Page 95 of Pretty Black

I had to find another escape for my misery.

Present Day

My world spun, and the floor tipped. It got harder and harder to breathe. How was I having another panic attack? I’d taken so much Xanax tonight, but I still felt like my chest wouldn’t inflate. Even heroin didn’t take it away anymore.

I stumbled, crashing into his side table, and my vision started to go.

“Iris?” Caspian called.

I tried to answer, but without breath, I had no voice.

I attempted to right myself, but my arms wouldn’t hold weight, and I slipped, falling off the end table.

“What did you take?” Caspian clutched at me, but his touch felt far away.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, but I wasn’t sure I made any sound.

“Someone fucking call 911.” He pressed his fingers to my pulse. “I think he’s overdosing.”

“Put him on his side—”

There were voices around me, but they slipped too far away to process.

Sleep called, and it felt good to sink into nothingness.

THIRTY-TWO

FIVE AND A HALF YEARS AGO

Iris Black

Ifelt sick to my stomach with the cash burning a hole in my pocket. I’d kept it on me day and night since I’d made enough to get the guitar. I needed to duck inside and grab a change of clothes, then duck out before my stepdad got home from work. It should have been easy enough.

I went over and over the situation in my head. Trying to plan for every eventuality. What if she was in the kitchen? Passed out in the bedroom. I wished the gutter hadn’t broken the last time I’d tried to sneak into my bedroom window.

I scrubbed a hand over my face as I approached the old building. The four-flat had been converted from a massive old house into four apartments, two up and two down. Ours was up a rickety old staircase in the back. It was a wonder the place had passed a Section-8 inspection.Someone was getting their palm greased by the slum lord. It was the only explanation.

I glanced at the windows, looking for signs my mother had come home while I’d been gone. Nothing. She hadn’t come home last night, which could mean she was staying with her new boyfriend or had a new job.

I took the stairs two at a time and jumped the broken stair in the middle. I peaked in through the side window. No sight of her. The sink was piled high with dishes; I made a mental note to take care of it after the weekend so Marc wouldn’t get beat. It was normally his chore, but he was struggling at school. My grandparents left money for my education, and since my parents couldn’t find another way to get at the money, they let me go to the fancy rich kid school, but he had no such luck with my stepdad. We were out of soap. I’d have to pick up some, but I wouldn’t have the cash for that unless I took time away from the writing and practicing and did some ‘errands’ this weekend.

I opened the door, and my mother was sitting at the kitchen table staring at me. I tripped and stumbled.

“You’re home early.” She seemed sober.I already didn’t like it. “I…didn’t have practice after school.” Everything had to be justified and all my time accounted for. My stepdad didn’t like me loitering. I resisted the urge to touch my pocket where the cash was.

“We’re short on rent this month, and they won’t give us an extension.” It was the same story every time. My stepfather drank it, or it went to her habits. I knew what my future looked like if I didn’t escape. My father died of an overdose, and while my mother survived, she wasn’t the lucky one. Everyone around us fell prey to the same cycle.

“We have to move if we can’t figure it out.”

Did they know? Did they know I’d been saving for something? That I’d been holding money back when I told them how much I made running drugs.

“The first is tomorrow. They are going to give us a five-day notice.”

“Marc and I will have to move in with my mother.” An evil woman who hated my father and, therefore, hated me.

“What about—”

“He’s going to have to figure it out, and so will you.” She didn’t give a fuck. In her mind, I was old enough to pay my own way.

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