Page 1 of Iris' Lying Eyes

Chapter One

Do me a favor, don’t tell me where he is.

The words haunt me—day in and day out.

I finally did what I set out to do, but still, I feel helpless, caged. I thought it would change everything, but it has only sunk me further into the abyss.

Turns out, doing the right thing doesn’t feel any better than being completely wrong.

Still, I cling to the notion that he’s safe. From John. From me.

It’s all I have left.

“Go into the back,” John says, tearing me from my reverie.

I lift my heavy head, but he’s already striding away. What did he say? Oh yeah, go.

By some miracle, I pull myself up from the couch and stumble down the hall. I don’t even have the energy to close the door behind me before collapsing onto the mattress.

The world before me is a kaleidoscope of colors and swirls, and I close my eyes, embracing the sting that rushes through my veins—until I roll over and retch over the side of the bed.

The liquid burns my esophagus, and I moan my misery into the universe. Every blow both physical and mental is worse than the last, but I’m given no option to say no. What John wants, he gets. I should’ve hit the fucker harder that night so long ago. Maybe he would’ve stayed dead.

“Shit,” I groan, my legs uncooperative as I drop them to the floor. Everything hurts. My bones. My blood. Even my damn hair.

As soon as I’m vertical, the room tilts, and the floor comes rushing at me until I grab for the wall. The cool plaster feels good against my heated cheeks, and absently I note I’m out of breath as I slide along it. But the white expanse mocks me, the door so very fucking far away.

My heels slip out from under me with every tiny step until I’m on my hands and knees, crawling across the floor. Then, finally, I cross the threshold and wheeze out a breath before resting my cheek on the chilly tile.

I have enough presence of mind to realize this is a bad trip, but that’s all before I grasp the sink, cool under my fingertips, and stand. The basin comes dangerously close to my head, or maybe it’s the other way around.

When I turn on the light, the bright fluorescent glare makes me wince, and I bat my eyes.

“Fuck,” I mumble before raising my gaze to the mirror.

My red hair is a tangled mess against my sweaty cheeks, the greasy locks forming a lump that weighs on my neck. My face is gaunt, precious pounds I couldn’t afford to lose long gone. It’s all part of my stepfather’s diabolical plan to keep me weak and useless, I suppose.

My dark eyes are bloodshot and dull, filled with knowledge I can’t fucking change. I’m stuck, and most days, being high at that fucker’s insistence is better than the alternative.

Still, as I stare at my pathetic visage, I see my future. I’m going to die here if I don’t do something. And what would happen then? I’d finally be fucking free, that’s what.

With a wretched grin for the girl looking back at me, I turn on the faucet and splash my face. The cold water stings my skin, but John hasn’t bothered to fix the heating issue since it broke months ago.

At the time, it didn’t matter because we were hardly here, but now he’s started bringing us up more often.

Although the water is refreshing, it does nothing for my current state. Wearily, I lean against the door. How much longer can I do this? Death may call my name, but I know I can’t leave just yet. I have more to do. If only John would stop fucking drugging me to keep me docile.

“What’s…this?” Beyond, I hear the faint murmur of voices and roll my head.

Who’s here? It’s broad daylight, and from painful experience, I know the horror that goes on here usually happens in the dark.

Vaguely, I recall John telling me to go to the room, which means get out of his hair while he does business. I should go back to the room, but when have I ever done what I was told?

I poke my head out the door, which is a bad idea when I can’t stop my momentum, and my skull meets the wall opposite. The drugs in my system dull the impact, but I still wince as I attempt to creep down the hall.

The cabin used to be a homey place where we came with my mother on vacations. Back then, I didn’t care for the experience. When you’re an adolescent hanging out with your parents, everything feels lame compared to the friends you think are your lifeline, but as it turned there are no lifelines for me. Now, I’d give anything to go back to those days when I was still naïve enough to believe.

The two-bedroom structure is small enough to hear the voices from the back but not the actual conversation, and curiosity pushes me forward despite the potential consequences.

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