Chapter 6
Her
The cab screeches to a halt in front of a dim pub, the kind of place with a flickering neon sign that buzzes like it's on its last breath. My stomach twists as I fumble for cash, shoving bills at the driver without counting.
"Keep the change." I mutter, my voice barely above the engine's rumble. He nods, eyes flicking to the rearview like he senses the mess I'm walking into, but he doesn't say a word.
I push the door open and step out, the night air hitting me cold and sharp, but it does nothing to clear the fog in my head.
The address from the text, 147 Oak Street, matches the rusty number above the door. The Rusty Anchor. Fitting. Rusty, like everything in my life right now.
My legs feel like lead as I approach the entrance, the muffled thump of music vibrating through the pavement. Part of me screams to turn back, hail another cab, crash at Maddie's, pretend this night never happened.
But the photo of Ryan with that brunette burns in my pocket, right next to the ache from his words earlier. Nothing without me. Your parents... off themselves.
Rage simmers under the fear, pushing me forward. I need to see it. Need to hear him lie to my face one last time.
The door sticks when I pull it, then gives way to a wall of noise and heat, drunk laughter, clinking glasses, bodies swaying like they're all in on some joke I'm not.
I weave through the crowd, elbows brushing sweaty arms, the smell of spilled beer thick in the air. My heart hammers, each step heavier, eyes scanning the dim corners.
There. Booth in the back, shadows playing over familiar broad shoulders. Ryan. His head's tilted, lips locked with hers, the brunette from the photo. Her hands are in his hair, pulling him closer, and he's all in, no hesitation.
She's beautiful up close with long dark waves cascading down her back, full lips painted red, curves hugged by a tight black top that screams confidence. The kind I never had.
They don't notice me at first, lost in it, and nausea rolls up my throat, hot and bitter. This is real. Not some edited pic. Him, choosing her. Over me.
"Ryan." My voice cuts through, sharper than I expect.
He snaps back like I've shocked him, eyes wide, mouth still wet from her. The brunette pulls away slowly, wiping her lip with a finger, her gaze sliding to me with curiosity, not guilt.
"Iris?" Ryan's on his feet in a blink, chair scraping loud.
Shock twists his face, but it shifts quickly to something harder, defensive. "What the hell are you doing here? How'd you even…"
"Who is she?" I cut him off, my voice steady even as my hands shake at my sides.
The crowd noise fades to a hum. It's just us, the air thick with his cologne and her perfume. Betrayal stings fresh, a knife twist in my gut.
He glances at the girl, then back, jaw clenching. "This isn't… Shit, Iris, not here."
His hand shoots out, grabbing my arm, fingers digging in hard, bruising already. I wince, but he yanks me toward the exit, pulling me through the throng like I'm baggage.
"We'll talk at home. Move."
"Let go!" I twist, but his grip tightens, dragging me along.
Drunks part around us, some chuckling like it's a lovers' spat. My free hand balls into a fist, nails biting my palm. "Ryan, stop…"
"Home." He growls low, breath hot on my ear.
We burst out the door, the cold slapping me again. I try to pull my arm free, digging my heels into the pavement for a second, but his grip only tightens.
“Ryan, stop…”
He doesn’t. He just drags me along the pavement, fast enough that I have to stumble to keep up. He doesn’t release me until we reach his car, shoving me back against the passenger side.
I looked back while leaving, stupid, but I did. She was still in the booth. Smirking. Like she won. Like I’m the joke.
The drive’s a blur of silence and fury, his knuckles white on the wheel, my arm throbbing where he grabbed. I stare out the window, tears pricking but held back.
Why? Eight months of me bending over backward, cooking his favorites, biting my tongue on late nights, pretending his shouts were just stress. For this?
He parks jerky in our spot, kills the engine, and storms inside without a word. I follow slow, the door slamming behind.
He’s pacing the living room when I shut the door behind me. His face is flushed. His eyes wild.
“You’re being a real pain in the ass tonight, Iris” He snaps. “Showing up like that? Making a scene? What the fuck?”
I drop my bag by the door. My arms fold tightly across my chest, like that alone might keep me from falling apart.
“Me? A pain?” My voice shakes. “Ryan, you’re the one sucking face with some girl in a dive bar.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Who is she?” I demand. “How long has that been going on?”
Ryan stops pacing and drags a hand through his hair.
“Jesus, drop it.” He exhales. “She’s nobody. Just a coworker. Flirting, that’s all. You overreact like always.”
“Overreact?” My voice cracks.
