Chapter 43
Iwoke up too early. Not because of nightmares this time, but because I knew what day it was.
The weight of it pressed into my chest before I even opened my eyes.
My first thought was simple and stupid, I don’t want to do this.
My second was even worse, I have to. If I was to ask Iris out.
To take a chance on me. To let her show me what life, real living, could feel like, I had to take this monster out of the closet once and for all.
The light in my apartment was gray and muted, the kind of filtered morning that made the world feel quieter than usual, like even the sky was holding its breath.
I swung my legs over the edge of the couch and sat there for a long time, trying to convince my body to get up.
My leg was already shaking. Not tapping, not bouncing, it was shaking.
A full, nervous, tremoring rattle from knee to ankle like I was made of live wires.
I pressed my hand down on my thigh to stop it. It didn’t work.
Eventually, I made it to the kitchen. I warmed up water in a mug in the microwave.
Scooped some instant coffee grounds into it and stirred.
Mindlessly. Everything felt heavier than it should’ve.
I spilled some on the counter and didn’t wipe it up.
This was it. The day I’d been avoiding and fantasizing about in equal measure.
The day I found the man who took everything from me and decided whether or not to let him live.
Or if I were to be a little more realistic and a tad less dramatic, I would confront him and make sure I got a recording of his confession to give to the police.
I sat on the couch with my lukewarm coffee, but I didn’t drink it.
I just held it between my hands like I hoped it might anchor me.
I stared at the blank laptop screen, at the empty wall, at the light bleeding in through the paper blinds.
Every tick of the time on my phone felt like a punch to the ribs.
What if he wasn’t home? What if he was? What if I froze?
What if I didn’t? I ran through every version of the day in my head, every possible outcome, every kind of reaction.
I pictured killing him. I pictured throwing up on his welcome mat.
I pictured knocking and no one answering, and having to carry all my rage back home with nowhere to put it.
I thought about Iris. About her driving me there.
About her sitting beside me, not asking anything of me, just being there for me.
I didn’t deserve her. But I wanted her anyway.
The knock came at 9:04. I jumped like I’d been shot.
When I opened the door, there she was—in a jean skirt, soft booties, a thin slate-blue top that matched the exact color of calm.
Her hair was loose. Her face was makeup-free.
She looked like comfort. Like warmth. Like the kind of person you could trust to walk with you into hell.
“Hi,” she said, almost like she wasn’t sure if she should smile so she didn’t. Her usual smile missing from her face unnerved me some more.
“Hey.”
Her eyes dropped to the coffee mug in my hand. “You drink that yet?”
“No,” I said. “I just held it until it got cold.”
She didn’t laugh, but finally she smiled. “Are you ready?”
“Nope.” I grabbed my zip-up and locked the door behind me. “Let’s go.”
The rental car smelled like lavender and gum. There was a half-empty bottle of water in the cup holder and a tote bag in the backseat that said, “feelings are real.” I buckled my seat belt and immediately unbuckled it again.
“I can’t do this,” I muttered.
“Yes, you can.”
I stared at the dashboard. My hands were already sweating. My foot tapped against the floor mat like it had a mind of its own. Iris didn’t say anything else—but when I gave her the go-ahead, she started driving.
The highway blurred past us in streaks of gray and green.
The further we got from the city, the quieter everything felt.
Trees lined both sides of the road. The sky overhead was colorless, thick with clouds that hadn’t decided if they were going to cry or not.
I didn’t talk; I just fidgeted. I put the window down, then put it up.
I adjusted the vent and scratched my neck.
The entire time my leg kept bouncing like it had a damn motor in it.
At one point, Iris reached over and placed her hand gently on my knee.
“Breathe,” she said, her voice a balm to my scratchy soul. “You don’t have to do anything. But you do have to keep breathing.”
I nodded but I couldn’t look at her. If I looked at her, I’d cry, and I’d already done enough of that to last a lifetime.
Halfway there, I broke.
“Turn around.”
“What?”
“Please. Just—turn around. This is a mistake. I’m not ready. I’m not strong enough. I’m not—”
“Danny.”
Her voice was soft but firm.
“I will not make you go inside. You don’t even have to get out of the car if you don’t want to. I’m just here to drive. I’m just here to sit with you. Nothing else.”
