It makes me think of her.
The entire shop makes me think of her.
The whole fucking world makes me think of her.
She's right.
Ryan is right.
But it's not enough to convince that other part of me, the part that doesn't trust Iris.
That hates Iris.
That hates how badly I still want to wipe her pain away.
Iris is sitting on my doorstep.
She's in that black dress, the one that's tight on her tits and loose around her hips.
I know every inch of that dress. Exactly how it feels against my hands. The smell of it—cotton mixed with her shampoo. The way it hugs her curves.
My body wakes up at the sight of her. It wants hers. That's something I understand.
My heart beats harder. My blood pumps faster. My limbs get light.
My body is a traitor.
But, fuck, it's good to see her.
She presses her palms into her thighs as she looks up at me. Her knees knock together. Then her toes. Her inner feet. Her heels. "I… I know this is crazy ex-girlfriend stuff."
"Yeah."
"I'll leave if you ask me to." She pushes herself up.
I offer my hand.
She takes it.
My body threatens to take over. To push every how can I trust her thought to the back of my head.
"I want to talk to you." Her fingers brush my palm as she pulls her hand to her side. "I want to explain."
The need in her eyes guts me.
I still want to wipe all her pain away.
And I still can't trust her.
"Can I do that?" She presses her lips together. "If you don't let me explain, I'll have to keep 'accidentally' running into you at Blue Bottle. And what if you're with some other woman? It will be awkward." She gnaws on her bottom lip. "I'll start yelling something like how could you move on so quickly? Did you ever care about me? Does she even know you're using her? Cause a big scene. Get all three of us banned from every shop on Abbot Kinney."
She still does something to me.
I hate that she does something to me.
This would be easier if I hated her. If that was the end of it. "That does sound awkward."
"And wrong, being deprived the best coffee near the shop." Her lips curl into a half smile. "Can I come in? Please? I'm running low on dignity at the moment, so I will stoop to begging."
"Yeah." I unlock the door and open it for her.
She bends to grab something from the concrete—a tiny silver gift bag—then she steps into the apartment.
I follow, closing and locking the door behind us.
The place is sparse. Empty. Not a speck of dust in sight. Cleaning is somewhere between reading and filing taxes on the list of things that might help me forget her.
It didn't work.
Nothing works.
She still owns my thoughts.
She still keeps me up all night.
I have no idea how to make it stop. Maybe this is it. Maybe I need one last taste so I can forget her.
She turns to me. Holds up the gift bag. "This, um, this was for your birthday. If you don't want it—"
"Thanks."
Her smile is sad. Weary. She looks as tired as I feel.
I take the bag, set it on the counter, move into the kitchen. "You want something to drink?"
"Water."
"Sure."
"You still keep the place dry?"
I grab two glasses from the cabinet and fill them with water. "Yeah. I can't imagine having booze here."
"For Bree?"
I nod.
She smooths her dress. Rocks from one foot to another. Plays with her short hair.
I move to her. Offer her a glass.
She nods thanks and drinks with greedy sips. "Thanks. I was only waiting for an hour or two. But I didn't know how long it would be so I didn't want to hydrate."
I motion to the bathroom.
She shakes her head. "No, I walked over to a coffee shop halfway through that. I, uh…" She moves forward. Sets her glass on the counter. Keeps her back to me. "Walker, I… I get it if you hate me, if you never want to see me again. But wait until I explain to judge." She lets out a heavy exhale and pulls her arms over her chest. "If you still hate me, I'll leave. And I won't contact you again."
I move toward her. Set my glass next to hers.
She takes a deep breath. "I really am sorry."
My fingers skim her shoulders. "I know." I know she's sorry. I know I convinced her to stay quiet. I know she hurts as much as I do.
But that doesn't help clarify any of this.
I hate her and I need her are still tearing my heart in half.
It shouldn't matter.
If I can't trust her, that's it.
But it doesn't feel like it.
It feels like this is fixable. It has to be. I need her to fill that Iris shaped hole in my gut. Or I need to erase her from my mind.
One of them.
I don't know which.
"Oh." Her voice is soft. "Do you not… I… Uh…"
"Were you high?"
"What?"
"With me?"
"No. Never. That fight with Ross, it was about me going to rehab. I haven't touched anything since that. Since January."
"Look at me."
"I can't."
"'Cause you're full of shit?"
"No." Her exhale is heavy. "Because if you still hate me, I'm going to burst into tears, and I'd like to save that one scrap of dignity I have."
"Iris. I need you to look me in the eyes when you say it." I drag my fingertips down her arm. "Please." I want to believe her. I want to be able to believe her.
My fingers skim her shoulders.
Her hips shift. She presses her back into my chest. "Walker, I… I… Uh… What is this?"
"Look at me. Please."
Slowly, she turns to face me. Her blue eyes fill with vulnerability. She's hurting, yeah, but she's not lying.
"Tell me again."
"I haven't touched anything since before rehab."
"What did you use?"
"Heroin."
Fuck. I knew she'd say that. Deep down, I knew it. The place she got that tattoo—that's where Bree always had track marks.
But still, hearing it on her lips…
She takes a deep breath. "Do you want me to leave?"
"No."
"You want me to stay?"
"Yeah." I do. But then I don't.
I need her to be my Iris again.
But that Iris doesn't exist. She was some idea I had of her.
And that was on me, yeah.
But that doesn't make this any easier.
I need to turn my thoughts off.
I need the world to make sense.
I need her under me.
I slide my arm around her waist. Pull her closer. I shouldn't do this. She's not here to fuck me.
But I have to.
Her eyes bore into mine. They ask for everything and promise more. "Walker, I—"
I bring my hand to the back of her head and pull her into a slow kiss.
She groans against my lips. Her fingers dig into my t-shirt, pressing the cotton into my skin.
She's eager. Hungry. Needy.