"she draws tally marks on her walls ratios of kisses to bruises

one entire side of her bedroom turns purple, one entire side of her body

boys will be boys will be boys will be boys"

-

Iris decided to leave her old home, escaping from Luke's arms and leaving the next day in a packed car with Michael. It was early in the morning when her tears rolled slowly. She was sad to have to leave behind so many familiar things, but all she wanted to do was just that. Leave everything behind without a trace of herself. Leave behind the multiple lives she's lived.

They settle in a small apartment that Michael had already rented out. It was small and the wallpaper was chipped, but that was the only downside to it. The kitchen was large and so were the windows across from it and it had a perfect view of the city while she would make her morning coffee.

And now it's been a month. Living on their own had its perks, but Michael works all day and insisted she shouldn't get a job because he wants her to know he can handle it. Iris is usually stuck at home all day, not knowing where to go in such a great city. Her best friend of 11 years is too far away. Even with nightly phone calls with him, he still hasn't asked where she is.

Luke doesn't want to know. He doesn't want to know how far his best friend is. He doesn't know how far he must go to tell her he loves her when he should've done it a month ago like he planned. He let Iris slip through his fingers like a child's hand gripping sand at the beach. Luke was convinced her hands would never be tangled in his again.

It's 1am and the door slams.

"Iris?" Luke's tired voice calls out through the speaker lightly pressed to her ear.

She freezes, at a loss as what she should do.

"Iris?" Michael's subtly slurred voice calls out to her as Luke keeps asking what's happening.

She moves slowly to pin up the ripped down wallpaper in her room. It was peeling the night she got there and she pulled it down and started drawing tally marks to count the days she has been on her own. It was the visual of her idea of freedom. She stops.

It hits her as her arm brushes across the marks on the wall.

The bruise around her wrist and forearm and knee cap and jaw line perfectly matches the shade of the fading lines. It forces Iris realize that a permanent marker is more likely to fade on this wall than the hurt on her body.

She shakes her head and hangs up the phone with a muttered 'I'll call you tomorrow'.

"Iris?" Michael says her name again, now with a lack of patience this time.

She straightens the fallen bun on her head quickly and throws one of his sweatshirts over her head. She exhales deeply before opening the door and finding him in the kitchen.

Boys will be boys.

So far all Michael has done is laugh a few random times and bump into furniture. It makes her wonder if alcohol is the only the he's under the influence of. She flinches when he drops a new bottle of beer on the kitchen floor, shards of glass nearly reach her toes.

Boys will be boys.

Instead of getting angry like she suspects, he picks it all up in silence, dropping it in the trash as she watches on. He's now standing in front of her with a loving smile and he reaches out to her slowly. She wants to jerk back like she's grown to do, but the only thing that comes in contact with her body is his finger tips. They run slowly and carefully up and down her arms.

He runs his fingers over her bruises without even noticing the marks he made. Iris stands still as she feels that his fingertips were now the broken shards of glass. It would've been less painful to drag those over her skin instead of Michael's own touch.

Boys will be boys.