Chapter Thirty-Three
“What the fuck are you doing here?” There was something about the tone of Anya’s voice that cut through Iris like ice.
She turned, the momentary joy of flirting with Barrett gone, and her entire body locked down when her eyes landed on Jemma and Natasha.
“We’re not here to see you,” Natasha said, waving a dismissive hand in Anya’s direction. The smile, though, looked apologetic, generous, amused. Like the whole thing was simply a misunderstanding and Anya had no reason to be annoyed with her.
Iris remembered those expressions well. They were carved somewhere deep inside her mind in a place that didn’t allow for logic or questioning. It was a place that shut her down and left her aching with repressed tears and overwhelming dread.
“You shouldn’t be here at all.” Anya’s voice sounded tinny to Iris’ ears, and, while Barrett’s hands gripped her waist protectively, she was barely aware of the touch.
This was what she’d worried about constantly when she first left. The idea that, no matter where she went or what she did, Natasha would track her down, chase her down, and drag her back into Hell.
It had been so long that she’d finally let her guard down, finally felt herself moving forward.
But here she was. Staring, transfixed and afraid at the place where Natasha was watching her with a predatory glint and Jemma was looking at her with the righteous indignation of someone feeling guilty for something they didn’t want to admit was wrong.
At least, Iris thought it was that—hoped, maybe.
It wasn’t fair of her, really, but it was how she felt.
She hated the situation and had no idea what to do with everything bubbling up inside her.
The easiest thing was to stop. To lie down, to take it, to wait until it passed, and pretend it wasn’t happening.
Anya had never felt that way, though. “How did you know where we were?”
Iris didn’t need to listen to the answer. Anya had already given it to her. She’d talked about this place at work. Not to Em, but to people who knew Em. News traveled quickly, most especially when you didn’t want it to.
“Anya,” Jemma half pleaded, “this isn’t any of your business. This is between us and Iris.”
“What part of her ignoring your messages is unclear to you?”
Iris was so tired. She’d been so annoyed with herself this entire time because she hadn’t simply told her friends the truth, and she was doing the exact same thing again. She’d ignored the messages, swept them under the rug, rather than reaching out and communicating.
And she had no idea how to communicate anything when Natasha was looking at her like that.
“You don’t mind talking to us, do you, Iris?” Natasha’s voice was silky, almost seductive, and it made Iris feel sick. She knew exactly what came after that tone.
Her hands felt like ice as she stepped back into Barrett, fingers gripping her hands tightly. Barrett shouldn’t have to deal with the whole thing, but she was Iris’ only lifeline. Nothing else existed solidly enough to feel real.
“She does, actually,” Barrett said, and any relief Iris felt at Barrett defending her was destroyed by the shame of not being able to answer for herself.
She needed to go or die or something. Anything that wasn’t this.
The familiarity of the feeling burned like bile. She’d tried to get so far away from this version of her, but it simmered under the surface, so easily extracted by Natasha’s mere presence.
Natasha who was shooting Barrett an unpleasant look, like she knew Barrett was someone she’d never win over with her sickly sweet manipulation.
Some distant part of Iris’ mind vaguely registered that Jemma looked well, strong, okay.
She didn’t look like the light inside her had been dimmed.
For all the ways Iris had hidden what Natasha did to her, she’d been unable to hide the dying look in her eyes.
Nobody wanted to see it, of course, but she’d stopped meeting her own gaze in the mirror because it was so obvious.
Natasha hadn’t broken Jemma yet. And, no matter how much part of her hated Jemma in that moment, she was glad of it.
Because she didn’t really hate her. She was hurting, but she still cared.
“Iris,” Jemma said, stepping towards her, “we just want to talk. It doesn’t have to be like this. I get you’re upset that it’s working out for me and it didn’t for you, but we can still be friends. You can be happy for me and Natasha.”
Her words felt like they were bouncing off the walls of a long tunnel Iris was sitting at the bottom of.
She had no idea how to dig herself out of the tunnel, but she did know that wasn’t the reason for this whole thing.
She wasn’t jealous. She could hear the way Natasha had coached that interpretation, though. It had always been jealousy.
If Iris hadn’t been enthusiastic about something in the exact right way, if she’d attempted to be practical, if she’d been too unwell to do something, she was jealous and ruining it for Natasha.
The others stepped between them and Iris wanted to cry.
They barely knew her. Barrett’s friends and friends of those friends, people who had no reason to believe Iris or side with her or think anything other than how embarrassed she should be for bringing this terrible situation upon herself and them, were standing up for her.
More people than she’d ever had standing up for her before.
She pulled her gaze from Jemma and Natasha and looked at Barrett. With everyone standing up, other people were going to notice. She couldn’t be the cause of a scene. “Barrett.”
“I’m here. I’ll keep you safe.” She looked furious. Actually, genuinely angry. But not at Iris.
“I want to leave.”
“You got it, princess.”
There was something heartbreaking about Barrett being so simultaneously angry and gentle.
Iris couldn’t remember the last time she’d just let herself be angry like that. She wasn’t entirely sure she knew how to be angry.
There were slow movements and Barrett warning Natasha and Jemma to stay away or they’d have problems, and all of it felt so very, very far away, but so immediate at the same time.
Iris felt like she’d been folded back on herself to the version that had lived with Natasha. She’d never wanted to be back there.
And maybe she could say… something.