I step toward him, anger finally breaking through the hurt.
“I always did whatever you wanted. Dinner ready when you got home. No questions about your ‘late shoots,’ even when you yelled.”
He scoffs.
“I did everything, Ryan.” I continue. “I laughed at your jokes. I kept the peace.” My throat tightens. “So why her?” I whisper. “What did I do wrong?”
Ryan lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Wrong?” He says. “That’s the problem, Iris.”
He shakes his head. “You’re too good.”
I blink at him.
“Always there. Always perfect.” His mouth twists. “It’s boring as hell.”
The word lands like a punch to the stomach.
“No fire.” He continues. “No chase. With her? It’s fun. She pushes back. Makes me want it.”
Boring. The word echoes in my head. All those nights I swallowed my doubts. Smiled through his moods. Told myself love meant patience.
Tears spill down my cheeks before I can stop them.
“Boring?” I whisper. “I gave you everything.” My voice grows louder. “My space. My time. After Mom and Dad… you were my stability.” My chest aches. “And you call that boring?”
Ryan’s eyes narrow. “Gave me?” He scoffs. “Please. You needed me. Scholarship girl with no one else. I put up with your moods, your writing bullshit taking over the couch.”
His voice hardens. “But yeah. It got stale. You nag. You cling.” He tilts his head slightly. “Maybe that’s why your folks checked out. Couldn’t handle the drama.”
My blood runs cold. “Don’t.”
The word comes out sharp. I step forward, shaking but standing my ground.
“Don’t you dare bring them up again. They loved me.
” I say, my voice trembling with fury. “It was an accident. The rain. The road. It wasn’t my fault.
” My hands clench into fists. “But you?” I continue.
“You’re choosing to hurt me. For what?” I demand.
“A quick thrill? You’re pathetic, Ryan. A coward hiding behind excuses. ”
The room goes very still. Something snaps in his expression. His face darkens, rage flooding his eyes.
“Pathetic?” He snarls. “You little…”
His hand flies out, palm cracking across my cheek hard enough that stars burst behind my eyes. Pain explodes, sharp and stunning, my head snapping to the side. I stagger, hand flying to my face, the sting blooming hot.
"You think you can talk to me like that?"
"Ryan…" Shock chokes me, tears blurring. He's shouted, grabbed my arm, but never this. Never a hit. "Stop. Please."
He doesn't. His fingers tangle in my hair, yanking hard. Scalp screaming as he pulls me close, face inches from mine.
"You ungrateful bitch. After everything? I should've left you in the halls, whining alone."
He shoves then, releasing my hair with a twist that sends me sprawling. I hit the floor hard, elbow cracking on the hardwood, breath whooshing out.
Pain radiates, but fear floods colder, deep, paralyzing. This isn't him. Or is it? The mask's off, and underneath? Monster.
"Get up!" He looms over me, voice booming. "You think you're better? Some writer princess? You're nothing but a clingy mess who can't even keep it interesting!"
I scramble back, palms scraping, sobs hitching. "Ryan, stop! You're scaring me. Please, just stop!"
My cheek throbs, a welt rising, but he advances, foot lashing out which connects with my stomach, a dull thud that folds me in half.
Air vanishes, nausea surging, pain like fire curling tight. I curl fetal, gasping, tears soaking the floor. "Why? You've never... never like this. What happened to you?"
"Shut up!" He grabs my shoulder, flipping me half-over, fist slamming down. Once on my arm, bruising deep, then my side, ribs, that steals my scream. "This is what you get for pushing! For ruining my night!"
Begging spills out, broken and desperate. "Please. Ryan, stop! It hurts. God, stop! I'll go, I'll leave. Just don't!"
Each word costs, breath ragged, body screaming. He's lost it, eyes blank with fury, like he doesn't see me anymore. Just a target.
Why now? The bar? The confrontation? Or was it always there, waiting?
Fists rain. Another to my thigh, heavy and thudding. The world narrowing to pain, his curses blurring. "Worthless... nag... should've known..."
Black edges in, vision spotting. One last hit. Glancing my jaw. And it tips me over. Everything fades, a merciful dark swallowing the agony.
~
I wake slow, the world a haze of hurt. Floor hard under me, cheek pressed to cool wood that smells of dust and spilled coffee. One side's numb. Left arm, leg, pins and needles prickling as blood rushes back.
Groggy, I push up on shaking arms, pain igniting everywhere, cheek pulsing like a heartbeat, stomach a knot of fire, ribs tender with every breath. Hair hangs in my face, tangled and sticky with sweat.
