Page 23 of Pretty Black

The judge held up his hand, silencing the attorney. “I said what I said. I wasn’t singling out your client. These are allegations I won’t take lightly considering the effect they are having on Mr. Black’s health. I will make sure my end is held up with integrity, and I want you to do the same. Is that clear?”

The lawyer nodded.

“Is it clear on your side, Mr. St. Clair?” the judge asked.

“Yes, your honor,” he answered.

“Perfect. Do we need to have Mr. Black escorted to the facility?” The judge leveled a serious look at Mr. St. Clair.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” He turned towards Iris. “You are good to head to the facility yourself?”

“Yes,” Iris said through his teeth.

“As long as everyone understands that defying this order will resort in quite a public escort by the police as well as possible contempt charges, which I think we’d all like to avoid.”

“Correct, Your Honor” Mr. St. Clair replied.

“We have the internal evaluation from Mr. Black’s psychiatrist and another evaluation will be done by the staff at the facility within twenty-four hours of admission. My staff will get another hearing on the schedule within five business days to reconsider Mr. White’s request for a longer admission.”

As soon as we adjourned, Mr. St Clair leaned in to speak to me, but I only half listened as Iris ducked out of the courtroom. His bodyguard followed him, but I made an excuse about needing to be with him right now. Mr. St. Clair told me he’d call me later, and I followed Iris toward the bathroom. I knew this experience would be entirely different than the first, and I dreaded what he’d do, but I wouldn’t forsake him this go around. I was determined to be his support. But he wasn’t franticly taking every drug in his cigarette case when I slipped in. He stood in front of the full-length mirror, staring at his reflection.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know I shouldn’t have held out hope the judge would listen to me, but I did. I hate hope. I fucking hate how we are hard-wired to trick our brains into holding out for the best when it rarely happens. I just want something to fucking go our way for once.”

“Mr. St. Clair said the judge calling out Alexander on the court record and warning him means he doesn’t think we are full of shit. He was really positive with our path forward.”

“I don’t care about the future when I have to deal with hell for possibly ninety days.” Iris barely sounded like himself.

I wrapped my arms around him from behind. “What can I do to best be here for you right now?”

He lifted his shoulders, head slumped forward. “Nothing. Make sure Alexander isn’t listed as my next of kin on any of the paperwork and that Mr. St. Clair keeps him the fuck away from me.”

“Sure. Let me text him right now so he can make sure the paperwork is right before we go.” I stepped to the side, pulling my phone out of my pocket and firing off a quick text. When I looked up, Iris had his fingertips pressed into the mirror. “What?”

“I’m mad at myself and Alexander and my parents and this whole fucking situation I fucking created.” He pressed until his fingers turned white.

“I thought we weren’t doing regrets.”

“I’m trying not to. It’s hard when I’m here.” His words came through jagged breaths.

“Do you need another bar?” I asked, shifting on my feet, not sure what I should do.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t think they are going to like how much Xanax it takes to control my panic attacks when they get like this.”

“Is it a lot?” I knew it was.

He shrugged again. “And some days it doesn’t even work.”

“What works?” I expected some other drug. Weed, maybe.

“Pain. Only pain works on my worst days.”

I barely held off from visibly cringing. My heart broke. “I don’t think I can ever be what that other guy was to you.”

He lifted his gaze, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “I wouldn’t want you to be. You’re my safety, never that.”

I exhaled my worry. “I would try to be anything you needed.”

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