As they went to argue with Barrett that they were trying to sort out something she was no part of, Iris looked resolutely at the pair of them. Jemma was easier to look at than Natasha. Maybe there would be a time when she’d be ready to talk to her about this. But it wasn’t now.
She sucked in a shaking breath and gripped Barrett harder. “I… don’t…” She met Natasha’s eye. “No. I’m leaving.”
It wasn’t quite what she’d been going for—weak and injured and barely coherent, but it was something.
And Barrett helped her out of the room, apologizing to the staff as they went.
She walked them for a few blocks before stopping and wrapping Iris in both of their coats.
Iris’ head was pounding. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice was pitiful.
Barrett shook her head and raised her hands. “Can I touch you?”
Iris nodded. She didn’t know why Barrett would want to, but she wanted to feel her.
Her hands stroked over Iris’ cheeks, brushing her hair back, tracing over her neck. She was soft, soothing. It was nicer than Iris had even been able to imagine.
“I’m so embarrassed,” she muttered bitterly when she felt she could manufacture thoughts more complex than apologies. “That should never have happened. What is everyone going to think?”
“Hey, hey. It’s okay,” Barrett soothed. “None of that was your fault—”
“If I’d just answered their messages.” The desire to punch herself in the stomach rose up. It had been a long time. It didn’t really help anything, but the emotional pain was a little easier to bear when the edge was burned off by physical pain.
Barrett tilted her head up. “You are allowed not to reply. You’re allowed to cut people from your life. And that does not give them the right to stalk you.”
Iris’ mind started categorizing and justifying. It wasn’t stalking, it was desperation. Punishment. A million things she deserved. None of them good.
Her ribcage ached, her brain felt bruised, and she could barely keep up with the constant downward pressure she needed internally to prevent unpleasant things from rising up.
“What they did was wrong.” Barrett sounded so assured. “You’re allowed to be angry at them.”
Iris laughed bitterly. “I’m not angry. I don’t know how to be.”
Something pained crossed her face, something long forgotten, and she nodded. “I remember that. It hurts everywhere, right?”
Iris nodded, her eyes burning as she leaned into Barrett’s touch.
“That’s the anger, princess. I promise you’re allowed to feel it.”
“It’s not right,” she gasped. “I can’t—I’m not allowed—it’s my fault.”
“No. You need to feel it. Anger isn’t a bad emotion, and god knows you’re entitled to it. I promise feeling it helps. I know it’s hard.”
It was nigh impossible. She’d never been good at anger and worse when she was with Natasha. Natasha got angry. She took it out on Iris. And no part of her wanted to be like that.
She didn’t feel entitled to anger. Nobody had really done anything to her.
Jemma was simply dating and falling in love.
Natasha had hurt her, sure, but what if she hadn’t really known how much she was hurting Iris?
What if she hadn’t meant it like that? How was Iris entitled to anger at people when she was the reason for the situation?
“I can’t,” she said through tears. “I don’t know how to be angry with them and it wouldn’t be safe or fair or anything.”
Barrett brushed her tears from her cheeks, the movement repetitive and comforting. Just like the tapping. “Then, be angry with me.”
The tears came thick and fast, Iris sniffled as she shook her head. “But I’m not angry at you and I don’t want to be.”
“No, princess. Be angry with me, not at me. Although, that would be okay too, for the record. I can handle your anger. I promise it’s safe.”
“I’m not angry with you.”
Barrett smiled softly. “I’m glad, but it really would be okay. And, this anger? I want to hold it with you. Hell, I’m already furious at the pair of them.”
“You don’t need to be.”
“I absolutely do. And it’s okay that I am. I’m not going to do anything terrible to them, but I’m allowed to be angry with them—and so are you.”
As much as everything hurt and anger felt impossible, it did feel like something was easing up inside her, as if Barrett simply allowing her to feel anger released a pressure valve she hadn’t known had become dangerous.
Nobody ever just told her she could be angry.
Nobody had ever demonstrated that anger could be okay.
It was destructive and painful. But there was Barrett, feeling angry but still being entirely composed and comforting and utterly safe through it all.
Barrett furrowed her brow, looking around as she considered. “Can I take you somewhere?”
“Of course.”
She smiled, wrapped her arms around Iris, and started them moving. “We’re lucky Tucker loves late-night hours.”
“I don’t know Tucker.” The flat delivery might have been funny if it had been on purpose. Instead, it reminded Iris of how she used to speak to Natasha and she didn’t want to speak to Barrett like that ever.
“He’s a guy Ruby and I know.” She hesitated until Iris looked at her. “He owns a rage room.”
“A rage room?”
Iris had heard of them but she’d never imagined finding herself attending one. She tried so hard not to break things. They felt like the antithesis of her existence.
“Yeah.” Barrett sounded mildly amused. “Not a place I’d imagined taking you on a date, princess.”
“This isn’t a date.” She didn’t want to sully dating Barrett with this night or Natasha.
“I know,” she replied, like she understood entirely. “But it’s a good place to feel some anger. Ruby took me when I was first working on letting it all in.”
It made sense. Barrett was in a healthier place now, but she’d been worried about dating because of what her family had done to her.
It was similar to how Iris wore the scars from Natasha.
And, if she needed to feel that pain and anger, of course Barrett would have needed to feel the anger she carried for her upbringing.
And of course she’d have a safe way to do that.
Iris could trust her. If Barrett said she could carry Iris’ anger, the least Iris could do was believe her. And she found she wanted to. So she nodded. She’d give the rage room a try, no matter how much she’d never imagined herself there.