Iris

Iris laid on the side of the road, groaning. The pouring rain dripped down her face. Her lips were pressed tightly together, holding in a scream. Her left leg was numb with pain. A gunshot to the thigh, she couldn’t remember how much she had already bled because of it. Too much in pain to move, too awake to die. She had a problem, or two. And it was all because of him. He had shot her. He had broke her. She had been so stupid.

“I’ve been waiting,” was what he told her, after catching her creeping into his room, with a gun in her hand. She had done everything she could do to be quiet, but it failed. It was the first time it had. “What are you waiting for? You came here to kill me, right?” He continued. By this point, Iris had her jaw clenched. She knew she couldn’t do it. But she had to. She aimed her gun at his forehead. He was smirking, his blue eyes laughing. “Do it.” He commanded. Her hands were shaking. “Do it,” he repeated. He narrowed his eyes, “Come on already, do it. You’re wasting my time, dear.” She threw down the gun, he nodded. “Of course.” He grabbed something from under his bed sheets, it glistened in the light. A gun, much like hers. He knew. Then he shot her right in the leg. She fell over, grasping it. “You’re weak, so very weak.” He stepped towards her, she staggered back. “Iris, my dear, what’s wrong?”

She pulled herself up and ran. Her leg felt like it was burning in acid. She looked for the closest exit. The window. She flung herself through it, not even rethinking her decision. She landed on her hands and feet, a jolt went through her, but nothing she couldn’t survive. The gunshot on the other hand, was another story. She continued to run away, practically limping. From the window, Christian watched her, smiling.