Page 121 of Iris' Lying Eyes

“What?” I whisper, sure I misheard.

He drops his head and stares at his fingers. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied.”

It all comes back to me, and with a bitter smile, I say, “No, you shouldn’t have.”

There’s a pause where we each stick to our corners before he says, “What was I supposed to do? You kept fucking lying about everything.”

“I didn’t lie, you ass. I’m trying to . . I was trying to protect him.”

“Yeah, well, I was trying to protect you,” he barks, and I rear back.

“Really? You’re going to sit here and lie again? Wow, just wow.”

He leans in until our lips are almost touching and says, “I was tired of standing by while you ruined yourself.”

How dare he? He doesn’t get it to do this again. No fucking way.

Arching a brow, I say before I can stop myself, “I’m not your mother, B.”

His brows slam over his eyes as he pushes back his chair. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Ignoring the kernel of regret that takes up residence in my chest, I say coolly, “You heard me. You can’t save me, and even if you could, it wouldn’t change anything.”

“What the fuck do you know about it?” He’s so stiff, I could bounce a quarter off his chest.

Closing my eyes, I smile, but it’s ugly and raw. “Only what I’ve heard.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t know shit,” he says, stalking to the door.

My heart turns to stone as I say to his retreating back, “She was an addict, B. You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.”

He grabs the jamb, staring out the door before he shakes his head. “Don’t ever talk about her again. You’re right. She wasn’t fucking you. She didn’t fuck anything with balls.”

I flinch as he walks away but smile. He isn’t wrong, but his cruel words solidify my resolve.

Whatever he was preaching a moment ago is delusion, and I’ll be damned if I fall into that madness again.

∞∞∞

Apparently, I finally managed to push the big lug away. It was a low blow to bring up his mom but necessary.

We’ll never be more than two fucked-up souls and pushing us together only enhances what’s missing—our humanity. I’m being discharged, and once again, I don’t have any clothes. The borrowed scrubs billow around me, the faint scent of industrial detergent assaulting my nose.

I’ve come full circle, except this time, John isn’t waiting in the wings. The notion leaves me both exhilarated and uneasy.

It’s been literally years of tyranny. Now there’s a ball of anxiety in my stomach reminding me that I’m more alone than I’ve ever been. And without John, I don’t even know how to act.

I have no money and no phone. So, I walk the two miles back to the bus station and stand before the locker. Thankfully, I wrapped the damn key around my wrist; otherwise, I’d be screwed. More screwed anyway.

With a silent sigh, I grab another wad of cash and check into the same damn rundown hotel as before. I need to regroup, and I’m still weak from my showdown with John.

I’ll rest for a few days and then figure out what to do.

The room is just as disgusting as the first time around, but I’m used to living in conditions much the same. Being sober while I do it definitely changes my outlook, but until I have a way of making my own money, I have to be wise with what I have.

The dangerous, dark part of me that formed out of John’s actions contemplates finding a sugar daddy so I can coast. I know I’m not far from the darkness that pushes at my vision, but right now, I’m too tired to move.

After a long nap, I step over to the supercenter and buy a few snacks along with a burner phone. I need to decide whether to contact Diem. I’m glad I memorized his damn number; otherwise, I’d be back out at Fight Club, and I have zero desire to show my face just yet.

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