This view makes the whole trip worth it.It didn’t matter who they were going to see. Kai was her rock.
Iris took a deep breath and let her nerves go. She turned up the music, rolled down the window, and closed her eyes. When she opened them, he grinned wide at her and clearly felt as weightless as she did. She rested her eyes again. This was their moment.
Everything would be okay—everythingwasokay.
Until it wasn’t.
Chaos erupted faster than she could’ve ever imagined possible. She opened her eyes to see the world spinning. No,theywere spinning. She heard a gut-wrenching scream. He held onto her waist with a death grip. They inevitably lost control, crashing directly into something hard.
Chaos.
So muchchaos.
Iris didn’t know when the tears came, but she couldn’t withhold them. A jolt of pain shot up the back of her neck when the car halted abruptly to a screeching stop, wedged directly into the gray mountain from the driver's side. Her entire body ached. She realized very quickly that she couldn't lift her right arm, andthen she glanced down to see Kai's arm still wrapped around her waist.
Wait, not wrapped… draped. His arm draped across her waist and was covered with streaks of blood, shards of thick glass poking out. A trail of thick dark blood gushed from his right forearm, seeping into her sweatshirt. She refused to look at his face. Instead, she gripped his arm, holding onto it with all her strength, ignoring the glass piercing her hands.
“Kai…Kai…” she pleaded with her eyes squeezed shut, a lump forming in her throat, blocking her airways. Her breaths grew shallower with every passing second as she desperately tried to tune out the thoughts her mind practically screamed at her. Still not daring to look in his direction, warm tears streamed down her cheeks.
“No, no, no…” her voice faded into a broken whisper.“Please.”
Kai did not stir. His arm remained drooped over her.
Even in his final moments, he shielded her. Her brother, her confidant, her rock wasgone. She gently opened her eyes and barely turned her head, glancing to her right to witness the sun setting and the moon rising to claim the sky as its own. She continued holding onto her brother, slowly reaching for his hand to intertwine her small fingers in his.
After the chaos, stillness settled in, making itself at home.
Iris was alone.
The quiet was deafening.
One
Iris
Nearly Two Years Later
To no one’s surprise, I am running late. Again.
No, not because I woke up late, but because I have spent an ungodly amount of time lying in bed after waking up. One thing led to another, and suddenly, 7:00 a.m. turned into 7:45 a.m.veryquickly, leaving me approximately fifteen minutes to prepare for the day ahead. Rest assured, as a notoriousprocrastinator who claims to thrive under pressure, I’ve dealt with worse deadlines before.
Truman, however, has had enough of my laziness. He leaps into bed and brushes his face against mine, signaling it is time for his breakfast. I’m convinced he would pinch me if he had opposable thumbs. I sigh, but I can’t blame the poor guy. I resonate with his hangry nature more than he knows.
“Okay, okay, I’m getting up,” I groan. I shimmy out of the peach-toned bedding and walk straight to my bathroom, turning on my favorite mix of Indie Pop music. I have a busy work day ahead, so I don’t have a second to waste. Especially after wasting the first thirty minutes of my morning in bed. I stand over my vanity and begin. First, I spritz water on my face, then reach for my cleanser.
On an ideal day, I would’ve showered, blow-dried my hair, styled it, then started my skincare routine before applying makeup, finishing my morning routine well before leaving. However, I only have a handful of ideal days quarterly, so this will have to suffice. Some people call this look “minimalistic.” On the contrary, I know I’m far from a minimalist—the sheer amount of wall decor and trinkets in my bedroom alone can attest to that.
After finishing the world’s quickest skincare and makeup routine, I brush my teeth and hair, then glance at my phone for the time: 7:51 a.m. I sprint to my closet, stumbling over a fluffy orange blob, who is meowing rather aggressively now.Shoot, I need to feed him.I turn fast in my tracks toward the kitchen to supply him with fresh food and water. After feeding my hungry fur baby, I resume my routine.
Routine.If running around my apartment like a mad woman blasting Conan Gray’s latest album while hustling to get ready even qualifies as a routine. After gazing at the plethora of hanging clothes in my closet, I piece together the perfect lightacademia look: a flowy off-white turtleneck sweater with flowy sleeves, a high-waisted gray plaid skirt, knee-high black socks, and black Doc Martens platforms.
Unfortunately, I’m a chronic mood-dresser, so I choose to save this outfit for a different day, a better day. Instead, I slip on an oversized beige sweater, tucking it into high-waisted black trousers, and finish the look with a black leather belt and flats.
8:03 a.m.It’s go-time, Iris.
I sling my work tote over my shoulder, bend to give Truman one last snuggle, and head outside of my apartment to greet the chilly autumn air. I’m interviewing candidates for an opening in our department today, so I need to put on my professional business woman shoes and step into motion.
But before I get to those, what Ireallyneed is an iced pumpkin spice latte topped with caramel cream to carry me through my 9-to-5. Pumpkin spice should not be limited to the seasonal menu—it’s downright cruel that the basics of the world, like myself, can’t order a pumpkin spice latte in June.
