The One With Whisky Eyes

Quiet Kiss of Dawn

Iris's full-bodied jolt is what woke BT. His groggy mind was still half in sleep as he glanced to his left, watching as Iris suddenly flew from the bed and raced toward her apartment door. The frantic way she moved forced him into full wakefulness, watching as she slammed her body against the wood and started checking and double-checking that all of the locks remained in place.

"Iris?" he called calmly as he slid out of the bed.

It was like she didn't even hear him, her hands now resting on the door as she muttered to herself in breathless whispers. The panic that she had spun herself into left her entire body shaking, hands trembling on the solid door as though making them an extra means of reinforcement. She kept her pressure, even though they shook. Her upper back was so tight that he could see the shape of her scapula from the tension through her shirt.

"Iris," he tried again, taking slow steps toward her around the foot of the bed.

When no answer came, he reached out for her carefully and touched her shoulder with the barest caress of fingertips.

It was the contact that finally broke her from her moment, a shriek disrupting the silence of the room as she spun around and slapped aside his hand with more force than he was expecting. The look on her face was one of absolute terror. Back connecting with the door, it rattled upon impact. BT's hands immediately lifted in surrender, his heart hammering at the sudden change in her demeanor.

"Iris! It's BT! It's okay, it's me!" he assured quickly, erratically patting at his chest and waving his hands in front of himself as he desperately tried to wipe that look from her face. The sight of it directed at him made him sick to his stomach.

It took a moment longer, but her expression began to soften. The terror was replaced with tears. Her eyes glistened with them, brows drawing down as she finally dawned on what was happening around herself. "I'm sorry," she breathed brokenly, her hands lifting to her mouth. BT rushed forward before she could say more, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her away from the door.

She shook like a leaf. The tremors quaked through her body enough that BT could feel them all the way down to her legs. She burrowed deep into his embrace until her nose pressed against his sternum, like she wanted to dig herself inside of him where she knew she'd be safe. Rubbing at her back or stroking her hair, BT wasn't sure what else he could do to offer her any real comfort.

"I've got you; you're safe," he assured quietly.

Her body jerked with a sob she tried, unsuccessfully, to contain. "Even in my sleep, he's there."

"He's not here," he whispered in her ear. "Just you and me, Iris. And I swear, he tries to get in when it's you and me, he's definitely leaving with some broken bones."

Her shaking didn't cease, but he was certain that it eased at least slightly as her weight pressed in against him. Continuing to stroke a hand across her back and through her hair, BT wished there was more that he could do for the tiny woman in his arms. He wished he could give her a night of peaceful sleep.

Just a few minutes in which her parents—and the fear that they had engrained in her—didn't exist.

Stooping down, BT swiped her legs out from under her and lifted her slight form easily into his arms. She barely made a sound as she was caught and carried, hands clenching in his shirt as she gazed up at him with eyes so heartbreakingly sad. Shuffling on his knees, he brought them back to the center of her bed and burrowed down into the blankets and pillows like the embrace of an old friend.

He kept her in close, pressed to his chest with his arms and clothes, her blankets and even a pillow were all pressing in on her to give her a cocoon of safety. Briefly, he worried that he might make her feel claustrophobic, but she showed now signs of increased distress.