I ran my hands through my hair. My throat was tight. “What if I go in and I lose it?”
“Then we deal with it.”
“What if I go in and I don’t feel anything? What if he wins again?”
Her hand squeezed mine gently this time. “He doesn’t win today. No matter what happens, you showed up for yourself. That’s more than he ever did for you.”
I nodded and bit my lip until I tasted blood. I had to do this. I had to move on. I needed to.
We pulled off the highway and the streets narrowed.
Brick buildings turned into suburbs. The homes here were tidy.
The lawns trimmed. One had a ‘God is good’ bumper sticker on a minivan parked in the driveway.
It was the kind of place where people waved to each other while hiding vodka in their tumblers.
Where no one asked questions unless the grass got too long.
Where monsters wore aftershave and smiled for the HOA newsletter.
The kind of place that taught boys like me to stay quiet.
Iris glanced at me. “We’re here.”
I nodded, jaw clenched. My hands started shaking again.
I stuffed them into the pockets of my hoodie; my hand closed around the recording device I had stuffed in there.
Iris pulled up to the curb, the tires crunched softly against the gravel at the edge of the driveway.
She didn’t say anything at first. She just sat there, hands tight on the wheel, staring ahead at the house with its beige siding and white-trimmed windows.
The shutters were new. There was a fresh coat of paint on the front door.
A ceramic welcome sign hung from the mailbox like the peaceful slogan meant something. But I knew better.
Underneath the vinyl siding and hydrangeas, the house hadn’t changed. Not really. It still had the same cold bones. The same memories clung to the air like mildew on drywall. I sat frozen in the passenger seat, yet my leg still bounced violently, making my heel thud against the floor mat.
My eyes were fixed on the front step. The same step I used to sit on while waiting to be let back inside after being punished for things that weren’t my fault.
The same one I’d stared at through the window multiple times, wishing I could run.
Wishing I had someone in my life that would care that I was gone.
It looked smaller now. That was the fucked-up part.
I thought it would tower. I thought I’d feel crushed beneath it.
But it was just a house. Just a door. Just a front step.
“I’ll wait right here,” she said. “There’s no rush. You don’t have to go in until you’re ready. You don’t have to go in at all.”
I didn’t answer. My hand moved toward the door handle, hesitating for a moment like even that decision had weight.
I unbuckled my seat belt slowly. Sat still for a while as it fell back into place.
A tremble built in my hands and the way my ribs clenched around my lungs felt less like protection and more like a cage.
Then I did something I hadn’t planned on doing.
I didn’t open the door. Instead, I turned and leaned across the center console.
Iris’s breath caught quietly, but she didn’t move away.
She just looked at me, eyes searching mine, waiting.
Her hands stayed on her lap, open. Calm.
But there was something brimming there. A magnetic force began to churn around me, bringing me closer to her.
Something unspoken and patient and aching bloomed.
I didn’t touch her. Not yet. I just looked, memorizing her face.
“I need to do this,” I whispered. “But before I do…”
I trailed off. Any words felt too big, too small. Both all at once.
“Is this okay?” I asked instead. Voice low, rough. Like the question cost me something to say. Her eyes flicked to my mouth, then back to my eyes.
And she nodded. “Yes.”
I closed the space between us in a quick movement and I kissed her.
Not fast. Not frenzied. There was no hunger to it, no overwhelming heat.
It was surprisingly soft. Solid. Like a heartbeat reminding you that you existed in the middle of a storm.
Her lips met mine with a kind of gentleness that made my chest hurt.
Not because it wasn’t real—but because it was.
So real. My feelings for her weren’t shadowed by lust or a kiss of passion, rather they shone through, genuine, in the moment.
Gentle, soothing kisses, and soft sighs.
Her hand rose slowly, fingers brushed the side of my jaw, her thumb rested just beneath my cheekbone. It was the kind of touch that said I see you. The kind that said you’re not just a project. Not just a broken thing I’m trying to fix. The kind of touch you give to someone you hope will come back.
My eyes squeezed shut. I tried not to fall into it. Tried not to obsess over the shape of her hand on my face or the taste of mint gum on her tongue. But I did. Of course I did.