Iris
Chapter One
This story contains some abuse and may be distressing for some.
When I returned home to find a 6'7" male standing on my front porch, I wasn't quite sure what to do. His back was to me, but I had a fairly good idea who it was from his appearance, if not from the instinctual bubble of fear rising in my throat that was inspired solely by his presence. The russet-skinned giant turned to face me, dark eyes menacing, swirling with hatred.
"Where's Sam?" he called out across the lawn. His voice, usually warm and cheerful, sounded strained whenever he spoke to me.
Despite the hot flash that passed through my veins and settled in my curled fists, I took a deep breath and approached the porch. "He's out," I said simply, stomping up the front steps and towards the door.
"Where?"
"Dunno." I shrugged, fished my house keys from the pocket of my jacket and shoved them into the lock.
I could sense the dark mood swirling around the taller boy, almost as if he had conjured up his own storm. My answers weren't satisfying and I knew it, but what else could I say but the truth? My cousin was out. I didn't know where. That was all there was to say, because that was all there was to it.
"Was there anything else you wanted?" My voice was sweet. I'd intended for my words to bother him, not in a massive way, but so that they haunted him on some sleepless summer night and left him angered that I had control over a tiny portion of his mind. So I was sure to include a tiny drop of venom in my tone to get under his skin they way I knew it would. "'Cause if not, I'm going." Twisting the doorknob, I creaked the front door open.
"For fuck's sake, Iris," he growled lowly. His fist slammed the door shut before I had opened it more than a couple inches with a loud bang. I jumped, spinning around quickly, only to find that he had caged me in - trapped me between his surely steroid-abused arm and his broad chest. "You know where he is, so why won't you just tell me?"
I swallowed thickly, glancing at his arm. There was no way out. "Wh-what are you doing?"
"Can't you see that you're in the way here?" His eyes darkened, and his hands were shaking. "Ever since you came here, you've done nothing but cause problems!"
It was nothing I didn't already know, but I still felt tears stinging my eyes. Hearing it said by someone was different than thinking it myself.
"Please don't." My voice was quiet, a whisper.
"Don't what? Don't what, Iris?" The evenness of his tone was unnerving, and it bothered me more than his deep booming yell ever could.
I desperately avoided his eyes, tilting my head to hide the tears trailing down my flushed cheeks. I didn't want to be there, didn't want to be anywhere where there were people. I wanted to run inside, to run away, to just run. My hands were tingling. I couldn't feel my fingers anymore.
"Don't tell you the truth?" he asked.
"I don't-"
"Don't tell you I hate you?" he yelled.
I hated when he yelled, hated when anyone yelled. It scared me, as much as that made me sound like a kid. I hated it more than I hated him. Maybe because I associated it with physical violence, and him with mental torment. He was the lesser of two evils. Or at least, he hurt less.
"Don't tell you I despise you?!"
I could hear an awful heaving sound, a wheezing, a gasping. It took me a moment to realise it was coming from me, that it was the sound of my panicked body trying to draw breath. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe. How was I- What was I-
"Is that what you want," he whispered by my ear, "sweetheart?"
I squeezed my eyes shut, and tried my best to take some deep breaths. I knew that I had to, that it would help, but I could still sense the sparks of electricity flying off of the man in front of me, even if I couldn't see him anymore.
Breathe, Iris.
I couldn't. I couldn't I couldn't I couldn't. My hands were shaking, tiny tremors rolling down my arm and into my fingertips. I could feel the thrum of my heart against my ribcage, hear the blood pulsing through my veins. My chest felt tight, my throat constricted. I couldn't breathe, couldn't get just one damn-
"Oh, for the love of-"
Burning fingers curled around my wrist, and I sprung my eyes open. His large hand wrapped around my wrist, and I knew that there was no hope in flinging off his grip, even in a calmer state. Instead, I looked up at him with panicked eyes, not being able to manage a glare through my hyperventilating, and resorted to calling him an ass through shuddering breaths. I didn't want him touching me. I didn't want anyone touching me.
The taller boy looked at me with pity, and I despised him for it.
And then I was being dragged inside by the wrist, pulled through the front door and into the kitchen, pushed towards a breakfast stool as the giant continued into the house. I clumsily sat, and held my head in my hands as I stared at the grain in the wooden counter. I was dimly aware of my black-haired enemy slamming cupboard doors closed before he reappeared next to me, a glass of water being placed in front of me, and his familiar hot grip on my arm again. I gasped for breath.
"Iris," he called, and then when I didn't respond, "Iris!"
I turned my head to him, looking at his chest through strands of brown. He sighed, tearing my arms away from my face and pushing the hair back from my splotchy face. Still, I kept my gaze level at his chest as I sobbed, my chest heaving erratically. I couldn't breathe.
"Iris, look at me."
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't-
"Look at me," he said more sternly.
More so out of fear and the desire to keep the beast from attacking, I lifted my gaze hesitantly to meet his eyes. I watched the cold brown melt to chocolate as his gaze softened. I rarely got to see his eyes like this; warm and inviting, the way he looked at his friends. To me, they were usually cold and predatory.
"Good girl," he whispered, "Now breathe."
I knew I should have been working on my history essay, but the memory was still fresh in my mind and torturous. I didn't know how long it would take for it to fade away into the back of my mind for me to remember some night when I couldn't sleep, inspiring self-hatred and regret and embarrassment. A day, a week, a month… I couldn't tell, but I knew one thing for sure: I hated him. God, how I hated him. Despised him. I couldn't understand why Sam chose to keep such horrible company. Then again, I couldn't understand why I felt indebted to the jerk.
Never in my life had I thought I would ever thank Jacob Black.
But what I hated more than him was that he had done something nice for me and now it was hard to be convinced that I hated him for a good reason. I hated the man who yelled at me, but couldn't bring myself to hate the man who calmed me. I hated the man who was gruff, but couldn't find it in myself to hate the man who was kind. I hated the man who made me feel trapped, but the man who made me feel safe was the same person.
I sighed, leaning back in my desk chair and staring at the ceiling as I spun. Things hadn't been in black and white in a long time, I realised.