Page 19 of Pretty Black

“I need to go.”

“Please don’t leave like this.”

“How should I leave for my involuntary imprisonment? Why don’t you instruct me on that too since you’ve decided you know better than I do about my own fucking life.”

“Maybe I do know better. You’re not going to take care of yourself.”

“I’m doing my fucking best.” My voice raised with every word.

“Your best to put one foot in the goddamn grave every fucking day?”

“Fuck you. You don’t know me at all. You don’t know what I’ve lived through, what I’ve survived. You aren’t allowed to judge me with your happy parents, who are still married and without addiction. With your siblings who are all alive. With your wealth and fucking privilege. You wouldn’t last a fucking week in my brain.” I grabbed my Cons and my phone, leaving everything else. I doubted they’d let me bring anything else. Probably not even the pencil in my hair.

“Isn’t that more reason to get help?” Caspian wasn’t giving up.

“I’ve been seeing a therapist and psychologist as long as we’ve been doing this. What do you think in-patient will do that they couldn’t? What do you think being locked in a box will do other than kill me?”

“It’s not a box. It’s a really nice place. It will be more like a vacation than anything else, and maybe they can help your meds or get you some new coping techniques. Maybe even help you get off some of the drugs.” His words dripped with sincerity, and I hated him more for it.

“For Alexander to put me back on them as soon as I get back on tour? What the fuck do you think three days will do? This is fucking torture.” I shook with it, and it got harder and harder to draw a breath. I found my cigarette case putting another Xanax between my lips, trying to prevent another panic attack while the walls closed in around me. I felt trapped in my skin and itchy. I wanted to peel it off my bones.

“It’s not torture. They don’t treat people like that in mental health hospitals anymore, and this is a fucking resort.” He tried to get near me again, but I held up a hand.

“Don’t fucking touch me. You don’t understand.” No one did. Well, no one alive. Only my brother understood the claustrophobia and fear, hours, or days on, end locked in a closet could do to a person. I trembled with the memory, trying to force it back into the recesses of my brain where it tried to resurrect itself. I clenched my hands into my fists, digging my nails into my palms, seeking relief in the pain, but it wasn’t enough.

“Iris…” He put his hand on my shoulder.

I threw it off, fighting the nausea as the spoiled scent of the carpet overwhelmed me. I dropped back to my knees, and he tried to keep me on my feet. “Stop.”

I had to fight it, and if I had to fight him too, I couldn’t battle my brain.

I clawed my way out of the flashback, finding myself on all fours, heaving with silent sobs.

“Are you okay?” he asked timidly.

“No, and I’m not sure I ever will be again. You’ve taken away the last safe space I had.” I forced myself to my feet. Swiping my cigarette case off the counter, I ducked into the bathroom and locked the door behind me to consume as many of the drugs as I could to hold off the memories as long as possible.

SIX

PRESENT DAY

Iris Black

After a short mental breakdown and my punching the wall a few times, we arrived at the hearing to chaos. People filled every open space in front of the courthouse, packing the street and courtyard, even standing on the ledges of the statues and fountains. Police attempted to control the situation, but they were outnumbered and overwhelmed. They tried to escort people in and out of the building, but it was pandemonium, not enough space for the crowd to move to allow the passage.

“We need to get in contact with the bailiff to see if they can get us in another way. We’ll never make it through that,” our new bodyguard, Felix, said.

“You’re right. Let me get on the line with the police department and see what they can do,” our other new bodyguard, Elijah, said.

“We’re going to be late.” I scrubbed a hand over my face, sure that wouldn’t help me. “How do they even know we’re here?”

The bodyguards exchanged a glance before Elijah spoke. “Either the courthouse leaked your name or your manager did.”

“It had to be Alexander.” I slammed my head into the rest.

Caspian put his hand on my thigh and pressed his lips next to my ear. “He wants you upset. I’ll call Mr. St. Clair while they’re trying to figure out how to get us in. And I’m sure Elijah can talk to the bailiff, too, about how to inform the judge of the situation that’s going on out here. Right?”

Elijah gave us a thumbs-up while speaking into his phone.

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