and the next, Stephanie was down on the ground shrieking and clawing Iris who kept on hitting her where ever she could.“Stop, you freak!” Stephanie squealed. Bethany and Brittany stood back in horror.“You! Bitch!” Iris shouted, ignoring the burning in her blood crusted knuckles and the nails tearing at her roots and blazer. “You! Pathetic! Piece! Of-!”Iris would’ve kept going if two arms didn’t encircle her waist and lift her from Stephanie cowering form. She fought against the arms, scratching at them to let her go.“You’re such a nutcase!” Stephanie cried as Brittany and Bethany help her stand up. “Can’t your parents afford meds?”This set off another round of Iris trying to detangle herself from her capturer. “Shut up!” she screamed, baring her teeth.&nb
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Between one blink and the next, Stephanie was down on the ground shrieking and clawing Iris who kept on hitting her where ever she could.“Stop, you freak!” Stephanie squealed. Bethany and Brittany stood back in horror.“You! Bitch!” Iris shouted, ignoring the burning in her blood crusted knuckles and the nails tearing at her roots and blazer. “You! Pathetic! Piece! Of-!”Iris would’ve kept going if two arms didn’t encircle her waist and lift her from Stephanie cowering form. She fought against the arms, scratching at them to let her go.“You’re such a nutcase!” Stephanie cried as Brittany and Bethany help her stand up. “Can’t your parents afford meds?”This set off another round of Iris trying to detangle herself from her capturer. “Shut up!” she screamed, baring her teeth.&nb
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The week followed in a similar distressed fashion. Iris was constantly tense, looking over her shoulders, subconsciously trying to spot Victoria with a camera aiming at her or the R5. Her gaze would flicker all over the cafeteria, lingering on Marcas and Jackson annoying Carmilla as Orion and Benjamin talked, and on Victoria on the other side of the room, giggling with Mellisa Cohen.Iris’s muscles tensed every time Victoria entered the room, her fingers twitched when the brunette walked past her, and her tongue felt heavy with questions every time they made eye contact. When she wasn’t peaking at Victoria, she was gazing at the R5 members, the few times she managed to spot them, eyes hesitating to move from Orion’s distant form.It was exhausting because no matter how determined Iris was to keep her nose out of this, there was still a curious part of her that wanted to interrogate Vicotria and get to the bottom of this.
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Later that night, Iris found herself not being able to sleep. It was one in the morning and she was still sitting at her desk, her hair flying wildly over the uncompleted homework sprawled over the service. Her body was exhausted but her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts of the day.Usually, the nights Iris spent awake was due to stress or her brain refusing to shut down from all the studying she did. Once, she was awake for two whole days because the only thing that useless organ in her head could do was sing the periodic table to the rhythm of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.Tonight was different, however, because it wasn’t the usual agitation and stress bubbling in her stomach. This nervousness was softer, resembling excitement an for some unexplainable reason, Iris just could not past the time she had spent at Orion’s mansion.After the fun - at least for her, Orion’s toes told a different story - danci
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Both redheads were in their own worlds as they walked to the ballroom. Between telling Iris where to go, Marcas kept complaining and begging to be let go. A request Iris staunchly ignored. Aside from occasionally turning on Marcas’s commands, Iris was deep in thought.She couldn’t help but think about how Orion talked about his mother as if she was nothing more than an annoying house guest disrupting his home. Iris was close to both her parents; her mother was her confidant and always willing to listen to her complain about simple things like clothes, boys, school, and general opinions; and her father was the one she turned to when she struggled with school work, watched History channel with, and the one who taught her how to physically defend herself. (No matter how much she sucked at throwing a punch.)She couldn’t imagine not having them in her life. Just what was going on in Orion’s home that soured his relationsh
