Chapter Fifteen #2
Barrett laughed, loud and clear, and, despite everything, Iris enjoyed the sound. When it was just the two of them, the city surrounding them, it didn’t matter what had come before and Iris didn’t need to worry history would repeat itself. Barrett wasn’t going to hurt her here.
She just had bad jokes.
Barrett hummed, clearly proud of herself for Iris’ reaction. “You’re a classy woman, so maybe one of the gourmet places.”
“I highly doubt they sell updog at Citarella.”
“Ah, so you do shop at the fancy places, princess.”
“I’ve been there once or twice. Like many people around here, I’m sure. I do not get my weekly groceries there.”
“Do they sell updog where you shop?” Barrett laughed again, so very proud of herself, but Iris couldn’t find it in her heart to be annoyed. Barrett’s approach was working.
“They don’t sell that anywhere.”
“That you’ve checked, but I guess I know what I need to find for your next birthday.”
“You don’t even know when my birthday is.” Iris made a point of not bringing her birthday up, especially not at work. Penn and Barrett both enjoyed bringing in cakes for the team on their birthdays, but Iris always let hers slip by unnoticed.
“I could if you told me.”
“Much like with anything.”
Barrett was quiet for a moment before, in a much softer tone, she asked, “Would it be so bad if I knew?”
Iris’ breath caught, her brain aching. Would it?
It wasn’t simply the question she didn’t know how to answer, it was the way Barrett asked, like she’d been aching to know when Iris’ birthday was for years.
That wasn’t possible. Even if she had been wondering, it could only have been a mild curiosity at best, not some aching, beautiful truth Barrett needed to know to ensure the world kept turning.
And yet, that was exactly how the moment felt between them.
“I don’t know,” Iris whispered truthfully.
They walked a street in thoughtful silence before Barrett asked, “Did something happen on your birthday?”
Iris’ breath was fast and shallow, her heart racing in her chest. How was one person so painfully insightful? And how was it Barrett? “Maybe.”
Barrett nodded like she’d already known, had known for a long time.
“You don’t have to tell me. We can talk about Oscar.
For instance, did you know—and, of course, you don’t because I’ve never mentioned it—that his favorite stuffed animal is a penguin named Norbert that Ruby brought back from a trip to Canada? ”
“I did not.” Iris’ voice sounded hollow not because she didn’t know that, but because she didn’t know how to talk about her birthday. She could barely think about what happened in the safety of her own mind. There was no way to talk to Barrett about it.
Barrett smiled reassuringly. If Iris didn’t know her, it would have looked like one of her usual, smug smiles. But, apparently, Iris did know her better than that.
“It’s a little bit taller than he is, and it came with a tiny hat with the Canadian flag on it,” Barrett told her. “Oscar didn’t like the hat and insisted I remove it. Apparently, Norbert looks better hatless.”
“Some people do,” Iris said, as though this was one of the more serious conversations she’d ever had. “No shame in that.”
The day felt darker, the air thick, and Iris felt her steps slowing down, sound muffling, and all of her muscles suddenly feeling fifty pounds heavier.
“Right…” Something sounded off in Barrett’s tone, but Iris couldn’t look at her.
If she didn’t focus everything she had on breathing, she’d forget how to do it. Her chest wasn’t expanding correctly. There was something in her throat. Her head was spinning. The air that she sucked in felt wrong as it hit the back of her throat, like the contact of it burned.
“Here we go,” Barrett said, her voice close to Iris’ ear as she pressed a steady hand to Iris’ shoulder and led her off the beaten path and into an alleyway.
“I’m fine,” Iris offered reflexively, but she didn’t sound it. The words were gasps, her breathing a high-pitched gulping that rattled in her chest.
“I know,” Barrett agreed easily, and, even through the panic, that felt like the biggest sign that Iris actually was not okay.
She was panicking, struggling to breathe, probably scaring Barrett and any passersby who had noticed.
She needed to stop this. That thought didn’t help, though, her breathing and her heart only racing faster, becoming painfully shallow.
Her face and hands were fizzing—symptoms of depleted oxygen supply.
“Here,” Barrett said, calm and clear and confident, as she lifted one of Iris’ hands and placed it, without hesitation, against her own chest. “You feel the way I’m breathing? Concentrate on that and try to match the pace.”
Iris’ eyes were heavy, there was a pounding in her head and behind her eyes that she didn’t like.
