Page 27

“You will, then. Soon enough.” His voice was so despondent that Iris felt like someone was standing on her chest, crushing her heart. It was too bad that Blair didn’t want her sympathy, because she thought she might just burst from holding it in.

“I’m not sure I should stay,” he admitted.

After everything she’d witnessed that night, Iris knew she should have been relieved, but his words filled her with disappointment. “You don’t have to stay with us if you don't want to,” she assured him.

“It’s just that Gabriel obviously doesn’t want me here.”

“He just wants you to explain what happened earlier,” said Iris. Gabriel may not have expressed it kindly, but she had to admit that Blair needed to let them in on what he was going through if this arrangement was going to work.

“I know.” Blair’s hands flexed in his lap. He let out a tiny sound of pain, and Iris hurriedly dug around the plastic tub for a bottle of ointment. Before Blair could protest, she reached carefully for his hands and squeezed a generous heap of medicine onto them. Luckily, none of the poisonous tears remained, so it was safe for her to apply the ointment without worrying about more lacerations.

“I hurt you,” Blair said, a note of self-loathing in his voice as he noticed the small cut on her hand.

“Shh.” Iris shot him a look that said she didn’t want to hear it.

She could feel his muscles tense as she carefully rubbed the ointment into his rough, scarred hands. She wondered if his tears had always held such violence. An image of a tiny baby writhing in pain sprung up into her mind, further impeding her attempt to stop the flood of her own emotions.

Blair grew thoughtful as he peered down at their hands. “I haven’t had many friends before,” he admitted.

Iris’ heart warmed at his words, though she felt awful for him all the same. She had a feeling he’d known more loneliness and isolation than she could even begin to comprehend. Iris paused, her hands resting softly in his. “No?”

He shook his head. “I have two older sisters. And their husbands. But nothing like…” Heat rose to Iris’ cheeks as she heard the silent words in his expression: nothing like this.

“Well,” she said, patting his hands gently and pulling away to screw the cap back on the ointment. She didn’t have anything to add to that, so she tucked the medicine away in the bin and placed it back in its spot under the sink. Blair might be socially awkward, but Iris was never very adept in these kinds of situations herself. Still, she wanted him to know that their new friendship meant something to her, too.

Her gaze slid from his raw cheeks up to his eyes. “I never had many friends either,” she admitted. “Audrey was my first true friend. One time, when we were Juniors, we had this big argument, and I remember feeling so…” She held her palms out for emphasis. “Empty. Like everyone had someone to love but me.”

She glanced away, the weight of the admission making her feel almost naked. She wasn’t used to this level of vulnerability.

“Before that day, I’d never realized what it meant to be truly lonely. How it could be a physical ache. It felt like someone had punched me in the stomach.” She sighed. “I don’t know if that makes any sense.”

Blair stared at her, incredulous. “It took you that long to realize that?”

The night outside the drafty window above them was still and silent, as though it had been listening in on their moonlit confessions. In that moment, Iris could have sworn that she and Blair were the only two people left in the world.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

Blair leaned against the wall, looking marginally more comfortable. “It’s nothing. It’s just… I’ve experienced that all my life. You don’t have to feel sorry for me,” he repeated quickly, as Iris reached for his hands again, but he didn’t pull away this time.

There was something heavy in his expression that made Iris want to smooth away the worry, that made her wish she could gather up his past in her arms and re-write it so that he never had to experience the suffocating loneliness he had clearly endured.

“Too late.” Iris gave him a small smile. She met his eyes to see if her words had upset him, but he was smiling too. It looked painful.

Iris stood at the sound of approaching footsteps, just as Gabriel rounded the corner. He leaned heavily against the doorframe, his gaze landing on the black tears still smeared in the sink. A look of resignation settled like a heavy weight over his features as he scrutinized Blair.

“Are you staying?” he asked.

Blair looked at Iris, and she gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“Alright then.” The fight had clearly gone out of Gabriel. He scrubbed a hand down his face. “In that case, you should probably get some rest.”

Iris wrapped her hands around Blair’s forearms and helped him to his feet. Blair avoided Gabriel’s eye as he moved past him into the hallway.

Gabriel waited until Blair had closed the door to the guest room before turning to Iris. “I need to tell you something,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “And before you say it can wait, I assure you, it cannot.”

12

At just after five in the morning, Blair froze on his way into the kitchen to refill his water glass. A light was on in the living room, and an unfamiliar man was lounging on the couch with his back to him, flipping lazily through one of Gabriel’s home magazines.