How long? Minutes? Hours? The room's dim, lamp casting long shadows. Ryan is there, by the bedroom door, buttoning his shirt, pants zipped casual like he's heading out for work.
He glances over, face flat, no remorse. No words. He snatches the keys from the table. The door clicks open, then shut and he’s gone. Silence crashes in, heavy as the bruises.
Tears come fresh, silent now, carving hot paths down my swollen face. I drag myself up, using the couch arm, legs buckling once before holding. Pain lances through my side. Cracked rib? Maybe. Doesn't matter.
I need to go to the bathroom. Clean this off, assess the damage. The light flicks on harsh, mirror throwing back a stranger, eye swelling shut, purple blooming under the skin, lip split, blood crusted at the corner, hair a wild mess, clumps yanked loose.
I lean in, fingers tracing the marks, tender, angry. How? How did my life end up like this?
Uni was supposed to be an escape. Writing, friends, rebuilding after the crash. Ryan swooped in with a steady hand and promises of normal.
But normal soon twisted, shouts over nothing, grips too tight, now this. Fists. Blood. Me, broken on the floor. Mom's voice echoes faintly, ‘You're stronger than you know, Iris.’
Was I? Or did I just trade one loss for another?
Water runs hot in the sink, but I strip slow, wincing at every pull. Steam filling the space, water stinging the cuts but soothing the ache. I scrub gentle, soap burning the split lip, tears mixing with the spray.
Why didn't I see? The late nights, the distance. Boring. Too good. Bullshit excuses for a coward. Scalp throbs where he yanked, stomach bruises tender under my fingers. I rinse, shut off the water, towel wrapping loose.
Enough. I cannot stay here anymore. I think of Maddie immediately, of her place, of safety, of walls that are not watching me.
My phone lies on the counter. I open the group chat and type out the truth as simply as I can. I tell them I'm coming and I need them right now.
Before I can finish sending it, my phone buzzes again.
The number is unfamiliar. My heart stutters as if it recognizes danger before my mind does. I open the message despite myself. The words are short and casual, and that somehow makes them worse.
‘You look beautiful.’
The timing makes my stomach twist, because I am still damp from the shower, still wrapped in a towel, still raw and exposed in every sense. Fear tightens around my chest as another notification appears, this one with a video attached.
My thumb hovers over the screen while dread pools heavy and cold inside me. When I finally press play, the world seems to tilt.
It is me on the screen. My pale skin under the spray of the shower, damp copper hair clinging to my shoulders, my head tilted back, my eyes closed, unaware. The angle is wrong, too high, too deliberate.
I recognize the bathroom instantly. I recognize the moment. I freeze as understanding crashes down on me all at once.
Someone did not just watch me. Someone recorded me. Someone was inside my space.
I drop the phone as if it has burned me. My breath comes shallow and uneven, my skin crawling beneath the towel as panic surges through me.
My thoughts spiral wildly, grasping for explanations that only make things worse. I think of the anonymous number, of the messages, of Ryan, and then I force myself to stop because I cannot handle where that thought leads.
I make myself look up.
The angle plays over and over in my head, guiding my eyes higher, above the sink, toward the narrow cupboard shelf I have never questioned before.
I drag a stool over with shaking hands and climb onto it, my heart pounding so loudly it feels like it might give me away. I sweep my hand across the top, expecting nothing and dreading everything.
My fingers brush past dust and folded towels, and then they close around something small, hard, and unmistakably wrong. It is a tiny camera.
The lens catches the light, and a faint red blink confirms what I already know. This is real. This was planted here. And it’s still recording. My fear sharpens into rage as I rip it free from the wall and slam it down onto the counter. The casing cracks under the force.
The damage does nothing to calm me. All I can think about is the video, about where it might be now, about how long I have been watched without knowing.
I dress as fast as I can, pulling on a pant and a t-shirt with a light jacket, choosing loose fabric that hides how much I am shaking. I grab my phone again and text Maddie that I am on my way, that I need to talk, asking if the door is unlocked.
Her reply comes immediately, full of alarm, telling me yes and that Al is on his way there too.
It is Saturday. There are no classes, no routines to cling to, no normal day waiting for me. There is only this moment and the need to get out. I grab my keys and nothing else. When I close the door behind me, I lock it quietly, as if any sound might follow me.
Maddie is an hour away, and that hour feels impossibly long. Still, it is a direction. It is distance. It is safety, at least for now.