If it got any worse, she’d pass out from the pain and the lack of oxygen.
But she did her best to do as Barrett said, seeing only her, the rest of the space around them a blur of bricks and fire escapes that bled into the nothingness Iris’ mind ached for.
Barrett was tapping Iris’ shoulders. The steady movement, more pronounced than the last time she’d done it, was mesmerizing, lulling. Iris felt like she was swaying under it as she kept her eyes fixed on her hand. It was so pale and bright in contrast to Barrett’s charcoal shirt.
Eventually, it all began to help. Iris could feel the ground beneath her feet, the air on the back of her throat felt cool and soothing.
She could swallow again, and her pulse slowed a little.
Though, she still felt unimaginably exhausted, like all the life had drained from her body and left her a mere husk of the person she was supposed to be.
Without thinking it through—without really thinking anything—she threw herself at Barrett, her arms wrapping tightly around Barrett’s neck.
Barrett let out the tiniest huff of surprise, but she held Iris tightly, her embrace warm and grounding.
The places where her hands held Iris—one on her shoulder blade, the other on her ribs—felt illuminated, on fire in a different way than Iris’ insides had just been burning.
It appeared that you could ignite to both die and survive.
“I shop at Trader Joe’s,” she said, without knowing why, when she could finally speak.
Barrett nodded, still gripping her tightly. “Me too.”
“Maybe we go to different ones.” Iris’ voice cracked, making it sound like the most heartbreaking revelation she’d ever made, but she couldn’t think of how to make it better. She needed to stay still, stay small, stay there and be very quiet.
“Maybe.”
And they did stay like that for a long time. Long enough for the tears in Iris’ eyes to blink themselves away and her grip on Barrett to relax, to become less of a death grip. But Barrett’s hold never faltered. She didn’t slouch or fidget or seem to get tired with Iris.
She was clearly monitoring Iris’ breathing, though, because, once it stabilized, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Iris tried to step back, too quickly really, as the situation fully registered. Barrett let her go, but kept her arms extended, as if to catch Iris if she fell.
“No,” Iris said awkwardly. “My fault. I shouldn’t have…”
“It’s okay. I promise.”
Iris couldn’t even look at her, and she was far too tired to think clearly, but how could it possibly be okay?
Iris hadn’t expected any of that, so Barrett couldn’t have either.
They were simply supposed to be getting groceries.
Iris had thrown the whole thing off. She needed to explain, to make Barrett understand, to apologize for ruining their plans.
But how?
“I didn’t—I—it’s…” What? What was it? Iris didn’t know anything.
Barrett looked at her with so much understanding as Iris searched for the words she didn’t have. Gasping, desperate attacks like that were not her usual. She shut down, she fled. She didn’t know how to explain an attack like that.
“Tell me what you need,” Barrett said, soft but controlled.
Iris shook her hands, trying to get the tingling in them to fade faster. What she needed wasn’t clear, wasn’t easy. Was she even sure what she needed?
Being with Natasha had been the period of her life when she’d felt like she knew herself the least, like she couldn’t trust a single thought she had. It felt like that.
“Even if it seems ridiculous,” Barrett tried again, “you can tell me, princess.”
Iris gasped again, her eyes snapping to Barrett’s. Amber. Warm, consoling, safe amber. The eyes of the person who called her princess.
She’d always wanted to be called something like that in moments like this. She’d wanted not to feel alone when she fell apart, and there it was. Barrett. Calling her that and looking like she meant it.
“Away.” Iris shook her head, casting around. “Space, openness. I need to breathe.”
It was a silly list to begin with, nothing actually tangible that Barrett could give her, but to ask for breath when she was, objectively, breathing was the most ridiculous of the items.
Barrett’s brow was puckered, but she half smiled. “We can do that. Do you trust me?”
Iris’ eyes ran over her face, lingering on her eyes and the place where those dimples softened someone who was so confident and bold and dressed in black, and she nodded. It wasn’t even a difficult question.
“Great.” And the dimples flashed quickly into existence. “Let’s go, then.”
“But, groceries…?” Iris’ eyes were wide between blinks, her mind swimming in confusion.
“We’ll go later. This is more important.”
Iris doubted that, but arguing things had never served her well. Better to be quiet and obedient.
So she followed after Barrett without asking where they were going or how Barrett was planning to give her space and breath and away in the middle of New York City. She was simply certain Barrett could.