Chapter 27
The time between sessions had never dragged before.
I always had plenty of bullshit to keep myself busy with.
For someone who already had one foot out the door, so to speak, I certainly had time on my hands, but I always found things to do.
But since my haircut last week, I couldn’t stop wishing, hoping, willing time to move a little bit faster.
I was looking forward to seeing her and that knowledge sat there in the pit of my stomach all week, churning and reminding me of how foreign a feeling it was.
I found myself staring at the time on my phone more than usual.
Wondering what she was doing. If she’d worn that big hoodie of hers again or if she was baking something in her cozy little kitchen.
I kept admiring my haircut. The sides were crisp. I could see the clean taper in the mirror when I tilted my head just right. She’d done a good job. Too good. I ruffled it slightly with my hand to mess it up and walked away before I could start staring at my face again.
I had slept under that stupid blanket she had left me. I loved it. And I kept moving the plants around, trying to find the perfect spot for them to bask in whatever sunlight the crisp March weather had to offer. It was pretty ridiculous, but I couldn’t stop myself.
Wednesday finally crawled around, and a text pinged on my phone at 2:03 p.m. Fifty-seven minutes before our next session was scheduled to start.
IRIS
Meet me at the theater. We’re watching a movie. I’m buying you popcorn. Don’t be late or I’ll eat it all on my own.
I stared at her message for a minute, mildly annoyed at the late notice, and also…
weirdly pleased. We were going to watch a movie.
Yet another thing I had missed out on during my childhood.
By the time I had the money and the time to go to the theater by myself, I had lost interest and had just never gone.
This was not a date I reminded my brain.
This was just Iris doing her normal life-immersion therapy crap again.
Despite all my confusing feelings and resistance to her non-therapy methods, I showed up. I wore a sweater over my shitty t-shirt, and I even brushed my hair. Fuck, she was getting to me.
As I walked in, I spotted her standing just outside the entrance, her coat half-open over a soft green sweater, and a huge tub of popcorn already tucked under her arm. She smiled when she saw me, the kind that crept up slowly and took over her whole face.
“You’re early,” she noted, handing me a soda.
“You threatened to steal my popcorn. That’s psychological warfare.”
She laughed. “Fair.”
We picked seats in the back row—her choice, not mine.
The seats were way fancier than I had imagined they’d be.
Little buttons let you recline, so your feet were up, and your body was relaxed back.
She helped me figure out the buttons, set my chair exactly how I wanted, and shone the flashlight on her phone once the room grew dark so I could see where to stick my soda.
My entire body was acutely aware of her presence beside me.
I felt the heat of her arm resting near mine.
Heard the way she licked popcorn salt from her fingers.
At one point, our fingers touched as we both went in to grab more popcorn at the same time.
Neither of us moved. It was too dangerous for me to acknowledge her touch.
Dangerous in a subtle, silent yet still meaningful kind of way.
The movie was fine, but forgettable. I couldn’t have told you what it was about if my life depended on it. All I could think about was how close her leg was to mine. How her laugh hit a little too hard during the funny parts. How she hadn’t looked away when she caught me looking at her.
When the lights came up, she blinked slowly and turned to me. “Thoughts?”
“I like these seats. That’s my only thought.”
“Put it on your list of things to buy,” she teased.
“What am I gonna do with a theater seat in my apartment?”
“Anything you want.” Her eyes gleamed in the darkness as I followed her out of the theater.
My imagination conjured up all sorts of things one could do in a theater chair, and I flushed as my mind went to a place it usually never did.
I wondered, wryly, what would Iris think of me if I put that life experience on my list. Would it make her blush?
I wanted to make her blush again so much that I felt a blush of my own stain my cheeks.
As we walked out, the city met us with its usual chaos.
Horns blared. People walked around us without looking up from their phones.
It wasn’t pretty or calming, but it was New York, and it was perfect.
It was always the one thing I never hated about my life.
I figured if there was any place where my traumatized self fit in, it was right here.
A man walked by a little too closely to us and bumped into Iris, jostling her roughly while she dug around in her purse for something.
“Excuse me,” she said, not unkindly—just startled.
“Maybe look where you’re going, sweetheart,” he said back, mocking her. It was the word sweetheart that activated me. He said it with the same slick tone that my foster father had used when he spoke to waitresses. It was a slimy form of disrespect that made my skin crawl.
“Back the fuck up.” I was in his face before I even realized what I was doing.
My fists were clenched at my side. He sized me up.
I was taller than him, but not by much. For a split second I wanted him to swing first so I could have a reason to let all my buttoned-up rage spill out.
My vision tunneled and all I saw was Iris’s eyes widening when she heard him call her something that sounded a lot like ‘fucking bitch.’
“What did you just say?” I got even closer to him. “Say it again.”
His gaze flicked to Iris, then back to me. “Whatever, man. She ain’t worth it.”
I stepped even closer. “She’s worth a hell of a lot more than ten of you.”
There was a beat where the guy considered saying or doing something else, but he must’ve seen it in my eyes, the fact that I didn’t care what happened to me, which meant I’d just keep going.
Like a pitbull. He backed off with a sneer and disappeared into the crowd.
I turned around, heart pounding, jaw tense, adrenaline winding up my spine. Iris touched my arm gently.
“Are you okay?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended. She nodded slowly.
“Yeah. Are you?”
I looked away. “I was gonna hit him for you,” I said finally. Her hand rested on my arm again. We walked in silence for a while. She didn’t say thank you. I didn’t say sorry. But something shifted in the space between us. Something fragile and a little terrifying.
And for once, I didn’t want to run from it.
She tugged her coat tighter as we walked; the air had grown a little awkward as the tension from earlier dissipated and all that was left was everything we hadn’t said. I cleared my throat.
“I’ll walk you home.” I tried not to sound like it meant anything, but she smiled anyway, like she was on to me.
We didn’t talk much on the way; our steps echoed on the pavement, and we tossed a few jokes out to fill the quiet.
Every so often her shoulder brushed my arm, and it made me imagine turning the corner and walking straight into her apartment again.
Into that warm air that, tonight, smelled like cloves and citrus and live plants.
Into the soft light and colorful rugs and the faint sound of music playing from another room.
Into her. Not physically. Just… into whatever made her make me feel like this.
But of course, I didn’t. At the door, she thanked me. I shrugged.
“It was no big deal.”
She made a noise in the back of her throat as if to say, sure it wasn’t, Danny.
Keep lying to yourself. But instead, she just turned the key and stepped inside.
The golden glow from her apartment flooded the hallway, and something in my chest ached.
She waved and then shut the door. I stared at the closed door for a second too long, harping on the bruised emotion in my chest. Then I turned away, reminding myself that I had an expiration date.