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I couldn’t waste any time, so I ran. I made it out his bedroom door, knowing I didn’t have much time until he was after me. Henry shot up off the couch, his bleary eyes wide as he took me in, noting the blood smeared across my face and my tangled, disheveled hair.
“Iris, whatcha doin here so late?” He scratched his head in confusion. There was a loud thump from the other room, followed by a curse, and Henry’s eyes darkened in understanding. He stood from the couch slowly. “You go on, girl. Wake up yer dad and tell him to come see me, you hear me? Don’t you worry about him.” He nodded towards the hallway.
I didn’t waste any time. Turning on my heel, I fled the groundskeeper’s cottage and ran as fast as my feet could take me, heading straight for the house, straight towards safety. I was in such a rush that I didn’t see a massive branch that had fallen across the pathway, tripping me up and sending me hurtling towards the ground.
I rolled until I was able to sit up and made quick work of unbuckling my heels, knowing I was likely to break an ankle out here. I had the last one undone and was in the process of climbing to my feet when I heard the gunshot. The sound echoed through the night, sending a flock of nearby birds fleeing into the sky. Mouth agape, I stared in horror at the cottage, hoping and praying it had been Henry that pulled the trigger, not the other way around.
The lights in my house up the path turned on, telling me my parents had heard the gunshot. When I was on my feet, ready to run for it, I was stupid enough to glance back at the cottage, foolishly hoping that Henry would come out here and tell me it was all right and that the cops were on their way to take a wounded Peter in.
Only it wasn’t Henry that stepped into the light of the open front door. It was Peter. He held a shotgun in his right hand, his once handsome face splattered with dripping blood. His lips twisted into the most vile smile I'd ever seen, then he took a single step towards me, cocking the shotgun as he began to whistle.
* * *
I madeit to the bathroom just in time, losing the contents of my stomach into the old dusty sink. My stomach heaved over and over again as memories slammed into me in waves.
Peter’s bathroom was connected to his bedroom, and as I stood there at the sink, I placed my hands on the vanity to hold myself up, meeting my own eyes in the mirror. Behind me loomed the dark bedroom that still smelled just like him, even after a decade. My legs shook, making the rest of me shake too.
It’s your fault, whore…
I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the voice that never left me alone. I knew it was my own voice, the other part of me that I failed to shut away. It was the voice of who I used to be, judging me for everything I’d failed to do.
I glared into the mirror, meeting my own haunted gray eyes. “You’re not fucking real…” The voice only laughed. “You’re not real, you’re not real, you’re not fucking real!” It was a chant that fell on deaf ears.
Oh, I’m as real as you are, bitch, and if you wanna get rid of me, you’ll have to blow your own head off…Her laughter just grew, getting louder and louder—so loud that I clamped my hands over my ears, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. I couldn’t even hear my frantic heartbeat anymore.
I looked back up at the mirror, and my stomach shot to my throat at the smiling face staring back at me. With white blonde hair, gray eyes, and a long jagged silver scar across her face…she was me, and I was her. Her smile was too wide in an unnatural way, and she wasn’t blinking. I backed away from the mirror slowly while she moved forward.
“You’re not real!” I screamed at her again. My voice was guttural and broken and hurt my throat coming out.
You’ve tried to keep me out, but I’m stronger now. The more you give yourself to the darkness, the closer I come to the surface.
Her voice was in my head, but her lips…mylips didn’t move. She just stared back at me, that smile growing wider and wider, until the sides of her mouth began to crack. The skin looked like porcelain, the fissures traveling out towards her ears and slowly down her neck, all the while her eyes widened with delight and anticipation.
Her laughter echoed in my head, and the sound had me gritting my teeth, rage building up inside of me. She was the reason I was like this, the reason my whole life had fallen to pieces and everything my parents had hoped for my future turned to fucking dust. I hated her. She needed to go. She needed to know the pain that I felt every fucking day of my life.
It’s you and me forever, Iris… Just you and me, isn’t that what you want? You wanted to run away with him, Iris. Now look at what you’ve done.
Her smile was so wide now, that it looked like her head was about to split in half, and her eyes were feral and bloodshot. Her skin began to turn gray, little black veins snaking under the surface as her hair fell to the floor in clumps, and still, she laughed.
With a scream of all-consuming rage, I slammed my fist into the mirror. Her image splintered as the glass shattered, raining down over me, leaving deep cuts and gashes all over my arms and hands. The image of her rotting face was gone in an instant, but I could still hear her words. She repeated the same thing over and over again.
It's you and me forever, Iris.
It’s you and me forever, Iris.
It’s you and me forever, Iris.
I was covered in blood. It dripped down my hands to my arms, spilling onto the bathroom tile in small puddles. I was pretty sure I hadn’t hit an artery, which was kind of a bummer. How poetic would that have been, dying on the floor of Peter’s bathroom after ten years of running?
I dropped to my knees, clutching my right hand to my chest. A deep gash split the skin across my palm, and burning pain pulsed through me. Closing my eyes, I relished that pain, savoring it as I rocked back and forth slowly. The image of my own rotting, crumbling face flashed in my head, and the sound of her laughter continued to echo around me.
She was right though. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, she was right—it was her and me forever, and there was no escaping it. No amount of therapy, drugs, fucking, or running would ever chase her away. She was a part of me like a cancer, so I was left with only one option in the end.
* * *
I hadno idea how long I sat on the floor of Peter's bathroom, but eventually, I decided to climb back to my feet. Every cut on my skin burned with the movement, and blood crusted my skin where it’d started clotting and drying.
I stared at the doorway to the dark bedroom with my heart in my throat. My mouth was as dry as a fucking desert. Why the fuck was I so afraid of this? I could face monsters that literally wanted to eat me and drink my pain like it was wine, yet it was the memory of my past that I wanted to run away from?
